ATIONAL IDEALS ^i^Hi-^i YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 1943 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LiMiTKD LONDON • BOMBAY ¦ CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ESSAYS FOR COLLEGE ENGLISH BY MAURICE GARLAND FULTON PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, PAVIDSOir COLLEGE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1918 Copyright, 1918 By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1918. ¦5 cz-f 3in l^onor of f^abibeon aroUege ^tutrenta; WHO IN CHEERFUL WILLINGNESS TO GIVE SUPREME DEVOTION JOINED THE NATIONAL FORCES BANDED TO UPHOLD LIBERTY, PEACE, AND JUSTICE THROUGHOUT THE WORLD PREFACE In this book my purpose has been to bring together a number of significant essays, addresses, and state papers which should be helpful in showing students what others, chiefly their fellow- Americans, have thought or now think about their country — its people, its ideals, and its significance both at home and abroad. The time is opportune for seeking a more intelligent acquaint ance with our national ideals and problems. The war thrusts upon the nation the need of burnishing ideals as well as weapons. We should use this war to clarify our vision and intensify our national purposes, and we must, in our schools and colleges, make it a means for developing cathoUcity of spirit, human sym pathy, sacrificial devotion to convictions, and passion for truth and justice. Realizing the danger of doing violence in the stress of conflict to the very ideals we seek to defend and exalt. President Wilson early addressed a plea to the teachers in all grades of schools urging the conservation of oiu: ideals. Said he, "The war is bringing to the minds of our people a new appreciation of the problems of national life and a deeper understanding of the meaning and aims of democracy. Matters which we have here tofore deemed commonplace and trivial are seen in a truer light. . . . When the war is over we must apply the wisdom we have acquired in purging and ennobling the life of the world." An intelligent understanding of American democracy is not merely a matter of interest; it is a patriotic duty for making both better Americans and better citizens of the world. Democ racy is a body of ideals. Armies and navies alone cannot make the world safe for democracy. The world must be wrought to sympathy with democratic ideals, and, in accomplishing this, the schools— institutions devoted to the conserving of ideals and agencies able to reach the next generation— must undertake to viu PREFACE inculcate these principles for which we are fighting. For what shall it profit us if we gain the whole world for democracy and thereby lose the soul of democracy? In this work the teacher of Enghsh has a large part. Those who teach history or political science may give the facts, but those who handle the nation's hterature impart the spirit of the nation. Since American literature affords the best possible in terpretation of American ideals, the EngUsh teacher should have his students give attention more largely than heretofore to the history and progress of American thought as recorded in Ameri can literature. The selections in this volume do not, of course, belong under the classification "Uterature" in the narrower sense of the term. Nevertheless they are discussions of value in reaching conclu sions regarding the American spirit and ideals, and as such may be appropriately brought into the Uterary vista of the student. Such study of American Ufe and institutions as this book con templates may be made in connection with the course in American literature. But this book would seem to have its most useful place in the so-called "thought-courses" in composition. This type of course has become so widely popular in recent years that it needs no defense or explanation. Its ftmdamental principle of accompanying the reading of thought-provoking selections with discussion, oral or written, upon questions and topics suggested by the reading is a most stimulating way to come to an under standing of national ideals. Furthermore, this method is a replica of the way in which definite national ideals must be reached. Each person must reach his own independent conclu sions and then compound them by inteUigent discussion inpubUc and in private. Under this natural method, the student is brought to his own conclusions and to correcting or modifying them in the light of those formed by his classmates. The selections have been arranged into a rough sequence and grouped under certain headings. Despite the fact that in some cases positions may seem arbitrarily assigned, the arrangement wiU be found of practical value in emphasizing the larger aspects PREFACE ix of the study. A convenient starting-point is had in a group of selections discussing the predominant characteristics of the American people. Next, to make this study of American char acteristics more concrete, come selections dealing with a few great Americans who seem to exempUfy the special make-up of mind and faculties that is the specific product of American democracy. The third group is composed of epoch-making addresses and state papers which every yoimg American should know at first hand. These are followed by a group of selections discussing in a general way the aims and tendencies of American democracy. The next two groups present the closely related topics of the citizen's part in government and the especial responsibiUties that rest upon the college-trained. After these comes a section devoted to a discussion of the principles that must be adhered to in making such changes and adjustments as the future may require. The last division contains selections discussing how and why America became a participant in the world war, and what she desires the outcome of the struggle to be. In order to keep the book of moderate size, much important material had to be omitted. At no point was it harder to make rejections than in the second division. Patterns of Americanism. Jefferson, Jackson, Grant, Lee, LoweU, and many others, repre sentative of Americanism in one way or another, seemed to demand inclusion, but finaUy the Ust was left with but four upon whom there would be almost universal agreement. A word of explanation seems needed regarding the absence of selections from Bryce's The American Commonwealth, My first intention was to include several chapters from this source. But when it became possible for me to prepare for the moderate-priced EngUsh and American classics series of the MacmiUan Company a volmne including some twelve or fifteen of the most significant chapters of Bryce's book, under the title American Democracy, I thought it advisable to use aU the space in this book for material from other quarters, and to suggest to those who may desire material, from The American Common wealth that they may find it in the coUection referred to. I take this opportunity of recording in a general way grate- X PREFACE ful thanks to those writers who have generously permitted me to use their work and to those pubUshers who have courteously dismissed copyright restrictions in my favor. Specific acknowl edgements have been made at appropriate places throughout the book. M. G. F. CONTENTS American Traits Page American Quality Nathaniel Southgate Shaier i American Character Brander Matthews 14 Effects of the Frontier upon American Character . . Frederick Jackson Turner 33 The Influence of the Immigrant on America 'Walter Edward Weyl 47 Patterns of Americanism Franklin: The Citizen George 'William Algar 58 The Americanism of Washington . . . Henry Van Dyke 67 Lincoln as an American Herbert Croly 74 Emerson Matthew Arnold 85 Landmark Addresses and State Papers Declaration of Independence ..... Thomas Jefferson 107 Farewell Address George "Washington 112 The Monroe Doctrine James Monroe 128 The States and the Union Daniel 'Webster 131 Second Inaugural Address Abraham Lincoln 139 War Message 'Woodrow 'Wilson 141 American Democracy The Heritage of Liberty .... Charles Mills Gayley 152 The Declaration of Independence in the Light of Modern Criticism Moses Coit Tyler 158 Democracy James Russell LoweU 166 The Working of American Democracy Charles 'William Eliot 178 The Survival of Civil Liberty . Franklin Henry Giddings 191 xi xii CONTENTS Citizenship and Patriotism \ Page ~\Patriotism, Instinctive and Intelligent Ira Woods Howerth 210 Message of the Flag Franklin Knight Lane 221 Good Citizenship Henry Cabot Lodge 224 What "Americanism" Means .... Theodore Roosevelt 236 Educated Leadership The Social Value of the College-Bred William James 249 The Relation Between a Liberal Education and True Americanism Henry Cabot Lodge 257 Liberty and Discipline . ... Abbott Lawrence Lowell 269 Nationalizing Education John Dewey 282 Changes and Adjustments Experiments in Government Elihu Root 291 The Liberation of a People's Vital Energies . . . Woodrow Wilson 301 A Plea for the American Tradition Winston Churchill 310 Can Democracy be Organized? . 'Edwin Anderson Alderman 325 In Arms for Democracy The World Conflict in Its Relation to American Democracy ... .... Walter Lippmann 340 American and Allied Ideals . . Stuart Pratt Sherman 351 Ethical Problems of the War . . Gilbert Murray 364 After the Conflict A League to Enforce World Peace WUliam Howard Taft 376 Good Temper in the Present Crisis Lawrence Pearsall Jacks 388 What Shall We Win with the War? Ernest Hunter Wright 401 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS AMERICAN TRAITS AMERICAN QUALITY^ Nathaniel Southgate Shaler [Nathaniel Southgate Shaler (1841-1906) was a distinguished American geologist, born in Newport, Kentucky. He graduated in 1862 at the Lawrence Scientific School of Harvard University. A few years later he became con nected with the instructional staff in that institution, and held, from time to time, different professorships in his field of work. In 189 1 be became dean of the Lawrence Scientific School. His interesting analysis of American char acter which is here reprinted shows the scientific attitude which is not con tent with the actual facts, but must seek probable explanations of its origin. It also shows traces of a favorite thesis of the writer — that human character istics are the result largely of environment. This view is developed at length in respect to the United States in his book, Nature and Man, in America,] The most important, because the most fundamental, of prob lems concerning the quaUty of the American man, concerns his physical condition, as compared with that of his kindred beyond the seas. As to this point the evidence is so clear that it needs Uttle discussion. It is evident that the American Indians, a race evidently on the ground for many thousand years before the coming of the Europeans, had found the land hospitable. For savages they were remarkably weU developed, and though un fitted for steady labor, their bodies were well made and enduring. Taking their place, the North Europeans, representing a wide range of local varieties, EngUsh, Irish, Highland Scotch, Ger mans, Scandinavians, Normans, French, and many other groups of Old World peoples, have, since their implantation a hundred years or more ago, shown that the area of the continent from the Rio Grande to the far north is as suited to our kind as is any part of the earth. This is sufficiently proved by the statistics of American soldiers gathered during the Civil War; the American iFrom International Monthly, voL iv, p. 48 (July, 1901). Reprinted by permission. A I S NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS white man of famiUes longest in this country, is, on the average, larger than his European kinsman; the increase being mainly in the size of head and chest. It is further indicated by the endur ance of these men in the trials of the soldier's life and by the remarkable percentage of recoveries from wounds. This endur ance of wounds was regarded by the late Dr. Brown-Sequard as a feature common to aU the mammals of this continent, being, as he claimed on the basis of an extensive experience, as character istic of American rabbits as of American men. Moreover, the statistics of life insurance companies doing business in this coimtry appear to indicate that the expectation of life is greater here than in the Old World. . . . Accepting the conclusion that the bodUy condition of our race is, in this country at least, as good as in the continent whence they came, we wiU now turn to the questions as to their moral and inteUectual development in the new land. First of these to be considered is that which relates to the attitude of the individ ual man toward his feUows of the commonwealth. However we may state this question, it is Ukely to appear to be of a shad owy nature; seen clearly, however, it wiU be recognized as of fundamental importance. It were best approached by a com parison of the usual state of mind of communities in Europe as regards other groups of the same race and country, from which they are separated, as are people dwelling in neighboring viUages. Having journeyed much afoot in England and continental Europe, I have often had occasion to remark the very general lack of confidence which the common men of any place have in those who, though dwelling nearby, are personaUy unknown to them. Traces of this humor may be found in England and northern Germany, where it may commonly be noted in a good natured contempt for the unknown compatriot. Further south ward this limitation of sympathy becomes more definite. An cient hatreds between the citizens of neighboring communes find expression in legends and songs that continue the bitterness to this day. In Italy this partition of the people in spirit goes so far that the pedestrian who has become friendly with those who dweU in any Uttle rural society wiU often be warned that he will AMERICAN TRAITS 3 be in danger as soon as he comes among the dreadful folk who dwell on the other side of the divide. To an observant American who journeys in Europe in a way that brings him in contact with its people, this marcellement of states into little bits which are united not by any common direct sympathy, but only by the bond of a common rule, is not only very evident, but in singular contrast to what he has been accustomed to in his own country. Though from its famiUarity it escapes the attention of most people, it is one of the most note worthy social phenomena of the New World, that the citizen of Maine accepts, as by a kind of instinct, his feUowman of Texas or CaUfornia as a real compatriot, as a person who feels and acts as he does himself. It is evident that this is no recently acquired state of mind; its existence clearly antedates the formation of cur government; it, indeed, made the Federal union possible. For a half century slavery limited the extension of the motive, though it did not altogether part the people of the North and South. This habit of confidence in the neighbor, however remote, which is at the foundation of the quaUty of our people, goes beyond the national hmits. It has effectively made an end of the rancors which once existed toward the mother country. Watch as one may the talk of our people, we now hear nothing indicating more than a good-humored quirk concerning John Bull and his ways. At first sight it may seem as if this confidence in the feUow man, which is the foundation of American quaUty, is but a mani festation of their prevaiUng good nature. That it is other and more than this is fairly weU shown by many iacidents occurring in and after the Civil War. Those who remember that mighty clutch will recall how in its worst days the soldiers of the con tending armies trusted one another much as they would their own comrades. It is said that in the Fredericksburg campaign a number of Federal soldiers spent Christmas with a Confederate regiment with whom they had made acquaintance in the cam paign. All the hard usage of war could not sweep away the neighborly trust between men who were yet ready for the bitter est fighting to accompUsh their objects. 4 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS This feature of confidence in the essential likeness of the feUowman which holds among our people is, perhaps, best shown in the closing incidents of the Civil War. There was at the time much taUi about guerriUa warfare, such as the Dutch have waged in South Africa; but when it became evident that effective national resistance was no longer possible, the sub jugated people turned to their conquerors as to their feUow- citizens, with a measure of trust in their quaUty such as under Uke conditions the world had not before known. Owing to an unhappy series of political accidents and much actual knavery, the trust of the southerners in the quaUty of their northern brethren seemed for a time ill-founded. During the so-caUed reconstruction period, the states which had revolted were sub jected to a very oppressive rule. Yet, through it aU, the people trusted, happUy not in vain, to the American quaUty of their sometime enemies to set them right. So, too, in the last step in the work of reconstruction, when the northern people found the southern undoing, in an indirect way, that provision of the Con stitution which gives the negro the baUot on the same terms with the white man; the acquiescence of the Republican party in this course finds its explanation in the general conviction that the southern people are doing about as weU as can be expected with a problem of exceeding difficulty. The history of secession and reconstruction discloses a consensus among the citizens of this country such as may be sought in vain in any other. It is easy to see that the American's beUef in the unseen neighbor as like unto himself is not only the foundation of his true democracy, but the basis on which rest certain other im portant elements of his quaUty. To it is due the exceptional range and activity of the sympathetic motives, such as led to the war with Spain, and to the almost preposterous welcome of the captured officers of the Spanish fleet; and such now moves so many of our folk to protest against the doings of this nation in the PhiUppines. It is also marked in the constant sympathy with suffering, whenceever comes the cry. Not that this accord with the feUowman is pecuUar to Americans; it is, indeed, a part of modern life, but the effect of it is evidently felt by a AMERICAN TRAITS 5 larger part of our people, is more national with us than else where. This quaUty of sympathy is, indeed, near to being, if it be not in fact, a national weakness. Too Uttle hmited by reason, it led to the war with Spain for the rescue of Cuba, with the common consequence of war, a series of difficulties of which no man can see the end. A most important result of this beUef in the essential likeness of men is the eminently kindly quaUty of the American. The proof of this on a large scale is again to be had in the history of the RebeUion. Though this contest, Uke aU war whatsoever, was replete with brutaUty and horror, it was singularly distin guished from aU like contentions by the mercy shown to non- combatants, by the care for women and children, and by the leniency with which the subjugated leaders were treated. The evidence to support these statements cannot be here given in any detaU. To exhibit it fitly would require an extended study of the matter; I cannot, however, forbear to set forth a few in cidents which came to my knowledge at the time, and which served to illustrate the temper of our people in conditions which bring out the worst quaUties of men. Shortly after the close of the RebeUion, I questioned many persons who had been in the most sanguinary contests, to find whether they had observed any instances where prisoners, taken in the heat of battle, had been harmed. As the result of this inquiry, which was made of over one hundred ex-soldiers, I learned of one or two cases where prisoners had been shot by members of a rabble home guard, men generally of a much lower grade than the embodied troops and without adequate control by officers. Among discipUned troops, there was but one ex ample of cruelty, if such it may be called, where a Federal soldier, as he clutched the musket of a surrendering Confederate, slapped him on the face; and he was at once put imder arrest for his brutal conduct. In the campaign of 1862, between the armies of BueU and Bragg for the possession of Kentucky, movements which led to the fiercest action of the war, the conditions were such as have elsewhere always brought vast suffering to non-combatants. It 6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS was a more truly internecine struggle than occurred in any other part of the great field. The state was divided against itself, communities and famiUes were rent. In instances, probably numbering thousands, brothers, or fathers and sons, were in opposing armies. It is doubtful if in any other time have people of our race been so moved by fury to the foundations of their souls. Yet at the end of it, I recaU that none of the many I questioned knew of harm having come to woman or child; that whenever a flag of truce gave the chance of meeting, there was expression of a mutual anxiety to "keep the fighting clean," and a determination to insure this end by slaying aU offenders against decency. The evidence of good nature afforded by the treatment of the leaders of the RebeUion is so general and well known that it needs no setting forth. One such came under my eyes when, just after the war, Alexander Stephens, the ex- Vice-President of the ex-Confederacy, because he was a cripple, was, by general consent, aUowed to select his seat in the hall of the House at Washington, before the other members drew lots for their places. There were some marring deeds, as, for instance, the execution of Wertz, and the chaining of Jefferson Davis, an unoffending prisoner; but the conduct of our people at the end of the Rebel- Uon, indeed we may say the whole conduct of that vast struggle, displays their eminently merciful quaUty. In the interchange of wit and humor, wherein men show their quaUty in an unpremeditated way, we have a chance to discern another evidence of the singular confidence of the American as to the Ukeness of the feUowman to himself. Among other peoples this instinctive criticism of Ufe is commonly turned upon the personal differences between men, those of individuals, classes, or races. It usuaUy exhibits an essentiaUy narrow, hed onistic motive. In this country, on the other hand, the criticism most often assumes the similarity of men, and finds the amuse ment in larger features of identity and contrast of situations. Thus, the humor of the Mississippi VaUey, especiaUy that of the frontiersman, has a sympathetic motive which is not found else where. It is apt to relate to the insufficiencies of mankind rather AMERICAN TRAITS 7 than to the defects of particular men; not rarely it takes the fime aUegorical form, wherein much apparent profanity does not hide the reaUy high moral tone. Thus it comes about that the American is by no means witty as compared with the French man; from that pomt of view, he may fairly be termed duU; but in him there is characteristicaUy an inextinguishable spirit of humor. Like his prototype, Mercutio, even the wound that ends him is a fair subject for a quirk. Like the other accidents of life, "'tis not so deep as a weU, nor so wide as a church- door; but 'tis enough, 'twiU serve." If this view be true, our much-discussed American humor is a very natural product of our assumption as to the intimate kinship of men. Turning from the simpler emotions which Ue at the founda tions of human nature, let us consider what evidence is to be had that shows us something concerning the permanent ideals that have been developed among our people. So far as ideals relate to the home, they appear to be, with sUght exceptions, essentiaUy those that were transmitted to us from the mother country; the difference being that the head of the house is far less its master than in the Old World. Here, again, we have the primary concept of democracy, that of the essential likeness of human beings, working to break down the ancient idea as to the rightful power of the father over the family, with the result that the normal American household is a type of the democracy of which it forms a part. It is not likely that this change of view has, in any measure, weakened the hold of parents on their chUdren; but to it is probably due, in some degree, the rapid increase of the divorce rate, which, as is weU known, is higher in this than in any other country. The ideal of the commonwealth came to us, with that of the famUy, by inheritance; the name itself is an importation, but there is an evident change in the contents of the conception. UntU our government was founded, there was no instance in which men had developed patriotic instincts relating to such a complex as the United States presents. In the Old World, except in some measure in Switzerland, for aU the experiments in gov erning that have there been essayed, men have not proved them- 8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS selves able to maintain a divided aUegiance, such as is required of American citizens, and by them effectively rendered, in the love and duty they give to the state and the Union in which they are included. In aU experiments previously made, it was evident that the sense of obUgation had to relate to one center; with rare exceptions — in fact only in sm,aU oUgarchies where the motives due to personal association of aU the leaders existed — the reference of aUegiance had to be to a sovereign, whether king or CromweU, an evident leader beheld upon a throne. It is true that the American complex was the result of an accident of government which united several centers of growth, but it is none the less a remarkable fact that the system of aUegiance within aUegiance, with no reference to any devotion to indi viduals or dynasties and with no association with reUgious faiths, should have been accepted by our people without debate except as to the mere details, and with no sense of the novelty of the conditions they were estabUshing. This course of action, appar ently so spontaneous and immediate, indicates that the political sense of the American people had undergone an unrecognized development in the century and a half of colonial life before the Revolution. It is impossible here to essay an analysis of this growth. It may, however, be noted that, more than any other feature, it indicates the subtle effect of the conditions of the New World on the spirit of men. The essence of the poUtical aUegiance of the American people is evidently not to a definite bit of the earth, nor to the memories of the past, which are to a great extent the basis of that motive in the Old World, but to ideals of government. The people of France, for instance, and the same is true of most other coun tries, love their land and its traditions equally weU, whatever kind of govemment manages to' set itself over them. Here, however, as is weU shown by the history of the Civil War, the affection is for the system of the commonwealth as a system, even more than for the results attained by it. Love of the land of a romantic kind, such as has been the basis of so much that is noble as weU as unhappy in other realms, is evidently not a leading motive with us. It is true that slavery, in an immediate AMERICAN TRAITS g way, brought about the War of Secession, but the question which was debated, which moved the people as men have rarely if ever before been moved, concerned tiie relative weight of the aUegiance the citizen owed to his state and to the Nation. It is conceivable that the American might be transplanted to some other land, and that the deportation would bring with it Uttle if any sense of exile, provided his poUtical order went with him. But for this order he is prepared to do battle to the end. It appears IUlc a contradiction to say that the love of our people for their government does not include a devotion to the instruments which set it forth. We are much given to patching our constitutions and, at times, to juggUng with them, but the essence of the motive appears to be love of a definite political order, an intense need of a distinctly stated body of negative law which wiU permit the largest possible measure of hberty. The cUnging to the system of states in a nation apparently rests on the conviction that under that system the maximum of free dom may be attained. . . . The most indicative feature m American quaUty is that which is expressed in the reUgious freedom which has been attained in this country. Iii a rude, imperfect form this ideal existed m the Elizabethan tune. Evidently it was not brought from the Old World, for the colonies began with the ancient intolerance. This motive was variously expressed, sometimes in a brutal manner, again with a milder accent, but it was essen tiaUy universal. At the time the Federal union was formed, religious freedom or at least the understanding that the law had no right to dictate reUgious beUefs, was weU estabUshed. Since then the development of this quaUty has been continued until it has so far penetrated the minds of men that the barriers of faith have Uttle effect in Umiting social relations. Even the ancient dislike of Roman CathoUcs and Jews has nearly passed away; what is left of it relates rather to race hatreds than to reUgious prejudices. It may fairly be claimed that the efface- ment of sectarian rancors is the greatest and most unique accom- pUshment of our people. It is evident that this gain has also 10 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS been due to the fundamental beUef of our people as to the like ness of men to one another. The ideal of pubhc education, like the many other' elements of American quaUty, came to us from the mother country. Except, however, in the fancies of ideaUsts the projects of instruc tion which were developed in the Old World were not intended to apply to aU sorts and conditions of men, but to a chosen few. Although in the several colonies the motive which led to the development of educational systems differed much in intensity, it appears in some degree to have existed in aU, and to have been active in the minds of the hardest pressed of their frontiersmen. Thus, with the first settiers of Kentucky, who were facing the trials and perUs of an unknown wilderness, we find among the brief proceedings of their first parliament, held in 1775 under a tree, a provision for the estabUshment of a school. Another of these memorable enactments provided for the suppression of profane swearing; yet another for the improvement of the breed of horses — ^aU of which goes to show how the ideal and the prac tical went together in the minds of our pioneers, whether they . were of Massachusetts Bay or of the Virginia plantations. Beginning doubtfully in the colonial period, the ideal of public education has grown with the growth of the fundamental con cept of democracy, that of the essential likeness of men, and with the sympathetic bond which this view of life creates, until it is one of the most characteristic elements of the quaUty of our people. It has commanded a share of devotion such as has been given to no other feature of our pubhc life. It has so far entered into our hearts that the greediest of fortune seekers may be said to dream of founding schools. It is to be noted that this desire that the youth be adequately trained, has Uttie relation to the economic results of such training. So far from desiring that the end to be attained shaU be instruction in crafts or pro fessions, the intent of our people has ever been that their schools shall lead toward culture; to enlargement rather than to more immediate profit; to the quaUty of the citizen rather than to that of the artisan. It has, indeed, been difficult to obtain from pubUc money or from private gifts the means imperatively AMERICAN TRAITS it demanded for instruction in appUed science. It is in the char acter of the educational system which has been developed in this country that we find the most indisputable evidence as to the essential quaUty of the American man. Seen in his money- hunting form, he seems to the ordinary observer as devoid of aU ideals as was the Indian he has replaced. Considered in the hght of his lofty devotion to the interests of the unborn, we gain another and better view of his comphcated nature. It may be granted that these schools are in many ways most imperfect, but the concept on which they are founded and the devotion with which they have been supported teU much of American quaUty. Looking at the social organization of this country in a broad way, we may note another feature, exhibited in very legible facts, which deserves our attention. This is the ease with which this society has taken in, and, as we may say, assimilated a vast body of very foreign people, very generally converting them or their immediate descendants into characteristic Englishmen of the American variety. To see the nature of this accomphsh- ment, we should first note that in the fifteen decades or so of colonial Ufe our people had a chance to shape their society with relatively Uttie disturbing invasions from other than EngUsh countries. The Dutch colonists, then, were near kinsmen to the Palatinate Germans of Pennsylvania, and those of North Caro Hna, though more remote, were akin in race and reUgion and bound to the English people by the memory of the help lent them in their extremity; as were, also, the Huguenot French. Perhaps nine-tenths of the idik at the beginning of the Revolu tionary War were of EngUsh stock, and the remainder no hind rance to the prevailing race. It is evident that these colonies had attained to a social organization which was singularly efficient in making a common serviceable product out of the odds and ends of humanity that immigration began to bring to the new nation in the early part of the nineteenth century. For near a hundred years the tide of foreigners has poured into the United States with increasing volume. To many good observers it has appeared impossible that grave changes in the quaUty of 12 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the country should not be brought about by this invasion. Yet this material, so far as it is of European origin, has been effec tively, if not completely, Americanized. It is true there has been no considerable adoption of the aborigines into the commonwealth, but this faUure is due to the nature of the Indian. It is also true that the adjustment of the African is yet to be brought about, but there is some reason to beUeve that it may be accompUshed. But, so far as the progress of our own race is concerned, the entrance of foreigners into our life, whUe here and there highly disadvantageous, has not been disastrous. In one or two generations, even where they retain, as in the case of the Pennsylvania Germans, their native speech and customs, they are, in aU important regards, completely | naturaUzed. This swift digestion of the miUions from countries of a spirit very aUen to its own, indicates what we may term the organic intensity of American society; in other words, the eminentiy poUtical quaUty of the association. Into this invisible, intangible, yet most real, social whole the ardent quaUty of its citizens so enters that it can quickly efface the imprint of the ages upon those who come to it from foreign lands, and stamp them as its own. It has been the purpose of this writing to consider only those elements of American quaUty of which we have evidence in recorded or evident facts. Only by such limitation can we avoid those highly romantic speculations as to the character of our folk which so fiU the pages of would-be observers from abroad. In summing up the story, it seems not unreasonable to consider what is to be the future of the evidentiy novel type of EngUsh- man; we might, indeed, term him this spirituaUy new variety of man. It is clear that his most eminent quality consists in his detachment from the control of the past, his seU-sufficiency in the better sense of the term. He has learned to feel, beyond others of his kind, the value of his individuaUty. It is, perhaps, as a reflection of this sense that he places a Uke high rating on his neighbor. He feels the bond of human brotherhood in a curiously intense degree. As aU the cooperative work of man depends upon this sense of human kinship, his large measure of AMERICAN TRAITS 13 it should carry the American far — in just what direction it is not easy to foreteU. It requires no analysis to see that the fundamental judgment of democracy, that of the essential likeness of men, though a truth of vast import, is but a haU truth. True for the primary quaUties which should determine the rights of aU, it is pro foundly untrue as regards those secondary features of the intel- Ugence which give to human minds a range and variety of capa city reaUy greater than the differences in the frames of men. An apparent consequence of this excessive idea of common likeness in his kind, is the comparative absence of critical abUity in the American people. In a large sense of the term, criticism rests upon a conception of the very great difference of one indi vidual from another. As appUed to Ufe, it leads to an under standing of its vast compUcation, of its far-reaching inter- dependencies, of its splendors and its shames. In the field of morals, it teaches that there are herds and leaders; that men have won the heights because they knew their prophets, or have gone to the deep because they knew them not. It is evident that the path on which this America-shaping and America-shaped man has journeyed separates him from the critical state of mind. Yet he has so prospered in his journey on it, has gained such a measure of wiU and discernment, that the critic would not reaUy know his cautious trade if he ventured to forecast his limits. The most reasonable judgment concerning this essentially new form of strong man is, that on this deep and broad foundation of his sympathies and understandings he wUl, in time, buUd aU that his friendly critics could wish him of enlargement. 14 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS AMERICAN CHARACTERi Brander Matthews [Brander Matthews (1852 ) was bom in New Orleans, Louisiana, but early in life went to New York to Uve. After a brief experience with law, he turned to Uterature in which he distinguished himself as a writer of fiction and criticism. Since 1892 he has been a professor in the English department of Coliimbia University. The discussion of American character, which is here given, supplements the selection from Shaler in approaching the matter from a somewhat different angle. It was originally an address deUvered on several academic occasions.] In a volume recording a series of talks with Tolstoi, pubUshed by a French writer in the final months of 1904, we are told that the Russian noveUst thought the Dukhobors had attained to a perfected Ufe, in that they were simple, free from envy, wrath, and ambition, detesting violence, refraining from tiieft and murder, and seeking ever to do good. Then the Parisian inter viewer asked which of the peoples of the world seemed most remote from the perfection to which the Dukhobors had elevated themselves; and when Tolstoi returned that he had given no thought to this question, the French correspondent suggested that we Americans deserved to be held up to scorn as the least worthy of nations. The tolerant Tolstoi asked his visitor why he thought so iU of us; and the journaUst of Paris then put forth the opinion that we Americans are " a people terribly practical, avid of pleasure, systematicaUy hostile to aU ideaUsm. The ambition of the American's heart, the passion of his Ufe, is money; and it is rather a deUght in the conquest and possession of money than in the use of it. The Americans ignore the arts; they despise disinterested beauty. And, now, moreover, they are imperiaUsts. They could have remauied peaceful without danger to their national existence; but they had to have a fleet and an army. iFrom The American of Ihe Future and Other Essays, f Copyright, 1909, Charles Scrib ner's Sons.) Reprinted by permission. AMERICAN TRAITS 15 They set out after Spain and attacked her; and now they begin to defy Europe. Is there not something scandalous in this revelation of the conquering appetite in a new people with no hereditary predisposition toward war?" It is to the credit of the French correspondent that, after setting down this fervid arraignment, he was honest enough to record Tolstoi's dissent. But although he dissented, the great Russian expressed Uttle surprise at the virulence of this diatribe. No doubt it voiced an opinion famiUarized to him of late by many a newspaper of France and of Germany. Fortunately for us, the assertion that foreign nations are a contemporaneous posterity is not quite true. Yet the opinion of foreigners, even when most at fault, must have its value for us as a useful cor rective of conceit. We ought to be proud of our country; but we need not be vain about it. Indeed, it would be difficult for the most patriotic of us to find any satisfaction in the figure of the typical American which apparently exists in the mind of most Europeans, and wliich seems to be a composite photograph of the backwoodsman of Cooper, the negro of Mrs. Stowe, and the Mississippi river-folk of Mark Twain, modffied, perhaps, by more vivid memories of Buffalo BiU's Wild West. Surely this is a strange monster; and we need not wonder that foreigners feel toward it as Voltaire felt toward the prophet Habakkuk, whom he declared to be "capable of anything." It has seemed advisable to quote here what the Parisian journaUst said of us, not because he himseU is a person of con sequence, indeed, he is so obscure that there is no need even to mention his name, but because he has had the courage to attempt what Burke declared to be impossible — to draw an indictment against a whole nation. It would be easy to retort on him in kind, for, unfortunately, — and to the grief of aU her friends, — France has laid herself open to accusations as sweep ing and as violent. It would be easy to" dismiss the man himself as one whose outiook on the world is so narrow that it seems to be Uttie more than what he can get through a chance sUt in the waU of his own self-sufficiency. It would be easy to answer him in either of these fashions, but what is easy is rarely worth whUe; i6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and it is wiser to weigh what he said and to see if we cannot find our profit in it. Sifting the essential charges from out the mass of his malev olent accusation, we find this Frenchman aUeging, first, that we Americans care chiefly for making money; second, that we are hostile to art and to aU forms of beauty; and thirdly, that we are devoid of ideals. These three aUegations may weU be considered, one by one, beginning with the assertion that we are mere money-makers. n Now, in so far as this Frenchman's beUef is but an exaggera tion of the saying of Napoleon's, that the EngUsh were a nation of shopkeepers, we need not wince, for the Emperor of the French found to his cost that those same EngUsh shopkeepers had a stout stomach for fighting. Nor need we regret that we can keep shop profitably, in these days when the doors of the bankers' vaults are the real gates of the Temple of Janus, war being im possible until they open. There is no reason for alarm or for apology so long as our shopkeeping does not cramp our muscle or curb our spirit, for, as Bacon declared three centuries ago, "waUed towns, stored arsenals and armories, goodly races of horse, chariots of war, elephants, ordnance, artillery and the Uke, aU this is but a sheep in a Uon's skin, except the breed and disposition of the people be stout and warUke." Even the hostile French traveler did not accuse us of any flabbiness of fiber; indeed, he declaimed especiaUy against our "conquering appetite," which seemed to him scandalous "in a new people with no hereditary predisposition toward war." But here he feU into a common blunder; the United States may be a new nation — although, as a fact, the stars-and-stripes is now older than the tricolor of France, the union-jack of Great Britain, and the standards of those newcomers among the nations, Italy and Germany — the United States may be a new nation, but the people here have had as many ancestors as the popula tion of any other country. The people here, moreover, have "a hereditary predisposition toward war," or at least toward AMERICAN TRAITS 17 adventure, since they are, every man of them, descended from some European more venturesome than his fellows, readier to risk the perils of the western ocean and bolder to front the un known dangers of an unknown land. The warlUie temper, the aggressiveness, the imperiaUstic sentiment — these are in us no new development of unexpected ambition; and they ought not to surprise anyone f amiUar with the way in which our forefathers grasped this Atlantic coast first, then thrust themselves across the AUeghanies, spread abroad to the Mississippi, and reached out at last to the Rockies and to the Pacific. The lust of adven ture may be dangerous, but it is no new thing; it is in our blood, and we must reckon vnth it. Perhaps it is because "the breed and disposition of the people" is "stout and warlike" that our shopkeeping has been successful enough to awaken envious admiration among other races whose energy may have been relaxed of late. After aU, the arts of war and the arts of peace are not so unlike; and in either a triumph can be won only by an imagination strong enough to foresee and to divine what is hidden from the weakUng. We are a trading community, after aU and above all, even if we come of fighting stock. We are a trading community, just as Athens was, and Venice and Florence. And Uke the men of these earUer commonwealths, the men of the United States are try ing to make money. They are striving to make money, not solely to amass riches, but partly because having money is the outward and visible sign of success — because it is the most obvious measure of accompUshment. In his talk with Tolstoi, our French critic revealed an un expected insight when he asserted that the passion of American life was not so much the use of money as a delight in the conquest of it. Many an American man of affairs would admit without hesitation that he would rather make half a miUion doUars than inherit a million. It is the process he enjoys, rather than the result; it is the tough tussle in the open market which gives him the keenest pleasure, and not the idle contemplation of wealth safely stored away. He girds himself for battle and fights for his own hand; he is the son and the grandson of the stalwart adven- i8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS turers who came from the Old World to face the chances of the new. This is why he is unwiUing to retire as men are wont to do in Europe when their fortunes are made. Merely to have money does not greatiy deUght hun — although he would regret not havmg it; but what does deUght him unceasingly is the fun of making it. The money itself often he does not know what to do with; and he can find no more selfish use for it than to give it away. He seems to recognize that his making it was in some measure due to the unconscious assistance of the community as a whole; and he feels it his duty to do something for the people among whom he Uves. It must be noted that the people themselves also expect this from him; they expect him sooner or later to pay his footing. As a result of this pressure of public opinion and of his own lack of interest in money itself, he gives freely. In time he comes to find pleasure in this as weU; and he appUes his business sagacity to his benefactions. Nothing is more characteristic of modern American Ufe than this pouring out of private wealth ' for public service. Nothing remotely resembUng it is to be seen now in any country of the Old World; and not even in Athens in its noblest days was there a larger-handed lavishness of the individual for the benefit of the community. Again, in no country of the Old World is the prestige of wealth less powerful than it is here. This, of course, the foreigner fails to perceive; he does not discover that it is not the man who happens to possess money that we regard with admiration but the man who is making money, and thereby proving his efficiency and indirectiy benefiting the community. To many it may sound Uke an insufferable paradox to assert that nowhere in the civUized world today is money itself of less weight than here in the United States; but the broader his opportunity the more likely is an honest observer to come to this unexpected conclu sion. Fortunes are made in a day almost, and they may fade away in a night; as the Yankee proverb put it pithily, "It's only three generations from shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves." Wealth is likely to lack something of its glamor in a land where weU-being is widely diffused and where a large proportion of AMERICAN TRAITS 19 the population have either had a fortune and lost it or else expect to gain one in the immediate future. Probably also there is no country which now contains more men who do not greatly care for large gains and who have gladly given up money-making for some other occupation they found more profitable for themselves. These are the men like Thoreau — in whose Walden, now haK a century old, we can find an em phatic declaration of aU the latest doctrines of the simple Ufe. We have aU heard of Agassiz, — best of Americans, even though he was born in another repubUc, — ^how he repeUed the proffer of large terms for a series of lectures, with the answer that he had no time to make money. Closely akin was the reply of a famous machinist in response to an inquiry as to what he had been doing, — to the effect that he had accompUshed nothing of late, — "we have just been buUding engines and making money, and I'm about tired of it." There are not a few men today in these toil ing United States who hold with Ben Jonson that "money never made any man rich, — but his mind." But whUe this is true, whUe there are some men among us who care little for money, and while there are many who care chiefly for the making of it, ready to share it when made with their feUow-citizens, candor compels the admission that there are also not a few who are greedy and grasping, selfish and shame less, and who stand forward, conspicuous and unscrupulous, as if to justify to the fuU the aspersions which foreigners cast upon us. Although these men manage for the most part to keep within the letter of the law, their moraUty is that of the wrecker and of the pirate. It is a s3Tnptom of health in the body poUtic that the proposal has been made to inffict social ostracism upon the crim inal rich. We need to stiffen our conscience and to set up a loftier standard of social intercourse, refusing to feUowship with the men who make their money by overriding the law or by undermining it — ^just as we should have declined the friendship of Captain Kidd laden down with stolen treasure. In the immediate future these men wiU be made to feel that they are under the ban of pubUc opinion. One sign of an acuter sensitiveness is the recent outcry against the acceptance of 20 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS "tainted money" for the support of good works. Although it is wise always to give a good deed the credit of a good motive, yet it is impossible sometimes not to suspect that certain large gifts have an aspect of "conscience money." Some of them seem to be the result of a desire to divert pubUc attention from the evil way in which the money was made to the nobler manner in which it is spent. They appear to be the attempt of a social outlaw to buy his peace with the community. Appar ently there are rich men among us, who, having sold their honor for a price, would now gladly give up the half of their fortunes to get it back. Candor compels the admission also that by the side of the criminal rich there exists the less noxious but more offensive class of the idle rich, who lead Uves of wasteful luxury and of empty excitement. When the French reporter who talked with Toktoi called us Americans "avid of pleasure" it was this Uttle group he had in mind, as he may have seen the members of it splurging about in Paris, squandering and seU-advertising. Although these idle rich now exhibit themselves most openly and to least advantage in Paris and in London, their fooUsh doings are recorded superabundantly in our own newspapers; and their demoralizing influence is spread abroad. The snobbish report of their misguided attempts at amusement may even be a source of danger in that it seems to recognize a false standard of social success or in that it may excite a miserable ambition to emulate these pitiful frivolities. But there is no need of delaying longer over the idle rich; they are only a few, and they have doomed themselves to destruction, since it is an inexorable fact that those who break the laws of nature can have no hope of executive clemency. "Patience a little; leam to wait. Years are long on the dock of fate." m The second charge which the wandering Parisian journaUst brought against us was that we ignore the arts and that we despise disinterested beauty. Here again the answer that is AMERICAN TRAITS 21 easiest is not altogether satisfactory. There is no difficulty in declarmg that there are American artists, both painters and sculptors, who have gained the most cordial appreciation in Paris itself, or in drawing attention to the fact that certain of the minor arts — that of the silversmith, for one, and for another, that of the glass-blower and the glass-cutter — ^flourish in the United States at least as freely as they do anywhere else, while the art of designing in stained glass has had a new birth here, which has given it a vigorous vitaUty lacking in Europe since the Middle Ages. It would not be hard to show that our American architects are now undertaking to solve new problems wholly unknown to the builders of Europe, and that they are often succeeding in this grapple with unprecedented difficulty. Nor would it take long to draw up a Ust of the concerted efforts of certain of our cities to make themselves more worthy and more sightly with parks weU planned and with public buildings weU proportioned and appropriately decorated. We might even invoke the memory of the evanescent loveliness of the White City that graced the shores of Lake Michigan a few years ago; and we might draw attention again to the Library of Congress, a later effort of the aUied arts of the architect, the sculptor, and the painter. But however fuU of high hope for the future we may esteem these several instances of our reaching out for beauty, we must admit — if we are honest with ourselves — that they are aU more or less exceptional, and that to offset this Ust of artistic achieve ments the DevU's Advocate could bring forward a damning catalogue of crimes against good taste which would go far to prove that the feeUng for beauty is dead here in America and also the desire for it. The DevU's Advocate would bid us consider the flaring and often vulgar advertisements that disfigure our highways, the barbaric ineptness of many of our pubhc buildings, the squalor of the outskirts of our towns and viUages, the hideousness and horror of the slums in most of our cities, the negUgent toleration of dirt and disorder in our pubUc convey ances, and many another pitiable deficiency of our civiUzation present in the minds of aU of us. 22 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS The sole retort possible is a plea of confession and avoidance, coupled with a promise of reformation. These evils are evident and they cannot be denied. But they are less evident today than they were yesterday; and we may honestly hope that they wiU be less evident tomorrow. The bare fact that they have been observed warrants the beUef that unceasing effort wiU be made to do away with them. Once aroused, pubhc opinion wiU work its wiU in due season. And here occasion serves to deny boldly the justice of a part of the accusation which the French reporter brought against us. It may be true that we "ignore the arts" — although this is an obvious overstatement of the case; but it is not true that we "despise beauty." However ignorant the American people may be as a whole, they are in no sense hostile toward art — as certain other peoples seem to be. On the con- , trary, they welcome it; with aU their ignorance, they are anxious to understand it; they are pathetically eager for it. They are so desirous of it that they want it in a hurry, only too often to find themselves put off witii an empty imitation. But the desire itself is indisputable; and its accompUshment is Ukely to be helped along by the constant commingUng here of peoples from various other stocks than the Anglo-Saxon, since the mixture of races tends always to a swifter artistic development. It is weU to probe deeper into the question and to face the fact that not only in the arts but also in the sciences we are not doing aU that may fairly be expected of us. Athens was a trad ing city as New York is, but New York has had no Sophocles and no Phidias. Florence and Venice were towns whose merchants were princes, but no American city has yet brought forth a Giotto, a Dante, a Titian. It is now nearly threescore years and ten since Emerson deUvered his address on the "American Scholar," which has weU been styled our inteUectual Declara tion of Independence, and in which he expressed the hope that "perhaps the time is already come . . . when the sluggard inteUect of this continent wiU look from under its iron Uds and fulfil the postponed expectation of the world with something better than the exertions of a mechanical skiU." Nearly seventy years ago was this prophecy uttered which stiU echoes unaccompUshed. AMERICAN TRAITS 23 In the nineteenth century, in which we came to maturity as a nation, no one of the chief leaders of art, even including literature in its broadest aspects, and no one of the chief leaders in science, was native to our country. Perhaps we might claim that Webster was one of the world's greatest orators and that Parkman was one of the world's greatest historians; but prob ably the experts outside of the United States would be found unprepared and unwiUing to admit either claim, however likely it may be to win acceptance in the future. Lincoln is indis putably one of the world's greatest statesmen; and his fame is now firmly estabUshed throughout the whole of civilization. But this is aU we can assert; and we cannot deny that we have given birth to very few indeed of the foremost poets, dramatists, noveUsts, painters, sculptors, architects or scientific discoverers of the last hundred years. AUred RusseU WaUace, whose renown is linked with Darwin's and whose competence as a critic of scientific advance is beyond dispute, has declared that the nineteenth century was the most wonderful of aU since the world began. He asserts that the Scientific achievements of the last hundred years, both in the discovery of general principles and in their practical appUcation, exceed in number the sum total of the scientific achievements to be credited to aU the centuries that went before. He considers, first of aU, the practical appUcations, which made the aspect of civilization in 1900 differ ui a thousand ways from what it had been in 1801. He names a dozen of these practical appUcations: railways, steam navigation, the electric telegraph, the telephone, friction-matches, gas-Ughting, electric-Ughting, the phonograph, the Roentgen rays, spectrum analysis, anesthetics, and anti septics. It is with pride that an American can check off not a few of these utiUties as being due whoUy or in large part to the in genuity of one or another of his countrymen. But his pride has a faU when WaUace draws up a second Ust, not of mere inventions but of those fundamental discoveries, of those fecundating theories underljang aU practical appUcations and making them possible, of tiiose principles "which have extended our knowledge or widened our conceptions of the uni- 24 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS verse." Of these he catalogues twelve; and we are pained to find that no American has had an important share in the estabUsh ment of any of these broad generaUzations. He may have added a Uttie here and there, but no single one of aU the twelve dis coveries is mainly to be credited to any American. It seems as if our French critic was not so far out when he asserted that we were "terribly practical." In the appUcation of principles, in the devising of new methods, our share was larger than that of any other nation. In the working out of the stimulating prin ciples themselves, our share was less than "a younger brother's portion." It is only fair to say, however, that even though we may not have brought forth a chief leader of art or of science to adorn the wonderful century, there are other evidences of our practi cal sagacity than those set down by Wallace, evidences more favorable and of better augury for our future. We derived our language and our laws, our pubhc justice and our representative government from our EngUsh ancestors, as we derived from the Dutch our reUgious toleration and perhaps also our large freedom of educational opportunity. In our time we have set an example to others and helped along the progress of the world. President EUot holds that we have made five important contributions to the advancement of civiUzation. First of aU, we have done more than any other people to further peace-keeping and to substitute legal arbitration for the brute conffict of war. Second, we have set a splendid example of the broadest reUgious toleration — even though HoUand had first shown us how. Thirdly, we have made evident the wisdom of universal manhood suffrage. Fourthly, by our welcoming of newcomers from aU parts of the earth, we have proved that men belonging to a great variety of races are fit for poUtical freedom. Finally, we have succeeded in diffusing material weU-being among the whole population to an extent without parallel in any other country in the world. These five American contributions to civiUzation are aU of them the result of the practical side of the American character. They may even seem commonplace as compared with the con- AMERICAN TRAITS 25 quering exploits of some other races. But they are more than merely practical; they are aU essentially moral. As President Eliot insists, they are "triumphs of reason, enterprise, courage, faith and justice over passion, selfishness, inertness, timidity, and distrust. Beneath each of these developments there Ues a strong ethical sentiment, a strenuous moral and social purpose. It is for such work that multitudinous democracies are fit." IV A "strong ethical sentiment," and a "strenuous moral purpose" cannot flourish unless they are deeply rooted to ideal ism. And here we find an adequate answer to the third asser tion of Tolstoi's visitor, who maintained that we are "hostile to aU ideaUsm." Our ideaUsm may be of a practical sort, but it is ideaUsm none the less. Emerson was an ideaUst, although he was also a thrifty Yankee. Lincoln was an ideaUst, even if he was also a practical politician, an opportunist, knowing where he wanted to go, but never crossing a bridge before he came to it. Emerson and Lincoln had ever a firm grip on the facts of Ufe; each of them kept his gaze fixed on the stars — and he also kept his feet firm on the soU. There is a sham ideaUsm, boastful and shabby, which stares at the moon and stumbles in th.e mud, as SheUey and Poe stumbled. But the basis of the highest genius is always a broad common sense. Shakspere and MoUere were held in esteem by their comrades for their understanding of affairs; and they each of them had money out at interest. Sophocles was entrusted with command in battle; and Goethe was the shrewdest of the Grand Duke's counselors. The ideaUsm of Shakspere and of MoUere, of Sophocles and of Goethe, is like that of Emerson and of Lincoln; it is unfaiUngly practical. And thereby it is sharply set apart from the aristocratic idealism of Plato and of Renan, of Ruskin and of Nietzsche, which is founded on obvious self- esteem and which is sustained by arrogant and inexhaustible egotism. True ideaUsm is not only practical, it is also Uberal and tolerant. 26 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Perhaps it might seem to be claiming too much to insist on certain points of similarity between us and the Greeks of old. The points of dissimilarity are only too evident to most of us; and yet there is a Ukeness as weU as an unlikeness. Professor Butcher has recently asserted that "no people was ever less detached from the practical affairs of life" than the Greeks, "less insensible to outward utiUty; yet they regarded prosperity as a means, never as an end. The unquiet spirit of gain did not take possession of their souls. Shrewd traders and merchants, they were yet ideaUsts. They did not lose sight of the higher and distinctively human aims which give life its significance." It wiU be weU for us if this can be said of our civilization two thousand years after its day is done; and it is for us to make sure that "the unquiet spirit of gain" shaU not take possession of our souls. It is for us also to rise to the attitude of the Greeks, among whom, as Professor Butcher points out, "money lavished on personal enjoyment was counted vulgar, oriental, inhuman." There is comfort in the memory of Lincoln and of those whose death on the field of Gettysburg he commemorated. The men who there gave up their Uves that the country might Uve, had answered to the caU of patriotism, which is one of the subUmest images of ideaUsm. There is comfort also in the recollection of Emerson, and in the fact that for many of the middle years of the nineteenth century he was the most popular of lecturers, with an unfading attractiveness to the plain people, perhaps, because, in LoweU's fine phrase, he "kept constantly burning the beacon of an ideal Ufe above the lower region of turmoil." There is comfort again in the knowledge that ideaUsm is one manifesta tion of imagination, and that imagination itself is but an intenser form of energy. That we have energy and to spare, no one denies; and we may reckon him a nearsighted observer who does not see also that we have our fuU share of imagination even though it has not yet expressed itself in the loftiest regions of art and of science. The outiook is hopeful, and it is not true that "We, like sentries are obliged to stand In starless nights and wait the appointed hour." AMERICAN TRAITS 27 The foundations of our commonwealth were laid by the sturdy Elizabethans who bore across the ocean with them their portion of that imagination which in England flamed up in rugged prose and in superb and soaring verse. In two centuries and a half the sons of these stalwart EngUshmen have lost nothing of their abUity to see visions and to dream dreams, and to put soUd foundations under their castles in the air. The flame may seem to die down for a season, but it springs again from the embers most unexpectedly, as it broke forth furiously in 1861. There was imagination at the core of the Uttle war for tiie freeing of Cuba — the very attack on Spain, which the Parisian journaUst cited to Tolstoi as the proof of our predatory aggressiveness. We said that we were going to war for the sake of the iU-used people in the suffering island close to our shores; we said that we would not annex Cuba; we did the fighting that was needful — and we kept our word. It is hard to see how even the most bitter of critics can discover in this anything selfish. There was imagination also in the sudden stopping of all the steam-craft, of all the raikoads, of aU the street-cars, of aU the incessant traffic of the whole nation, at the moment when the body of a murdered chief magistrate was lowered into the grave. This pause in the work of the world was not only touching, it had a large significance to anyone seeking to understand the people of these United States. It was a testimony that the Greeks would have appreciated; it had the bold simpUcity of an Attic inscription. And we would thriU again in sympathetic response if it was in the pages of Plutarch that we read the record of another instance: When the time arrived for Admiral Sampson to surrender the command of the fleet he had brought back to Hampton Roads, he came on deck to meet there only those officers whose prescribed duty required them to take part in the fareweU ceremonies as set forth in the regulations. But when he went over the side of the flagship he found that the boat which was to bear him ashore was manned by the rest of the officers, ready to row him themselves and eager to render this last personal service; and then from every other ship of the fleet there put out a boat, also manned by officers. 28 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS to escort for the last time the commander whom they loved and honored. As another iUustration of our regard for the finer and loftier aspects of Ufe, consider our parks, set apart for the use of the people by the city, the state, and the nation. In the cities of this new country the public playgrounds have had to be made, the most of them, and at high cost — whereas the towns of the Old World have come into possession of theirs for nothing, more often than not inheriting the private recreation-grounds of their rulers. And Europe has Uttie or nothing to show similar either to the reservations of certain states, like the steadily enlarging preserves in the CatskiUs and the Adirondacks, or to the ampler national parks, the Yellowstone, the Yosemite and the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, some of them far larger in area than one at least of the original thirteen states. Overcoming the pressure of private greed, the people have ordained the preservation of this natural beauty and its protection for all time under the safe guardianship of the nation and with free access to aU who may claim admission to enjoy it. In like manner many of the battlefields, whereon the nation spent its blood that it might be what it is and what it hopes to be — these have been taken over by the nation itseU and set apart and kept as holy places of pilgrimage. They are free from the despoiUng hand of any individual owner. They are adorned with monuments recording the brave deeds of the men who fought there. They serve as constant reminders of the duty we owe to our country and of the debt we owe to those who made it and who saved it for us. And the loyal veneration with which these fields of blood have been cherished here in the United States finds no counterpart in any country in Europe, no matter how glorious may be its annals of mUitary prowess. Even Waterloo is in private hands; and its broad acres, enriched by the bones of thousands, are tiUed every year by the industrious Belgian farmers. Yet it was a Frenchman, Renan, who told us that what welds men into a nation, is AMERICAN TRAITS 29 "the memory of great deeds done in common and the will to accompUsh yet more." According to the theory of the conservation of energy, there ought to be about as much virtue in the world at one time as at another. According to the theory of the survival of the fittest, there ought to be a Uttie more now than there was a century ago. We Americans today have our faults, and they are abundant enough and blatant enough, and foreigners take care that we shaU not overlook them; but our ethical standard — however im- perfectiy we may attain to it — is higher than that of the Greeks imder Pericles, of the Romans under Caesar, of the EngUsh under EUzabeth. It is higher even than that of our forefathers who established our freedom, as those know best who have most carefuUy inquired into the inner history of the American Revolution. In nothing was our advance more striking than in the different treatment meted out to the vanquished after the Revolution and after the Civil War. When we made our peace with the British the native Tories were proscribed, and thousands of loyalists left the United States to carry into Canada the indurated hatred of the exiled. But after Lee's surrender at Appomattox, no body of men, no single man indeed, was driven forth to Uve an alien for the rest of his days; even though a few might choose to go, none were compelled. This change of conduct on the part of those who were victors in the struggle was evidence of an increasing sympathy. Not only is sectionaUsm disappearing, but with it is departing the feeling that reaUy underUes it — the distrust of those who dweU elsewhere than where we do. This distrust is common aU over Europe today. Here in America it has yielded to a friendly neighborUness which makes the family from Portland, Mame, soon find itself at home in Portland, Oregon. It is gettmg hard for us to hate anybody — especiaUy since we have disestabUshed the devil. We are good-natured and easy-going. Herbert Spencer even denounced this as our immediate danger, maintaining that we were too good-natured, too easy-going, too tolerant of evU; and he insisted that we needed to strengthen our wUls to protest 30 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS against wrong, to wrestle with it resolutely, and to overcome it before it is firmly rooted. VI We are kindly and we are helpful; and we are fixed in the beUef that somehow everything wiU work out aU right in the long run. But nothing wiU work out aU right unless we so make it work; and excessive optimism may be as corrupting to the fiber of the people as "the Sabbathless pursuit of fortune," as Bacon termed it. 'When Mr. John Morley was last in this country he seized swiftiy upon a chance aUusion of mine to this ingrained hopefulness of ours. "Ah, what you caU optimism," he cried, "I caU fataUsm." But an optimism which is soUdly based on a survey of the facts cannot fairly be termed fataUsm; and another British student of poUtical science, Mr. James Bryce, has recentiy pointed out that the inteUigent native American has — and by experience is justified in having — a firm conviction that the majority of qualified voters are pretty sure to be right. Then he suggested a reason for the faith that is in us, when he declared that no such feeUng exists in Europe, since in Germany the governing class dreads the spread of sociaUsm, in France the repubUcans know that it is not impossible that Monarchism and Clericalism may succeed in upsetting the repubUc, while in Great Britain each party beUeves that the other party, when it suc ceeds, succeeds by misleading the people, and neither party supposes that the majority are any more Ukely to be right than to be wrong. Mr. Morley and Mr. Bryce were both here in the United States in the faU of 1904, when we were in the midst of a presi dential election, one of those prolonged national debates, creat ing incessant commotion, but invaluable agents of our poUtical education, in so far as they force us aU to take thought about the underlying principles of poUcy by which we wish to see the government guided. It was while this poUtical campaign was at its height that the French visitor to the Russian noveUst was setting his notes in order and copying out his assertion that we Americans were mere money-grubbers, "systematically hostile AMERICAN TRAITS 31 to aU ideaUsm." If this unthinking Parisian journaUst had only taken the trouble to consider the addresses which the chief speakers of the two parties here m the United States were then making to their feUow-citizens in the hope of winning votes, he would have discovered that these practical poUticians, trained to perceive the subtler shades of popular feeUng, were founding aU theh arguments on the assumption that the American people as a whole wanted to do right. He would have seen that the appeal of these stalwart partisans was rarely to prejudice or to race hatred — evil spirits that various orators have sought to arouse and to intensify in the more recent poUtical discussions of the French themselves. An examination of the platforms, of the letters of the candi dates, and of the speeches of the more important leaders on both sides revealed to an American observer tiie sigmficant fact that "each party tried to demonstrate that it was more peaceable, more equitable, more sincerely devoted to lawful and righteous behavior than the other;" and "the voter was instinctively credited with loving peace and righteousness, and with being stirred by sentiments of good-wUl toward men." This seems to show that the heart of the people is sound, and that it does not throb in response to ignoble appeals. It seems to show that there is here the desire ever to do right and to see right done, even if the wiU is weakened a Uttle by easy-going good-nature, and even if the wiU fails at times to stiffen itself resolutely to make sure that the right shall prevaU. "Liberty hath a sharp and double edge fit only to be handled by just and virtuous men," so Milton asserted long ago, adding that "to the bad and dissolute, it becomes a mischief unwieldy in their own hands." Even if we Americans can clear ourselves of being "bad and dissolute," we have much to do before we may claim to be "just and virtuous," Justice and virtue are not to be had for the asking; they are the rewards of a manful contest with seffishness and with sloth. They are the results of an honest effort to think straight, and to apply eternal principles to pres ent needs. Merely to feel is only the beginning; what remains is to think and to act. 32 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS A British historian, Mr. Frederic Harrison, who came here to spy out the land three or four years before Mr. Morley and Mr. Bryce last visited us, was struck by the fact — and by the many consequences of the fact — that "America is the only land on earth where caste has never had a footing, nor has left a trace." It seemed to him that "vast numbers and the passion of equaUty tend to low averages in thought, in manners, and in pubUc opinion, which the zeal of the devoted minority tends graduaUy to raise to higher planes of thought and conduct." He beUeved that we should solve our problems one by one because "the zeal for learning, justice and humanity" lies deep in the American heart. Mr. Harrison did not say it in so many words, but it is impUed in what he did say, that the absence of caste and the presence of low averages in thought, in manners, and in public opinion, impose a heavier task on the devoted minority, whose duty it is to keep alive the zeal for learning, justice and humanity. ¦Which of us, if haply the spirit moves him, may not elect himself to this devoted minority? Why should not we also, each in our own way, without pretence, without boastfulness, without buUying, do whatsoever in us Ues for the attainment of justice and of virtue? It is weU to be a gentleman and a scholar; but after aU it is best to be a man, ready to do a man's work in the world. And indeed there is no reason why a gentleman and a scholar should not also be a man. He wiU need to cherish what Huxley caUed "that enthusiasm for truth, that fanaticism for veracity, which is a greater possession than much learning, a nobler gift than the power of increasing knowledge." He wUl need also to remember that "Kings have their dynasties — ^but not the mind; Caesar leaves other Csesars to succeed. But Wisdom, dying, leaves no heir behind." AMERICAN TRAITS 33 EFFECTS OF THE FRONTIER UPON AMERICAN CHARACTERi Frederick Jackson Turner [Frederick Jackson Turner (1861 ) was bom at Portage, Wisconsin. After his graduation from the University of Wisconsin in 1884, he pursued historical studies at Johns Hopkins University. Afterward he was appointed professor of American history in the University of Wisconsin, and since 1910 he has held a professorship of history at Harvard. He is regarded as one of the foremost authorities on phases of western history. This article on the effects of the habits of pioneer days on American life and character is an excellent example of the interesting and thorough way in which the writer discusses matters connected with western America.] Behind institutions, behind constitutional forms and modi fications, lie the vital forces that call these organs into Ufe and shape them to meet changing conditions. The pecuUarity of American institutions is the fact tiiat they have been compeUed to adapt themselves to the changes of an expanding people — to the changes involved in crossing a continent, in winning a wilderness, and in developing at each area of this progress out of the primitive economic and poUtical conditions of the fron tier into the complexity of city Ufe. Said Calhoun in 1817, "We are great, and rapidly — I was about to say fearfuUy— growing !" So saying, he touched the distinguishing feature of American Ufe. AU people show development; the germ theory of poUtics has been sufficientiy emphasized. In the case of most nations, how ever, the development has occurred in a limited area; and if the nation has expanded, it has met other growing peoples whom it has conquered. But in the case of the United States we have a different phenomenon. Limiting our attention to the Atlantic coast, we have the famiUar phenomenon of the evolution of institutions in a Umited area, such as the rise of representative government; the differentiation of simple colonial governments into complex organs; the progress from primitive industrial society, without division of labor, up to manufacturing civiU- iProm "The Significance of the Frontier in American History" in the Fifth Year- boot of the Nationat Herbart Society. Reprinted by permission. 34 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS zation. But we have in addition to this a recurrence of the pro cess of evolution in each western area reached in the process of expansion. Thus, American development has exhibited not merely advance along a single Une, but a return to primitive conditions on a continuaUy advancing frontier Une, and a new development for that area. American social development has been continuaUy beginning over again on the frontier. This perennial rebirth, this fluidity of American Ufe, this expansion westward with its new opportunities, its continuous touch with the simpUcity of primitive society, furnish the forces dominating American character. The true point of view in the history of this nation is not the Atian tic coast: it is the great West. Even the slavery struggle, which is made so exclusive an object of attention by some historians, occupies its important place in American history because of its relation to westward expansion. In this advance, the frontier is the outer edge of the wave — the meeting-point between savagery and civiUzation. Much has been written about the frontier from the point of view of border warfare and the chase, but as a field for the serious study of the economist and the historian it has been neglected. The American frontier is sharply distinguished from the European frontier — ^a fortified boundary-Une running through dense populations. The most significant thing about the Ameri can frontier is that it Ues at the hither edge of free land. In the census reports it is treated as the margin of that settiement which has a density of two or more to the square mile. The term is an elastic one, and for our purposes does not need sharp defini tion. We shaU consider the whole frontier belt, including the Indian country and the outer margin of the "settled area" of the census reports. This paper will make no attempt to treat the subject exhaustively; its aim is simply to caU attention to the frontier as a fertile field for investigation, and to suggest some of the problems which arise in connection with it. In the settiement of America we have to observe how Euro pean Ufe entered the continent, and how America modified and developed that Ufe and reacted on Europe. Our early history is AMERICAN TRAITS 35 the history of European germs developing in an American en vironment. Too exclusive attention has been paid by institu tional students to the Germanic origins, too Uttle to the American factors. The frontier is the Une of most rapid and effective Americanization. The wUderness masters the colonist. It finds him a European in dress, industries, tools, modes of travel, and thought. It takes him from the railroad car and puts him in the birch canoe. It strips off the garments of civiUzation and arrays him in the hunting-shirt and moccasin. It puts him in the log- cabin of the Cherokee and Iroquois and runs an Indian paUsade around him. Before long he has gone to planting Indian corn and plowing with a sharp stick; he shouts tiie war-cry and takes the scalp in orthodox Indian fashion. In short, at the frontier the environment is at first too strong for the man. He must accept the conditions which it furnishes, or perish, and so he fits himself into the Indian clearings and follows the Indian trails. Little by Uttie he transforms the wilderness, but the out come is not the old Europe, not simply the development of Germanic germs, any more than the first phenomenon was a case of reversion to the Germanic mark. The fact is, that here is a new product that is American. At first, the frontier was the Atlantic coast. It was the frontier of Europe in a very real sense. Moving westward, the frontier became more and more American. As successive terminal moraines result from successive glacia- tions, so each frontier leaves its traces behind it, and when it becomes a settied area the region stiU partakes of the frontier characteristics. Thus the advance of the frontier has meant a steady movement away from the influence of Europe, a steady growth of independence on American Unes. And to study this advance, the men who grew up under these conditions, and the political, economic, and social results of it, is to study the pecu liarly American part of our history. Let us then grasp the conception of American society steadily expanding into new areas. How important it becomes to watch the stages, the processes, and the results of this advance! The conception wiU be found to revolutionize our study of American history. . . . 36 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS We next inquire what were the influences on the East and on the Old World. A rapid enumeration of some of the more noteworthy effects is aU that I have space for. Composite Nationality First, we note that the frontier promoted the formation of a composite nationality for the American people. The coast was preponderantly English, but the later tides of continental im migration flowed across to the free lands. This was the case from the early colonial days. The Scotch-Irish and the Pala tine-Germans, or "Pennsylvania Dutch," furnished the dom inant element in the stock of the colonial frontier. With these peoples were also the freed indented servants, or redemptioners, who, at the expiration of their time of service, passed to the frontier. Governor Spotswood, of Virginia, writes, in 171 7, "The inhabitants of our frontiers are composed generaUy of such as have been transported hither as servants, and, being out of their time, settie themselves where land is to be taken up and that wiU produce the necessary s of life with Uttle labour." Very generally these redemptioners were of non-EngUsh stock. In the crucible of the frontier the immigrants were Americanized, Uberated, and fused into a mixed race, EngUsh in neither nation ality nor characteristics. The process has gone on from the early days to our own. Burke and other writers in the middle of the eighteenth century beUeved that Pennsylvania was "threatened with the danger of being wholly foreign in language, manners, and perhaps even incUnations." The German and Scotch-Irish elements in the frontier of the South were only less great. In the middle of the present century the German element in Wis consin was already so considerable that leading publicists looked to the creation of a German state out of the commonwealth by concentrating their colonization. By the census of 1890 Soutii Dakota had a percentage of persons of foreign parentage to total population of sixty; Wisconsin, seventy- three; Minnesota, seventy-five; and North Dakota, seventy-nine. Such examples teach us to beware of misinterpreting the fact that there is a AMERICAN TRAITS 37 common EngUsh speech in America mto a beUef that the stock is also EngUsh. Industrial Independence In another way the advance of the frontier decreased our dependence on England. The coast, particularly of the South, lacked diversified industries, and was dependent on England for the buUc of its suppUes. In the South there was even a depend ence on the northern colonies for articles of food. Governor Glenn, of South CaroUna, writes in the middle of the eighteenth century: "Our trade with New York and Philadelphia was of this sort, draining us of all the Uttle money and bills we could gather from' other places for their bread, flour, beer, hams, bacon, and other things of their produce, all which, except beer, our new townships began to supply us with, which are settied with very industrious and thriving Germans. This no doubt diminishes the number of shipping and the appearance of our trade, but it is far from being a detriment to us." Before long the frontier created a demand for merchants. As it retreated from the coast it became less and less possible for England to bring her suppUes directly to the consumers' wharves and carry away staple crops, and staple crops began to give way to diver- sffied agriculture for a time. The effect of this phase of the fron tier action upon the northern section is perceived when we realize how the advance of the frontier aroused seaboard cities like Boston, New York, and Baltimore to engage in rivalry for what Washington caUed "the extensive and valuable trade of a rising empire." Effects on National Legislation The legislation which most developed the powers of the national government, and played the largest part in its activity, was conditioned on the frontier. Writers have discussed the subjects of tariff, land, and internal improvement as subsidiary to the slavery question. But when American history comes to be rightiy viewed it wiU be seen that the slavery question is an incident. In the period from the end of the first half of the pres- 38 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ent century to the close of the CivU War slavery rose to primary, but far from exclusive, importance. But this does not justify Dr. von Hoist (to take an example) in treating our constitutional history in its formative period down to 1828 in a single volume, giving sis volumes chiefly to the history of slavery from 1828 to 1861, under the title Constitutional History of the United States, The growth of nationaUsm and the evolution of American poUtical institutions were dependent on the advance of the frontier. Even so recent a writer as Rhodes, in his history of the United States since the Compromise of 1850, has treated the legislation caUed out by the western advance as incidental to the slavery struggle. This is a wrong perspective. The pioneer needed the goods of the coast, and so the grand series of internal improvement and raUroad legislation began, with potent nationaUzing effects. Over internal improvements occurred great debates, in which grave constitutional questions were discussed. Sectional group ings appear in the votes, profoundly significant for the historian. Loose construction increased as the nation marched westward. But the West was not content with bringing the farm to the factory. Under the lead of Clay — "Harry of the West" — ^pro tective tariffs were passed, with the cry of bringing the factory to the farm. The disposition of the pubhc lands was a third important subject of national legislation influenced by the frontier. Effects on Institutions It is hardly necessary to do more than mention the fact that the West was a field in which new poUtical institutions were to be created. It offered a wide opportunity for speculative crea tion and for adjustment of old institutions to new conditions. The study of the evolution of western institutions shows how sUght was the proportion of actual theoretic invention of insti tutions; but there is abundance of opportunity for study of the sources of the institutions actually chosen, the causes of the selection, the degree of transformation by the new conditions, and the new institutions actuaUy produced by the new environment. AMERICAN TRAITS 39 The Public Domain The public domain has been a force of profound importance in the nationalization and development of the government. The effects of the struggle of the landed and the landless states, and of the ordinance of 1787, need no discussion. Administra tively the frontier called out some of the highest and most vital izing activities of the general government. The purchase of Louisiana was perhaps the constitutional turning point in the history of the repubUc, inasmuch as it afforded both a new area for national legislation and the occasion of the downfaU of the policy of strict construction. But the purchase of Louisiana was caUed out by frontier needs and demands. As frontier states accrued to the Union the national power grew. In a speech on the dedication of the Calhoun monument, Mr. Lamar explained, "In 1789 the states were the creators of the federal govemment; in 1861 the federal government was the creator of a large major ity of the states." ¦When we consider the pubUc domain from the point of view of the sale and disposal of the public lands, we are again brought face to face with the frontier. The poUcy of the United States in deaUng with its lands is in sharp contrast with the European system of scientific administration. Efforts to make this domain a source of revenue, and to withhold it from emigrants in order that settiement might be compact, were in vain. The jealousy and the fears of the East were powerless in the face of the de mands of the frontiersmen. John Quincy Adams was obUged to confess: "My own system of administration, which was to make the national domain the inexhaustible fund for progressive and unceasing internal improvement, has faUed." The reason is obvious: a system of administration was not what the West demanded; it wanted land. Adams states the situation as fol lows: "The slave-holders of the South have bought the co operation of the western country by the bribe of the western lands, abandoning to the new western states their own propor tion of the public property and aiding them in the design of grasping aU the lands into their own hands. Thomas H. Benton 40 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS was the author of this system, which he brought forward as a substitute for the American system of Mr. Clay, and to supplant him as the leading statesman of the West. Mr. Clay, by his tariff compromise with Mr. Calhoun, abandoned his own Ameri can system. At the same time he brought forward a plan for distributing among aU the states of the Union the proceeds of the sales of the pubhc lands. His biU for that purpose passed both houses of Congress, but was vetoed by President Jackson, who, in his annual message of December, 1832, formaUy recommended that aU public lands should be gratuitously given away to indi vidual adventurers and to the states in which the lands are situated. "No subject," said Henry Clay, "which has presented itself to the present, or perhaps any preceding. Congress, is of greater magnitude than that of the pubUc lands." When we consider the far-reaching effects of the government's land poUcy upon political, economic, and social aspects of American life, we are disposed to agree with him. But this legislation was framed under frontier influences, and under the lead of western states men like Benton and Jackson. Said Senator Scott, of Indiana, in 1 841: "I consider the preemption law merely declaratory of the custom or common law of the settlers." • National Tendencies of the Frontier It is safe to say that the legislation with regard to land, tariff, and internal improvements — the American system of the nation aUzing Whig party — was conditioned on frontier ideas and needs. But it was not merely in legislative action that the frontier worked against the sectionaUsm of the coast. The economic and social characteristics of the frontier worked against sectionaUsm. The men of the frontier had closer resemblances to the middle region than to either of the other sections. Pennsylvania had been the seed plot of southern frontier emigration, and although she passed on her settlers along the Great VaUey into the west of Virginia and the CaroUnas, yet the industrial society of these southern frontiersmen was always more Uke that of the middle AMERICAN TRAITS 41 re^on than Uke that of the tidewater portion of the South, which later came to spread its industrial type throughout the Soutii. The middle region, entered by New York harbor, was an open door to aU Europe. The tidewater part of the South represented typical EngUshmen, modified by a warm climate and servUe labor, and living in baronial fashion on great plantations; New England stood for a special EngUsh movement — ^Puritanism. The middle region was less EngUsh than the other sections. It had a wide mixture of nationaUties, a varied society, the mixed town and county system of local government, a varied economic Ufe, many reUgious sects. In short, it was a region mediating between New England and the South, and the East and the West. It represented the composite nationaUty which the con temporary United States exhibits, that juxtaposition of non- EngUsh groups, occupying a vaUey or a Uttie settlement, and presenting reflections of the map of Europe in their variety. It was democratic and non-sectional, if not national; "easy, toler ant, and contented;" rooted strongly in material prosperity. It was t}^ical of the modern United States. It was least sec tional, not only because it lay between North and South, but also because with no barriers to shut out its frontiers from its settled region, and with a system of connecting w^erways, the middle region mediated between East and West as well as be tween North and South. Thus it became the typicaUy Ameri can region. Even the New Englander, who was shut out from the frontier by the middle region, tarrying in New York or Pennsylvania on his westward march, lost the acuteness of his sectionalism on the way. Moreover, it must be recaUed that the western and central New England settier who furnished the western movement was not the typical tidewater New Englander: he was less conserva tive and contented, more democratic and restless. The spread of cotton culture into the interior of the South finaUy broke down the contrast between the tidewater region and the rest of the South, and based southern interests on slavery. Before this process revealed its results, the western portion of 42 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the South, which was akin to Pennsylvania in stock, society, and industry, showed tendencies to faU away from the faith of the fathers into internal improvement legislation and national ism. In the Virginia convention of 1829-30, caUed to revise the constitution, Mr. Leigh, of Chesterfield, one of the tidewater counties, declared: "One of the main causes of discontent which led to this convention, that which had the strongest influence in overcoming our veneration for the work of our fathers, which taught us to contemn the sentiments of Henry and Mason and Pendleton, which weaned us from our reverence for the consti tuted authorities of the state, was an overweening passion for internal im provement. I say this with perfect knowledge, for it has been avowed to me by gentlemen from the West over and over again. And let me tell the gentleman from Albemarle (Mr. Gordon) that it has been another principal object of those who set this ball of revolution in motion, to overturn the doctrine of state rights, of which Virginia has been the very pillar, and to remove the barrier she has interposed to the interference of the federal gov emment in that same work of internal improvement, by so reorganizing the legislature that Virginia, too, may be hitdied to the federal car." It was this nationaUzing tendency of the West that trans formed the democracy of Jefferson into the national repubUcan- ism of Monroe and the democracy of Andrew Jackson. The West of the War of 1812, the West of Clay and Benton and Har rison and Andrew Jackson, shut off by the Middle States and the mountains from the coast sections, had a solidarity of its own with national tendencies. On the tide of the Father of Waters, North and South met and mingled into a nation. Interstate migration went steadily on — a process of cross-ferti- Uzation of ideas and institutions. The fierce struggle of the sec tions over slavery on the western frontier does not diminish the truth of this statement; it proves the truth of it. Slavery was a sectional trait that would not down, but in the West it could not remain sectional. It was the greatest of frontiersmen who declared: "I believe this government cannot endure perma nently haU slave and half free. It wUl become aU of one thing or all of the other." Nothing works for nationaUsm Uke intercourse within the nation. Mobility of population is death to locaUsm, and the western frontier worked irresistibly in unsettUng popu- AMERICAN TRAITS 43 lation. The effects reached back from the frontier, and affected profoundly the Atiantic coast and even the Old World. Growth of Democracy But the most important effect of the frontier has been in the promotion of democracy here and in Europe. As has been indicated, the frontier is productive of individuaUsm. Complex society is precipitated by the wilderness into a kind of primi tive organization based on the family. The tendency is anti social. It produces antipathy to control, and particularly to any direct control. The taxgatherer is viewed as a representative of oppression. Professor Osgood, in an able article,^ has pointed out that the frontier conditions prevalent in the colonies are important factors in the explanation of the American Revolution, where individual hberty was sometimes confused with absence of aU effective government. The same conditions aid in ex plaining the difficulty of instituting a strong government in the period of the Confederacy. The frontier individuaUsm has from the beginning promoted democracy. The frontier states that came into the Union in the first quarter of a century of its existence came in with democratic suffrage provisions, and had reactive effects of the highest im portance upon the older states whose peoples were being attracted there. An extension of the franchise became essential. It was western New York that forced an extension of suffrage in the constitutional convention of that state ini82i ; and it was western Virginia that compeUed the tidewater region to put a more Uberal suffrage provision in the constitution framed in 1830, and to give to the frontier region a more nearly proportionate representation with the tidewater aristocracy. The rise of democracy as an effective force in the nation came in with west ern preponderance under Jackson and WiUiam Henry Harrison, and it meant the triumph of the frontier — ^with aU of its good and with aU of its evU element. An interesting iUustration of ^Political Science Quarterly, vol. ii, p. 457; Sumner, Alexander Bamilton, chaps. ii-vii; Turner, in Atlantic Monthly, January, 1903. [Turner's note.] 44. NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the tone of frontier democracy in 1830 comes from the same debates in the Virginia convention aheady referred to. A repre sentative from western Virginia declared: "But, sir, it is not the increase of population in the West which this gentleman ought to fear. It is the energy which the mountain breeze and western habits impart to those emigrants. They are regenerated, poUtically I mean, sir. They soon become working politicians; and the difference, sir, between a talking and a working politician is immense. The Old Dominion has long been celebrated for producing great orators; the ablest metaphysi cians ia poUcy; men that can split hairs in all abstruse questions of political economy. But at home, or when they retum from Congress, they have negroes to fan them asleep. But a Pennsylvania, a New York, an Ohio, or a western Virginia statesman, though far inferior in logic, metaphysics, and rhetoric to an old Virginia statesman, has this advantage, that when he returns home he takes off his coat and takes hold of the plow. This gives him bone and muscle, sir, and preserves his republican principles pure and uncontaminated." So long as free land exists, the opportunity for a competency exists, and economic power secures poUtical power. But the democracy born of free land, strong in selfishness and individual ism, intolerant of administrative experience and education, and pressing individual hberty beyond its proper bounds, has its dangers as well as its benefits. IndividuaUsm in America has aUowed a laxity in regard to governmental affairs which has rendered possible the spoUs system and aU the manifest evils that follow from the lack of a highly developed civic spirit. In this connection may be noted also the influence of frontier con ditions in permitting inflated paper currency and wild-cat bank ing. The colonial and revolutionary frontier was the region whence emanated many of the worst forms of paper currency.* The West in the War of 181 2 repeated the phenomenon on the frontier of that day, while the speculation and wUd-cat banking of the period of the crisis of 1837 occurred on the new frontier belt of the next tier of states. Thus each one of the periods of paper-money projects coincides with periods when a new set of frontier communities had arisen, and coincides in area with lOn the relation of frontier conditions to Revolutionary taxation, see Sumner, Alexander Hamilton, chap. iii. [Turner's note.] AMERICAN TRAITS 45 these successive frontiers, for the most part. The recent radical PopuUst agitation is a case in point. Many a state that now decUnes any connection with the tenets of the PopuUsts itself adhered to such ideas in an earlier stage of the development of the state. A primitive society can hardly be expected to show the appreciation of the complexity of business interests in a developed society. The continual recurrence of these areas of paper-money agitation is another evidence that the frontier can be isolated and studied as a factor in American history of the highest importance. . . . « Intellectual Traits From the conditions of frontier Ufe came inteUectual traits of profound importance. The works of travelers along each frontier from colonial days onward describe certain common traits, and these traits have, while softening down, stiU per sisted as survivals in the place of their origin, even when a higher social organization succeeded. The result is that to the frontier the American inteUect owes its striking characteristics. That coarseness and strength combined with acuteness and inquisitiveness; that practical, inventive turn of mind, quick to find expedients; that masterful grasp of material things, lack ing in the artistic, but powerful to effect great ends; that rest less, nervous energy;* that dominant individualism, working for goo'd and for evil, and, withal, that buoyancy and exuber ance which come with freedom — these are traits of the frontier, or traits caUed out elsewhere because of the existence of the frontier. We are not easily aware of the deep influence of this individuaUstic way of thinking upon our present conditions. It persists in the midst of a society that has passed away from the conditions that occasioned it. It makes it difficult to secure social regulation of business enterprises that are essentiaUy ^Colonial travelers agree in remarking on the phlegmatic characteristics of the colonists. It has frequently been asked how such a people could have developed that strained nervous energy now characteristic of them. Cf. Sumner, Alexander Hamilton, p. 98, and Adams, History of the United States, vol. i, p. 60; vol. ix, pp. 240, 241. The transition appears to become marked at the close of the War of 1812, a period when interest centered upon the development of the West, and the West was noted for rest less energy. — GrunH, Americans, vol. ii, p. i. (Turner's note.] 46 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS pubUc; it is a stumbUng-block in the way of civil-service reform; it permeates our doctrines of education;* but with the passing of the free lands a vast extension of the social tendency may be expected in America. Ratzel, the weU-known geographer, has pointed out the fact that for centuries the great unoccupied area of America fur nished to the American spirit something of its own largeness. It has given a largeness of design and an optimism to American thought.^ Since the days when the fleet of Columbus saUed uito the waters of the New World, America has been another name for opportunity, and the people of the United States have taken their tone from the incessant expansion which has not only been open, but has even been forced upon them. He would be a rash prophet who should assert that the expansive character of Ameri can Ufe has now entirely ceased. Movement has been its domi nant fact, and, unless this training has no effect upon a people, the American energy wiU continually demand a wider field for its exercise.' But never again wiU such gifts of free land offer them selves. For a moment, at the frontier, the bonds of custom are broken and unrestraint is triumphant. There is not tabula rasa. The stubborn American environment is there with its imperious summons to accept its conditions; the inherited ways of doing things are also there; and yet, in spite of environment, and in spite of custom, each frontier did indeed furnish a new field of opportunity, a gate of escape from the bondage of the past; and freshness, and confidence, and scorn of older society, impatience of its restraints and its ideas, and indifference to its lessons have accompanied the frontier. 'What the Mediterranean Sea was to the Greeks, breaking the bond of custom, offering new experi ences, calUng out new institutions and activities, that, and more, the ever-retreating frontier has been to the United States directly, and to the nations of Europe more remotely. And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end _ iSee the able paper by Professor de Garno on "Social Aspects of Moral Education," in the Third Yearbook of the National Herbart Society, 1897, p. 37. [Turner's note.] 2See paper on "The West as a Field for Historical Study," in Sefort of American Historical Association for 1896, pp. 279-319. [Turner's note.] aThe commentary upon this sentence — written in 1893 — lies in the recent history of Hawau, Cuba, Porto Rico, the Philippines, and the Isthmian Canal. [Turner's note.] AMERICAN TRAITS 47 of a hundred years of Ufe under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of Ameri can history. THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMMIGRANT ON AMERICA* Walter Edward Weyl [Walter Edward Weyl (1873 ) was bom in Philadelphia, Pennsyl vania. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania in 1892, he made a special study of poUtical economy at Halle, Berlin, and Paris. He has written much on economic subjects and is a statistical expert on com merce and labor.] We must not forget that these men and women who file through the narrow gates at EUis Island, hopeful, confused, with bundles of misconceptions as heavy as the great sacks upon their backs — ^we must not forget that these simple, rough- handed people are the ancestors of our descendants, the fathers and mothers of our children. So it has been from the beginning. For a century a sweUing human stream has poured across the ocean, fleeing from poverty in Europe to a chance in America. EngUshman, Welshman, Scotchman, Irishman; German, Swede, Norwegian, Dane; Jew, ItaUan, Bohemian, Serb; Syrian, Hungarian, Pole, Greek — one race after another has knocked at our doors, been given admittance, has married us and begot our children. We could not have told by looking at them whether they were to be good or bad progenitors, for raciaUy the cabin is not above the steer age, and dirt, like poverty and ignorance, is but skin-deep. A few hours, and the stain of travel has left the immigrant's cheek; a few years, and he loses the odor of aUen soils; a genera tion or two, and these outlanders are irrevocably our race, our nation, our stock. That stock, a Uttie over a century ago, was almost pure British. True, Albany was Dutch, and many of the signs in the Philadelphia streets were in the German language. Neverthe- iFrom "New Americans," Harper's Monthly Magazine, vol. cxxix, p. 6is (1914). 48 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS less, five-sixths of aU the family names coUected in 1790 by the census authorities were pure EngUsh, and over nine-tenths (90.2 per cent.) were British. Despite the presence of Germans, Dutch, French, and Negroes, the American was essentiaUy an EngUshman once removed, an EngUshman stuffed with English traditions, prejudices, and stubbornnesses, reading EngUsh books, speaking EngUsh dialects, practising EngUsh law and- EngUsh evasions of the law, and hating England with a truly EngUsh hatred. In aU but a poUtical sense America was stiU one of "His Majesty's dominions beyond the sea." Even after immigration poured in upon us, the EngUsh stock was strong enough to impress upon the immigrating races its language, laws, and customs. Nevertheless, the incoming miUions pro foundly altered our racial structure. Today over thirty-two miUion Americans are either foreign-born or of foreign parentage. No longer an Anglo-Saxon cousin, America has become the most composite of nations. We cannot help seeing that such a vast transfusion of blood must powerf uUy affect the character of the American. What that influence is to be, however, whether for better or for worse, is a question more baffling. Our optimists conceive the future Ameri can, the child of this infinite intermarrying, as a glorified, syn thetical person, replete with the best qualities of aU component races. He is to combine the sturdiness of the Bulgarian peasant, the poetry of the Pole, the vivid artistic perceptions of the Ital ian, the Jew's intensity, the German's thoroughness, the Irish man's verve, the tenacity of the EngUshman, with the initiative and versatility of the American. The pessimist, on the other hand, fears the worst. America, he beUeves, is committing the un pardonable sin, is contracting a mesalliance, grotesque and gigantic. We are diluting our blood with the blood of lesser breeds. We are suffering adulteration. The stamp upon the coin — the flag, the language, the national sense — ^remains, but the sUver is replaced by lead. AU of which is singularly unconvincing. In our own famiUes, the chUdren do not always inherit the best quaUties of father and mother, and we have no assurance that the chUdren of AMERICAN TRAITS 49 mixed races have this selective gift and rise superior to their parent stocks. Nor do we know that they faU below. We hear much concerning "pure" races and "mongrel" races. But is there in aU the world a pure race? The Jew, once supposed to be of Levitical pureness, is now known to be raciaUy unorthodox. The EngUshman is not pure Anglo-Saxon; the German is not Teutonic; the Russian is not Slav. To be mongrel may be a virtue or a vice — we do not know. The problem is too subtle, too elusive, and we have no approved receipts in this vast eugenic kitchen. Intermarrying wiU go on, whether we like it or loathe it, for love laughs at racial barriers, and the maidens of one nation look fair to the youth of another. Let the kettle boil and let us hope for the best. But the newcomer brings with him more than his potential parenthood, and he influences America and the American in other ways than by marriage and procreation. He creates new problems of adjustment. He enters into a new environment. He creates a new environment for us. Unconsciously but irre sistibly he transforms an America which he does not know. He forces the native American to change, to change that he may feel at home in his own home. When we seek to discover what is the exact influence of the immigrant upon his new environment, we are met with difficul ties almost as insurmountable as those which enter into the problem of the immigrant's influence upon our common heredity. Social phenomena are difficult to isolate. The immigrant is not merely an immigrant; he is also a wage-earner, a city-dweller, perhaps an iUiterate. Wage-earning, city-dweUing, and UUter- acy are all contributing influences. Your immigrant is a citizen of the new factory, of the great industrial state, within, yet almost overshadowing, the political state. Into each of our problems — wages and labor, ilUteracy, crime, vice, insanity, pauperism, democracy — the immigrant enters. There is in aU the world no more difficult, no more utterly bewUdering problem than this of the intermingUng of races. Aheady thirty mUUon immigrants have arrived, of whom con siderably over twenty miUions have remained. To interpret so NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS this pouring of new, strange milUons into the old, to trace its result upon the manners, the morals, the emotional and intel lectual reactions of the Americans, is like searching out the yel low waters of the Missouri in the vast flood of the lower Missis sippi. Our immigrating races are many, and they meet diverse kinds of native Americans on varying planes and at innumerable contact points. So complex is the resulting pattern, so multitu dinous are the threads interwoven into so many perplexing com binations, that we struggle in vain to unweave this weaving. At best we can merely foUow a single color, noting its appear ance here and its reappearance there, in this vast and many- hued tapestry which we caU American life. Fortunately we are not compeUed to embark upon so ambi tious a study. We are here concerned, not with the aU-inclusive question, "Is immigration good or bad?" but with the problem of how immigration has contributed to certain broad develop ments in the character and habits of the American, and even to this question we must be content with a half-answer. When we compare the America of today with the America of half a century ago, certain differences stand out sharply. America today is far richer. It is also more stratified. Our social gamut has been widened. There are more vivid contrasts, more startUng differences, in education and in the general chances of Ufe. We are less rural and more urban, losing the virtues and the vices, the exceUences and the stupidities, of country Ufe and gaining those of the city. We are massing in our cities armies of the poor to take the place of country ne'er-do-weUs and viUage hangers-on. We are more sophisticated. We are more lax and less narrow. We have lost our earlier frugal simpUcity, and have become extravagant and competitively lavish. We have, in short, created a new type of American, who lives in the city, reads newspapers and even books, bathes frequentiy, travels occasionaUy; a man, fluent inteUectuaUy and physically restless, ready but not profound, intent upon success, not without ideal ism, but somewhat disiUusioned, pleasure-loving, hard-working, humorous. At the same time there grows a sense of a social mal-adjustment, a sense of a faUure of America to Uve up to AMERICAN TRAITS ji expectations, and an intensifying desure to right a not clearly perceived wrong. There develops a vigorous, if somewhat vague and untrained, moral impulse, an impulse based on social rather than individual ethics, unesthetic, democratic, headlong. Although this development might have come about, in part at least, without immigration, the process has been enormously accelerated by the arrival on our shores of miUions of Europeans. These men came to make a Uving, and they made not only their own but other men's fortunes. They hastened the dissolution of old conditions; they undermined old standards by introducing new; theur very traditions faciUtated the growth of that tra- ditionless quality of the American mind which hastened our material transformation. . . . The attraction of America penetrates ever deeper into Europe, from the maritime peoples Uving on the fringe of the ocean, to the inland plains, and then into somnolent, winter- locked mountain viUages. Simultaneously Europe changes America. You can alter any country if you pour in enough milUons. These immigrants, moreover, are of a character to effect changes. America's attraction is not to the good or to the bad, to the saint or to the sinner, but to the young, the aggres sive, the restiess, the ambitious. The Europeans in America are chosen men, for there is a rigorous selection at home and a rigorous selection here, the discouraged and defeated returning by the shipload. These immigrating races are virile, tenacious, proUfic. Each shipload of newcomers carries to American Ufe an impulse Uke the rapidly succeeding explosions of a gasolene engine. Moreover, these immigrants, peasants at home, become city- dweUers here. The city is the heart of our body social. It is the home of education, amusement, culture, crime, discontent, social contacts — and power. The immigrant, even in the gutter of the city, is often nearer to the main currents of our national Ufe than is the average resident of the country. His children are more Uterate, more restless, more wide-awake. With such numbers, such quaUties, and such a position within the social network, one might imagine that the immigrant 52 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS would gradually transform us in his own Ukeness. But no such direct influence is visible. As a nation we have not learned poUte- ness, although we have drawn miUions of immigrants from the poUtest peoples in the world. Our national irreverence is not decreased, but, on the contrary, is actuaUy increased, by the mass of idols, of good old customs, memories, reUgions, which come to us in the steerage. Nor is the immigrant's influence in any way intentional. Though he hopes that America wiU make him, the immigrant has no presumptuous thought of making America. To him, America is a fixed, unchanging environmental thing, a land to browse on. This very passivity of the newly arrived immigrant is the most tremendous of influences. The workman who does not join a union, the citizen who sends his immature children to the factory, the man who does not become naturaUzed, or who main tains a standard of living below an inadequate wage, such a one by contagion and pressure changes conditions and lowers stand ards aU about him, undermining to the extent of his lethargy our entire social edifice. The aim of Americanization is to com bat this passive influence. Two forces, Uke good and evil, are opposed on that long frontier Une where the immigrant comes into contact with the older resident. The American, through seH-protection, not love, seeks to raise the immigrant to his economic level; the immigrant, through seU-protection, not through knowledge, involuntarily accepts conditions which tend to drag the American down to his. In this contest much that we ordinarUy account virtue is evU; much that is ugly is good. The immigrant girl puts on a corset, exchanges her picturesque head dress for a flowering monstrosity of an American hat, squeezes her honest peasant's foot into a narrow, thin-soled American shoe — and behold, it is good. It is a step toward assimilation, toward a more expensive if not a more lovely standard of Uving. It gives hostages to America. It makes the frenzied saving of the early days impossible. DociUty, abnegation, and pecuniary abasement are not economic virtues, however highly they may be rated in another category. In stUl other ways this assimilation alters and limits the AMERICAN TRAITS S3 aUen's influence. Much is lost in the process. The immigrant comes to us laden with gifts, but we have not the leisure to take nor he the opportunity to tender. The brilUant native cos tumes, the strange, vibrant dialects, the curious mental molds are soon faded or gone. The old reUgions, the old customs, the traditional manners, the ancient lace do not survive the melting- pot. Assimilation, however necessary, ends the charm and rare ness of our quaint human importations. For this esthetic degeneration the immigrant must not be blamed. To gain himself he must lose himself. He must adopt "our ways." The ItaUan day laborer finds that macaroni and lettuce are not a suitable diet for ten hours' work on the subway or the CatskiU dam. The politeness of sunny southern Europe is at a discount in our skurrying, elbowing crowds. The docility of the peasant damns a man irretrievably in the struggle to rise, and conservatism in gentle, outlandish manners is impossible in kaleidoscopic America. The immigrant, therefore, accepts our standards wholesale and indiscriminately. He "goes the Umit" of assimilation — slang, clothes, and chewing-gum. He accom modates himself quickly to that narrow fringe of America which affects him most immediately. The Talmudist in Russia is, for better or worse, no Talmudist here: he is a cloak-presser or a real- estate broker. The Greek shepherd becomes an elevator-boy or a hazardous speculator in resuscitated violets. The SiciUan bootblack learns to charge ten cents for a five-cent shine; the candy-vender from Macedonia haggles long before he knows a hundred EngUsh words; the Pole who never has seen a coal-mine becomes adept at the use of the steam-shovel. Another limit to the immigrant's influence is due to the fact that the America to which he adapts himself is the America that he first meets, the America at the bottom. That bottom changes as America changes from an agricultural to an industrial nation. For the average immigrant there is no longer a free farm on a western frontier: there is only a job as an unskilled or semi-skilled workman. For that job a knowledge of his letters is not absolutely necessary. Nor is a knowledge of EngUsh. There are in America today a few miUions of aUens who cannot 54 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS speak English or read or write their native tongue, and who, from an industrial point of view, are almost mere muscle. The road from bottom to top becomes steeper and more inaccessible. Stratification begins. Because of his position at the bottom of a stratified society, the immigrant — especiaUy the recent immigrant — does not exert any large direct influence. Taken in the mass, he does not run our businesses, make our laws, write our books, paint our pictures, preach to us, teach us or prescribe for us. His indirect influence, on the other hand, is increased rather than diminished by his position at the bottom of the structure. When he moves, aU superincumbent groups must of necessity shift their positions. This indirect influence is manifold. The immigration of enor mous numbers of unskiUed "interchangeable" laborers, who can be moved about like pawns, standardizes our industries, faciU- tates the growth of stupendous business units, and generaUy promotes plasticity. The immigrant, by his mere presence, by his mere readiness to be used, speeds us up; he accelerates the whole tempo of our industrial life. He changes completely "the balance of power" in industry, politics, and social life generaUy. The feverish speed of our labor, which is so largely pathological, is an index of this. The arrival of ever-fresh multitudes adds to the difficulties of securing a democratic control of either industry or poUtics. The presence of the unskiUed, unlettered immigrant excites the cupidity of men who wish to make money quickly and do not care how. It makes an essentially kind-hearted people callous. Why save the Uves of "wops"? What does it matter if our industry kills a few thousands more or less, when, if we wish, we can get miUions a year from inexhaustible Europe? Immigra tion acts to destroy our brakes. It keeps us, as a nation, transi tional. Of course this transitional quaUty of America was due partiy to our virgin continent. There was always room in the West; a man did not settle, but merely Ughted on a spot, Uke a migratory bird on its southern journey. Immigration, however, intensified and protracted this development. Each race had to fight for its place. Natives were displaced by Irish, who were displaced in AMERICAN TRAITS ss turn by Germans, Russians, Italians, Portuguese, Greeks, Syrians. 'Whole trades were deserted by one nation and con quered by another. The peoples of eastern Europe inundated the Pennsylvania mining districts, displacing Irish, EngUsh, and Welsh miners. The Irish street laborer disappeared; the ItaUan quietly took his shovel. Russian Jews revolutionized the clothing trade, driving out Germans as these had driven out native Americans. The old homes of displaced nations were inhabited by new peoples; the old peoples were shoved up or down, but, in any case, out. Cities, factories, neighborhoods changed with startling rapidity. Connecticut schools, once attended by descendants of the PUgrims, became overfilled with dark-eyed ItaUan lads and tow-headed Slavs. Protestant churches were stranded in CathoUc or Jewish neighborhoods. America changed rapidly, feverishly. That pecuUar quiet rest lessness of America, the calm fear with which we search with the tail of our eye to avoid swirling automobiles, the rush and recklessness of our Ufe, were increased by the mild, law-abiding people who came to us from abroad. There was a time when all these quaUties were good, or at least had their good features. So long as we had elbow-room in the West, so long as we were young and growing, with a big con tinent to make our mistakes in, even recklessness was a virtue. But today America is no longer elastic, the road from bottom to top is not so short and not so unimpeded as it once was. We cannot any longer be sure that the immigrant wiU find his proper place in our eastern miUs or on our western farms without injury to others — or to himself. The time has passed when we exulted in the number of grown up men, bred at another country's expense, who came to work for us and fertiUze our soUs with their dead bones. The time has passed when we beUeved that mere numbers were aU. Today, despite night schools, settlements, and a whole network of Americanizing agencies, we have teeming, polyglot slums and the clash of race with race in sweatshop and factory, mine and lumber-camp. We have a mixture of ideals, a confusion of standards, a conglomeration of clashing views of life. We, the $6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS many-nationed nation of America, bring the Puritan tradition, a trifle anemic and thin, a Uttie the worse for disuse. The immi grant brings a Babel of traditions, an aU too pleistic mind, a wiUingness to copy our virtues and vices, to imitate us for better or for worse. All of which hampers and delays the formation of a national consciousness. From whatever point we view the new America, we cannot help seeing how intimately the changes have been bound up with our immigration, especially with that of recent years. The widening of the social gamut becomes more sigmficant when we recaU that with unrestricted immigration our poorest citizens are periodically recruited from the poor of the poorest countries of Europe. Our differences in education, while they have other causes, are sharply accentuated by our enormous development of university and high schools at the one end, and by the increas ing iUiteracy of our immigrants at the other. In cities where there are large immigrant populations we note the beginning of a change in our attitude toward the pubUc schools, toward uni versal suffrage, toward many of the pious, if unreaUzed, national ideals of an earlier period. FundamentaUy, however, the essential fact about our pres ent-day immigration is not that the immigrant has changed (though that fact is of great importance), but that the America to which the immigrant comes has changed fundamentally and permanently. And the essenticd fact about the immigrant's effect on American character is this, that the gift of the immi grant to the nation is not the quaUties which he himseU had at home, but the very quaUties which Americans have always had. In other words, at a time when American industrial, political, and social conditions are changing, partiy as a result of immi gration itself, the immigrant hampers our psychological adjust ment to such changes by giving scope and exercise to old national characteristics which should be obsolescent. America today is in transition. We have moved rapidly from one industrial world to another, and this progress has been aided and stimulated by immigration. The psychological change, however, which should have kept pace with this Indus- AMERICAN TRAITS 57 trial transition, has been slower and less complete. It has been retarded by the very rapidity of our immigration and by the tremendous educational tasks which that influx placed upon us. The immigrant is a chaUenge to our highest idealism, but the task of Americanizing the extra millions of newcomers has hindered progress in the task of democratizing America. PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM FRANKLIN: THE CITIZEN* George William Alger [George William Alger (1872 ) is a lawyer in New York City. In his own activities as a citizen he has taken great interest in labor and child labor matters. In tliis article, he has in an interesting way discussed Ben jamin FranJdin as a concrete example of Americanism.] It is unfortunate for the fame of FrankUn that most of us form our ideas of our great historical characters from school histories. We were introduced to him in our youth and under the worst of auspices. For in that part of the story of the Revo lution where each daUy lesson is fuU of exciting events, when the great embattled farmers are chasing Redcoats and killing Hessians, fighting thriUing battles and doing those interesting things which make the story of the Revolution a schoolboy's romance, the music seems to stop suddenly and the rapidly moving figures of our fighting fathers are swept ruthlessly from the stage and out shuffles an old man, with a broad, shrewd, and homely face, queer glasses, and a head surmounted by an atrocious fur hat — Benjamin Franklin. How can a boy see anything heroic in an old man, no fighter, whose biography is in a footnote, which does not count in examination? An old man, moreover, whose footnote biography generaUy contains nothing exciting, or even interesting, except the story of his kite or the ridiculous figure he made with his three loaves of bread, one under each arm and one in his mouth on his first entry into PhUadelphia. Every American schoolboy, as he reads the history of his country, has bom in him an essentiaUy dramatic ambition — 'From the American Magazine, vol. vii, p. 31S (Januaiyt 1906). S8 PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 59 the ambition that at some far-off day, in some far-off crisis of his country's existence, he, too, may add a thriUing page to some schoolboy's history, may do some deed of daring — Uke mad Anthony Wayne may carry some post by storm, die gener ously like Hale or De Kalb, may scourge the seas like Paul Jones. But what boy's ambition does the old man m the fur hat inspure? What schoolboy knows that it was reaUy a great thing to finance the American Revolution? It is precisely because he is the great American whom most of us failed to appreciate in our youth — not entirely through our fault — that hi this month, which contains the second centennial of FrankUn's birth, we should in our maturer years return to a study of one who was perhaps the first great American citizen and pay to his memory a belated tribute. It is fortunate for FrankUn that the second centenary of his birth faUs as it does, for we are reaUzing, year by year, the supreme importance of the things he stood for, the supreme importance to a country whose future is to be won through the arts of peace and not of war, of his type of citizenship. We have suffered from the miUtary ideal of citizenship, for it made and makes the citizenship of peace seem duU, tame, and not worth whUe. The country has never lacked men who would die for it. Such danger as it is in today Ues in its lack of men wiUing to do something for it whUe they are aUve with their skins not in danger. The newspapers and magazines are f uU of the crooked doings of men who are today undermining the foundations of a govern ment for which, in tunes of war, they would carry a gun. Our supreme problem in these days, when so much is being said of corruption in office and the corrupting influences of businessmen on pubhc life, the supreme problem is, how shaU we make the ideal of citizenship, plain everyday citizenship — seem some thing highly important and worth striving for? The lesson which we can learn from the career of Franklin is the tremendous, permanent value of this type of citizenship. In point of time he was the first great American citizen. He was widely and favorably known and nearing the middle of 6o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS his career before Washington was in his teens. He was nearly seventy when the crisis of the Revolution came, and when as an old man, fuU of honors and years, feeble and afflicted with gout and rheumatism, he brought France to our aid at the critical day of our struggle for independence, and secured the funds which made the success of the Revolution possible. Though he was born two hundred years ago, on the 17 th of January, and the social conditions of his time were so unUke our own, there is a marked simUarity between FrankUn and the t3T)e of big businessmen of whom we complain so bitterly to day. For up to a certain point his career and his interests in life were curiously Uke not a few of our own great magnates. He was born poor, had little school education, and began Ufe with an insatiable desire to improve himseK and his condi tion. Economy and frugaUty were his in a marked degree. No man ever lived who had a greater notion of the value of time. Sparks teUs an anecdote Ulustrating this, which we have no reason to consider as merely a jest. Franklin's father, Uke every good old-time New Englander, said grace before meals three times a day. One day when a barrel of pork was received at the house, young Benjamin earnestiy entreated his parent to bless the meat in the barrel and thereby save the time spent on blessing at each meal the portion put on the table. He worked with enormous industry. 'When he set up his printing shop in PhUadelphia in partnership with Meredith, it was this in dustry which gave the young firm credit. "For the industry of that Franklin," said Dr. Baird at the Merchants' Every Night Club, "is superior to anything I have ever seen of the kind. I see him stiU at work when I go from the club and he is at work again before his neighbors are out of bed." He Uved simply — almost parsimoniously — and spent noth ing on display. Generous though he was to his immediate relatives, to his friends, and to those in distress, he was close in his ordinary business dealings. He aUowed himself few luxuries and saved money rigorously from his youth up. No reader of his autobiography can help feeling sympathy with his poor London landlady, the widow in Duke Street, "who was so lame PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 6i in her knees with the gout and therefore seldom stirred out of her room," and who found young Franklin so interesting. He found her equaUy good company, but when after patient search ing he discovered a boarding place which was thirty-six cents a week cheaper, he threatened to leave and she had to "abate him" forty-eight cents a week to keep her congenial boarder. He certainly cared a great deal about money. He was shrewd and long-headed in getting it. He beUeved in it and was forever writing about it, and advising young tradesmen on "The Way to Wealth" and how to find it. Poor Richard's Almanack is a materiaUst's catechism, fuU of wise saws on the saving of money and the tangible advantages of industry. The quaUties which FrankUn possessed, the business shrewdness and foresight, the executive abiUty and the combination in him of industry, economy and endless patience would make him a multi-miUionaire today. It made him very weU-to-do in his own time. He left a fortune of over $150,000. At the height of his business career he was, in his chosen caUing, the best as weU as the most successful printer in the Colonies, earning annuaUy four times as much as his most fortunate rival. He was editor, composer, publisher, bookbinder, stationer; he made lamp-black and ink, dealt in rags, sold soap and Uve geese feathers and "very good sack at six shiUings a gaUon." He had the best jobs of printing of New Jersey, Mary land, Pennsylvania, and by partnership in 'Virginia, New York, the CaroUnas and Georgia. He pubUshed schoolbooks and hand books in medicine and farriery. Poor Richard's Almanack had to go to press in October, so as to be ready for the New Year, so great was the demand for it. He was postmaster-general and clerk of the Pennsylvania General Assembly and earned by aU these separate irons in these different fires $10,000 per year. At forty-two he was a free man, for he had an estate of $3,500 per year. He had earned leisure, that leisure which Poor Richard describes as "the time for doing something useful. This leisure the diUgent man wiU obtain, the lazy man never." Thus much has been said of Franklin in his character as a businessman, because it is the substructure of his character as a 62 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS pubUc man. He was the original American businessman in pubUc life. It should be borne in mind that it was whUe he was actively and laboriously engaged in a pursuit which he loved, that of making money, he found time to perform those many acts of wise citizenship which form the substantial foundation of his later career as a statesman. He could do successful business and stiU find time for pubUc service. He was particular about the way of doing that business, moreover. He was particular about the way in which he made his money. He was not of that too f amiUar type of big business men who square extortion and oppression by phUanthropy. He took no rebates. When he first started his newspaper in PhUadelphia, his rival was Bradford, who, in addition to pub- Ushing a paper, was postmaster-general of the Colonies. Brad ford used his authority as postmaster-general to practicaUy exclude Franklin's papers from the maU by forbidding the post- riders to carry them. FrankUn shortiy after succeeded Bradford as postmaster-general. Here was the opportunity to buUd a monopoly and crush his old rival. But the thought never seems to have entered his head that the newspaper business of the Colonies belonged to him. He says of Bradford in his attempt to crush Franklin's newspaper: "I thought so meanly of him for it that when I afterward came into his situation, I took care never to imitate him." He believed in fair competition, in freedom for others as weU as himself, and cared more for his personal independence in the conduct of his business than for the business itseU. The story of the sawdust pudding should be known in every newspaper office in the country. 'When he first started his Gazette, he made some free comments on certain pubhc officials, and some of the influential patrons of the paper resented it and tried to stop it. He invited them to dinner. 'When they came they found noth ing on the table but a pudding made of coarse meal and a jug of water. They sat down. Franklin filled their plates and then his own and proceeded to eat heartUy, but his guests could not swaUow the stuff. After a few moments FrankUn rose, and, looking at them, said quietiy: "My friends, any man who can PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 63 subsist on sawdust pudding as I can, needs no man's patronage." This is what the liberty of the press meant to the first great American printer. There is something humorous to us in these days about the simple-mindedness of FrankUn's honesty. His autobiography affords us one unconscious example. When Braddock came over in the French and Indian War with his British regulars, and before he met the historic disaster which cost him his Ufe, he had great difficulty in getting horses and wagons to puU ordnance and carry camp suppUes, and Franklin set about helping him to get the necessary transportation. The Pennsylvania farmers were suspicious. They did not know Braddock, they did not know FrankUn, and insisted on his bond for the performance of Braddock's promises. There was absolutely no reason why Franklin should give it, for he was in no sense an army con tractor, but was simply trying to be of practical help in an emergency in the war. But he gave his personal bond and ad vanced considerable sums from his own funds to procure the wagons. As everybody knows, Braddock was defeated and the wagons and horses were lost. The farmers came back to Franklin, and he nearly had to pay twenty thousand pounds, which would have ruined him, but a commission was finaUy created to adjust and pay the claims. As for the cash advances he had made, Braddock's successor intimated that FrankUn had probably made enough "rake off," on the transportation contracts so that he could stand the loss of his advances, and laughed ui- credulously at him when the honest printer declared indignantly that he had not pocketed a farthing. "I have since learned," says Franklin in his autobiography, "that immense fortunes are often made in such employments." 'What homespun simpUcity! How curiously, in an age of directors, do these words sound! How remote and foreign seems the honest, wise old man's innocence of "graft" ! Franklin never was a rich man. The things which he accom plished, the permanent monuments which he left, were created, not by gifts of his money, but by gifts of himself. He had an extremely practical mind. He was always looking around for 64 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS opportunities to do something useful, for improvements which could be made which should be of benefit to the pubhc, and he found time to accompUsh them. He founded the first high school of the state, which before his death developed into the present Universtiy of Pennsyl vania. It was through his great influence in supporting Dr. Bond that the PhUadelphia Hospital was estabUshed. Through the "Junto," the debating society which he had estabUshed, was founded by his active management the PhUadelphia Library, the first circulating hbrary in America from which books could be taken to the homes of the readers — the parent of thousands of circulating Ubraries all over the land. These are a portion of the local interests with which Franklin's name is associated. The association of his name with these pubhc enterprises should not be understood, however, as meaning that they were buUt on his money, either wholly or mainly. He never had enough money for that. They were founded on his wise plans, on his generous expenditure of time, trouble and thought. These things were done amidst the engrossing demands of a growing business by a man who made the pubhc business a part of his business, and refused to aUow his own personal interests to command aU his time. When the University of Pennsylvania proudly describes itself today as "founded by Benjamin Franklin," the word founded means not cash but character. He invented a long Ust of useful things and sought no personal gain from them. The FrankUn stove which he devised, and upon which he refused to accept a patent, became the standard stove among our forefathers. He devised what the ocuUsts today caU FrankUnic lenses — bifocal glasses — combining in one pair of spectacles long-distance and reading lenses. He studied the causes of smoky chimneys and how to avoid them, and pubUshed a pamphlet on his discoveries. His electrical experi ments are famiUar to students of electricity. His discoveries in this branch of knowledge made his name known, long before the Revolution, in European as weU as in American scientffic PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 65 societies, and long before the war cloud grew black on the horizon, the farmer and laborer in England as weU as in America read the wise maxims of Poor Richard's Almanack, and knew and respected its author. He was the first American diplomat. PracticaUy thirty years of his life were devoted to American interests abroad, first as agent of Pennsylvania carrying on a patient and success ful attack on the vested selfishness of the Penn Proprietaries who refused to permit their Pennsylvania land to be taxed for the common benefits which they received from the Colony. At last the Revolution came, and at an age when few men perform any work of great importance, he rendered his services in the cause of American hberty, second only to those of Wash ington himself. To those who stiU insist on considering history as a form of romantic drama, no contrast to the thriUing war story of the Revolution can be apparently more ridiculous than the story of the financiering by which that war was for the most part carried on. Congress had no money. Its requisitions on the several states were discounted or ignored. Individual patriots of means contributed heavUy. FrankUn loaned aU his own ready money. Rich Robert Morris gave aU he had and died in a poorhouse, but the funds thus obtained were utterly in adequate for the war. The Colonies were miserably poor. 'Where, indeed, was the money to come from to buy uniforms, guns, provisions, ships, and aU the various suppUes of an army and navy? The answer which Congress finally hit upon was very simple. They drew drafts on FrankUn. IVithout any previous notice to him, without any inquiry as to whether he had funds or could raise them, they drew on him for anything and every thing which the conduct of the war required. His simple duty was to find m France somehow the funds to meet these drafts. He did it. He was perhaps the only American who at the tune was known and respected for his personal worth in continental Europe. He was famous as scientist and phUosopher. He was as engaging as he was wise. With a keen knowledge of human nature he knew how to deal with the French character. He was 66 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS a splendid borrower. Saddled as he was with two perfectiy use less associates, who hampered him in France and slandered him at home, and with practicaUy no other assistance than a six teen-year-old grandson as his secretary, himself afflicted with the infirmities of old age, he persuaded a nation, deep in financial straits, to loan the struggUng colonies the funds necessary for the war. In the critical year of the war his diplomacy obtained at last from France the recognition of American independence, and the active and open aid of French arms, obtained sixteen men-of-war, 4,000 men, and last but not least, $5,000,000, nearly $2,000,000 of which was a free gift. WeU might Paul Jones name his flagship the Bonnehomme Richard, for it was the pseudonym of the man who made his career possible, who fitted out his ships and found the pay for his saUors. But this is no place to trace in detaU the long story of Frank Un's career of pubUc service. The record of that service should, however, not stand alone as his claim on the memory of pos terity. We must not overlook the vast, almost tangible influence of his plain, simple, hard-working life, its struggles, high pur poses, its practical accompUshments upon the great artisan class in which he was born, on the vast army of young men whose Uves depend upon their inteUigence appUed through their hands, working at his own trade of printing, or in the other practical arts. That he had faults must be admitted. His enemies said that he had an inordinate desire for pubhc office. He certainly fiUed many, and a desire for power is wrong only when the purposes are wrong for which it is coveted. If he had so chosen, the immense powers of the mind which he had devoted to pubhc service could have been devoted successfuUy to accumulating a fortune. He had great executive capacity. He devoted it to public rather than to private ends. When great businessmen of today prefer to be remembered by the form in which they leave their fortunes, by the endowments or funds they create, FrankUn chose that succeeding generations should remember not the endowments of his fortune but the PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 67 stamp of his mind and character that he should leave for us, his descendants, the memory of a good citizen. THE AMERICANISM OF WASHINGTON^ Henry Van Dyke [Henry Van Dyke (1852 ) was bom at Germantown, Pennsylvania. He was graduated from Princeton and later studied at Berlin. For some years he was pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City. In 1899 he was appointed to the Murray professorship of English literature at Princeton, his writings both in prose and in poetry having won for him acknowledged literary position. In 1913 he was appointed IVIinister of the United States to the Netherlands, a position which he filled with great ability until his resignation in 1917. The portions of ids brochure, The Americanism of Washington, here reprinted, give the essential points of the discussion.] 'What shaU we say, then, of the Americanism of Washington? It was denied, during his lifetime for a Uttle while, by those who envied his greatness, resented his leadership, and sought to shake him from his lofty place. But he stood serene and im perturbable, whUe that denial, like many another blast of evU- scented wind, passed into nothingness, even before the dis appearance of the party strife out of whose fermentation it had arisen. By the unanimous judgment of his countrymen for two generations after his death he was haUed as Pater Patrice; and the age which conferred that titie was too ingenuous to suppose that the father could be of a different race from his own offspring. But the modern doubt is more subtle, more curious, more refined in its methods. It does not spring, as the old denial did, from a partisan hatred, which would seek to discredit Wash ington by an accusation of undue partiaUty for England, and thus to break his hold upon the love of the people. It arises, rather, like a creeping exhalation, from a modern theory of what true Americanism reaUy is: a theory which goes back, iFrom The Americanism of Washington, (Copyright, 1906, Harper Brothers.) Re printed by permission. 68 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS indeed, for its inspiration to Dr. Johnson's somewhat crudely expressed opinion that "the Americans were a race whom no other mortals could wish to resemble;" but which, in its later form, takes counsel with those British connoisseurs who demand of their typical American not depravity of morals but depriva tion of manners, not vice of heart but vulgarity of speech, not badness but bumptiousness, and at least enough of eccentricity to make him amusing to cultivated people. I find that not a few of our native professors and critics are inclined to accept some features of this view, perhaps in mere reaction from the unamus- ing character of their own existence. They are not quite ready to subscribe to Mr. KipUng's statement that the real American is "unkempt, disreputable, vast," but they are willing to admit that it wUl not do for him to be prudent, orderly, dignified. He must have a touch of picturesque rudeness, a red shirt in his mental as weU as in his sartorial outfit. The poetry that expresses him must recognize no metrical rules. The art that depicts him must use the primitive colors, and lay them on thick. I remember reading somewhere that Tennyson had an idea that LongfeUow, when he met him, would put his feet upon the table. And it is precisely because LongfeUow kept his feet in their proper place, in society as weU as in verse, that some critics, nowadays, would have us beUeve that he was not a truly American poet. Traces of this curious theory of Americanism in its appUca tion to Washington may now be found in many places. You shaU hear historians describe him as a transplanted EngUsh commoner, a second edition of John Hampden. You shall read, in a famous poem, of Lincoln as "New birth of our new soil, the first American." That Lincoln was one of the greatest Americans, glorious in the largeness of his heart, the vigor of his manhood, the heroism of his soul, none can doubt. But to affirm that he was the first American is to disown and disinherit Washington and Franklin and Adams and Jefferson. Lincoln himself would have been the man to extinguish such an impoverishing claim with huge and hearty laughter. He knew that Grant and Sherman and Seward PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 69 and Farragut and the men who stood with him were Americans, just as Washington knew tiiat tiie Boston maltster, and tiie Pennsylvania printer, and tiie Rhode Island anchor-smitii, and tiie New Jersey preacher, and tiie New York lawyer, and the men who stood with' him were Americans. He knew it, I say: and by what divuiation? By a test more searchmg than any mere pecuUarity of manners, dress, or speech: by a touchstone able to divide the gold of essential character from the aUoy of superficial characteristics; by a standard which disregarded aUke Franklm's fur cap and Putnam's old felt hat, Morgan's leather leggings and Witherspoon's black sUk gown and John Adam's lace ruffles, to recognize and approve, beneath these various garbs, the vital sign of America woven into the very souls of the men who belonged to her by a spiritual birth right. For what is true Americanism, and where does it reside? Not on the tongue, nor in the clothes, nor among the transient social forms, refined or rude, wluch mottle the surface of human life. The log-cabin has no monopoly of it, nor is it an immovable fixture of the stately piUared mansion. Its home is not on the frontier nor in the populous city, not among the trees of the wUd forest nor the cultured groves of Academe. Its dweUing is in the heart. It speaks a score of dialects but one language, foUows a hundred paths to the same goal, performs a thousand kinds of service in loyalty to the same ideal which is its life. . . , To believe that the inaUenable rights of man to life, liberty, and the pur suit of happiness are given by God. To believe that any form of power that tramples on these rights is unjust. To believe that taxation without representation is tyranny, that govem ment must rest upon the consent of the governed, and that the people should choose their own rulers. To believe that freedom must be safeguarded by law and order, and that the end of freedom is fair play for all. To believe not in a forced equality of conditions and estates, but in a true equalization of burdens, privileges, and opportunities. To believe that the selfish interests of persons, classes, and sections must be subordinated to the welfare of the commonwealth. To believe that union is as much a human necessity as hberty is a divine gift. 70 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS To believe, not that all people are good, but that the way to make them better is to trust the whole people. To beUeve that a free state should offer an asylum to the oppressed, and an example of virtue, sobriety, and fair dealing to all nations. To believe that for the existence and perpetuity of such a state a man should be willing to give his whole service, in property, in labor, and in life. That is Americanism; an ideal embodying itseU in a people; a creed heated white hot in the furnace of conviction and ham mered into shape on the anvU of life; a vision commanding men to foUow it whithersoever it may lead them. And it was the subordination of the personal self to that ideal, that creed, that vision, which gave eminence and glory to Washington and the men who stood with him. . . . Washington, no doubt, was preeminent among his contem poraries in natural endowments. Less brUliant in his mental gifts than some, less eloquent and accompUshed than others, he had a rare balance of large powers which justified LoweU's phrase of "an imperial man." His athletic vigor and skiU, his steadiness of nerve restraining an intensity of passion, his un daunted courage which refused no necessary risks and his prudence which took no unnecessary ones, the quiet sureness with which he grasped large ideas and the pressing energy with which he executed smaU details, the breadth of his inteUigence, the depth of his convictions, his power to apply great thoughts and principles to everyday affairs, and his singular superiority to current prejudices and Ulusions, — these were gifts in combina tion which would have made him distinguished in any company, in any age. But what was it that won and kept a free field for the exercise of these gifts? 'What was it that secured for them a long, unbroken opportunity of development in the activities of leadership, untU they readied the summit of their perfection? It was a moral quaUty. It was the evident magnanimity of the man which assured the people that he was no seU-seeker who would betray their interests for his own glory or rob them for his own gain. It was the supreme magnanimity of the man, which made the best spirits of the time trust him impUcitiy, in war and peace, as one who would never forget his duty or his integrity in the sense of his own greatness. PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 71 From the first, Washington appears not as a man aimmg at prominence or power, but rather as one under obligation to serve a cause. Necessity was laid upon him and he met it willingly. After his marvelous escape from death in his first campaign for the defence of the Colonies, the Rev. Samuel Davies, fourth president of Princeton CoUege, spoke of him in a sermon as "that heroic youth. Colonel Washington, whom I can but hope Providence has hitherto preserved in so signal a manner for some important service to his country." It was a prophetic voice, and Washington was not disobedient to the message. Chosen to command the Army of the Revolution in 1775, he confessed to his wife his deep reluctance to surrender the joys of home, acknowledged pubUcly his feeling that he was not equal to the great trust committed to him, and then, accepting it as thrown upon him "by a kind of destiny," he gave himself body and soul to its fulfilment, refusing aU pay beyond the mere dis charge of his expenses, of which he kept a strict account, and asking no other reward than the success of the cause which he served. . . . There are a hundred other points in Washington's career in which the same supremacy of character, magnanimity focused on service to an ideal, is revealed in conduct. I see it in the wis dom with which he, a son of the South, chose most of his generals from the North, that he might secure immediate efficiency and unity in the army. I see it in the generosity with which he praised the achievements of his associates, disregarding jealous rivalries, and ever willing to share the credit of victory as he was to bear the burden of defeat. I see it in the patience with which he suffered his fame to be imperUed for the moment by reverses and retreats, if only he might the more surely guard the fraU hope of ultimate victory for his country. I see it in the quiet dignity with which he faced the Conway Cabal, not anxious to defend his own reputation and secure his own power, but nobly resolute to save the army from being crippled and the cause of liberty from being wrecked. I see it in the splendid seK-forgetf ulness which cleansed his mind of aU temp tation to take personal revenge upon those who had sought 72 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS to injure him in that base intrigue. I read it in his letter of consolation and encouragement to the wretched Gates after the defeat at Camden. I hear the prolonged reechoing music of it in his letter to General Knox in 1798, in regard to miUtary appointments, declaring his wish to "avoid feuds with those who are embarked in the same general enterprise with myself." Listen to the same spirit as it speaks in his circular address to the governors of the different states, urging them to "forget their local prejudices and pohcies; to make those mutual con cessions which are requisite to the general prosperity, and in some instances to sacrifice their individual advantages to the interest of the community." Watch how it guides him unerringly through the critical period of American history which Ues be tween the success of the Revolution and the estabUshment of the nation, enabUng him to avoid the pitiaUs of sectional and partisan strife, and to use his great influence with the people in leading them out of the confusion of a weak Confederacy into the strength of an indissoluble Union of sovereign states. See how he once more sets aside his personal preferences for a quiet country life, and risks his already secure popularity, together with his reputation for consistency, by obeying the voice which caUs him to be a candidate for the Presidency. See how he chooses for the cabinet and for the Supreme Court, not an exclusive group of personal friends, but men who can be trusted to serve the great cause of Union with fidehty and power — Jefferson, Randolph, HamUton, Knox, John Jay, Wilson, Cush ing, Rutiedge. See how patiently and indomitably he gives himself to the toil of office, deriving from his exalted station no gain "beyond the lustre which may be reflected from its con nection with a power of promoting human fehcity." See how he retires, at last, to the longed-for joys of private life, confessing that his career has not been without errors of judgment, be seeching the Almighty that they may bring no harm to his country, and asking no other reward for his labors than to par take, "in the midst of my feUow-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government, the ever favorite object of my heart." PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 73 Oh, sweet and stately words, reveaUng through their calm reserve, the inmost secret of a life that did not flare with tran sient enthusiasm but glowed with unquenchable devotion to a cause! "The ever favorite object of my heart" — how quietly, how simply he discloses the source and origin of a sublime con secration, a lifelong heroism. Thus speaks the victor looking back upon the long battle. But if you would know the depth and the intensity of the divine fire that burned within his breast you must go back to the dark and icy days of 'VaUey Forge, and hear him cry in passion unrestrained: "If I know my own mind, I could offer myseU a Uving sacrifice to the butchering enemy, provided that would contribute to the people's ease. I would be a living offering to the savage fury and die by inches to save the people." The ever favorite object of my heart! It is the capacity to find such an object in the success of the people's cause, to foUow it unselfishly, to serve it loyaUy, that distinguishes the men who stood with Washington and who deserve to share his fame. I read the annals of the Revolution, and I find everywhere this secret and searching test dividing the strong from the weak, the noble from the base, the heirs of glory from the captives of oblivion and the inheritors of shame. It was the unwUUngness to sink and forget self ui the service of something greater that made the faUures and wrecks of those tempestuous times, through which the single-hearted and the devoted pressed on to victory and honor. . . . Is not this, after aU, the root of the whole matter? Is not this the thing that is vitally and essentiaUy true of aU those great men, clustering about Washington, whose fame we honor and revere with his? They aU left the community, the commonwealth, the race, in debt to them. This was theur purpose and the ever favorite object of theu: hearts. They were dehberate and joyful creditors. Renouncing the maxim of worldly wisdom which bids men "get aU you can and keep aU you get," they resolved rather to give aU they had to advance the common cause, to use every benefit conferred upon them in the service of the general wel fare, to bestow upon the world more than they received from it, 74 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and to leave a fair and unblotted account of business done with Ufe which should show a clear balance in their favor. LINCOLN AS AN AMERICAN* Herbert Croly [Herbert Croly (1869 ) was born in New York City. After attend ing the College of the City of New York and Harvard University, he has devoted himself to hterary work. He has held editorial positions on several magazines and is the author of several books. The selection here given is from his The Promise of American Life and is an attempt to show Lincoln as an example of the kind of human excellence that is possible under a democ racy hke that of the United States.] Lincoln's services to his country have been rewarded with such abundant appreciation that it may seem superfluous to insist upon them once again; but I believe that from the point of view of this book an even higher value may be placed, if not upon his patriotic service, at least upon his personal worth. The Union might weU have been saved and slavery extinguished without his assistance; but the life of no other American has revealed with anything hke the same completeness the peculiar moral promise of genuine democracy. He shows us by the fuU but unconscious integrity of his example the kind of human excellence which a poUtical and social democracy may and should fashion; and its most grateful and hopeful aspect is, not merely that there is something partiaUy American about the manner of his exceUence, but that it can be fairly compared with the classic types of consummate personal distinction. To all appearance nobody could have been more than Abraham Lincoln a man of his own time and place. UntU 1858 his outer life ran much in the same groove as that of hundreds of other western poUticians and lawyers. Beginning as a poor and ignorant boy, even less provided with props and stepping-stones than were his associates, he had worked his way tb a position of ordinary professional and pohtical distinction. He was not, 'From The Promise of American Life. (Copyright, 1909, The Macmillan Company.) Reprinted by permission. PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 75 Uke Douglas, a briUiant success. He was not, Uke Grant, an apparently hopeless faUure. He had achieved as much and as Uttie as hundreds of others had achieved. He was respected by his neighbors as an honest man and as a competent lawyer. They credited hun with abUity, but not to any extraordinary extent. No one would have pointed hun out as a remarkable and distinguished man. He had shown himself to be deshous of recognition and influence; but ambition had not been the compeUing motive in his life. In most respects his ideas, m- terests, and standards were precisely the same as those of his associates. He accepted with them the fabric of traditional American poUtical thought and the orduiary standards of con temporary poUtical moraUty. He had none of the moral strenu- ousness of the reformer, none of the exclusiveness of a man whose purposes and ideas were consciously perched higher than those of his neighbors. Probably the majority of his more successful associates classed him as a good and able man who was somewhat lacking in ambition and had too much of a dis position to loaf. He was most at home, not in his own house, but in the corner grocery store, where he could sit with his feet on the stove swapping stories with his friends; and if an English traveler of 1850 had happened in on the group, he would most assuredly have discovered another instance of the distressing vulgarity to which the absence of an hereditary aristocracy and an established church condemned the American democracy. Thus no man could apparently have been more the average product of his day and generation. Nevertheless, at bottom, Abraham Lincoln differed as essentiaUy from the ordinary western American of the middle period as St. Francis af Assisi differed from the ordinary Benedictine monk of the thirteenth century. The average western American of Lincoln's generation was fundamentaUy a man who subordinated his inteUigence to cer tain dominant practical interests and purposes. He was far from being a stupid or slow-witted man. On the contrary, his wits had been sharpened by the traffic of American politics and business, and his mind was shrewd, flexible, and alert. 76 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS But he was whoUy incapable either of disinterested or of con centrated inteUectual exertion. His energies were bent in the conquest of certain stubborn external forces, and he used his inteUigence almost exclusively to this end. The struggles, the hardships, and the necessary self-denial of pioneer life con stituted an admirable training of the wUl. It developed a body of men with great resolution of purpose and with great ingenuity and fertiUty in adapting their insufficient means to the realiza tion of their important business affaurs. But their almost exclusive preoccupation with practical tasks and their faUure to grant their inteUigence any room for independent exercise bent them into exceedingly warped and one-sided human beings. Lincoln, on the contrary, much as he was a man of his own time and people, was precisely an example of high and disin terested inteUectual culture. During aU the formative years in which his life did not superficiaUy differ from that of his asso ciates, he was in point of fact using every chance which the material of western life afforded to discipUne and inform his nund. These materials were not very abundant; and in the use which he proceeded to make of them Lincoln had no assistance, either from a sound tradition or from a better educated master. On the contrary, as the history of the times shows, there was every temptation for a man with a strong inteUectual bent to be betrayed into mere extravagance and aberration. But with the sound instinct of a weU-balanced inteUigence Lincoln seized upon the three avaUable books, the earnest study of which might best help to develop harmoniously a strong and many- sided inteUigence. He seized, that is, upon the Bible, Shaks pere, and EucUd. To his contemporaries the Bible was for the most part a fountain of fanatic revivaUsm, and Shakspere, if anything, a mine of quotations. But in the case of Lincoln, Shakspere and the Bible served, not merely to awaken his taste and fashion his style, but also to Uberate his Uterary and moral imagination. At the same time he was training his powers of thought by an assiduous study of algebra and geometry. The absorbing hours he spent over his EucUd were apparently of no use to him in his profession; but Lincoln was in his way an PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 77 inteUectual g5Tnnast and enjoyed the exertion for its own sake. Such a use of his leisure must have seemed a sheer waste of time to his more practical friends, and they might weU have accounted for his comparative lack of success by his indulgence in such secret and useless pastimes. Neither would this criticism have been beside the mark, for if Lincoln's great energy and powers of work had been devoted exclusively to practical ends, he might weU have become in the early days a more prominent lawyer and poUtician than he actuaUy was. But he preferred the satis faction of his own inteUectual and social instincts, and so quaU- fied himself for achievements beyond the power of a Douglas. In addition, however, to these private gymnastics Lincoln shared with his neighbors a pubUc and popular source of intel lectual and human insight. The western pioneers, for all their . exclusive devotion to practical purposes, wasted a good deal of time on apparentiy useless social intercourse. In the middle western towns of that day there was, as we have seen, an ex traordinary amount of good-f eUowship, which was quite the most wholesome and humanizing thing which entered into the Uves of these hard-working and hard-featured men. The whole male countryside was in its way a club; and when the presence of women did not make them awkward and sentimental, the men let themselves loose in an amount of rough pleasantry and free conversation which added the one genial and hberating touch to their Uves. This club life of his own people Lincoln enjoyed and shared much more than did his average neighbor. He passed the greater part of what he would have caUed his leisure time m swappuig stories with his friends, in which the genial and humorous side of western hfe was embodied. Doubtiess his domestic unhappiness had much to do with his vagrancy; but his native instinct for the wholesome and iUuminating aspect of the Ufe around him brought him more frequentiy than any other cause to the club of loafers m the general store. And whatever the promiscuous conversation and the racy yarns meant to his associates, they meant vastly more to Lincoln. His hours of social vagrancy really completed the process of his intellectual training. It reUeved his culture from the taint of bookishness. 78 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS It gave substance to his humor. It humanized his wisdom and enabled him to express it in a famihar and dramatic form. It placed at his disposal, that is, the great classic vehicle of popular expression, which is the parable and the spoken word. Of course, it was just because he shared so completely the amusements and the occupations of his neighbors that his pri vate personal culture had no embarrassing effects. Neither he nor his neighbors were in the least aware that he had been placed thereby in a different inteUectual class. No doubt the loneUness and sadness of his personal Ufe may be partly ex plained by a dumb sense of difference from his feUows; and no doubt this very loneUness and sadness intensified the mental preoccupation which was both the sign and the result of his personal culture. But his unconsciousness of his own distinction, as weU as his regular participation in pohtical and professional practice, kept his wUl as firm and vigorous as if he were reaUy no more than a man of action. His natural steadiness of purpose had been toughened in the beginning by the hardships and struggles which he shared with his neighbors; and his self-im posed inteUectual discipline in no way impaired the stabiUty of his character, because his personal culture never aUenated him from his neighbors and threw him into a consciously critical frame of mind. The time which he spent in inteUectual diver sion may have diminished to some extent his practical efficiency previous to the gathering crisis. It certainly made him less incUned to the aggressive seU-assertion which a successful poUtical career demanded. But when the crisis came, when the minds of northern patriots were stirred by the ugly alternative offered to them by the South, and when Lincoln was by the course of events restored to active participation in pohtics, he soon showed that he had reached the highest of aU objects of personal culture. 'While stiU remaining one of a body of men who, aU unconsciously, impoverished their minds in order to increase the momentum of their practical energy, he none the less achieved for himself a mutuaUy helpful relation between a firm wiU and a luminous inteUigence. The training of his mind, the awakening of his imagination, the formation of his taste and PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 79 style, the humorous dramatizing of his experience — aU this dis cipline had faUed to pervert his character, narrow his sympa thies, or undermine his purposes. His inteUigence served to enUghten his wiU, and his wiU to estabUsh the mature decisions of his inteUigence. Late in life the two faculties became in their exercise almost indistinguishable. His judgments, in so far as they were decisive, were charged with momentum, and his actions were instinct with sympathy and understanding. Just because his actions were uistinct with sympathy and understanding, Lincoln was certainly the most humane states man who ever guided a nation through a great crisis. He always regarded other men and acted toward them, not merely as the embodiment of an erroneous or harmful idea, but as human beings, capable of better things; and consequently aU of his thoughts and actions looked in the direction of a higher level of hunian association. It is this characteristic which makes him a better and, be it hoped, a more prophetic democrat than any other national American leader. His pecuUar distinction does not consist ui the fact that he was a "man of the people" who passed from the condition of spUtting raUs to the condition of being President. No doubt he was in this respect as good a democrat as you please, and no doubt it was desirable that he should be this kind of a democrat. But many other Americans could be named who were also men of the people, and who passed from the most insigmficant to the most honored positions in American Ufe. Lincoln's pecuUar and permanent distinction as a democrat wiU depend rather upon the fact that his thoughts and his actions looked toward the reaUzation of the highest and most edifying democratic ideal. Whatever his theories were, he showed by his general outlook and behavior that de mocracy meant to him more than anything else the spirit and principle of brotherhood. He was the foremost to deny hberty to the South, and he had his sensible doubts about the equaUty between the negro and the white man; but he actuaUy tieated everybody — the southern rebel, the negro slave, the northern deserter, the personal enemy — in a just and kindly spirit. Neither was this kindliness merely an instance of ordinary So NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS American amiabiUty and good nature. It was the result, not of superficial feeling which could be easUy ruffled, but of his personal, moral, and inteUectual discipline. He had made for himseU a second nature, compact of insight and loving-kindness. It must be remembered, also, that this higher humanity resided in a man who was the human instrument partiy re sponsible for an awful amount of slaughter and human anguish. He was not only the commander-in-chief of a great army which fought a long and bloody war, but he was the statesman who had insisted that, if necessary, the war should be fought. His mental attitude was dictated by a mixture of practical common sense with genuine human insight, and it is just this mixture which makes him so rare a man and, be it hoped, so prophetic a democrat. He could at one and the same moment order his countrymen to be kiUed for seeking to destroy the American nation and forgive them for their error. His kindliness and his brotherly feeling did not lead him, after the manner of Jefferson, to shirk the necessity and duty of national defence. Neither did it lead him, after the maimer of WiUiam Lloyd Garrison, to advocate non-resistance, whUe at the same time arousing in his feUow-countrymen a spirit of fratricidal warfare. In the midst of that hideous civU contest which was provoked, perhaps un necessarily, by hatred, irresponsibUity, passion, and disloyalty, and which has been the fruitful cause of national disloyalty down to the present day, Lincoln did not for a moment cherish a bitter or unjust feeUng against the national enemies. The southerners, fiUed as they were with a passionate democratic devotion to their own interests and hberties, abused Lincoln until they reaUy came to believe that he was a mUitary tyrant, yet he never faUed to treat them in a fair and forgiving spirit. When he was assassinated, it was the South, as weU as the American nation, which had lost its best friend, because he alone among the Republican leaders had the wisdom to see that the divided House could only be restored by justice and kind ness; and if there are any defects in its restoration today, they are chiefly due to the baleful spirit of injustice and hatred whidi the RepubUcans took over from the AboUtionists. PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 8i His superiority to his poUtical associates in constructive states manship is measured by his superiority in personal character. There are many men who are able to forgive the enemies of theu: country, but tiiere are few who can forgive their personal ene mies. I need not rehearse the well-known instances of Lincoln's magnanimity. He not only cherished no resentment against men who had intentionaUy and even maUciously injured him, but he seems at times to have gone out of his way to do them a service. This is, perhaps, his greatest distinction. Lincoln's magnanunity is the final proof of the completeness of his seU- discipUne. The quaUty of being magnanimous is both the con summate virtue and the one which is least natural. It was cer tainly far from being natural among Lincoln's own people. Americans of his time were generaUy of the opinion that it was dishonorable to overlook a personal injury. They considered it weak and unmanly not to quarrel with another man a Uttle harder than he quarreled with you. The pioneer was good- natured and kindly; but he was aggressive, quick-tempered, un reasonable, and utterly devoid of personal discipUne. A sUght or an insult to his personaUty became in his eyes a moral wrong which must be cherished and avenged, and which reUeved him of any obligation to be just or kind to his enemy. Many con spicuous iUustrations of this quarrelsome spirit are to be found in the poUtical life of the middle period, which, indeed, cannot be understood without constantly falUng back upon the influ ence of Uvely personal resentments. Every prominent poUtician cordiaUy disliked or hated a certain number of his poUtical ad versaries and associates; and his pubhc actions were often dic tated by a purpose either to injure these men or to get ahead of them. After the retirement of Jackson these enmities and resent ments came to have a smaUer influence; but a man's right and duty to quarrel with anybody who, in his opinion, had done him an injury was unchaUenged, and was generally considered to be the necessary accompaniment of American democratic vhUity. As I have intimated above, Andrew Jackson was the most conspicuous example of this quarrelsome spirit, and for this reason he is whoUy inferior to Lincohi as a type of democratic 82 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS manhood. Jackson had many admirable quahties and on the whole he served his country weU. He also was a "man of the people" who understood and represented the mass of his feUow- countrymen, and who played the part, according to his Ughts, of a courageous and independent poUtical leader. He also loved and defended the Union. But with aU his exceUence he should never be held up as a model to American youth. The world was divided into his personal friends and foUowers and his personal enemies, and he was as eager to do the latter an injury as he was to do the former a service. His quarrels were not petty, because Jackson was, on the whole, a big rather than a Uttie man, but they were fierce and they were for the most part irreconcUable. They bulk so large in his Ufe that they can not be overlooked. They stamp him a type of the vindictive man without personal discipline, just as Lincoln's behavior towards Stanton, Chase, and others stamps him a type of the man who has achieved magnanimity. He is the kind of national hero the admiring imitation of whom can do nothing but good. Lincoln had abandoned the Ulusion of his own pecuhar per sonal importance. He had become profoundly and sincerely humble, and his humiUty was as far as possible from being either a conventional pose or a matter of nervous self-distrust. It did not impair the firmness of his wUl. It did not betray him into shirking responsibilities. Although only a country lawyer without executive experience, he did not flinch from assuming the leadership of a great nation in one of the gravest crises of its national history, from becoming commander-in-chief of an army of a mUUon men, and from spending $3,000,000,000 in the prosecution of a war. His humiUty, that is, was precisely an example of moral vitaUty and insight rather than of moral awkwardness and enf eeblement. It was the fruit of reflection on his own personal experience — the supreme instance of his abUity to attam moral truth both in disciphne and in idea; and in its aspect of a moral truth it obtained a more exphcit expres sion than did some other of his finer personal attributes. His practice of cherishing and repeating tiie plaintive Uttie verses PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 83 which inquire monotonously whether the sphit of mortal has any right to be proud indicates the depth and the highly con scious character of this fundamental moral conviction. He is not only humble himself, but he feels and declares that men have no right to be anything but humble; and he thereby enters into possession of the most fruitful and the most universal of aU reUgious ideas. Lincoln's humiUty, no less than his Uberal inteUigence and his magnanimous disposition, is more democratic than it is American; but in this, as in so many other cases, his personal moral dignity and his pecuUar moral insight did not separate him from his associates. Like them, he wanted professional success, pubhc office, and the ordinary rewards of American life; and Uke them, he bears no trace of poUtical or moral purism. But unlike them, he was not the inteUectual and moral victim of his own purposes and ambitions; and unlike them, his life is a tribute to the sincerity and depth of his moral insight. He could never have become a national leader by the ordimiy road of insistent and clamorous self-assertion. Had he not been restored to pubUc life by the crisis, he would have remained in aU probabUity a comparatively obscure and a whoUy under valued man. But the political ferment of 1856 and the threat of ruin overhanging the American Union pushed him again on to the poUtical highway; and once there, his years of uiteUectual discipluie enabled him to play a leading and a decisive part. His personaUty obtained momentum, direction, and increasing dignity from its identification with great issues and events. He became the individual instrument whereby an essential and salutary national purpose was fulfiUed; and the instrument was admirably effective, precisely because it had been silently and unconsciously tempered and formed for high achievement. Issue as he was of a society in which the cheap tool, whether mechanical or personal, was the immediately successful tool, he had none the less labored long in the making of a consum mate individual instrument. Some of my readers may protest that I have over-emphasized the difference between Lincoln and his contemporary feUow- 84 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS countrymen. In order to exalt the leader have I not too much disparaged the foUowers? WeU, a comparison of this kind always involves the risk of unfairness; but if there is much truth in the foregoing estimate of Lincoln, the lessons of the com parison are worth its inevitable risks. The ordinary interpre tation of Lincoln as a consummate democrat and a "man of the people" has impUed that he was, Uke Jackson, simply a bigger and a better version of the plain American citizen; and it is just this interpretation which I have sought to deny and to expose. In many respects he was, of course, very much Uke his neighbors and associates. He accepted everything whole some and useful in their life and behavior. He shared their good-feUowship, their strength of wiU, their exceUent faith, and above aU their innocence; and he could never have served his country so weU, or reached as high a level of personal dignity, in case he had not been good-natured and strong and innocent. But, as aU commentators have noted, he was not only good- natured, strong, and innocent; he had made himseU inteUectuaUy candid, concentrated, and disinterested, and moraUy humane, magnanimous, and humble. AU these qualities, which were the very flower of his personal Ufe, were not possessed either by the average or the exceptional American of his day; and not only were they not possessed, but they were either whoUy ignored or consciously undervalued. Yet these very quaUties of high inteUigence, humanity, magnanimity, and humiUty are pre cisely the quaUties which Americans, in order to become better democrats, should add to their strength, their homogeneity, and their innocence; whUe at the same time they are just the quaUties which Americans are prevented by their individuaUstic practice and tradition from attaining or properly valuing. Their deepest convictions make the average uninteUigent man the repre sentative democrat, and the aggressive successful individual the admirable national type; and in conformity with these convic tions theh uppermost ideas in respect to Lincoln are that he was a "man of the people" and an example of strong wiU. He was both of these things, but his great distinction is that he was also something vastiy more and better. He cannot be PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 8$ fuUy imderstood and properly valued as a national hero with out an impUcit criticism of these traditional convictions. Such a criticism he himself did not and could not make. In case he had made it, he could never have achieved his great poUtical task and his great personal triumph. But other times bring other needs. It is as desirable today that the criticism should be made expUcit as it was that Lincoln himself in his day should preserve the innocence and integrity of a unique unconscious example. EMERSON* Matthew Arnold [Matthew Arnold (1822-1888) is well known in nineteenth century English literature as a poet, but more particularly as a critic of hterature and of society. He twice visited America on lecture tours — once in 1883-1884 and again in 1886 — and it was during the first of these visits that he deHvered his notable address on Emerson, which was subsequently pubUshed, together with others of his lectures, in the volume entitled, Discourses in America. The high opinion which Arnold in this essay expresses for Emerson is all the more convincing because it is entirely unprejudiced. Arnold's discussion brings out the fact that Emerson's great achievement lay in impressing upon Americans, apart from aU theological speculations, the supreme importance of the higher nature, the moral Hfe, the inteUectual being. As an American critic, George Edward Woodberry, puts it, "He was closer to the soU in his democracy, nearer to the plain people of the country, than any other man of letters; and in his works he embodied more vitaUy the practical ideal of the American — industrious, successful, selt-reUant, not embarrassed by the past, not disturbed by the future, confident, not afraid. . . . The fortune of the repubUc was for him not acciunulated wealth but widespread welfare. He was by birth a patriot, by tradition a Puritan democrat, and these views were natural to him. His Americanism undoubtedly endears him to his countrymen. But it is not within narrow Umits of poUtical or worldly wisdom that his influence and teachings have their effect; but in the invigoration of the personal life with which his pages are electric."] Forty years ago, when I was an undergraduate at Oxford, voices were in the air there which haunt my memory stiU. Happy the man who in that susceptible season of youth hears such voices! they are a possession to him forever. No such 'Matthew Arnold's Discourses in America. 86 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS voices as those which we heard in our youth at Oxford are sound ing there now. Oxford has more criticism now, more knowledge, more Ught; but such voices as those of our youth it has no longer. The name of Cardinal Newman is a great name to the imagination stiU; his genius and his style are stiU things of power. But he is over eighty years old; he is in the Oratory at Birming ham; he has adopted, for the doubts and difficulties which beset men's minds today, a solution which, to speak frankly, is im possible. Forty years ago he was in the very prime of life; he was close at hand to us at Oxford; he was preaching in St. Mary's pulpit every Sunday; he seemed about to transform and to renew what was for us the most national and natural institution in the world, the Church of England. 'Who could resist the charm of that spiritual apparition, gUding in the dim afternoon Ught through the aisles of St. Mary's, rising into the pulpit, and then, in the most entrancing of voices, breaking the sUence with words and thoughts which were a reUgious music — subtie, sweet, mournful? I seem to hear him stiU, sa)dng: "After the fever of life, after wearinesses and sicknesses, fightings and de- spondings, langour and fretiulness, struggling and succeeding; after aU the changes and chances of this troubled, unhealthy state — at length comes death, at length the white throne of God, at length the beatific vision." Or, if we foUowed him back to his seclusion at Littlemore, that dreary viUage by the London road, and to the house of retreat and the church which he buUt there — a mean house such as Paul might have Uved in when he was tent-making at Ephesus, a church plain and thinly sown with worshipers — who could resist him there either, welcoming back to the severe joys of church feUowship, and of daUy worship and prayer, the firstlings of a generation which had weU-nigh for gotten them? Again I seem to hear him: "The season is chUl and dark, and the breath of the morning is damp, and wor shipers are few; but all this befits those who are by their profes sion pentitents and mourners, watchers and pUgrims. More dear to them that loneliness, more cheerful that severity, and more bright that gloom, than all those aids and appUances of luxury by which men nowadays attempt to make prayer less PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 87 disagreeable to them. True faith does not covet comforts; they who realize that awful day, when they shaU see Him face to face whose eyes are as a flame of fire, wiU as Uttle bargain to pray pleasantly now as they wiU think of doing so then." Somewhere or other I have spoken of those "last enchant ments" of the Middle Age which Oxford sheds around us, and here they were! But there were other voices sounding in our ear besides Newman's. There was the puissant voice of Carlyle; so sorely strained, over-used, and misused since, but then fresh, comparatively sound, and reaching our hearts with true, pathetic eloquence. 'Who can forget the emotion of receiving in its first freshness such a sentence as that sentence of Carlyle upon Edward Irving, then just dead: "Scotland sent him forth a herculean man; our mad Babylon wore and wasted him with aU her engines — and it took her twelve years!" A greater voice still — the greatest voice of the century — came to us in those youthful years through Carlyle: the voice of Goethe. To this day — such is the force of youthful associations — I read the Wilhelm Meister with more pleasure in Carlyle's translation than in the original. The large, liberal view of human Ufe in Wilhelm Meister, how novel it was to the EngUshman in those days ! and it was salutary, too, and educative for him, doubtiess, as weU as novel. But what moved us most in Wilhelm Meister was that which, after all, wiU always move the young most — the poetry, the eloquence. Never, surely, was Carlyle's prose so beautiful and pure as in his rendering of the Youths' dirge over Mignon ! — "WeU is our treasure now laid up, the fair image of the past. Here sleeps it in the marble, undecaying; in your hearts, also, it Uves, it works. Travel, travel, back iiito life ! Take along with you this holy earnestness, for earnestness alone makes Ufe eternity." Here we had the voice of the great Goethe; — ^not the stiff, and hindered, and frigid, and factitious Goethe who speaks to us too often from those sixty volumes of his, but of the great Goethe, and the true one. And besides those voices, there came to us in that old Oxford time a voice also from this side of the Atlantic — a clear and pure voice, which for my ear, at any rate, brought a strain as new. 88 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and moving, and unforgettable, as the strain of Newman, or Carlyle, or Goethe. Mr. LoweU has weU described the apparition of Emerson to your young generation here, in that distant time of which I am speaking, and of his workings upon them. He was your Newman, your man of soul and genius visible to you in the flesh, speaking to your bodUy ears, a present object for your heart and imagination. That is surely the most potent of aU influences! nothing can come up to it. To us at Oxford Emerson was but a voice speaking from three thousand mUes away. But so weU he spoke that from that time forth Boston Bay and Concord were names invested to my ear with a senti ment akin to that which invests for me the names of Oxford and of Weimar; and snatches of Emerson's strain fixed themselves in my mind as imperishably as any of the eloquent words which I have been just now quoting. "Then dies the man in you; then once more perish the buds of art, poetry, and science, as they have died aheady in a thousand thousand men." "What Plato has thought, he may think; what a saint has felt, he may fed; what at any time has befaUen any man, he can understand." "Trust thyseU ! every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the Divine Providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age; betraying their perception that the Eternal was stirring at their heart, working through their hands, pre dominating in aU their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest spirit the same transcendent destiny; and not pinched in a comer, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but redeemers and benefactors, pious aspirants to be noble clay plastic under the Almighty effort, let us advance and advance on chaos and the dark!" These lofty sentences of Emerson, and a hundred others of Uke strain, I never have lost out of my memory; I never can lose them. At last I find myseU in Emerson's own country, and looking upon Boston Bay. NaturaUy I revert to the friend of my youth. It is not always pleasant to ask oneself questions about the friends of one's youth; they cannot always weU support it. PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 89 Carlyle, for instance, in my judgment, cannot weU support such a retum upon him. Yet we should make the retum; we should part with our iUusions; we should know the truth. When I come to this country, where Emerson now counts for so much, and where such high clauns are made for him, I puU myseU together, and ask myseU what the truth about this object of my youthful admiration reaUy is. Improper elements often come into our estimate of men. We have lately seen a German critic make Goethe the greatest of aU poets, because Germany is now the greatest of miUtary powers, and wants a poet to match. Then, too, America is a young country; and young countries, Uke young persons, are apt sometimes to evince in their Uterary judgments a want of scale and measure. I set myself, therefore, resolutely to come at a real estimate of Emerson, and with a leaning even to strictness rather than to indulgence. That is the safer course. Time has no indulgence; any veUs of iUusion which we may have left around an object because we loved it, Time is sure to strip away. I was reading the other day a notice of Emerson by a serious and interestuig American critic. Fifty or sixty passages ui Emerson's poems, says this critic — ^who had doubtiess himseU been nourished on Emerson's writings, and held them justly dear — ^fif ty or sixty passages from Emerson's poems have already entered into EngUsh speech as matter of famiUar and universaUy current quotation. Here is a specimen of that personal sort of estimate which, for my part, even in speaking of authors dear to me, I would try to avoid. 'What is the kind of phrase of which we may fairly say that it has entered into EngUsh speech as matter of famiUar quotation? Such a phrase, surely, as the "Patience on a monument" of Shakspere; as the "Darkness visible" of MUton; as the "Where ignorance is bUss" of Gray. Of not one single passage in Emerson's poetry can it be truly said that it has become a familiar quotation Uke phrases of this kind. It is not enough that it should be famUiar to his admirers, famiUar in New England, famiUar even throughout the United States; it miist be familiar to aU readers and lovers of EngUsh poetry. Of not more than one or two passages in 90 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Emerson's poetry can it, I think, be truly said, that they stand ever-present in the memory of even many lovers of EngUsh poetry. A great number of passages from his poetry are no doubt perfectly famihar to the mind and hps of the critic whom I have mentioned, and perhaps a wide circle of American readers. But this is a very different thing from being matter of universal quotation, like the phrases of the legitimate poets. And, in truth, one of the legitimate poets, Emerson, in my opinion, is not. His poetry is interesting, it makes one think; but it is not the poetry of one of the born poets. I say it of him with reluctance, although I am sure that he would have said it of himself; but I say it with reluctance, because I disUke giv ing pain to his admirers, and because aU my own wish, too, is to say of him what is favorable. But I regard myself, not as speaking to please Emerson's admirers, not as speaking to please myself; but rather, I repeat, as communing with Time and Nature concerning the productions of this beautiful and rare spirit, and as resigning what of him is by their unalterable decree touched with caducity, in order the better to mark and secure that in him which is immortal. MUton says that poetry ought to be simple, sensuous, im passioned. WeU, Emerson's poetry is seldom either simple, or sensuous, or impassioned. In general it lacks directness; it lacks concreteness; it lacks energy. His grammar is often em barrassed; in particular, the want of clearly-marked distinction between the subject and the object of his sentence is a frequent cause of obscurity in him. A poem which shaU be a plain, forcible, inevitable whole he hardly ever produces. Such good work as the noble lines graven on the Concord Monument is the excep tion with him; such ineffective work as the Fourth of July Ode or the Boston Hymn is the rule. Even passages and single lines of thorough plainness and commanding force are rare in his poetry. They exist, of course; but when we meet with them they give us a sUght shock of surprise, so Uttie has Emerson accustomed us to them. Let me have the pleasure of quoting one or two of these exceptional passages: PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM gt "So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low. Thou must. The youth repUes, / can." Or again this: "Though love repine and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply: "Tis man's perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die.' " ExceUent! but how seldom do we get from him a strain blown so clearly and firmly! Take another passage where his strain has not only clearness, it has also grace and beauty: "And ever, when the happy chUd In May beholds the blooming wild, And hears in heaven the bluebird sing, 'Onward,' he cries, 'your baskets bring! In the next field is air more rmld, And in yon hazy west is Eden's balmier spring.' " In the style and cadence here there is a reminiscence, I think, of Gray; at any rate the pureness, grace, and beauty of these lines are worthy even of Gray. But Gray holds his high rank as a poet, not merely by the beauty and grace of passages in his poems; not merely by a diction generaUy pure in an age of im pure diction: he holds it, above aU, by the power and skUl with which the evolution of his poems is conducted. Here is his grand superiority to CoUins, whose diction in his best poem, the Ode to Evening, is purer than Gray's; but then the Ode to Evening is Uke a river which loses itself in the sand, whereas Gray's best poems have an evolution sure and satisfying. Emerson's May- Day, from which I just now quoted, has no real evolution at aU; it is a series of observations. And, in general, his poems have no evolution. Take, for example, his Titmouse, Here he has an exceUent subject; and his observation of Nature, moreover, is always marvelously close and fine. But compare what he makes of his meeting with his titmouse with what Cowper or Bums makes of the like kind of incident! One never quite arrives at 92 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS learning what the titmouse actuaUy did for him at aU, though one feels a strong interest and desire to learn it; but one is reduced to guessing, and cannot be quite sure that after aU one has guessed right. He is not plain and concrete enough — ^in other words, not poet enough — to be able to teU us. And a faUure of this kind goes through almost aU his verse, keeps him amid symbohsm and aUusion and the fringes of things, and, in spite of his spiritual power, deeply impairs his poetic value. Through the inestimable virtue of concreteness, a simple poem like The Bridge of LongfeUow, or the School Days of Mr. 'Whittier, is of more poetic worth, perhaps, than aU the verse of Emerson. I do not, then, place Emerson among the great poets. But I go further, and say that I do not place him among the great writers, the great men of letters. 'Who are the great men of letters? They are men like Cicero, Plato, Bacon, Pascal, Swift, 'Voltaire — ^writers with, in the first place, a genius and instinct for style; writers whose prose is by a kind of native necessity true and sound. Now the style of Emerson, Uke the style of his transcendentaUst friends and of the Dial so continuaUy — the style of Emerson is capable of falling into a strain like this, which I take from the beginning of his Essay on Love: "Every soul is a celestial being to every other soul. The heart has its sabbaths and jubilees, in which the world appears as a hymeneal feast, and aU natural sounds and the circle of the seasons are erotic odes and dances." Emerson altered this sentence in the later editions. LUie Wordsworth, he was in later life fond of altering; and in general his later alterations, like those of Wordsworth, are not improvements. He softened the passage in question, however, though without reaUy mending it. I quote it in its original and strongly marked form. Arthur Stanley used to relate that about the year 1840, beuig in conversation with some Americans in quarantine at Malta, and thinking to please them, he declared his warm admiration for Emerson's Essays, then recently pubUshed. However, the Americans shook their heads, and told him that for home taste Emerson was decidedly too greeny. We wUl hope, for their sakes, that the sort of thing they had in their heads was such writing as I have PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 93 just quoted. Unsound it is, indeed, and in a style ahnost im possible to a bom man of letters. It is a curious thing, that quaUty of style which marks the great writer, the bom man of letters. It resides in the whole tissue of one's work, and of his work regarded as a composition for Uterary purposes. BrilUant and powerful passages in a man's writings do not prove his possession of it; it lies in their whole tissue. Emerson has passages of noble and pathetic eloquence, such as those which I quoted at the beginning; he has passages of shrewd and feUcitous wit; he has crisp epigram; he has pas sages of exquisitely touched observation of nature. Yet he is not a great writer; his style has not the requisite wholeness of good tissue. Even Carlyle is not, in my judgment, a great writer. He has surpassingly powerful qualities of expression, far more powerful than Emerson's, and reminding one of the gifts of expression of the great poets — of even Shakspere himseU. What Emerson so admirably says of Carlyle's "devouring eyes and portrajTng hand," "those thirsty eyes, those portrait-eating, portrait-painting eyes of thine, those fatal perceptions," is thoroughly true. What a description is Carlyle's of the first pubUsher of Sartor Resartus, "to whom the idea of a new edition of Sartor is frightful, or rather ludicrous, unimaginable;" of this poor Fraser, in whose "wonderful world of Tory pamphleteers, conservative Younger-brothers, Regent Street loungers. Crock- ford gamblers, Irish Jesuits, drunken reporters, and misceUa- neous unclean persons (whom niter and much soap wiU not wash clean), not a soul has expressed the smaUest wish that way!" ¦What a portrait, agaui, of the weU-beloved John Sterling ! "One, and the best, of a smaU class extant here, who, nigh drowning in a black wreck of InfideUty (Ughted up by some glare of Radi- caUsm only, now growing dim too), and about to perish, saved themselves into a Coleridgian Shovel-Hattedness." What touches in the invitation of Emerson to London! "You shaU see blockheads by the miUion; Pickwick himseU shaU be visible — innocent young Dickens, reserved for a questionable fate. The great Wordsworth shaU taUs. tUl you yourself pronounce him to be a bore. Southey's complexion is stiU healthy mahogany 94 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS brown, with a fleece of white hair, and eyes that seem running at fuU gaUop. Leigh Hunt, man of genius in the shape of a cock ney, is my near neighbor, with good humor and no common sense; old Rogers with his pale head, white, bare, and cold as snow, with those large blue eyes, cruel, sorrowful, and that sardonic sheU chin." How inimitable it aU is! And, finaUy for one must not go on forever, this version of a London Sunday, with the pubhc houses closed during the hours of divine service ! "It is sUent Sunday; the populace not yet admitted to their beer-shops, tiU the respectabUities conclude theh rubric mum meries — a much more audacious feat than beer." Yet even Carlyle is not, in my judgment, to be caUed a great writer; one cannot think of ranking him with men Uke Cicero and Plato and Swift and Voltaire. Emerson freely promises to Carlyle im- mortaUty for his histories. They wiU not have it. 'Why? Because the materials furnished to him by that devouring eye of his, and that portra5Tng hand, were not wrought in and subdued by him to what his work, regarded as a composition for Uterary purposes, required. Occurring in conversation, breaking out in famiUar correspondence, they are magnificent, inimitable; nothing more is required of them; thus thrown out anyhow, they serve their turn and fulfil their function. And, therefore, I should not wonder if reaUy Carlyle Uved, in the long run, by such an invaluable record as that correspondence between him and Emerson, of which we owe the publication to Mr. Charles Norton — ^by this and not by his works, as Johnson Uves in BosweU, not by his works. For Carlyle's saUies, as the staple of a hterary work, become wearisome; and as time more and more appUes to Carlyle's works its stringent test, this wUl be felt more and more. Shakspere, Mohere, Swift — they, too, had, Uke Carlyle, the devourmg eye and the portraying hand. But they are great Uterary masters, they are supreme writers, be cause they knew how to work into a Uterary composition their materials, and to subdue them to the purposes of Uterary effect. Carlyle is too wiUful for this, too turbid, too vehement. You wUl tiimk I deal in nothing but negatives. I have been saying that Emerson is not one of the great poets, the great PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 95 writers. He has not their quaUty of style. He is, however, the propounder of a phUosophy. The Platonic dialogues afford us the example of exquisite Uterary form and treatment given to phUosophical ideas. Plato is at once a great Uterary man and a great phUosopher. If we speak carefuUy, we cannot call Aristotie or Spuioza or Kant great Uterary men, or their productions great Uterary works. But their work is arranged witii such con structive power that they buUd a phUosophy, and are justiy caUed great phUosophical writers. Emerson cannot, I think, be caUed with justice a great phUosophical writer. He cannot buUd; his arrangement of phUosophical ideas has no progress in it, no evolution; he does not construct a phUosophy. Emerson himseU knew the defects of his method, or rather want of method, very weU; indeed, he and Carlyle criticise themselves and one another in a way which leaves little for anyone else to do in the way of formulating their defects. Carlyle formulates perfectly the defects of his friend's poetic and Uterary production when he says of the Dial: "For me it is too ethereal, speculative, theoretic; I wiU have aU things condense themselves, take shape and body, if they are to have my sympathy." And, speaking of Emerson's Orations, he says: "I long to see some concrete Thing, some Event, Man's Life, American Forest, or piece of Creation, which this Emerson loves and wonders at, weU Emersonized — depictured by Emerson, fiUed with the life of Emerson, and cast forth from him, then to Uve by itself. If these Orations balk me of this, how profitable soever they may be for others, I wUl not love them." Emerson himseU formulates per fectly the defect of his own phUosophical productions when he speaks of his "formidable tendency to the lapidary style. I buUd my house of bowlders." "Here I sit and read and write," he says again, "with very Uttle system, and, as far as regards composition, with the most fragmentary result; paragraphs in comprehensible, each sentence an infinitely repellent particle." Nothing can be truer; and the work of a Spinoza or Kant, of the men who stand as great philosophical writers, does not proceed in this wise. Some people wiU teU you that Emerson's poetry, indeed, is 96 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS too abstract, and his phUosophy too vague, but that his best work is his English Traits, The English Traits are beyond question very pleasant reading. It is easy to praise them, easy to commend the author of them. But I insist on always trying Emerson's work by the highest standards. I esteem him too much to try his work by any other. Tried by the highest stand ards, and compared with the work of the exceUent markers and recorders of the traits of human Ufe — of writers Uke Montaigne, La Bruyere, Addison — the English Traits wUl not stand the comparison. Emerson's observation has not the disinterested quality of the observation of these masters. It is the observation of a man systematicaUy benevolent, as Hawthorne's observation in Our Old Home is the work of a man chagrined. Hawthorne's Uterary talent is of the first order. His subjects are generaUy not to me subjects of the highest interest; but his Uterary tal ent is of the first order, the finest, I think, which America has yet produced — ^finer, by much, than Emerson's. Yet Our Old Home is not a masterpiece any more than English Traits. In neither of them is the observer disinterested enough. The author's attitude in each of these cases can easUy be under stood and defended. Hawthorne was a sensitive man, so situated in England that he was perpetuaUy in contact with the British PhiUstine; and the British PhiUstine is a trying personage. Emerson's systematic benevolence comes from what he himseU caUs somewhere his "persistent optimism;" and his persistent optimism is the root of his greatness and the source of his charm. But "stiU let us keep our Uterary conscience true, and judge every kind of Uterary work by the laws reaUy proper to it. The kind of work attempted in the English Traits, and in Our Old Home is work which cannot be done perfectiy with a bias such as that given by Emerson's optimism or by Haw thorne's chagrin. Consequently, neither English Traits nor Our Old Home is a work of perfection in its kind. Not with the MUtons and Grays, not with the Platos and Spinozas, not with the SwUts and Voltaires, not with the Montaignes and Addisons, can we rank Emerson. His work of various kinds, when one compares it with the work done in a PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 97 corresponding kind by these masters, faUs to stand the com parison. No man could see this clearer than Emerson himseU. It is hard not to feel despondency when we contemplate our faUures and shortcomuigs; and Emerson, the least seU-flattering and the most modest of men, saw so plainly what was lacking to him that he had his moments of despondency. "Alas, my friend," he writes in reply to Carlyle, who had erfiorted him to creative work — "Alas, my friend, I can do no such gay thing as you say. I do not belong to the poets, but only to a low depart ment of Uterature — the reporters; suburban men." He dep recated his friend's praise; praise "generous to a fault," he caUs it; praise "generous to the shaming of me — cold, fastidious, ebbing person that I am. Already in a former letter you had said too much good of my poor Uttle arid book, which is as sand to my eyes. I can only say that I heartily wish the book were better; and I must try and deserve so much favor from the kind gods by a bolder and truer living in the months to come — such as may perchance one day release and invigorate this cramped hand of mine. 'When I see how much work is to be done; what room for a poet, for any spirituaUst, in this great inteUi gent, sensual, and avaricious America — ^I lament my fumbUng fingers and stammering tongue." Again, as late as 1870, he writes to Carlyle: "There is no example of constancy like yours, and it always stings my stupor into temporary recovery and wonderful resolution to accept the noble chaUenge. But 'the strong hours conquer us;' and I am the victim of miscellany — misceUany of designs, vast debUity, and procrastination." The forlorn note belonging to the phrase, "vast debUity," recaUs that saddest and most discouraged of writers, the author of Obermann, Senancour, with whom Emerson has in truth a cer tain kinship. He has, in common with Senancour, his pureness, his passion for nature, his single eye; and here we find him con fessing, Uke Senancour, a sense in himself of steriUty and im potence. And now I think I have cleared the ground. I have given up to envious Time as much of Emerson as Time can fairly expect ever G 98 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS to obtain. We have not in Emerson a great poet, a great writer, a great phUosophy maker. His relation to us is not that of one of those personages; yet it is a relation of, I think, even superior importance. His relation to us is more Uke that of the Roman Emperor, Marcus AureUus. Marcus AureUus is not a great writer, a great phUosophy maker; he is the friend and aider of those who would Uve in the spirit. Emerson is the same. He is the friend and aider of those who would Uve in the spirit. AU the points in thinking which are necessary for this purpose he takes; but he does not combine them into a system, nor present them as a regular phUosophy. Combined in a system by a man with the requisite talent for this kind of thing, they would be less useful than as Emerson gives them to us; and the man with the talent so to systematize them would be less impressive than Emerson. They do very weU as they now stand — Uke "bowlders," as he says — ^in "paragraphs incompressible, each sentence an infinitely repeUent particle." In such sentences his main points recur again and again, and become fixed in the memory. We aU know them. First and foremost, character. Character is everything. "That which aU things tend to educe — ^which freedom, cultivation, intercourse, revolutions, go to form and deUver — ^is character." Character and seU-rehance. "Trust thyself! every heart vibrates to that iron string." And yet we have our being in a not ourselves. "There is a power above and behind us, and we are the channels of its communications." But our Uves must be pitched higher. "LUe must be Uved on a higher plane; we must go up to a higher platiorm, to which we are always invited to ascend; there the whole scene changes." The good we need is forever dose to us, though we attain it not. "On the brink of the waters of hfe and truth, we are miserably dying." This good is close to us, moreover, in our daUy Ufe, and in the famiUar, homely places. "The unremitting retention of simple and high sentiments in obscure duties — that is the maximum for us. Let us be poised and wise, and our ovsti today. Let us treat the men and women weU — treat them as U they were real; perhaps they are. Men Uve in their fancy, like drunkards PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 99 whose hands are too soft and tremulous for successful labor. I settie myseU ever firmer in the creed, that we should not post pone and refer and wish, but do broad justice where we are, by whomsoever we deal with; acceptuig our actual companions and drcumstances, however humble or odious, as the mystic officials to whom the universe has delegated its whole pleasure for us. Massachusetts, Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry places, and the ear loves names of foreign and classic topography. But here we are; and if we wiU tarry a Uttle we may come to leam that here is best. See to it only that thyself is here." Furthermore, the good is close to us all. "I resist the skeptidsm of our education and of our educated men. I do not beUeve that the differences of opinion and character in men are organic. I do not recognize, besides the class of the good and the wise, a permanent class of skeptics, or a class of conserva tives, or of maUgnants, or of materiaUsts. I do not beUeve in the classes. Every man has a caU of the power to do something unique." Exclusiveness is deadly. "The exclusive in social Ufe does not see that he excludes himseU from enjoyment in the attempt to appropriate it. The exclusionist in reUgion does not see that he shuts the door of Heaven on himseU in striving to shut out others. Treat men as pawns and ninepins, and you shaU suffer as weU as they. If you leave out their heart you shaU lose your own. The selfish man suffers more from his seffishness than he from whom that seffishness withholds some important benefit." A sound nature wiU be inclined to refuse ease and seU-indulgence. "To Uve with some rigor of temperance, or some extreme of generosity, seems to be an asceticism which common good-nature would appoint to those who are at ease and in plenty, in sign that they feel a brotherhood with the great multitude of suffering men." Compensation, finaUy, is the great law of life; it is everjrwhere, it is sure, and there is no escape from it. This is that "law alive and beautUul, which works over our heads and under our feet. Pitiless, it avaUs itseU of our success when we obey it, and of our ruin when we contravene it. We are all secret beUevers in it. It rewards actions after their nature. The reward of a thing weU done is to have loo NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS done it. The thief steals from himseU, the swindler swindles himseU. You must pay at last your own debt." This is tonic indeed! And let no one object that it is too general; that more practical, positive direction is what we mean; that Emerson's optimism, seU-reUance, and indifference to favor able conditions for our Ufe and growth have in them something of danger. "Trust thyseU;" "what attracts my attention shaU have it;" "though thou shouldest walk the world over thou shalt not be able to find a condition inopportune or ignoble;" "what we call vulgar society is that society whose poetry is not yet written, but which you shaU presentiy make as enviable and renewed as any." With maxims like these, we surely, it may be said, run some risk of being made too weU satisfied with our own actual seU and state, however crude and imperfect they may be. "Trust thyseU?" It may be said that the common American or EngUshman is more than enough disposed already to trust himseU. I often reply, when our sectarians are praised for foUowing conscience: Our people are very good in foUowing their conscience; where they are not so good is in ascertaining whether their conscience teUs them right. "What attracts my attention shaU have it?" WeU, that is our people's plea when they run after the Salvation Army, and desire Messrs. Moody and Sankey. "Thou shalt not be able to find a condition in opportune or ignoble?" But think of the tum of the good people of our race for producing a life of hideousness and immense ennui; think of that specimen of your own New England Ufe which Mr. HoweUs gives us in one of his charming stories which I was reading lately ; think of the Ufe of that ragged New England farm in the Lady of the Aroostook; think of Deacon Blood, and Aunt Maria, and the straight-backed chairs with black horse hair seats, and Ezra Perkins with perfect seU-reUance depositing his travelers in the snow ! I can truly say that in the Uttie which I have seen of the Ufe of New England, I am more struck with what has been achieved than with the crudeness and failure. But no doubt there is still a great deal of crudeness also. Your own noveUsts say there is, and I suppose they say true. In the New England, as in the Old, our people have to leam, I suppose, PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM loi not that their modes of life are beautiful and exceUent already; they have rather to learn that they must transform them. To adopt this line of objection to Emerson's deliverances would, however, be unjust. In the first place, Emerson's points are in themselves true, if understood in a certain high sense; they are true and fruitiul. And the right work to be done, at the hour when he appeared, was to affirm them generaUy and absolutely. Only thus could he break through the hard and fast barrier of narrow, fixed ideas, which he found confronting him, and win an entrance for new ideas. Had he attempted developments which may now strike us as expedient, he would have excited fierce antagonism, and probably effected Uttle or nothing. The time might come for doing other work later, but the work which Emerson did was the right work to be done then. In the second place, strong as was Emerson's optimism, and unconquerable as was his beUef in a good result to emerge from aU which he saw going on around him, no misanthropical satirist ever saw shortcomings and absurdities more clearly than he did, or exposed them more courageously. 'When he sees "the mean ness," as he caUs it, "of American poUtics," he congratulates Washington on being "long aheady happUy dead," on being "wrapt in his shroud and forever safe." With how firm a touch he delineates the faults of your two great poUtical parties of forty years ago ! The Democrats, he says, "have not at heart the ends which give to the name of democracy what hope and virtue are in it. The spirit of our American radicalism is de structive and aimless ; it is not loving ; it has no ulterior and divine ends, but is destructive only out of hatred and selfishness. On the other side, the conservative party, composed of the most moderate, able, and cultivated part of the population, is timid, and merely defensive of property. It vindicates no right, it aspires to no real good, it brands no crime, it proposes no generous poUcy. From neither party, when in power, has the world any benefit to expect in science, art, or humanity, at aU commen surate with the resources of the nation." Then with what subtle though kindly irony he foUows the gradual withdrawal in New England, in the last half century, of tender consciences from the 102 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS social organizations — the bent for experiments such as that of Brook Farm and the like — ^foUows it in aU its "dissidence of dissent and Protestantism of the Protestant reUgion!" He even loves to raUy the New Englander on his phUanthropical activity, and to find his beneficence and its institutions a bore ! "Your misceUaneous popular charities, the education at coUege of fools, the buUding of meetinghouses to the vain end to which many of these now stand, alms to sots, and the thousandfold reUef societies — though I confess with shame that I sometimes suc cumb and give the doUar, yet it is a wicked doUar, which by and by I shaU have the manhood to withhold." "Our Sunday schools and churches and pauper societies are yokes to the neck. We pain ourselves to please nobody. There are natural ways of arriving at the same ends at which these aim, but do not arrive." "Nature does not Uke our benevolence or our learning much better than she likes our frauds and wars. 'When we come out of the caucus, or the bank, or the AboUtion convention, or the Temperance meeting, or the Transcendental dub, into the fields and woods, she says to us: 'So hot, my Uttie sir?' " Yes, truly, his insight is admirable; his truth is precious. Yet the secret of his effect is not even in these; it is in his temper. It is in the hopeful, serene beautUul temper wherewith these, in Emerson, are indissolubly joined; in which they work, and have their being. He says himseU: "We judge of a man's wisdom by his hope, knowing that the perception of the inexhaustibleness of nature is an immortal youth." If this be so, how wise is Emer son ! for never had man such a sense of the inexhaustibleness of nature, and such hope. It was the ground of his being; it never faUed him. Even when he is sadly avowing the imperfection of his Uterary power and resources, lamenting his fumbling fingers and stammering tongue, he adds: "Yet, as I teU you, I am very easy in my mind and never dream of suicide. My whole phUos ophy which is very real teaches acquiescence and optimism. Sure I am that the right word wiU be spoken, though I cut out my tongue." In his old age, vnth friends dying and lUe failing, his note of cheerful, forward-looking hope is still the same. "A multitude of young men are growing up here of high promise, PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 103 and I compare gladly the social poverty of my youth with the power on which these draw." His abiding word for us, the word by which being dead he yet speaks to us, is this: "That which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we are, is cheer fulness and courage, and the endeavor to realize our aspirations. ShaU not the heart, which has received so much, trust tiie Power by which it Uves?" One can scarcely overrate the importance of thus holding fast to happiness and hope. It gives to Emerson's work an in valuable virtue. As Wordsworth's poetry is, in my judgment, the most important work done in verse, in our language, during the present century, so Emerson's Essays are, I think, the most important work done in prose. His work is more important than Carlyle's. Let us be just to Carlyle, provoking though he often is. Not only has he that genius of his which makes Emerson say truly of his letters, that "they savor always of eternity." More than this may be said of him. The scope and upshot of his teaching are true; "his guiding genius," to quote Emerson again, is really "his moral sense, his perception of the sole im portance of truth and justice." But consider Carlyle's temper, as we have been considering Emerson's ! take his own account of it ! "Perhaps London is the proper place for me after aU, seeing aU places are iwproper: who knows? Meanwhile, I lead a most dyspeptic, soUtary, seU-shrouded life; consuming, U possible in sUence, my considerable daUy aUotment of pain; glad when any strength is left in me for writing, which is the only use I can see in myself — too rare a case of late. The ground of my existence is black as death; too black, when aU void too; but at times there paint themselves on it pictures of gold, and rainbow, and Ught- ning; aU the brighter for the black ground, I suppose. Withal, I am very much of a fool." No, not a fool, but turbid and mor bid, willful and perverse. "We judge of a man's wisdom by his hope." Carlyle's perverse attitude towards happiness cuts him off from hope. He fiercely attacks the deshe for happiness; his grand point in Sartor, his secret in which the soul may find rest, is that one shaU cease to desire happiness, that one should learn 104 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS to say to oneseU: "What if thou wert born and predestined not to be happy, but to be unhappy !" He is wrong; Saint Augustine is the better phUosopher, who says: "Act we must in pursuance of what gives us most deUght." Epictetus and Augustuie can be severe moraUsts enough; but both of them know and frankly say that the desire for happiness is the root and ground of man's being. TeU him and show him that he places his happiness wrong, that he seeks for deUght where deUght wiU never be reaUy found; then you Ulumine and further him. But you only confuse him by telling him to cease to desire happiness: and you wiU not teU him this unless you are already confused yourseU. Carlyle preached the dignity of labor, the necessity of right eousness, the love of veracity, the hatred of shams. He is said by many people to be a great teacher, a great helper for us, be cause he does so. But what is the due and eternal result of labor, righteousness, veracity? — Happiness. And how are we drawn to them by one who, instead of making us feel that with them is happiness, teUs us that perhaps we were predestined not to be happy but to be unhappy? You wiU find, in especial, many earnest preachers of our popular reUgion to be fervent in thdr praise and admiration of Carlyle. His insistence on labor, righteousness, and veracity, pleases them; his contempt for happiness pleases them too. I read the other day a tract against smoking, although I do not happen to be a smoker myseU. "Smoking," said the tract, "is liked because it gives agreeable sensations. Now it is a positive objection to a thing that it gives agreeable sensations. An earnest man wUl expressly avoid what gives agreeable sensations." Shortiy afterwards I was inspecting a school, and I found the chUdren reading a piece of poetry on the common theme that were are here today and gone tomorrow. I shaU soon be gone, the speaker in this poem was made to say — "And I shaU be glad to go, For the world at best is a dreary place, And my life is getting low." PATTERNS OF AMERICANISM 105 How usual a language of popular reUgion that is, on our side of the Atlantic at any rate ! But then our popular reUgion, in dis paraging happiness here below, knows very well what it is after. It has its eye on a happiness in a future Ufe above the clouds, in the New Jerusalem, to be won by disliking and rejecting happiness here on earth. And so long as this ideal stands fast, it is very well. But for very many it now stands fast no longer; for Carlyle, at any rate, it had faUed and vanished. Happiness in labor, righteousness, and veracity — in the Ufe of the spirit — here was a gospel stiU for Carlyle to preach, and to help others by preaching. But he baffled them and himseU by preferring the paradox that we are not born for happiness at aU. Happiness in labor, righteousness, and veracity; in aU the Ufe of the spirit; happiness and eternal hope; — that was Emer son's gospel. I hear it said that Emerson was too sanguine; that the actual generation in America is not turning out so weU as he expected. Very Ukely he was too sanguine as to the near future; in this coiftitry it is difficult not to be too sanguine. Very possibly the present generation may prove unworthy of his high hopes; even several generations succeeding this may prove unworthy of them. But by his conviction that in the life of the spirit is happiness, and by his hope that this Ufe of the spirit wiU come more and more to be sanely understood, and to pre vaU, and to work for happiness — ^by this conviction and hope Emerson was great, and he wUl surely prove in the end to have been right ui them. In this country it is difficult, as I said, not to be sanguine. Very many of your writers are over-sanguine, and on the wrong grounds. But you have two men who in what they have written show their sanguineness in a line where courage and hope are just, where they are also infinitely im portant, but where they are not easy. The two men are Franklin and Emerson.^ These two are, I think, the most distinctively and honorably American of your writers; they are the most orig inal and the most valuable. Wise men everj^where know that 'I found with pleasure that this conjunction of Emerson's name with FrankUn's had already occurred to an accompUshed writer and a delightful man, a friend of Emerson, left almost the sole survivor, alas I of the famous io6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS we must keep up our courage and hope; they know that hope is, as Wordsworth weU says — "The paramoimt duty which heaven lajfs. For its own honor, on mim's suffering heart." But the very word duty points to an effort and a struggle to maintain our hope unbroken. Franklin and Emerson maintained theirs Avith a convincing ease, an inspiring joy. FrankUn's con fidence in the happiness with which industry, honesty, and economy wiU crown the life of this work-day world, is such that he runs over with feUcity. With a like f eUcity does Emerson run over, when he contemplates the happiness etemaUy attached to the true Ufe in the spirit. You cannot prize him too much, nor heed him too diUgentiy. He has lessons for both the branches of our race. I figure him to my mind as visible upon earth stiU, as StiU standing here by Boston Bay, or at his own Concord, in his habit as he Uved, but of heightened stature and shining fea ture, with one hand stretched out toward the East, to our laden and laboring England; the other toward the ever-growing West, to his own dearly-loved America, — "great, inteUigent, sensual, avaricious America." To us he shows for guidance his lucid freedom, his cheerfulness and hope; to you his dignity, deUcacy, serenity, elevation. Uterary generation of Boston — Dr. OUver WendeU Holmes. Dr. Holmes has kindly aUowed me to print here the ingenious and interesting Unes, hitherto unpublished, in which he speaks of Emerson thus: "Where in the realm of thought, whose air is song. Does he, the Buddha of the West, belong? He seems a wingfid Franklin, sweetly wise. Bom to unlock the secret of the skies; And which the nobler calling — if 'tis fair Terrestrial with celestial to compare — To guide the storm-cloud's elemental flame, Or walk the chambers whence the Ughtning came Amidst the sources of its subtile fire, And steal their effluence for his Ups and lyre?" [Arnold's Note.) LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE Thomas Jeiterson [Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), the third President of the United States, was bom in Albemarle Coimty, Virginia. He was graduated from WiUiam and Mary CoUege, admitted to the bar, and began his long pubUc career as a member of the Virginia legislature. He was a delegate to the Continental Congress, and, because of his weU-known skiU in composing state papers, was appointed upon the drafting committee of the Congress. The Declara tion of Independence, though it embodies emendations by John Adams and Benjamin Franklin, is mainly the work of Jefferson, and his name wiU always be indissolubly connected with it. Despite the fact that it has been common to sneer at certain features of the Declaration (see article by Moses Coit Tyler, "The Declaration of Independence in the Light of Modern Criticism," reprinted in this volume on page 158), it remains, as someone has said, "the most powerful, the most significant piece of Uterature that ever came from the pen of a statesman." It is not needful to enumerate the pubUc positions held by Jefferson in his later career. After retiring from the Presidency in 1809, he spent the remainder of his Ufe at MonticeUo, his country estate in Virginia.] In Congress, July 4, 1776. the unanimous declaration of the thirteen united states of america When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the poUtical bands which have con nected fiem with another, and to assume, among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitie them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requhes that they ^ould declare the causes which impel them to the separation. 107 io8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS We hold these truths to be self-evident: that aU men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with cer tain unahenable rights; that among these are Ufe, Uberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That, to secure these rights, govem- ments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that, whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to aboUsh it, and to institute new govem ment, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most Ukely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, wiU dictate that governments long estabUshed should not be changed for Ught and transient causes; and, accordingly, aU experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, whUe evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by aboUshing the forms to which they are accustomed. But, when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufference of these colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present king of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, aU having in direct object the estabUshment of an absolute tyranny over these States. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world: He has refused his assent to laws the most wholesome and necessary for the pubUc good. He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation tUl his assent should be obtained; and, when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them. He has refused to pass other laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of representation in the legislature, a right inestmiable to them and formidable to tyrants only. He has caUed together legislative bodies at places unusual, LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 109 uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their pubUc records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compUance with his measures. He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly, for oppos ing, with manly firmness, his invasions on the rights of the people. He has refused, for a long time after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the legislative powers, in capable of annihUation, have returned to the people at large for their exercise; the State remaining, in the meantime, exposed to aU the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within. He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the laws for naturalization of for eigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migration hither, and raising the conditions of new appropriations of lands. He has obstructed the administration of justice, by refusing his assent to laws for estabhshing judiciary powers. He has made judges dependent on his wiU alone for the ten ure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries. He has erected a multitude of new offices and sent hither swarms of officers to harass our people, and eat out their sub-' stance. He has kept among us in tunes of peace, standing armies, without the consent of our legislature. He has affected to render the mUitary independent of, and superior to, the civU power. He has combined, with others, to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his assent to their acts of pretended legislation: For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us: For protecting them, by a mock trial, from punishment for any murders which they should commit on the inhabitants of these States: For cutting off our trade with aU parts of the world: For unposmg taxes on us without our consent: For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of trial by jury: no NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS For transporting us beyond seas to be tried for pretended offenses: For aboUshing the free system of EngUsh laws in a neighbor ing province, estabhshing tiierein an arbitrary government and enlarging its boundaries, so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these colonies: For taking away our charters, aboUshing our most valuable laws, and altering, fundamentaUy, the forms of our governments: For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in aU cases whatsoever. He has abdicated govemment here by declaring us out of his protection, and waging war against us. He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the Uves of our people. He is, at this time, transporting large armies of foreign mer cenaries to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyr anny, already begun, with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy scarcely paraUeled in the most barbarous ages, and totaUy unworthy the head of a civilized nation. He has constrained our feUow-citizens, taken captive on the high seas, to bear arms against their country, to become the executioners of theh friends and brethren, or to fall themselves by their hands. He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the mercUess Indian savages, whose known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of aU ages, sexes, and conditions. In every stage of these oppressions, we have petitioned for redress in the most humble terms: our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A prince, whose char acter is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people. Nor have we been wanting in attention to our British breth ren. We have warned them, from time to time, of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS in and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them, by the ties of our common kindred, to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably uiterrupt our connections and correspondence. They, too, have been deaf to the voice of justice and consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity which denounces our separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war — in peace, friends. We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress assembled, appeaUng to the Su preme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by authority of the good people of these col onies, solemnly publish and declare. That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States; that they are absolved from aU aUegiance to the British crown, and that aU political connection between them and the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totaUy dissolved; and that, as free and independent States, they have fuU power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, estabUsh commerce, and to do aU other acts and things which independent States may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reUance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutuaUy pledge to each other our Uves, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. John Hancock. New Hampshire Josiah Bartlett, Wm. Whipple, Matthew Thornton. Massachusetts Bay Saml. Adams, John Adams, Robt. Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry. Rhode Island Step. Hopkms, Wiffiam Ellery. Connecticut Roger Sherman, Sam'el Huntington, Wm. WiUiams, OUver Wolcott. New York Wm. Floyd, PhU. Livingston, Frans. Lewis, Lewis Morris. New lersey Richd. Stockton, Jno. Witherspoon, Fras. Hopkinson, John Hart, Abra. Clark. Pennsylvania Robt. Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benja. Franklin, John Morton, Geo. Clymer, Jas. Smith, Geo. Taylor, James WUson, Geo. Ross. NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Delaware Caesar Rodney, Geo. Read, Tho. M'Kean. Maryland Samuel Chase, Wm. Paca, Thos. Stone, Charles CarroU of Car- roUton. 'Virginia George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Th Jefferson, Benja. Harrison, Thos. Nelson, jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton. North Carolina Wm. Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn. South Carolina Edward Rutiedge, Thos. Heyward, Junr., Thomas Lynch, Junr., Arthur Middleton. Georgia Button Gwinnett, Lyman HaU, Geo. Walton. FAREWELL ADDRESS George Washington [George Washington (173 2-1 799) , the first President of the United States, was born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, and died at Mount Vemon, his famous estate, not many nules from his birthplace. The details of his Ufe are so weU known that no attempt is made in this note to recount them. Light on his character as an American citizen wiU be found in the selection. Van Dyke's The Americanist!^] of Washington, page 67, this volume. After being twice elected President without opposition, Washington felt that he had done his work in founding the RepubUc and resolved to withdraw to private Ufe. His FareweU Address was written upon this occasion and issued in 1796. It is a simple, touching letter of advice, caution, and bene diction, in spite of the stiff and formal diction in which, according to the Uterary fashion of that time, it is couched. As has been long known, the Address is a composite production. The substance and spirit of it, the main idea and the trend, are whoUy Washington's; the language, in great part, is undoubtedly Madison's and HamUton's (see Horace Binney's Inquiry into the Formation of Washington's Farewell Address; also a briefer account in the Forum, vol. xxvU, p. 145). In reprinting the address here a few opening paragraphs are omitted.] In looking forward to the moment, which is intended to ter minate the career of my pubhc lUe, my f eeUngs do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of grati tude, which I owe to my beloved country for the many honors it has conferred upon me; stiU more for the steadfast confidence LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 113 with which it has supported me; and for the opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. If benefits have resulted to our country from these services, let it always be remembered to your praise, and as an instructive example in our annals, that under circumstances in which the passions, agitated in every direction, were Uable to mislead, amidst appearances sometimes dubious, vicissitudes of fortune often discouraging, in situations in which not unfre quently want of success has countenanced the spirit of criticism, the constancy of your support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee of the plans by which they were affected. Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shaU carry it with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows that Heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its benefi cence; that your union and brotherly affection may be per petual, that the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly maintained, that its administration in every department may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these states, under the auspices of liberty, may be made complete, by so careful a pres ervation and so prudent a use of this blessing, as wiU acquire to them the glory of recommending it to the applause, the affection, and adoption of every nation, which is yet a stranger to it. Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your weUare, which cannot end laut with my life and the apprehension of danger, natural to that sohcitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments, which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me aU-important to the permanency of your felicity as a people. These wUl be offered to you with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can possibly have no personal motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I forget, as an encourage ment to it, your indulgent reception of my sentiments on a for mer and not dissimilar occasion. 114 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Interwoven as is the love of Uberty with every Ugament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment. The unity of government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. It is justiy so, for it is a main pUlar in the edffice of your real independence, the support of your tran- quiUty at home, your peace abroad, of your safety; of your prosperity; of that very Uberty, which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee, that, from different causes and from different quarters, much pains wUl be taken, many artffices em ployed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your poUtical fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies wiU be most constantiy and actively (though often covertiy and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national union to your coUective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the paUadium of your poUtical safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a sus picion, that it can in any event be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now Unk together the various parts. For this you have every inducement of sympathy and interest. Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism, more than any appeUation derived from local discriminations. With shght shades of dU- ference, you have the same reUgion, manners, habits, and pohtical principles. You have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the independence and liberty you possess . are the work of joint counsels, and joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings, and successes. But these considerations, however powerfuUy they address LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 115 themselves to your sensibiUty, are greatly outweighed by those which apply more unmediatdy to your interest. Here every portion of our country finds the most commanding motives for carefuUy guarding and preserving the union of the whole. The North, in an unrestrained intercourse with the South, protected by the equal laws of a common government, finds in the productions of the latter, great additional resources of mari time and commercial enterprise and precious materials of manu facturing industry. The South, in the same intercourse, benefit ing by the agency of the North, sees its agriculture grow and its commerce expand. Turning partly into its own channels the sea men of the North, it finds its particular navigation invigorated; and, whUe it contributes, in different ways, to nourish and in crease the general mass of the national navigation, it looks for ward to the protection of a maritune strength, to which itself is unequaUy adapted. The East, in a like intercourse with the West, already finds, and in the progressive improvement of interior communications by land and water, wUl more and more find, a valuable vent for the commodities which it brings from abroad, or manufactures at home. The West derives from the East supplies requisite to its growth and comfort, and, what is perhaps of stiU greater consequence, it must of necessity owe the secure enjoyment of indispensable outiets for its own productions to the weight, influence, and the future maritime strength of the Atiantic side of the Union, directed by an indissoluble community of interest as one nation. Any other tenure by which the West can hold this essential advantage, whether derived from its own separate strength, or from an apostate and unnatural con nexion with any foreign power, must be intrinsicaUy precarious. WhUe, then, every part of our country thus feels an immediate and particular interest in union, aU the parts combined cannot faU to find in the united mass of means and efforts greater strength, greater resource, proportlonably greater security from external danger, a less frequent interruption of their peace by foreign nations; and, what is of inestimable value, they must derive from union an exemption from those broUs and wars between themselves, which so frequentiy afflict neighboring ir6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS countries not tied together by the same governments, which their own rivalships alone would be suffident to produce, but which opposite foreign affiances, attachments, and intrigues would stimulate and embitter. Hence, likewise, they wiU avoid the necessity of those overgrown nuhtary estabhshments, which, under any form of government, are inauspicious to Uberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly hostUe to repubUcan Uberty. In this sense it is, that your union ought to be considered as a main prop of your Uberty, and that the love of the one ought to endear to you the preservation of the other. These considerations speak a persuasive language to every reflecting and virtuous mind, and exhibit the continuance of the Union as a primary object of patriotic desire. Is there a doubt whether a common govemment can embrace so large a sphere? Let experience solve it. To hsten to mere speculation in such a case were criminal. We are authorized to hope, that a proper organization of the whole, with the auxffiary agency of govern ments for the respective subdivisions, wUl afford a happy issue to the experiment. It is weU worth a fair and fuU experiment. With such powerful and obvious motives to union, affecting aU parts of our country, while experience shaU not have demon strated its impracticabiUty, there wiU always be reason to dis trust the patriotism of those, who in any quarter may endeavor to weaken its bands. In contemplating the causes which may disturb our Union, it occurs as matter of serious concern, that any ground should have been furnished for characterizing parties by geographical discriminations, northern and southern, Atiantic and western; whence designing men may endeavor to exdte a beUef that there is a real difference of local interests and views. One of the expe dients of party to acquire influence, within particular districts, is to misrepresent the opinions and aims of other districts. You cannot shield yourselves too much against the jealousies and heart-burnings, which spring from these misrepresentations; they tend to render aUen to each other those, who ought to be bound together by fraternal affection. The inhabitants of our western country have lately had a useful lesson on this head; LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 117 they have seen, in the negotiation by the Executive, and in the unanimous ratffication by the Senate, of the treaty with Spain, and in the universal satisfaction at tiiat event, throughout the United States, a decisive proof how unfounded were the sus picions propagated among them of a policy in the General Gov ernment and in the Atlantic States unfriendly to their interests in regard to the Mississippi; they have been witnesses to the for mation of two treaties, that with Great Britain, and that with Spain, which secure to them every thing they could desire, in respect to our foreign relations, towards confirming their pros perity. WiU it not be their wisdom to rely for the preservation of these advantages on the Union by which they were procured? WiU they not henceforth be deaf to those advisers, U such there are, who would sever them from their brethren and connect them with ahens? To the efficacy and permanency of your Union, a Govern ment for the whole is indispensable. No affiances, however strict, between the parts can be an adequate substitute; they must inevitably experience the infractions and interruptions, which aU affiances m aU times have experienced. Sensible of tffis momentous truth, you have improved upon your first essay, by the adoption of a Constitution of Govemment better calculated than your former for an Ultimate Union, and for the efficacious management of your common concerns. This Government, the offspring of our own choice, uninfluenced and unawed, adopted upon f uU investigation and mature deUberatlon, completely free in its pruiciples, in the distribution of its powers, uniting security with energy, and containing within itseU a provision for its own amendment, has a just claim to your confidence and your sup port. Respect for its authority, compUance with its laws, acqui escence in its measures, are duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of true Liberty. The basis of our poUtical systems is the right of the people to make and to alter their constitutions of government. But the constitution which at any time exists, tiU changed by an expUcit and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obUgatory upon aU. The very idea of the power and the right of the people to estabUsh Government presup- ii8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS poses the duty of every individual to obey the established Govemment. AU obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combinations and associations, under whatever plausible character, with the real design to direct, control, counteract, or awe the regular deUberatlon and action of the constituted authorities, are de structive of this fundamental prindple, and of fatal tendency. They serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and extra ordinary force; to put, in the place of the delegated wiU of the nation, the wiU of a party, often a smaU but arrful and enter prising minority of the community; and, according to the alter nate triumphs of different parties, to make the pubhc adminis tration the mirror of the Ul-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome plans digested by common counsels, and modffied by mutual interests. However combinations or associations of the above descrip tion may now and then answer popular ends, they are Ukely, in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by wffich cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men wiU be enabled to subvert the power of the people, and to usurp for themselves the reins of government; destrojdng afterwards the very engines which have Uf ted them to unjust dominion. Towards the preservation of your government, and the per manency of your present happy state, it is requisite, not only that you steadUy discountenance irregular oppositions to its acknowledged authority, but also that you resist with care the spirit of innovation upon its principles, however specious the pretexts. One method of assault may be to effect, in the forms of the constitution, alterations, which wUl impair the energy of the system, and thus to undermine what cannot be directly overthrown. In all the changes to which you may be invited, remember that time and habit are at least as necessary to fix the true character of governments, as of other human mstitutions; that experience is the surest standard, by which to test the real tendency of the existing constitution of a country; that facffity in changes, upon the credit of mere hypothesis and opinion, ex- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 119 poses to perpetual change, from the endless variety of hypothesis and opinion; and remember, especially, that, for the efficient management of your common interests, in a country so extensive as ours, a government of as much vigor as is consistent with the perfect security of Uberty is indispensable. Liberty itself wiU find in such a government, with powers properly distributed and adjusted, its surest guardian. It is, indeed, little else than a name, where the government is too feeble to withstand the enterprises of faction, to confine each member of the society within the limits prescribed by the laws, and to maintain aU in the secure and tranquU enjoyment of the rights of person and property. I have already intimated to you the danger of parties in the state, with particular reference to the founding of them on geographical discriminations. Let me now take a more compre hensive view, and warn you in the most solemn manner against the baneful effects of the spirit of party, generaUy. This spirit, unfortunately, is inseparable from our nature, having its root in the strongest passions of the human mind. It exists under different shapes in aU governments, more or less stffied, controUed, or repressed; but, in those of the popular form, it is seen in its greatest rankness, and is truly theh worst enemy. The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharp ened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dissension, which in different ages and countries has perpetrated the most horrid enormities, is itseU a frightiul despotism. But this leads at length to a more formal and permanent despotism. The dis orders and miseries, wffich result, graduaUy incUne the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner or later the chief of some prevailing fac tion, more able or more fortunate than ffis competitors, turns this disposition to the purposes of his own elevation, on the ruins of pubUc Uberty. Without lookmg forward to an extremity of this kind (wffich nevertheless ought not to be entirely out of sight), the common and continual mischiefs of the spirit of party are sufficient to 120 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS make it the interest and duty of a wise people to discourage and restrain it. It serves always to distract the pubhc councUs, and enfeeble the pubhc administration. It agitates the community with Ul- founded jealousies and false alarms; kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasionaUy riot and insur rection. It opens the door to foreign influence and corruption, which find a facUitated access to the government itseU through the channels of party passions. Thus the poUcy and the wffi of one country are subjected to the pohcy and wffi of another. There is an opimon, that parties in free countries are useful checks upon the administration of the government, and serve to keep alive the spirit of liberty. Tffis withm certain limits is prob ably true; and in governments of a monarchical cast, patriot ism may look vnth indulgence, if not with favor, upon the spirit of party. But m those of the popular character, m governments purely elective, it is a spirit not to be encouraged. From their natural tendency, it is certain there wffi always be enough of that spirit for every salutary purpose. And, there being constant danger of excess, the effort ought to be, by force of pubhc opin ion, to mitigate and assuage it. A fire not to be quenched, it demands a umform vigilance to prevent its burstmg mto a flame, lest, instead of warming, it should consume. It is important, likewise, that the habits of thinking in a free country should mspire caution, in those intrusted with its admimstration, to confine themselves within their respective constitutional spheres, avoiffing in the exercise of the powers of one department to encroach upon another. The spirit of en croachment tends to consoUdate the powers of aU the depart ments in one, and thus to create, whatever the form of govern ment, a real depotism. A just estimate of that love of power, and proneness to abuse it, wffich predominates in the human heart, is sufficient to satisfy us of the truth of tffis position. The necessity of reciprocal checks in the exercise of poUtical power, by ffividing and distributing it into different depositories, and constituting each the guardian of the public weal against inva sions by the others, has been evinced by experiments ancient LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 121 and modern ; some of them in our country and under our own eyes. To preserve them must be as necessary as to mstitute them. If, in the opimon of the people, the distribution or modffication of the constitutional powers be m any particular wrong, let it be corrected by an amendment m the way which the constitution designates. But let tiiere be no change by usurpation; for, though this, m one mstance, may be the instrument of good, it is the customary weapon by wffich free governments are de stroyed. The precedent must always greatiy overbalance m permanent evil any partial or transient benefit, which the use can at any time yield. Of aU the dispositions and habits, wffich lead to poUtical prosperity, reUgion and moraUty are mdispensable supports. In vain woffid that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great piUars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens. The mere poUtician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and cherish them. A volume could not trace aU their connexions with private and public felicity. Let it simply be asked. Where is the security for property, for reputation, for lUe, U the sense of reUgious obUgation desert the oaths, which are the mstru- ments of investigation m courts of justice? And let us with caution indffige the supposition, that morality can be mam- tained without religion. Whatever may be conceded to the in fluence of refined education on mmds of pecuhar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect, that national moraUty can prevaU m exclusion of reUgious principle. It is substantiaUy true, that virtue or moraUty is a necessary spring of popular government. The rule, indeed, extends with more or less force to every species of free government. 'Who, that is a sincere friend to it, can look with indifference upon attempts to shake the foundation of the fabric? Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, mstitu tions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In proportion as the structure of a government gives force to pubhc opimon, it is essential that pubhc opinion shoffid be enUghtened. As a very important source of strength and security, cherish 122 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS pubhc credit. One method of preserving it is, to use it as spar ingly as possible; avoiding occasions of expense by cffitivating peace, but remembering also that timely disbursements to pre pare for danger frequentiy prevent much greater disbursements to repel it; avoiding likewise the accumulation of debt, not offiy by shunning occasions of expense, but by vigorous exertion m time of peace to discharge the debts, wffich unavoidable wars may have occasioned, not ungenerously throwmg upon posterity the burden wffich we ourselves ought to bear. The execution of these maxims belongs to your representatives, but it is necessary that pubhc opimon shoffid cooperate. To facffitate to them the performance of their duty, it is essential that you shoffid prac ticaUy bear m mmd, that towards the pajonent of debts there must be revenue; that to have revenue there must be taxes; that no taxes can be devised wffich are not more or less incon- veffient and unpleasant ; that the mtrmsic embarrassment, ffisepar- able from the selection of the proper objects (wffich is always a choice of difficffities), ought to be a decisive motive for a candid construction of the conduct of the government m making it, and for a spirit of acqffiescence m the measures for obtaining revenue, wffich the pubhc exigendes may at any time ffictate. Observe good faith and justice towards aU nations; cffitivate peace and harmony with aU. ReUgion and moraUty enjom this conduct; and can it be, that good policy does not equaUy enjom it? It wffi be worthy of a free, enUghtened, and at no ffistant period, a great nation, to give to mankmd the magnanimous and too novel example of a people always gffided by an exalted jus tice and benevolence. Who can doubt, that m the course of time and tffings, the frffits of such a plan woffid ricffiy repay any temporary advantages wffich might be lost by a steady adher ence to it? Can it be that Providence has not connected the permanent feUcity of a nation with its virtue? The experiment, at least, is recommended by every sentiment wffich ennobles human nature. Alas ! is it rendered impossible by its vices? In the execution of such a plan, notffing is more essential, than that permanent, mveterate antipathies agamst particular nations, and passionate attachments for others, shoffid be ex- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 123 duded; and that, in place of them, just and amicable feeUngs towards aU shoffid be cffitivated. The nation, wffich mdffiges towards another an habitual hatred, or an habitual fondness, is m some degree a slave. It is a slave to its animosity or to its affection, either of wffich is sufficient to lead it astray from its duty and its mterest. Antipathy m one nation agamst another disposes each more readUy to offer msffit and mjury, to lay hold of sUght causes of umbrage, and to be haughty and mtractable, when accidental or triflmg occasions of dispute occur. Hence, frequent coffisions, obstinate, envenomed, and bloody contests. The nation, prompted by ffi-wffi and resentment, sometimes impels to war the Govemment, contrary to the best calcffiations of poUcy. The Government sometimes participates in the national propensity, and adopts through passion what reason woffid reject; at other times, it makes the animosity of the nation subservient to projects of hostffity mstigated by pride, ambition, and other siffister and perfficious motives. The peace often, sometimes perhaps the Uberty, of nations has been the victim. So likewise, a passionate attachment of one nation for another produces a variety of evUs. Sympathy for the favorite nation, facffitating the illusion of an imagmary common interest ffi cases where no real common mterest exists, and infusffig mto one the enmities of the other, betrays the former into a partici pation m the quarrels and wars of the latter, without adequate mducement or justffication. It leads also to concessions to the favorite nation of privUeges deffied to others, wffich is apt doubly to mjure the nation making the concessions; by un- necessarUy parting with what ought to have been retamed; and by exciting jealousy, ffi-wffi, and a ffisposition to retaliate, ffi the parties from whom equal privUeges are withheld. And it gives to ambitious, corrupted, or deluded citizens (who devote them selves to the favorite nation), facUity to betray or sacrffice the interests of their own country, without odium, sometimes even with popffiarity ; gUding, with the appearances of a virtuous sense of obUgation, a commendable deference for pubUc opiffion, or a laudable zeal for public good, the base or fooUsh compliances of ambition, corruption or infatuation. 124 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS As avenues to foreign influence in innumberable ways, such attachments are particffiarly alarming to the trffiy enUghtened and mdependent patriot. How many opportumties do they afford to tamper with domestic factions, to practice the arts of seduction, to mislead pubhc opimon, to influence or awe the public councils! Such an attachment of a smaU or weak, to wards a great and powerfffi nation, dooms the former to be the sateffite of the latter. Against the msidious wUes of foreign influence (I conjure you to believe me, feUow-citizens), the jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake, since history and experience prove that foreign influence is one of the most banefffi foes of repub lican government. But that jealousy, to be usefffi, must be im partial; else it becomes the mstrument of the very influence to be avoided, ffistead of a defence agamst it. Excessive partiaUty for one foreign nation, and excessive dislike of another, cause those whom they actuate to see danger offiy on one side, and serve to veU and even second the arts of influence on the other. Real patriots who may resist the intrigues of the favorite, are liable to become suspected and odious; wffile its tools and dupes usurp the applause and confidence of the people, to surrender their interests. The great rffie of conduct for us, ffi regard to foreign nations, is, ffi extendmg our commercial relations, to have with them as Uttle poUtical connexion as possible. So far as we have aheady formed engagements, let them be f uffiUed with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. Europe has a set of primary mterests, wffich to us have none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged m frequent controversies, the causes of wffich are essentiaUy for eign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise ffi us to impUcate ourselves, by artfficial ties, ffi the ordmary vicissi tudes of her politics, or the ordinary combmations and coffisions of her friendships or enmities. Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a different course. If we remam one people, under an efficient government, the period is not far off when we may defy LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 125 material injury from extemal annoyance; when we may take such an attitude as wffi cause the neutrality, we may at any time resolve upon, to be scrupffiously respected; when beUiger- ent nations, under the impossibiUty of making acqffisitions upon us, wffi not Ughtiy hazard the givffig us provocation; when we may choose peace or war, as our mterest, gffided by justice, shaU counsel. Why forego the advantages of so pecuUar a situation? 'Why quit our own to stand upon foreign ground? 'Why, by mter- weavmg our destmy with that of any part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity m the toUs of European ambition, rivalship, mterest, humor or caprice? It is our true poUcy to steer clear of permanent alliances with any portion of the foreign world; so far, I mean, as we are now at Uberty to do it; for let me not be understood as capable of patronizing infidelity to existmg engagements. I hold the maxim no less appUcable to pubUc than to private affairs, that honesty is always the best poUcy. I repeat it, therefore, let those engage ments be observed in their genffine sense. But, ffi my opiffion, it is unnecessary and woffid be unwise to extend them. Takffig care always to keep ourselves, by suitable estabUsh- ments, on a respectable defensive posture, we may safely trust to temporary affiances for extraordinary emergencies. Harmony, Uberal intercourse with aU nations, are recom mended by poUcy, humaffity, and mterest. But even our com mercial policy shoffid hold an equal and impartial hand; neither seekmg nor granting exdusive favors or preferences; consffiting the natural course of things; dffiusing and diversUying by gentie means the streams of commerce, but forcffig notffing; estabUsh- ffig, with powers so disposed, m order to give trade a stable course, to define the rights of our merchants, and to enable the government to support them, conventional rffies of mtercourse, the best that present circumstances and mutual opiffion wUl permit, but temporary, and Uable to be from time to time aban doned or varied, as experience and circumstances shaU dictate; constantiy keepffig in view, that it is foUy ffi one nation to look for disinterested favors from another; that it must pay with a 126 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS portion of its mdependence for whatever it may accept under that character; that, by such acceptance, it may place itseU ffi the conffition of havmg given eqffivalents for nommal favors, and yet of bemg reproached \dth ffigratitude for not givffig more. There can be no greater error than to expect or calculate upon real favors from nation to nation. It is an ffiusion, wffich experi ence must cure, wffich a just pride ought to ffiscard. In offermg to you, my countrymen, these counsels of an old and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they wffi make the strong and lasting impression I coffid wish; that they wffi control the usual current of the passions, or prevent our nation from runffing the course, wffich has ffitherto marked the destffiy of nations. But, U I may even flatter myseU, that they may be productive of some partial benefit, some occasional good; that they may now and then recur to moderate the fury of party spirit, to warn agamst the miscffief s of foreign mtrigue, to guard agamst the impostures of pretended patriotism; tffis hope wiU be a f uU recompense for the sohcitude for your weUare, by which they have been ffictated. How far ffi the ffischarge of my official duties I have been gffided by the prmciples wffich have been deUneated, the pubhc records and other evidences of my conduct must witness to you and to the world. To myseU, the assurance of my own conscience, is, that I have at least beUeved myseU to be gffided by them. In relation to the stffi subsistffig war ffi Europe, my proda- mation of the 22d of AprU, 1793, is the mdex of my plan. Sanc tioned by your approvmg voice, and by that of your Represen tatives ffi both Houses of Congress, the spirit of that measure has continuaUy governed me, uninfluenced by any attempts to deter or ffivert me from it. After deUberate exammation, with the aid of the best Ughts I coffid obtam, I was weU satisfied that our country, under all the circumstances of the case, had a right to take, and was bound ffi duty and mterest to take, a neutral position. Havmg taken it, I determmed, as far as shoffid depend upon me, to mamtaffi it, with moderation, perseverance and firmness. The considerations wffich respect the right to hold this con- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 127 duct, it is not necessary on tffis occasion to detaU. I wffi offiy observe, that, accordmg to my understandffig of the matter, that right, so far from bemg deffied by any of the beffigerent powers, has been virtually admitted by aU. The duty of holdmg a neutral conduct may be iffierred, with out any thing more, from the obUgation which justice and hu manity impose on every nation, ffi cases ffi wffich it is free to act, to mamtain mviolate the relations of peace and amity towards other nations. The inducements of ffiterest for observmg that conduct wiU best be referred to your own reflections and experience. With me a predominant motive has been to endeavor to gam time to our country to settie and mature its yet recent mstitutions, and to progress without mterruption to that degree of strength and consistency, which is necessary to give it, humaffiy speakmg, the command of its own fortunes. Though, m reviewmg the incidents of my admimstration, I am unconscious of ffitentional error, I am nevertheless too sen sible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be I ferventiy beseech the Almighty to avert or mitigate the evUs to wffich they may tend. I shaU also carry with me the hope, that my country wffi never cease to view them with mdffigence; and that, after forty-five years of my ffie dedicated to its service with an up right zeal, the faffits of fficompetent abffities wffi be consigned to obUvion, as myseU must soon be to the mansions of rest. Rel3ang on its kindness m tffis as m other tffings, and actu ated by that fervent love towards it, wffich is so natural to a man who views ffi it the native soU of himseU and ffis progeni tors for several generations, I anticipate with pleasffig expecta tion that retreat, ffi wffich I promise myseU to realize, without aUoy, the sweet enjojmient of partaking, ffi the midst of my feUow-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government, the ever favorite object of my heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors, and dangers. laS NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS THE MONROE DOCTRINE James Monroe Uames Monroe (1758-1831), the fifth President of the United States, was bom in Westmoreland County, Virginia. After the Revolutionary War, in which he had served, Monroe entered pubUc Ufe, at first filling minor oflSces and later serving as governor of Virginia, United States senator, minister to England, minister to France, secretary of state under President Madison, and was twice elected President of the United States. One of the leading events of his administration was the announcement of the principle of foreign poUcy that has come to be caUed the Monroe Doctrine. The enunciation of this poUcy was in the Presidential message of December, 1823, and was made necessary by certain things done by Russia and by Spain. The former had taken possession of Alaska and was extending its settiements down the Pacific Coast. The latter was seeking the aid of other European coimtries in recovering control of his American colonies which had rebeUed and won a temporary freedom. England was desirous for commercial rea sons that these new repubUcs should not faU under the power of Spain again, and proposed to the United States that they jointly should help the South American countries to maintain their freedom. Monroe, however, thought it best to make the declaration independent of Great Britain. This doctrine was not new with Monroe. As a matter of fact, it had been a set tled poUcy for years before being proclaimed by Monroe. It was effective at the time in checking the encroachments of Russia and Spain, and since then has been caUed into operation on several occasions, the most notable being in 1865 against France in Mexico, and in 1895 against England in Venezuela. The statement of the original Monroe Doctrine appears in two passages of the Message, which are as foUows:] At the proposal of the Russian Imperial Govemment, made tffiough the miffister of the Emperor residffig here, a fffil power and mstructions have been transmitted to the miffister of the Uffited States at St. Petersburg to arrange by amicable negotia tion the respective rights and mterests of the two nations on the northwest coast of this continent. A simUar proposal had been made by His Imperial Majesty to the Government of Great Britam, which has likewise been acceded to. The Govern ment of the United States has been desirous by this frienffiy proceeding of manUestffig the great value wffich they have m- variably attached to the friendsffip of the Emperor and their LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 129 soUdtude to cffitivate the best understandffig with ffis Govern ment. In the discussions to which tffis ffiterest has given rise and in the arrangements by wffich they may terminate, the occasion has been judged proper for assertmg, as a prfficiple ffi wffich the rights and ffiterests of the Uffited States are ffivolved, that the American contffients, by the free and ffidependent condition wffich they have assumed and mamtaffi, are henceforth not to be considered as subjects for future colonization by any Euro pean powers. . 4 . It was stated at the commencement of the last session that a great effort was then makffig ffi Spaffi and Portugal to im prove the condition of the people of those countries, and that it appeared to be conducted with extraordmary moderation. It need scarcely be remarked that the resffit has been so far very dffierent from what was then anticipated. Of events ffi that quarter of the globe, with wffich we have so much ffitercourse and from wffich we derive our origin, we have always been anxious and ffiterested spectators. The citizens of the Uffited States cherish sentiments the most friendly ffi favor of the Uberty and happiness of their feUowmen on that side of the Atiantic. In the wars of the European powers ffi matters relating to them selves we have never taken any part, nor does it comport with our poUcy so to do. It is offiy when our rights are ffivaded or seriously menaced that we resent ffijuries or make preparation for our defense. With the movements ffi tffis hemisphere we are of necessity more immediately connected, and by causes wffich must be obvious to aU enUghtened and impartial observers. The poUtical system of the affied powers is essentiaUy dffierent ffi tffis respect from that of America. Tffis dffierence proceeds from that wffich exists ffi their respective Governments; and to the defense of our own, wffich has been acffieved by the loss of so much blood and treasure, and matured by the wisdom of theh most en Ughtened citizens, and under wffich we have enjoyed unexampled feUcity, tffis whole nation is devoted. I I30 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS We owe it, therefore, to candor and the amicable relations existffig between the Uffited States and those powers to declare that we shoffid consider any attempt on their part to extend their system to any portion of tffis hemisphere as dangerous to our peace and safety. With the existffig coloffies or dependencies of any European power we have not ffiterfered and shaU not ffiterfere. But with the Governments who have declared their ffidependence and mamtaffied it, and whose ffidependence we have, on great consideration and on just prmciples, acknowledged, we coffid not view any ffiterposition for the purpose of oppress ing them, or controUffig ffi any other manner their destiny, by any European power, ffi any other Ught than as the manifesta tion of an imfrienffiy disposition toward the Uffited States. In the war between those new Governments and Spaffi we declared our neutrality at the time of their recogffition, and to tffis we have adhered, and shaU contffiue to adhere, provided no change shaU occur wffich, ffi the judgment of the competent authorities of tffis Government, shaU make a correspondffig change on the part of the Uffited States ffidispensable to their security. The late events in Spain and Portugal show that Europe is stffi unsettied. Of this important fact no stronger proof can be adduced than that the affied powers shoffid have thought it proper, on any prfficiple satisfactory to themselves, to have ffi- terposed by force ffi the ffiternal concerns of Spaffi. To what extent such ffiterposition may be carried, on the same prfficiple, is a question ffi wffich aU ffidependent powers whose govern ments differ from theirs are ffiterested, even those most remote, and surely none more so than the Uffited States. Our pohcy ffi regard to Europe, wffich was adopted at an early stage of the wars wffich have so long agitated that quarter of the globe, nevertheless remains the same, wffich is, not to ffiterfere ffi the ffiternal concerns of any of its powers; to con sider the govemment de facto as the legitimate government for us; to cffitivate frienffiy relations with it, and to preserve those relations by a frank, ffim, and maffiy pohcy, meetffig ffi aU ffistances the just claims of every power, submitting to ffijuries from none. LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 131 But in regard to those continents chcumstances are eminentiy and conspicuously dffierent. It is impossible that the affied powers shoffid extend their poUtical system to any portion of either contffient without endangering our peace and happiness-; nor can any one beUeve that our southern brethren, if left to themselves, woffid adopt it of their own accord. It is equaUy impossible, therefore, that we shoffid behold such ffiterposition in any form with indffierence. If we look to the comparative strength and resources of Spam and those new Governments, and their distance from each other, it must be obvious that she can never subdue them. It is stffi the true poUcy of the Uffited States to leave the parties to themselves, ffi the hope that other powers wffi pursue the same course. THE STATES AND THE UNION Daniel Webster [Daniel Webster (1782-1852) was born in New Hampshire, but in his pubUc career is associated with Massachusetts. He was twice senator from that state; was secretary of state under Harrison and Tyler and under FiU- more; and was twice an unsuccessful candidate for the nomination for President. As an orator, Webster was one of the most noted in the history of American poUtics. In poUtical theories, Webster is the great expounder and defender of the Constitution from the national point of view. His oppo nents were the states-rights school of poUtical thinkers led by Calhoun. In 1832 Hayne, of South CaroUna, and Webster engaged in their memorable debate over the rights of the States and the National Government. Hayne argued for state's rights and nulUfication; Webster, for nationaUty and union. Though Hayne was historicaUy correct in his interpretation of the Constitution, he gave utterance to the ideals of the past. Webster, though historically inaccurate at points, spoke the mind of the future, and pos terity has given him the greater praise. The extract here given, though but a smaU portion of the entire speech, indicates Webster's position.] I must now beg to ask. Sir, whence is tffis supposed right of the States derived? Where do they find the power to ffiterfere with the laws of the Uffion? Sir, the opffiion which the honorable gentleman maffitaffis is a notion founded m a total misappre- 132 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS hension, ffi my judgment, of the origin of tffis government, and of the foundation on wffich it stands. I hold it to be a popffiar government, erected by the people; those who admiffister it, responsible to the people; and itself capable of being amended and modffied, just as the people may choose it shoffid be. It is as popffiar, just as truly emanating from the people, as the State governments. It is created for one purpose; the State governments for another. It has its own powers; they have theirs. There is no more authority with them to arrest the operation of a law of Congress, than with Congress to arrest the operation of their laws. We are here to admiffister a Constitu tion emanating immediately from the people, and trusted by them to our administration. It is not the creature of the State governments. It is of no moment to the argument, that certam acts of the State legislatures are necessary to fiU our seats ffi this body. That is not one of their origffial State powers, a part of the sovereignty of the State. It is a duty wffich the people, by the Constitution itseU, have imposed on the State legislatures, and wffich they might have left to be performed elsewhere, U they had seen fit. So they have left the choice of President with electors; but aU this does not affect the proposition that tffis whole government. President, Senate, and House of Representa tives, is a popffiar government. It leaves it stffi aU its popular character. The governor of a State (ffi some of the States) is chosen, not directly by the people, but by those who are chosen by the people for the purpose of performffig, among other duties, that of electing a governor. Is the government of the State, on that account, not a popffiar government? Tffis government, Sir, is the ffidependent offsprffig of the popular wffi. It is not the creature of State legislatures; nay more, U the whole truth must be told, the people brought it ffito existence, established it, and have ffitherto supported it, for the very purpose, amongst others, of imposffig certaffi salutary restraffits on State sover eignties. The States cannot now make war; they cannot con tract affiances; they cannot make, each for itseU, separate regu lations of commerce; they cannot lay imposts; they cannot com money. If this Constitution, Sir, be the creature of State legis- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 133 latures, it must be admitted that it has obtamed a strange con trol over the voUtions of its creators. The people, then. Sir, erected tffis government. They gave it a Constitution, and ffi that Constitution they have enumer ated the powers wffich they bestow on it. They have made it a limited government. They have defined its authority. They have restramed it to the exercise of such powers as are granted; and aU others, they declare, are reserved to the States or the people. But, Sir, they have not stopped here. If they had, they woffid have accompUshed but haU their work. No defini tion can be so clear as to avoid possibffity of doubt; no limitation so precise as to exclude aU uncertainty. 'Who, then, shaU con strue this grant of the people? Who shaU ffiterpret their wffi, where it may be supposed they have left it doubtfffi? With whom do they repose tffis ffitimate right of decidffig on the powers of the government? Sir, they have settied aU this ffi the fuUest manner. They have left it with the government itself ffi its appropriate branches. Sir, the very chief end, the maffi design for which the whole Constitution was framed and adopted, was to estabUsh a government that shoffid not be obUged to act through State agency, or depend on State opuuon and State discretion. The people had had qffite enough of that kffid of government under the Coffiederation. Under that system the legal action, the appUcation of law to ffidividuals, belonged ex clusively to the States. Congress coffid offiy recommend; their acts were not of bffidffig force tffi the States had adopted and sanctioned them. Are we ffi that condition stffi? Are we yet at the mercy of State discretion and State construction? Sir, if we are, then vain wffi be our attempt to mamtaffi the Constitu tion under wffich we sit. But, Sir, the people have wisely provided ffi the Constitution itseU a proper, suitable mode and tribunal for settUng questions of constitutional law. There are ffi the Constitution grants of powers to Congress, and restrictions on these powers. There are, also, prohibitions on the States. Some authority must, therefore, necessarUy exist, havffig the ffitimate jurisdiction to fix and ascertaffi the ffiterpretation of these grants, restrictions. 134 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and proffibitions. The Constitution has itseU pomted out, ordained, and estabUshed that authority. How has it accom pUshed tffis great and essential end? By declarffig. Sir, that "the Constitution and the laws of the United States made in pursuance thereof shall be the supreme law of the land, any thing in the Constitution or laws of any State to the contrary notwithstanding, ' ' Tffis, Sh, was the ffist great step. By this the supremacy of the Constitution and laws of the Uffited States is declared. The people so wffi it. No State law is to be vaUd wffich comes ffi conflict with the Constitution or any law of the Uffited States passed ffi pursuance of it. But who shaU dedde tffis question of ffiterference? To whom hes the last appeal? Tffis, Sir, the Con stitution itseU decides also, by declaring, "that the judicial power shall extend to all cases arising under the Constitution and laws of the United States," These two provisions cover the whole ground. They are, ffi truth, the keystone of the arch ! With these, it is a government; without them it is a coffiederation. In pursuance of these clear and express provisions. Congress estabUshed at its very first session, ffi the jufficial act, a mode for carrymg them mto fffil effect, and for bringffig aU questions of constitu tional power to the final decision of the Supreme Court. It then, Sir, became a government. It then had the means of seU-pro- tection; and, but for tffis, it woffid, ffi aU probabffity, have been now among tffings wffich are past. Havffig constituted the government and declared its powers, the people have further said that, smce somebody must decide on the extent of these powers, the government shaU itseU decide; subject always, like other popffiar governments, to its responsibiUty to the people. And now, Sir, I repeat, how is it that a State legislature acquires any power to ffiterfere? Who, or what, gives them the right to say to the people: "We, who are your agents and servants for one purpose, wiU undertake to decide that your other agents and servants, appointed by you for another purpose, have tran scended the authority you gave them !" The reply woffid be, I think, not impertinent: "Who made you a judge over another's servants? To their own masters they stand or faU." LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 13S Su:, I deny tffis power of State legislatures altogether. It cannot stand the test of examination. Gentlemen may say that, in an extreme case, a State government might protect the people from ffitolerable oppression. Sir, in such a case, the people might protect themselves without the aid of the State governments. Such a case warrants revolution. It must make, when it comes, a law for itseU. A nulUfyffig act of a State legislature cannot alter the case, nor make resistance any more lawfffi. In maffi- tainffig these sentiments. Sir, I am but asserting the rights of the people. I state what they have declared, and ffisist on their right to declare it. They have chosen to repose tffis power ffi the general government, and I think it my duty to support it, like other constitutional powers. . . . But, Sir, what is tffis danger, and what the grounds of it? Let it be remembered that the Constitution of the Uffited States is not unalterable. It is to contffiue ffi its present form no longer than the people who established it shall choose to continue it. If they shaU become convfficed that they have made an injudi cious or ffiexpedient partition and distribution of power be tween the State governments and the general government, they can alter that distribution at wffi. If anythffig be found in the national Constitution either by original provision or subsequent ffiterpretation, which ought not to be in it, the people know how to get rid of it. If any construc tion unacceptable to them be estabUshed, so as to become prac ticaUy a part of the Constitution, they -wffi amend it at their own sovereign pleasure. But wffile the people choose to mamtaffi it as it is, whUe they are satisfied witii it, and refuse to change it, who has given, or who can give, to the State legislatures a right to alter it either by ffiterference, construction, or otherwise? Gentiemen do not seem to recoUect that the people have any power to do anything for themselves. They imagffie there is no safety for them, any longer than they are under the close guar dianship of the State legislatures. Sir, the people have not trusted their safety, ffi regard to the general Constitution, to these hands. They have required other security, and taken other bonds. They have chosen to trust themselves, ffist, to the plaffi 136 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS words of the ffistrument, and to such construction as the govern ment itself, in doubtiffi cases, shoffid put on its own powers, under its oaths of office, and subject to its responsibffity to them; just as the people of a State trust their own State govern ments with a similar power. Seconffiy, they have reposed their trust in the efficacy of frequent elections and ffi their own power to remove their own servants and agents whenever they see cause. Thirffiy, they have reposed trust in the jufficial power, wffich, in order that it might be trustworthy, they have made as respectable, as ffisinterested, and as ffidependent as was prac ticable. Fourtffiy, they have seen fit to rely, ffi case of necessity or ffigh expeffiency, on their known and admitted power to fdter or amend the Constitution peaceably and qffietiy, whenever experience shaU poffit out defects or imperfections. And, finaUy, the people of the Uffited States have at no time, ffi no way, directly or ffidirectly, authorized any State legislature to con strue or ffiterpret their ffigh ffistrument of govemment; much less to ffiterfere by their own power to arrest its course and operation. If, Sir, the people ffi these respects had done otherwise than they have done, their Constitution coffid neither have been pre served, nor woffid it have been worth preservffig. And U its plaffi provisions shaU now be ffisregarded, and these new doc trines ffiterpolated ffi it, it wffi become as feeble and helpless a being as its enemies, whether early or more recent, coffid possibly desire. It wffi exist ffi every State but as a poor dependant on State permission. It must borrow leave to be; and wffi be no longer than State pleasure, or State discretion, sees fit to grant the ffidffigence and to prolong its poor existence. But, Sir, although there are fears, there are hopes also. The people have preserved tffis, their own chosen Constitution, for forty years, and have seen their happiness, prosperity, and re nown grow with its growth, and strengthen with its strength. They are now, generaUy, strongly attached to it. Overtiirown by direct assaffit, it cannot be; evaded, undermined, nullffied, it wffi not be, U we, and those who shaU succeed us here as agents and representatives of the people, shaU consdentiously LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 137 and vigilantly discharge the two great branches of our pubUc trust, faitiifully to preserve, and wisely to admffiister it. Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent to the doctrines wffich have been advanced and maffitaffied. I am conscious of having detained you and the Senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deUberatlon such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of wffich my heart is fuU, and I have not been wiffing to suppress the utterance of its spontan eous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myseU to relffiquish it without expressing once more my deep conviction that, sffice it respects notffing less than the Uffion of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the pubUc happi ness. I profess, Sir, ffi my career ffitherto to have kept steadUy in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Uffion we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and digffity abroad. It is to that Union that we are cffiefly ffidebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the disciplffie of our virtues ffi the severe school of ad versity. It had its origffi in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruffied credit. Under its beffign influ ences, these great ffiterests immediately awoke as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of ffie. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utUity and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not out run its protection or its benefits. It has been to us aU a copious foimtaffi of national, social, and personal happffiess. I have not allowed myseU, Sir, to look beyond the Uffion to see what might lie ffidden ffi the dark recess beffind. I have not cooUy weighed the chances of preserving Uberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disuffion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor ffi the affairs of this government, whose thoughts shoffid be maiffiy 138 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS bent on considerffig, not how the Uffion shoffid be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the conffition of the people when it shoffid be broken up and destroyed. Wffile the Uffion lasts, we have ffigh, excitmg, gratifyffig prospects spread out before us — for us and our cffildren. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the veU. God grant that, ffi my day, at least, that curtaffi may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what Ues beffind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun ffi heaven, may I not see him sffinffig on the broken and ffishonored fragments of a once glorious Uffion; on States dissevered, ffiscordant, beffigerent; on a land rent with civU feuds, or drenched, it may be, ffi fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and Ungering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Repubhc, now known and honored throughout the earth, stffi fffil ffigh advanced, its arms and tropffies streamffig ffi their origffial lustre, not a stripe erased or poUuted, nor a sffigle star obscured; bearffig for its motto, no such miserable ffiterrogatory as "What is aU this worth?" nor those other words of delusion and foUy, "Liberty ffist, and Uffion afterwards;" but every where, spread aU over ffi characters of Uvffig Ught, blazffig on aU its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land and ffi every wffid under the whole heavens, that other senti ment, dear to every true American heart — ^Liberty and Uffion, now and forever, one and inseparable! LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 139 SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS Abraham Lincoln [Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865), the sixteenth President of the United States, was born in Hardin (now Larue) County, Kentucky. As a very young boy, he removed with his parents to Indiana. His early education was scanty; a Uttie reading, writing, and arithmetic was aU. But taking hold of the hard facts of Ufe and being stimulated and educated by necessity, Lincoln steadily rose to positions of pubhc trust and usefulness. By middle life he had come to stand high at the Bar and seemed to be becoming more and more interested in his profession. But the slavery agitation drew him into poUtics, and in the famous debates with Stephen A. Douglas on this question Lincoln rose to be the leader of the RepubUcan party. In i860 he was nominated and elected to the Presidency, and in 1864 he was reelected. His career as President was ended by his death at the hand of an assassin, April 14, 1865. His Second Inaugural Address was deUvered on March 4, 1865. It is a poUtical document marked by a feeUng of mingled hopefulness and determination, and by the absence of sectional bitterness. Lincoln himself thought it would "wear as weU" as anything he had produced. For further Ught on Lincoln's character see the selection, Lincoln as an Ameri can, by Croly, this volume, page 74.] FeUow-Countrymen — At this second appearffig to take the oath of the Presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the ffist. Then a statement somewhat in detaU of a course to be pursued seemed very fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during wffich public declarations have been constantiy caUed forth on every poffit and phase of the great contest which stffi absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, Uttie that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which aU else cffiefly depends, is as weU known to the public as to myseU,. and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to aU. With ffigh hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, aU thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civU war. AU dreaded it, aU sought to avoid it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from tffis place, devoted altogether to saving I40 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the Uffion without war, msurgent agents were ffi the city, seekmg to destroy it with war — seekffig to ffissolve the Uffion and ffivide the effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them woffid make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other woffid accept war rather than let it perish, and the war came. One-eighth of the whole popffiation were colored slaves, not ffistributed generaUy over the Uffion, but localized ffi the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerfffi ffiterest. AU knew that tffis ffiterest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this ffiterest was the object for wffich the ffisurgents woffid rend the Uffion by war, wffile the Government daimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial effiargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magffitude or the duration wffich it has aheady attaffied. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conffict might cease, even before the con ffict itseU should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a resffit less fundamental and astoundmg. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each mvokes His aid agamst the other. It may seem strange that any men shoffid dare to ask a just God's assistance ffi wrffigffig their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayer of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fuUy. The Almighty has His own purposes. Woe unto the world because of offences, for it must needs be that offences come, but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh. If we shaU suppose that American slavery is one of these offences wffich, ffi the providence of God, must needs come, but wffich having continued through His appoffited time. He now wffis to remove, and that He gives to both North and South tffis terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shaU we ffiscem there any departure from those Divffie attributes wffich the beUevers ffi a Uvffig God alWays ascribe to Him? Fonffiy do we hope, ferventiy do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedUy pass away. Yet if God wffis that it contffiue untU aU the wealth piled by the bonds man's two hundred and fifty years of unreqffited toU shall be LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 141 sunk, and untU every drop of blood drawn with the lash shaU be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so, stffi it must be said, that the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. ^ With maUce towards none, with charity for aU, with ffimness ffi the right as God gives us to see the right, let us fiffish the work we are ffi, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for ffim who shaU have borne the battie, and for his widow and ffis orphans, to do aU wffich may acffieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with aU nations. WAR MESSAGE— APRIL 2, 1917 Woodrow Wilson [Woodrow Wilson (1856 ), the twenty-eighth President of the United States, was bom in Staunton, Virginia. After 'graduating from Princeton in 1879, he studied law at the University of Virginia and began practice at Atlanta, Georgia. Later he studied history and poUtics at Johns Hopkins University, and taught those subjects successively at Bryn Mawr, Wesleyan, and Princeton. In 1902 he became president of Princeton, and continued in this position untU his poUtical career began in 1910 with his election as governor of New Jersey. Two years later he was elected President of the United States, and in 1916 he was reelected. His state papers — espe ciaUy those deaUng with the relations between the United States and Ger many — have commanded wide attention for their statesmanlike principles and their forcible style. Of these several papers — aU of which are worthy of attention — this one of AprU 2, 191 7, in which he laid before Congress the facts and suggested a declaration of war, wiU always be memorable.] I have caUed the Congress ffito extraordinary session be cause there are serious, very serious, choices of poUcy to be made, and made immediately, which it was neither right nor constitu tionally permissible that I shoffid assume the responsibffity of making. On the 3d of February last I officiaUy laid before you the extraorffinary announcement of the Imperial German Govem ment that on and after the first day of February it was its purpose to put aside aU restraffits of law or of humaffity and use 142 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS its submarffies to sink every vessd that sought to approach either the ports of Great Britain and Ireland or the western coasts of Europe or any of the ports controUed by the enemies of Germany within the Meffiterranean. That had seemed to be the object of the German submarine warfare earUer ffi the war, but since AprU of last yea-r the Imperial Government had some what restraffied the commanders of its undersea craft ffi con formity with its promise then given to us that passenger-boats shoffid not be sunk, and that due warning would be given to aU other vessels which its submarffies might seek to destroy where no resistance was offered or escape attempted, and care taken that their crews were given at least a fair chance to save their Uves ffi their open boats. The precautions taken were meager and haphazard enough, as was proved ffi ffistressing instance after ffistance in the prog ress of the cruel and unmaffiy busffiess, but a certaffi degree of restraffit was observed. The new pohcy has swept every restriction aside. 'Vessels of every kind, whatever their flag, their character, their cargo, their destffiation, their errand, have been rutffiessly sent to the bottom without warning, and without thought of help or mercy for those on board, the vessels of friendly neutrals along with those of belUgerents. Even hospital-sffips and ships carryffig reUef to the sorely bereaved and stricken people of Belgium, though the latter were provided with safe conduct through the proscribed areas by the German Government itseU and were ffis- tinguished by unmistakable marks of identity, have been sunk with the same reckless lack of compassion or of principle. I was for a little wffile unable to believe that such things would, in fact, be done by any Government that had hitherto subscribed to the humane practices of civUized nations. Inter national law had its origin in the attempt to set up some law which woffid be respected and observed upon the seas, where no nation had right of dominion, and where lay tbe free highways of the world. By painful stage after stage has that law been built up with meager enough results, indeed, after aU was accomplished that coffid be accompUshed, but always with a LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 143 clear view at least of what the heart and conscience of mankind demanded. This minimum of right the German Government has swept aside under the plea of retaliation and necessity, and because it had no weapons wffich it coffid use at sea except these, which it is impossible to employ as it is employing them without tiirow- ing to the wmds aU scruples of humaffity or of respect for the understandings that were supposed to underUe the ffitercourse of the world. I am not now tffinking of the loss of property ffivolved, immense and serious as that is, but offiy of the wanton and whole sale destruction of the Uves of non-combatants, men, women, and chUdren engaged ffi pursuits wffich have always, even ffi the darkest periods of modern ffistory, been deemed innocent and legitimate. Property can be paid for; the Uves of peacefffi and mnocent people cannot be. The present German warfare agaffist commerce is a warfare against mankind. It is a war against aU nations. American sffips have been sunk, American Uves taken, ffi ways wffich it has stirred us very deeply to learn of, but the ships and people of other neutral and friendly nations have been sunk and over whelmed ffi the waters ffi the same way. There has been no dis crimination. The chaUenge is to all mankind. Each nation must decide for itseU how it wiU meet it. The choice we make for ourselves must be made with a moderation of counsel and a temperateness of judgment befittffig our character and our motives as a nation. 'We must put excited feehng away. Our motive wiU not be revenge or the victorious assertion of the physical might of the nation, but offiy the vmffication of right, of human right, of wffich we are offiy a sffigle champion. When I addressed the Congress on the 26th of February last I thought that it would suffice to assert our neutral rights with arms, our right to use the seas against uffiawfffi ffiterference, our right to keep our people safe against unlavrful violence. But armed neutraUty, it now appears, is unpracticable. Because submarines are ffi effect outlaws when used as the German 144 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS submarffies have been used against merchant sffippmg, it is impossible to defend sffips agaffist their attacks as the law of nations has assumed that merchantmen woffid defend them selves agamst privateers or cruisers, visible craft giving chase upon the open sea. It is common prudence ffi such circumstances, grim necessity, ffideed, to endeavor to destroy them before they have shown their own mtention. They must be dealt with upon sight, if dealt with at aU. The German Government deffies the right of neutrals to use arms at aU withm the areas of the sea which it has proscribed, even ffi the defense of rights wffich no modern pubUcist has ever before questioned their right to defend. The ffitimation is con veyed that the armed guards wffich we have placed on our mer- chant-sffips wffi be treated as beyond the pale of law and subject to be dealt with as pirates woffid be. Armed neutraUty is ffieffectual enough at best; ffi such cir cumstances and ffi the face of such pretensions it is worse than ineffectual; it is likely to produce what it was meant to prevent; it is practicaUy certaffi to draw us ffito the war without either the rights or the effectiveness of beffigerents. There is one choice we cannot make, we are fficapable of mak ing: we wffi not choose the path of submission and suffer the most sacred rights of our nation and our people to be ignored or violated. The wrongs agamst which we now array ourselves are not common wrongs; they reach out to the very roots of human lUe. With a profound sense of the solemn and even tragical char acter of the step I am takffig and of the grave responsibffities wffich it ffivolves, but ffi unhesitating obedience to what I deem my constitutional duty, I advise that the Congress declare the recent course of the Imperial German Government to be ffi fact notffing less than war agaffist the Government and people of the United States. That it formaUy accept the status of beffiger ent which has thus been tffiust upon it and that it take unmedi- ate steps not only to put the country ffi a more thorough state of defense, but also to exert aU its power and employ aU its re- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 14S sources to brffig the Government of the German Empire to terms and end the war. What this wffi ffivolve is clear. It wiU ffivolve the utmost practicable cooperation ffi counsel and action with the Govern ments now at war with Germany, and as fficident to that the extension to those Governments of the most Uberal financial credits ffi order that our resources may so far as possible be added to theirs. It wffi ffivolve the organization and mobUization of aU the material resources of the country to supply the materials of war and serve the fficidental needs of the nation ffi the most abundant and yet the most economical and efficient way possible. It wiU ffivolve the immediate fuU equipment of the navy ffi aU respects, but particffiarly ffi supplying it with the best means of dealing vnth the enemy's submarffies. It wffi ffivolve the immediate addition to the armed forces of the Uffited States already provided for by law ffi case of war at least 500,000 men, who shoffid, in my opinion, be chosen upon the prfficiple of uffiversal hability to service, and also the authorization of subsequent additional increments of equal force so soon as they may be needed and can be hanffied ffi training. It wffi ffivolve also, of course, the granting of adequate credits to the Government, sustained, I hope, so far as they can equit ably be sustaffied by the present generation, by weU-conceived taxation. I say sustained so far as may be equitable by taxa tion because it seems to me that it would be most unwise to base the credits wffich wffi now be necessary enthely on money borrowed. It is our duty, I most respectf uUy urge, to protect our people so far as we may against the very serious hardships and evUs wffich would be likely to arise out of the inflation which would be produced by vast loans. In carrying out the measures by which these tffings are to be accomplished we should keep constantly ffi mmd the wisdom of interfering as Uttle as possible in our own preparation and ffi the equipment of our own mUitary forces with the duty — for it 146 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS wffi be a very practical duty — of supplymg the nations aheady at war with Germany with the materials wffich they can obtaffi offiy from us or by our assistance. They are ffi the field and we shoffid help them in every way to be effective there. I shall take the liberty of suggesting, through the several executive departments of the Government, for the considera tion of your committees, measures for the accomphshment of the several objects I have mentioned. I hope that it wffi be your pleasure to deal with them as having been framed after very carefffi thought by the branch of the Government upon wffich the responsibffity of conductffig the war and safeguardffig the nation wffi most directly faU. While we do these tffings, these deeply momentous tffings, let us be very clear and make very clear to aU the world what our motives and our objects are. My own thought has not been driven from its habitual and normal course by the unhappy events of the last two months, and I do not beUeve that the thought of the nation has been altered or clouded by them. I have exactly the same tffing ffi mmd now that I had ffi mmd when I addressed the Senate on the 2 2d of January last; the same that I had ffi mmd when I addressed the Congress on the 3d of February and on the 26th of February. Our object now, as then, is to vffifficate the prmciples of peace and the justice ffi the ffie of the world as agaffist seffish and autocratic power and to set up amongst the reaUy free and seU- govemed peoples of the world such a concert of purpose and of action as wffi henceforth ffisure the observance of those prffidples. NeutraUty is no longer feasible or desirable where the peace of the world is ffivolved and the freedom of its peoples, and the menace to that peace and freedom Ues ffi the existence of auto cratic Governments backed by organized force wffich is con troUed wholly by their wffi, not by the wffi of their people. We have seen the last of neutraUty ffi such chcumstances. We are at the beginning of an age ffi wffich it wiU be insisted that the same standards of conduct and of responsibffity for wrong done shall be observed among nations and their Govern- LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 147 ments that are observed among the ffiffividual citizens of civilized states. We have no quarrel with the German people. We have no feeUng toward them but one of sjonpathy and friendsffip. It was not upon their impulse that their Government acted ffi entering this war. It was not with their previous knowledge or approval. It was a war determmed upon as wars used to be determffied upon in the old, unhappy days when peoples were nowhere con- sffited by their rffiers and wars were provoked and waged ffi the ffiterest of dynasties or Uttle groups of ambitious men who were accustomed to use their feUowmen as pawns and tools. SeU-governed nations do not fiU their neighbor states with spies or set the course of intrigue to brffig about some critical posture of affairs wffich wffi give them an opportuffity to strUce and make conquest. Such designs can be successfuUy worked offiy under cover and where no one has the right to ask questions. Cunnffigly contrived plans of deception or aggression, carried, it may be, from generation to generation, can be worked out and kept from the light offiy witffin the privacy of courts or beffind the carefully guarded confidences of a narrow and privUeged class. They are happUy impossible where pubhc opiffion com mands and msists upon fuU iffiormation concernffig all the nation's affairs. A steadfast concert for peace can never be mamtaffied except by a partnersffip of democratic nations. No autocratic Govern ment coffid be trusted to keep faith witffin it or observe its covenants. It must be a league of honor, a partnersffip of opiffion. Intrigue woffid eat its vitals away, the plottffigs of inner chcles who coffid plan what they woffid and render account to no one woffid be a corruption seated at its very heart. Offiy free peoples can hold their purpose and their honor steady to a common end and prefer the ffiterests of mankffid to any narrow ffiterest of their own. Does not every American feel that assurance has been added to our hope for the future peace of the world by the wonderfffi 148 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and hearteffing things that have been happenffig witffin the last few weeks ffi Russia? Russia was known by those who know it best to have been always ffi fact democratic at heart, ffi aU the vital habits of her thought, ffi aU the ffitimate relationships of her people that spoke their natural instffict, their habitual attitude toward life. Autocracy that crowned the summit of her political structure, long as it had stood and terrible as was the reality of its power, was not ffi fact Russian ffi origffi, ffi character or purpose; and now it has been shaken off and the great, generous Russian people have been added, ffi aU their native majesty and might, to the forces that are fighting for freedom ffi the world, for justice and for peace. Here is a fit partner for a League of Honor. One of the things that have served to convffice us that the Prussian autocracy was not and could never be our friend is that from the very outset of the present war it has fiUed our unsuspectmg commuffities and even our offices of Government with spies and set criminal ffitrigues everywhere afoot agamst our national unity of councU, our peace witffin and without, our industries and our commerce. Indeed, it is now evident that its spies were here even before the war began, and it is, unhappily, not a matter of conjecture, but a fact proved ffi our courts of justice, that the ffitrigues which have more than once come perilously near to ffisturbffig the peace and dislocatmg the ffidustries of the country have been carried on at the instigation, with the support, and even under the personal direction, of official agents of the Imperial German Government accredited to the Government of the United States. Even in checking these things and tryffig to extirpate them we have sought to put the most generous interpretation possible upon them because we knew that their source lay, not ffi any hostile feeling or purpose of the German people toward us (who were, no doubt, as ignorant of them as we ourselves were), but offiy ffi the seffish designs of a Government that ffid what it pleased and told its people nothing. But they have played their part in serving to convince us at last that that Government entertains no real friendsffip for us and means to act against LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 149 our peace and security at its conveffience. That it means to stir up enemies against us at our very doors the intercepted note to the German Minister at Mexico City is eloquent evidence. We are acceptffig tffis challenge of hostUe purpose because we know that ffi such a Government, following such methods, we can never have a friend; and that in the presence of its organized power, always lying in wait to accompUsh we know not what purpose, there can be no assured security for the democratic Governments of the world. We are now about to accept the gage of battie with tffis natural foe to liberty, and shall, U necessary, spend the whole force of the nation to check and nuUify its pretensions and its power. We are glad, now that we see the facts with no veU of false pretense about them, to fight thus for the ffitimate peace of the world and for the hberation of its peoples, the German people included; for the rights of nations great and smaU and the privUege of men everywhere to choose their way of ffie and of obeffience. The world must be made safe for democracy. Its peace must be planted upon the trusted foundations of poUtical Uberty. We have no seffish ends to serve. We desire no conquest, no domiffion. We seek no ffidemffities for ourselves, no material compensation for the sacrffices we shaU freely make. We are but one of the champions of the rights of mankind. We shaU be satisfied when those rights have been made as secure as the faith and the freedom of nations can make them. Just because we fight without rancor and without seffish objects, seeking notffing for ourselves but what we shaU wish to share with aU free peoples, we shaU, I feel confident, conduct our operations as beffigerents without passion and ourselves observe with proud punctilio the prmciples of right and of fair play we profess to be fightffig for. I have said nothing of the Governments affied with the Imperial Government of Germany because they have not made war upon us or chaUenged us to defend our right and our honor. The Austro-Hungarian Government has indeed avowed its unqualffied ffidorsement and acceptance of the reckless and law- ISO NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS less submarine warfare adopted now without ffisguise by the Imperial German Government, and it has therefore not been possible for this Government to receive Count Tarnowski, the ambassador recentiy accredited to tffis Government by the Imperial and Royal Government of Austro-Hungary; but that Government has not actuaUy engaged in warfare agaffist citizens of the United States on the seas, and I take the Uberty, for the present at least, of postponffig a ffiscussion of our relations with the authorities at 'Vienna. We enter tffis war offiy where we are clearly forced ffito it because there are no other means of defending our rights. It wiU be aU the easier for us to conduct ourselves as beUiger ents in a high spirit of right and fairness because we act without animus, not in enmity toward a people or with the desire to brffig any mjury or ffisadvantage upon them, but offiy ffi armed opposition to an irresponsible Government wffich has tffiown aside aU considerations of humaffity and of right and is runffing amuck. We are, let me say again, the sfficere friends of the German people, and shaU desire notffing so much as the early reestabUsh- ment of ffitimate relations of mutual advantage between us, however hard it may be for them, for the time beffig, to beheve that tffis is spoken from our hearts. We have borne with their present Government through aU these bitter months because of that friendship, — exercising a patience and forbearance wffich woffid otherwise have been impossible. We shall, happUy, stffi have an opportuffity to prove that friendsffip in our daUy attitude and actions towards the mUUons of men and women of German birth and native sympathy who live amongst us and share our Me, and we shaU be proud to prove it toward aU who are, ffi fact, loyal to their neighbors and to the Government ffi the hour of test. They are, most of them, as true and loyal Americans as U they had never known any other fealty or aUegiance. They wiU be prompt to stand with us in rebuking and restraining the few who may be of a dffierent mind and purpose. If there should be ffisloyalty it wffi be dealt with with a firm hand of stern repression, but, if it ffits its head LANDMARK ADDRESSES AND STATE PAPERS 151 at aU, it wffi ffit it only here and there and without countenance except from a lawless and maUgnant few. It is a distressing and oppressive duty, gentiemen of the Con gress, wffich I have performed in thus addressing you. There are, it may be, many months of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It is a fearfffi tffing to lead this great, peacefffi people ffito war, into the most terrible and disastrous of aU wars, civffization itseU seeming to be in the balance. But the right is more precious than peace, and we shaU fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts — for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own govern ments, for the rights and liberties of smaU nations, for a uffiversal domffiion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shaU bring peace and safety to aU nations and make the world itseU at last free. To such a task we can defficate our Uves and our fortunes, everytffing that we are and everytffing that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the prffidples that gave her birth and happiness and the peace wffich she has treasured. God helpffig her, she can do no other. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY THE HERITAGE OF LIBERTY^ Charles Mills Gayley [Charles MiUs Gayley (1858 ) is professor of English in the Uni versity of CaUfornia. After graduating from the University of Michigan, he studied in Germany, and on his return to this country, occupied positions in the University of Michigan untU 1889 when he went to CaUfornia. The selection here given is from a book, Shakspere and the Founders of Liberty in America, which Professor Gayley pubUshed in 19 17 to remind Americans how essentiaUy at one with EngUshmen they had always been in institu tions, love of Uberty, and democratic ideals.] The poUtical freedom that, between 1609 and 1640, our Eng lish ancestors of Virgiffia and New England put ffito form and practice is the poUtical freedom for wffich our grand-uncles of old England fought from 1642 to 1649, nay, to 1689, Bradford, and Brewster, Wffitffiop and Endicott, John Cotton and Roger Wiffiams, Harvard and Thomas Hooker, of New England, Alexander Wffitaker, Clayborne, Bennett, and Nathaffiel Bacon, of Virgiffia, belong to the ffistory of EngUsh ideals no less than to that of America. And Hampden, Pym, CromweU, Milton, Bunyan, and the Seven Bishops who defied the second James, were but brothers to our English sires ffi New England. Brothers of the same blood and ffitimate ideal were also the royaUsts of Virginia. Their conservatism and devotion to a lost cause ren dered them none the less certain "ffi the free air of the New World to develop ffito uncompromising democrats and fierce defenders of their own privileges." Of all these Englishmen of the seventeenth century, whether of the Old World or the New, there was a heritage ffi common. iFrom Shakspere and the Founders of Liberty in America (copyright, 1917; The Macmillsin Company). Reprinted by permission. 152 AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 153 One language welded of the Old EngUsh, Scandmavian, Gaffic, and Latin: maffiy, dhect, sober, and natively consistent; unfet tered, experimental, acqffisitive; from emergency to emergency shaped accordmg to the need, incomparable ffi riches ever cumu lative. One race, one nation, one blood iffiused of many straffis and diverse characteristics: of the Anglo-Saxon, the personal independence and native conservatism; of the Norman, the martial geffius, eqffity, political vision, masterfffi and unifyffig authority — and of the Norman, the cffivalry, the romance and cffiture, too; of the Celt, ffitermmgUng witii these ffi the cen turies that flowed ffito Shakspere, a current of aspiration, poignant passion, poetic imagination — stirrffig the blood but not ffitoxicating the Anglo-Norman reason. One custom, of spiritual ideal but of tried experience — ^practical rather than specffiative, ffistrustiffi of veering sentiment, slowly crystalUz- ffig ffito the stabUity of a national consciousness: a custom of ffiffividual prerogative and of obeffience to the authority that conserves the prerogative; of fair play and equality of oppor tuffity, of fearless speech for the right, and simple for the com mon weal; a custom makffig for popffiar sovereignty, for aUe giance, for national honor ffi national fair dealing, for the might that is right; one custom, mother of the law. One common law: the progressive expression "of a free people's needs and standards of justice;" the outgrowth of social conditions, derivffig its authority not from enactment of sovereign monarch or sovereign legislature but from the aggregate social wffi — the law of prece dent and of the righteous mdependence of the courts. Long before Magna Charta features of tffis law, tffis conser vatively expanding charter of hberties and duties, are distm- guishable in the procedure of our forefathers ffi England. From the days of Ethelbert to those of AUred, and from Alfred to Edward the Coffiessor, for four and a half centuries before the Conquest, tffis law, hardly U at aU affected by foreign corpus or code, had been "gathering itseU together out of the custom of" the independentiy developing Anglo-Saxon. Tffis sanction "the Conqueror, who claimed the crown by virtue of EngUsh law and professed to rffie by English law," repeatedly bound himself to 1S4 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS observe, "and he handed down the tradition to aU who came after ffim." Tffis law of national precedent, further developed under Henry II and systematicaUy expounded by GlanvU, or by some clerk under ffis direction, grew ffito the Great Charter of King John with its equal ffistribution of civU rights to aU dasses of freemen, and its restriction of monarcffical preroga tive. "The kffig," writes Bracton ffi the days of John's successor, Hemy III, "must not be subject to any man but to God and the law; for the law makes him king. Let the kffig therefore give to the law what the law gives to him, domiffion and power; for there is no king where wffi, and not law, bears rffie." The relation of tffis EngUsh law of custom to the general nature of law as set forth ffi the civU code of the Roman system, Bracton expounds; but from that system the pecffiiar English law is not derived. Expanffing tffiough Fortescue and Littleton, tffis English law is the common law of Coke; and by the Virgiffia charter of 1606, probably drafted by Coke, the rights of the common law were coffierred upon the coloffists of the New World. For these Enghshmen of the "sceptered isle" and of the un tilled vrildemess of the West there had been one spirit energizffig toward freedom — civU and religious; one charter of rights and obhgations. Of poUtical development there had been a continuous ffistory for eleven hundred years before England was planted ffi America. There had also been one Uterature, as ancient and as noble, stirrffig ffi embers of racial traffition — a. traffition of ser vice and heroism and generous acceptance of fate; kmffiing to mirth and pity, humaffity and reverence; leaping to flame in imagffiation and power; and, ffi the decades when ffist the Eng Ush peopled "worlds ffi the yet uffiormed Occident," attaiffing fffil glory ffi the zeffith of Shakspere. Not with those eleven hundred years ceased the oneness of the EngUsh heritage. For a period longer than that wffich has elapsed sffice the American branch of the Anglo-Saxon race has been a separate nation, the heritage was one. One hundred and forty years have succeeded our Declaration of Independence. Through the hundred and seventy wffich preceded, the ffistory of Britam was the continuing property of our forefathers of Vir- AMERICAN DEMOCRACY tsi ginia and New England. Not offiy Hampden and CromweU and the Ironsides, but Chatham, HoUand, Burke, and Sh Philip Francis were compatriots of the coloffials. The admhals of the fleet, Blake, Vernon, Anson, Hawke, were our admirals. It was for the nascent empire of our British and British-American fore fathers that they won the supremacy of the sea. The victories of Marlborough, dive's conquest of Inffia, WoUe's conquest of Canada — to wffich the young George Washington contributed the services of ffis stffi British sword — were glories not of a for eign race but of our race. For four generations we have been an independent people. But for six generations before that the ffitellectual and spiritual strivings of our British compatriots toward truth and freedom were those of the British ffi America. Harrington, Algernon Sidney, Locke, Hume, and Berkeley were ours. And ffi literature, MUton and Bunyan, Dryden and Pope, SwUt, Adffison, Gray and Goldsmith were our poets and essay ists. Such was the birtffiight of our British forefathers ffi the American coloffies. True it is that ffi legal procedure they pre ferred, durffig the years of primitive social conffitions, the appeal to divine law and the law of reason or of human nature, as ex pounded by Hooker and ffis school, to any kffid of law positive; and it is true that, within the field of positive law, they took more kindly to the civU which derives authority from enactment than to the common wffich derives from precedent. But when they reached "the stage of social orgaffization wffich the common law expressed," they were offiy too glad to claim that birthright also, as conveyed by various early charters. And upon such right they based their appeal for civU Uberty. Not at aU with 1776 ffid the EngUsh heritage cease to be the same for the sons of England at home and over the seas. In their resistance to taxation without representation, to coercion by force, to the Acts of Trade, the colonists ffi America were sup ported by Fox and the elder Pitt, by Shelbume, Camden, Burke, Rockffigham, and aU true patriots at home. Americans were assertffig their rights as Englishmen under charter and common law. "Do not break theh charter; do not take away rights granted them by the predecessors of the Crown!" cried members iS6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS of the EngUsh House of Commons. Pitt "poffited out distmctiy that the Americans were upholffing those eternal prffidples of political justice wffich shoffid be to aU EngUshmen most dear, and that a victory over the colonies woffid be of ffi omen for English Uberty, whether ffi the Old World or the New." Speak ing of the tea-duty. Lord North had asseverated, "I wffi never tffink of repeaUng it untU I see America prostrate at my feet." To tffis Colonel Barre retorted, "Does any friend of ffis country reaUy wish to see America thus humbled? In such a situation she woffid serve offiy as a monument of your arrogance and your foUy. For my part, the America I wish to see is America ffi- creasing and prosperous, raising her head ffi gracefffi ffigffity, with freedom and firmness asserting her rights at your bar, vffi- fficating her hberties, pleadffig her services, and conscious of her merit. Tffis is the America that wffi have spirit to fight your batties, to sustain you when hard pushed by some prevaiUng foe. . . . Unless you repeal this law you run the risk of losing America." In the House of Lords, three devoted defenders of American Uberty were the Dukes of Portiand, Devonshire, and Northumberland. They were descended from Henry Wriothes- ley, thud Earl of Southampton, the founder, with Sir Edwffi Sandys, of the charter hberties of Virginia. In that House, protestffig against the "Intolerable Acts" of 1774, the Duke of Richmond thundered, "I wish from the bottom of my heart that the Americans may resist, and get the better of the forces sent agamst them." Not the ffistorical precedent of England nor the political wisdom of her best "arrayed her ffi hostffity to every principle of public justice wffich Enghshmen had from time im memorial held sacred," but the perversity of an im-Enghsh prince and of ffis fatuous advisers. Bent upon thwarting the pohcy of reformers who woffid make the Commons more trffiy representative of the English people, upon destrojdng the system of cabinet government and resuscitating the theory of ffivffie right, these uffi ortunates picked their quarrel with the American coloffies. "For," as John Fiske shrewffiy remarks, "if the Am erican position, that there shoffid be no taxation without repre sentation, were once granted, then it woffid straightway become AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 157 necessary to admit the principles of ParUamentary reform," and to caU the Liberals to power ffi England. A representation of the coloffies ffi Westmffister, though favored by some great English men, might have been unpracticable; but U George III had lis tened to the elder Pitt and ffis foUowers, he woffid have recog nized the right of American freemen to levy theu own taxes, and the Revolution woffid have been obviated. The woffid-be auto crat forced the issue ffi America and was defeated. If there had been no revolution ffi America there woffid have been a revolu tion ffi England, and the monarch would ffi aU probabffity have been dethroned. The War of Independence reasserted for Eng land as weU as for America the poUtical rights for wffich Eng Ushmen, from the time of Kffig John to that of James I, from the time of Hooker, Shakspere, Sandys, Bradford, Wffitffiop, Sir Thomas Dale, and Sir Francis Wyatt, to that of CromweU, had contended. It confirmed the victories of the Great Rebeffion and of the Revolution of 1688. The younger Pitt denounced the war agamst the American coloffies as "most accursed, wicked, barbarous, cruel, unnatural, unjust, and diaboUcal." And when Charles Fox heard that Comwaffis had surrendered at Yorktown, he leaped from ffis chair and dapped ffis hands. The victory at Yorktown ffissipated once for aU the fatal delusion of ffivffie prerogative. Those who conceived and carried through the American Revolution were Anglo-Saxons: Otis, Samuel and John Adams, Hancock, Henry, Richard Henry Lee, FrankUn, Jeffer son, Wasffington. The greatest of Americans was the greatest Englishman of ffis age: Washffigton was but assertmg agamst a despotic sovereign of German blood and broken EngUsh speech the prerogative of the Anglo-Saxon breed, the faith of his liberal brothers ffi England. PoUtical ffistory has, ffideed, worn its ffidependent channd; but spirit and speech, letters, order of freedom and control ffi the America of today are of the andent blood and custom. 158 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE IN THE LIGHT OF MODERN CRITICISM^ Moses Coit Tyler [Moses Coit Tyler (1835-1900) was a distinguished American educator and scholar in Uterature and history. After graduating from Yale in 1877, he became a Congregational minister, but his health failing from overstudy, he spent four years in England recuperating. On his retum to America, he accepted, in 1867, the chair of EngUsh Uterature at the University of Mich igan. In 1881 he was caUed to the professorship of American history at ComeU, a position which he held imtil his death. His Uterary histories dealing with the Colonial and the Revolutionary periods of American Utera- tme have secured for him a wide reputation for scholarship. In a time when it has become fashionable to sneer at certain features of the Declaration of Independence, it is weU for every American to foUow Tyler's admirable dis cussion of the criticisms to which this great document has been subjected. As Umitations of space in this volume have made it necessary to abridge Tyler's article, the student should if possible secure it in its entirety and carefuUy read it.] It can hardly be doubted that some hindrance to a right estimate of the Declaration of Independence is occasioned by either of two opposite conffitions of mmd, both of wffich are often to be met with among us: on the one hand, a conffition of hereffitary, uncritical awe and worsffip of the American Revo lution, and of that state paper as its absolutely perfect and glori ous expression; on the other hand, a later conffition of cffitivated ffistrust of the Declaration, as a piece of writing lifted up ffito inordinate renown by the passionate and heroic circumstances of its origin, and ever since then extoUed beyond reason by the bUnd energy of patriotic enthusiasm. Turning from the former state of mffid, wffich obviously caUs for no further comment, we may note, as a partial iUustration of the latter, that American confidence ffi the supreme mteUectual merit of this aU-famous document received a serious wound some forty years ago from the hand of Rffius Choate, when, with a courage greater than would now be required for such an act, he characterized it as made up of "gUttering and sounffing generaUties of natural iFrom North American Review, vol. clxiii, p. i (July, i8g6). AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 159 right." 'What the great advocate then so unhesitatingly sug gested, many a thoughtiffi American sffice then has at least sus pected — that our great proclamation, as a piece of poUtical Uterature, cannot stand the test of modern analysis; that it belongs to the immense class of over-praised productions; that it is, in fact, a stately patchwork of sweepffig propositions of somewhat doubtfffi vaUffity; that it has long imposed upon man kffid by the weU-known effectiveness of verbal gUtter and sound; that, at the best, it is an example of florid poUtical declamation belongffig to the sophomoric period of our national Ufe, a period wffich, as we flatter ourselves, we have now outgrown. Nevertheless, it is to be noted that whatever authority the Declaration of Independence has acquired ffi the world, has been due to no lack of criticism, either at the time of its first appear ance, or sffice then; a fact wffich seems to teU ffi favor of its es sential worth and strength. From the date of its original pubUca- tion down to the present moment, it has been attacked agaffi and again, either ffi anger, or ffi contempt, by friends as weU as by enemies of the American Revolution, by Uberals ffi poUtics as weU as by conservatives. It has been censured for its substance, it has been censured for its form, for its misstatements of fact, for its faUacies ffi reasoffing, for its audacious novelties and para doxes, for its total lack of aU novelty, for its repetition of old and threadbare statements, even for its downright plagiarisms; finaUy, for its grandiose and vaporing style. Perhaps, however, the most frequent form of ffisparagement to wffich Jefferson's great state paper has been subjected among us is that which woffid mffiimize his merit ffi composffig it, by denyffig to it the merit of originaUty. . . . By no one, however, has the charge of a lack of origmaUty been pressed with so much decisiveness as by John Adams, who took evident pleasure in speaking of it as a document ffi wffich were merely "recapitffiated" previous and weU-known state ments of American rights and wrongs, and who, as late as ffi the year 1822, deliberately wrote: "There is not an idea in it but what had been hackneyed in Congress for two years before. The substance of it is wntained in the declaration of i6o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS rights and the violation of those rights, in the Journals of Congress, in 1774. Indeed, the essence of it is contained in a pamphlet, voted and printed by the town of Boston, before the first Congress met, composed by James Otis, as I suppose, in one of his lucid intervals, and pruned and pol ished by Samuel Adams." Perhaps nowhere ffi our Uterature woffid it be possible to find a criticism brought forward by a really able man against any piece of writing less applicable to the case, and of less force and value, than is this particular criticism by John Adams and others, as to the lack of origffiahty ffi the Declaration of Independence. Indeed, for such a paper as Jefferson was commissioned to write, the one quality wffich it coffid not properly have had, the one quaUty which woffid have been fatal to its acceptance either by the American Congress or by the American people — is origi naUty. They were then at the culmination of a tremendous con troversy over aUeged grievances of the most serious kind — a controversy that had been steadUy ragffig for at least twelve years. In the course of that long ffispute, every phase of it, whether as to abstract right or constitutional privUege or per sonal procedure, had been presented ffi almost every conceivable form of speech. At last, they had resolved, ffi view of aU tffis experience, no longer to prosecute the controversy as members of the empire; they had resolved to revolt, and, castffig off forever their ancient fealty to the British crown, to separate from the empire, and to estabhsh themselves as a new nation among the nations of the earth. In this emergency, as it happened, Jeffer son was caUed upon to put ffito form a suitable statement of the cffief considerations wffich prompted them to this great act of revolution, and wffich, as they beheved, justffied it. What, then, was Jefferson to do? Was he to regard himseU as a mere Uterary essayist, set to produce before the world a sort of prize-disserta tion — a calm, analytic, jufficial treatise on ffistory and poUtics with a particular application to Anglo-American affairs — one essential merit of which woffid be its origffiahty as a contribu tion to historical and political literature? Was he not, rather, to regard hunseU as, for the time being, the very mouthpiece and prophet of the people whom he represented, and as such re- AMERICAN DEMOCRACY i6r quired to bring together and to set ffi order, ffi theh name, not what was new, but what was old; to gather up ffito ffis own soul, as much as possible, whatever was then also ffi their souls, their very thoughts and passions, their ideas of constitutional law, theh interpretations of fact, their opinions as to men and as to events ffi aU that ugly quarrel, thek notions of justice, of civic digffity, of human rights; finaUy, their memories of wrongs which seemed to them intolerable, especially of wrongs inflicted upon them during those twelve years by the bands of msolent and brutal men, in the name of the King, and by his apparent command? Moreover, as the nature of the task laid upon hun made it necessary that he shoffid thus state, as the reasons for their ffi- tended act, those very considerations both as to fact and as to opinion which had actuaUy operated upon their minds, so did it require him to do so, to some extent, ffi the very language which the people themselves, in their more formal and deliberate utter ances, had aU along been using. In the development of poUtical ffie ffi England and America, there had already been created a vast Uterature of constitutional progress — a hterature common to both portions of the Enghsh race, pervaded by its own stately traditions, and reverberatffig certain great phrases which formed, as one may say, almost the vernacffiar of English justice, and of English aspiration for a free, manly and orderly poUtical ffie. In this vernacular the Declaration of Independence was written. The phraseology thus characteristic of it is the very phraseology of the champions of constitutional expansion, of civic digffity and progress, withm the English race ever since Magna Charta; of the great state papers of English freedom ffi the seventeenth century, particularly the Petition of Right in 1629, and the Bffi of Rights in 1789; of the great English Charters for colonization ffi America ; of the great English exponents of legal and poUtical progress — Sir Edward Coke, John MUton, Sir PhUip Sidney, John Locke; finaUy, of the great American exponents of political liberty, and of the chief representative bodies, whether local or general, which had convened in America from the time of Stamp Act Congress untU that of the Congress wffich resolved upon our independence. To say, therefore, that the official declaration of i62 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS that resolve is a paper made up of the very opinions, beliefs, un- beUefs, the very sentiments, prejuffices, passions, even the errors in judgment and the personal misconstructions — U they were such — which then actually impeUed the American people to that mighty act, and that aU these are expressed ffi the very pffiases wffich they had been accustomed to use, is to pay to that state- paper the ffighest tribute as to its fitness for the purpose for which it was framed. Of much of tffis, also, Jefferson himself seems to have been conscious; and perhaps never does he rise before us with more digffity, with more truth, than when, late ffi his ffietime, hurt by the captious and jangling words of ffisparagement then re centiy put mto writffig by ffis old comrade, to the effect that the Declaration of Independence "contains no new ideas, that it is a commonplace compUation, its sentences hackneyed ffi Congress for two years before, and its essence contained ffi Otis's pamph let," Jefferson quietly remarked that perhaps these statements might "aU be true: of that I am not to be the judge. . . . Whether I had gathered my ideas from reaffing or reflection, I do not know. I know offiy that I turned to neither book nor pampffiet while writffig it. I ffid not consider it as any part of my charge to invent new ideas altogether and to offer no senti ment which had ever been expressed before." Before passffig from tffis phase of the subject, however, it shoffid be added that, whUe the Declaration of Independence lacks origffiahty ffi the sense just infficated, in another and per haps in a higher sense, it possesses origmaUty — it is individual ized by the character and by the geffius of its author. Jefferson gathered up the thoughts and emotions and even the character istic phrases of the people for whom he wrote, and these he per fectiy fficorporated with what was aheady ffi ffis mind, and tiien to the music of ffis ovsm keen, rich, passionate, and enkinffiing style, he mustered them into that stately and triumphant pro cession whereffi, as some of us stffi think, they wffi go march ing on to the world's end. There were then ffi Congress several other men who coffid have written the Declaration of Independence, and written it AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 163 weU — notably Franklffi, either of the two Adamses, Richard Henry Lee, Wffiiam Livingston, and, best of aU, but for ffis own opposition to the measure, John Dickinson; but had any one of these other men written the Declaration of Independence, whUe it woffid have contamed, doubtless, nearly the same topics and nearly the same great formulas of political statement, it would yet have been a wholly dffierent composition from this of Jeffer son's. No one at all famUiar with ffis other writffigs, as weU as with the writings of ffis chief contemporaries, coffid ever have a moment's doubt, even U the fact were not aheady notorious, that this document was by Jefferson. He put ffito it somethffig that was ffis own, and that no one else coffid have put there. He put himseK ffito it — ffis own geffius, ffis own moral force, ffis faith ffi God, his faith ffi ideas, ffis love of innovation, ffis pas sion for progress, ffis invfficible enthusiasm, his mtolerance of prescription, of ffijustice, of cruelty; ffis sympathy, ffis clarity of vision, ffis affluence of diction, his power to ffing out great phrases wffich wffi long fire and cheer the souls of men struggUng agaffist political unrighteousness. And herein Ues its essential origmaUty, perhaps the most pre cious, and, indeed, almost the only, origffiahty ever attachmg to any great Uterary product that is representative of its time. He made himseK no improper claim, therefore, when he directed that upon the granite obeUsk at his grave shoffid be carved the words: "Here was buried Thomas Jefferson, author of the Dec laration of Independence." If the Declaration of Independence is now to be fairly judged by us, it must be judged with reference to what it was ffitended to be, namely, an impassioned manifesto of one party, and that the weaker party, ffi a violent race-quarrel; of a party resolved, at last, upon the extremity of revolution, and already menaced by the fficonceivable disaster of beffig defeated in the very act of armed rebeffion agaffist the mightiest mUitary power on earth. This manUesto, then, is not to be censured because, beffig avow edly a statement of its own side of the quarrel, it does not also contaffi a moderate and judicial statement of the opposite side; or because, beffig necessarUy partisan in method, it is likewise i64 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS both partisan and vehement ffi tone; or because it bristies with accusations against the enemy so fierce and so unqualffied as now to seem ffi some respects overdrawn; or because it resounds with certaffi great aphorisms about the natural rights of man, at wffich, ffideed, political science cannot now smile, except to its own ffiscomfiture and shame — aphorisms which are Ukely to abide ffi tffis world as the chief source and inspiration of heroic enterprises among men for seK-deliverance from oppression. Thus, ever since its first announcement to the world, and down almost to the present moment, has the Declaration of Independence been tested by criticism of every possible kffid — by criticism ffitended and expected to be destructive. Appar ently, however, aU tffis criticism has faUed to accomphsh its object. It is proper for us to remember, also, that what we caU criti cism is not the offiy valid test of the genuineness and worth of any piece of writing of great practical ffiterest to mankffid: there is, ffi adffition, the test of actual use and service, ffi direct contact with the common sense and the moral sense of large masses of men, under various conffitions, and for a long period. Probably no writing wffich is not essentiaUy sound and true has ever survived tffis test. Neither from tffis test has the great Declaration any need to shrink. As to the immediate use for which it was sent forth — that of raUying and uffitmg the friends of the Revolution, and bracing them for their great task — its effectiveness was so great and so obvious that it has never been denied. During the cen tury and a quarter since the Revolution, its influence on the political character and the poUtical conduct of the American people has been great beyond calculation. For example, after we had achieved our own national deUverance, and had advanced ffito that enormous and somewhat corrupting material prosperity wffich followed the adoption of the Constitution and the develop ment of the cotton-interest and the expansion of the RepubUc into a trans-continental power, we fell under an appaUing temp tation — the temptation to forget, or to repudiate, or to refuse to apply to the case of our human brethren in bondage, the AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 165 principles wffich we had once proclamied as the basis of every rightful government. The prodigious service rendered to us in this SLwiul moral emergency by the Declaration of Independence was, that its pubhc repetition, at least once every year, in the hearing of vast tffiongs of the American people in every portion of the RepubUc, kept constantiy before our mmds, in a form of almost religious sanctity, those few great ideas as to the digffity of human nature, and the sacredness of personahty, and the ffidestructible rights of man as mere man, with wffich we had so gloriously identified the beginnings of our national existence. It did at last become very hard for us to hsten each year to the preamble of the Declaration and still to remain the owners and users and catchers of slaves; still harder, to accept the doctrffie that the righteousness and prosperity of slavery was to be ac cepted as the dominant poUcy of the nation. The logic of Cal houn was as flawless as usual, when he concluded that the chief obstruction ffi the way of ffis system was the preamble of the Declaration of Independence. Had it not been for the ffiviolable sacredness given by it to those sweeping aphorisms about the natural rights of man, it may be doubted whether Caffioun might not have won over an immense majority of the American people to the support of ffis compact and plausible scheme for makffig slavery the basis of the RepubUc. It was the preamble of the Declaration of Independence which elected Lmcoffi, wffich sent forth the Emancipation Proclamation, which gave victory to Grant, which ratffied the Tffirteenth Amendment. We shaU not here attempt to dehneate the influence of tffis state paper upon mankind in general. Of course, the emergence of the American Republic as an imposing world-power is a phe nomenon wffich has now for many years attracted the attention of the human race. Surely, no shght effect must have resulted from the fact that, among aU civilized peoples, the one American document best known is the Declaration of Independence, and that thus the spectacle of so vast and beneficent a poUtical suc cess has been everywhere associated with the assertion of the natural rights of man. "The doctrines it contained," says Buckle, "were not merely welcomed by a majority of the French nation, i66 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS but even the government itseK was unable to withstand the gen eral feehng." "Its effect ffi hastenffig the approach of the French Revolution . . . was ffideed most remarkable." Else where, also, ffi many lands, among many peoples, it has been cited agaffi and agaffi as an inspiration to pohtical courage, as a model for pohtical conduct^; and K, as the brilliant ffistorian just aUuded to has affirmed, "that noble Declaration . . . ought to be hung up ffi the nursery of every kffig, and blazoned on the porch of every royal palace," it is because it has become the classic statement of political truths which must at last aboUsh kings altogether, or else teach them to identUy their existence with the digffity and happffiess of human nature. DEMOCRACY James Russell Lowell [James RusseU LoweU (1819-1891) added to his fame as poet and essayist the distinction of serving as American ambassador to Spain, 1876-1880, and to Great Britain, 1880-1885. In ^^^ l^st position he performed a particu larly useful service in interpreting England and the United States to each other. The famous address on Democracy, of which only the most signifi cant part is here printed, was deUvered on the occasion of his assuming the honorary presidency of the Birmingham and Midland Institute, England, October 6, 1884, and expresses LoweU's native Americanism and optimistic faith in democracy at a time when American democracy was stiU on the defensive in European eyes. The selection gives the latter part of the address, the somewhat rambling and whimsical beginning being omitted.] Few people take the trouble of trying to find out what democracy really is. Yet tffis woffid be a great help, for it is our lawless and uncertaffi thoughts, it is the ffidefiniteness of our impressions, that fiU darkness, whether mental or physical, with specters and hobgoblins. Democracy is nothing more than an experiment ffi government, more likely to succeed ffi a new soU, but Ukely to be tried ffi aU soUs, which must stand or faU on its own merits as others have done before it. For there is no trick iThe editor of the latest edition of The Writings of Thomas Jeferson, vol. i., Introd. IXV., does not shrink from calling it "the paper which is probably the best known that ever came from the pen of an individual.'' [Tyler's note.] AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 167 of perpetual motion ffi poUtics any more than m mechaffics. President Lfficoln defined democracy to be "the govemment of the people, by the people, for the people." This is a sufficientiy compact statement of it as a poUtical arrangement. Theodore Parker said that "Democracy meant not 'I'm as good as you are,' but 'You're as good as I am.' " And tffis is the ethical conception of it, necessary as a complement of the other; a conception wffich, coffid it be made actual and practical, woffid easUy solve aU the riddles that the old sphinx of poUtical and social economy who sits by the roadside has been proposffig to mankffid from the begiiming, and wffich mankind have shown such a singffiar talent for answering wrongly. In tffis sense Christ was the first true democrat that ever breathed, as the old dramatist Dekker said He was the first true gentleman. The characters may be easUy doubled, so strong is the likeness between them. A beauti- fffi and profound parable of the Persian poet JeUaladeen tells us that "One knocked at the Beloved's door, and a voice asked from witffin, ''Who is there?' and he answered, 'It is I.' Then the voice said, 'Tffis house wffi not hold me and thee;' and the door was not opened. Then went the lover ffito the desert and fasted and prayed in soUtude, and after a year he returned and knocked agaffi at the door; and agaffi the voice asked, 'Who is there?' and he said, 'It is thyseK;' and the door was opened to him." But that is ideaUsm, you wffi say, and tffis is an only too practical world. I grant it; but I am one of those who beUeve that the real wffi never find an irremovable basis tffi it rests on the ideal. It used to be thought that a democracy was possible offiy in a smaU territory, and tffis is doubtiess true of a democracy strictly defined, for ffi such aU the citizens decide directiy upon every question of pubhc concem ffi a general assembly. An example stffi survives ffi the tffiy Swiss canton of AppenzeU. But tiis immediate ffitervention of the people in their own affairs is not of the essence of democracy; it is not necessary, nor, ffideed, ffi most cases, practicable. Democracies to which Mr. Lfficoffi's defiffi- tion woffid fairly enough apply have existed, and now exist, ffi wffich, though the supreme authority reside in the people, yet they can act offiy ffidirectiy on the national poUcy. This genera- i68 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS tion has seen a democracy with an imperial figurehead, and ffi aU that have ever existed the body politic has never embraced aU the inhabitants included witffin its territory, the right to share ffi the direction of affairs has been confined to citizens, and citizensffip has been further restricted by various limitations, sometimes of property, sometimes of nativity, and always of age and sex. The framers of the American Constitution were far from wish ing or intending to found a democracy in the strict sense of the word, though, as was inevitable, every expansion of the scheme of government they elaborated has been in a democratical direc tion. But this has been generaUy the slow resffit of growth, and not the sudden innovation of theory; in fact, they had a profound disbelief in theory, and knew better than to commit the folly of breaking with the past. They were not seduced by the French faUacy that a new system of govemment coffid be ordered Uke a new suit of clothes. They would as soon have thought of ordering a new suit of flesh and skffi. It is offiy on the roaring loom of time that the stuff is woven for such a vesture of their thought and experience as they were meditating. They recognized fffily the value of traffition and habit as the great aUies of permanence and stabUity. They aU had that distaste for innovation which belonged to their race, and many of them a distrust of human nature derived from their creed. The day of sentiment was over, and no dithyrambic affirmations or fine drawn analyses of the Rights of Man would serve their present turn. This was a practical question, and they addressed them selves to it as men of knowledge and judgment shoffid. Their problem was how to adapt English principles and precedents to the new conditions of American life, and they solved it with singular discretion. They put as many obstacles as they coffid contrive, not in the way of the people's wiU, but of their whim. With few exceptions they probably admitted the logic of the then accepted syllogism, — democracy, anarchy, despotism. But tffis formula was framed upon the experience of small cities shut up to stew within their narrow walls where the number of citizens made but an fficonsiderable fraction of the inhabitants, where AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 169 every passion was reverberated from house to house and from man to man with gathering rumor tffi every impulse became gregarious and therefore fficonsiderate, and every popular assembly needed but an iffiusion of eloquent sopffistry to tum it into a mob, aU the more dangerous because sanctffied with the formality of law. Fortunately thek case was whoUy different. They were to legislate for a widely scattered popffiation and for States already practiced in the discipUne of a partial independence. They had an unequaled opportuffity and enormous advantages. The material they had to work upon was already democratical by instinct and habitude. It was tempered to their hands by more than a century's schooling ffi seU-government. They had but to give permanent and conservative form to a ductile mass. In giving impffise and direction to their new ffistitutions, especially, ffi supplying them with checks and balances, they had a great help and safeguard in their federal organization. The dffierent, sometimes conflictmg, mterests and social systems of the several States made existence as a Uffion and coalescence ffito a nation conditional on a constant practice of moderation and com promise. The very elements of disintegration were the best guides in political training. Their children learned the lesson of compromise only too weU, and it was the application of it to a question of fundamental morals that cost us our civU war. We learned once for aU that compromise makes a good umbrella but a poor roof; that it is a temporary expeffient, often wise ffi party poUtics, almost sure to be unwise ffi statesmanship. Has not the trial of democracy in America proved, on the whole, successfffi? If it had not, would the Old 'World be vexed with any fears of its proving contagious? Tffis trial would have been less severe coffid it have been made with a people homo geneous ffi race, language, and traditions, whereas the United States have been caUed on to absorb and assimUate enormous masses of foreign population heterogeneous in aU these respects, and drawn mainly from that class which might fairly say that the world was not their friend, nor the world's law. The previous condition too often justffied the traffitional Irishman, who, I70 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS landing ffi New York and asked what ffis poUtics were, mquired if there was a Government there, and on being told that there was, retorted, "Tffin I'm agffi it!" We have taken from Europe the poorest, the most ignorant, the most turbffient of her people and have made them over ffito good citizens, who have added to our wealth, and who are ready to ffie ffi defence of a country and of ffistitutions wffich they know to be worth dying for. The exceptions have been (and they are lamentable exceptions) where these hordes of ignorance and poverty have coagffiated ffi great cities. But the social system is yet to seek wffich has not to look the same terrible woK ffi the eyes. On the other hand, at tffis very moment Irish peasants are buying up the worn-out farms of Massachusetts, and making them productive agaffi by the same virtues of industry and tffiUt that once made them prof itable to the Enghsh ancestors of the men who are deserting them. To have achieved even these prosaic results (U you choose to caU them so), and that out of materials the most ffiscordant, — I might say the most recalcitrant, — argues a certaffi benefi cent virtue ffi the system that coffid do it, and is not to be accounted for by mere luck. Carlyle said scornfuUy that America meant offiy roast turkey every day for everybody. He forgot that States, as Bacon said of wars, go on their beUies. As for the security of property, it shoffid be tolerably weU secured ffi a country where every other man hopes to be rich, even though the only property qualffication be the ownersffip of two hands that add to tiie general wealth. Is it not the best security for anything to mterest the largest possible number of persons ffi its preservation and the smaUest ffi its ffivision? In point of fact, far-seeing men count the increasing power of wealth and its combinations as one of the chief dangers with which the institutions of the United States are tiireatened ffi the not ffis tant future. The right of inffividual property is no doubt the very corner-stone of civihzation as hitherto understood, but I am a httle impatient of being told that property is entitled to exceptional consideration because it bears aU the burdens of the State. It bears those, indeed, wffich can most easily be borne, but poverty pays with its person the chief expenses of war. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 171 pestilence, and famine. Wealth shoffid not forget tffis, for poverty is beginning to think of it now and then. Let me not be mis understood. I see as clearly as any man possibly can, and rate as highly, the value of wealth, and of hereditary wealth, as the security of refinement, the feeder of aU those arts that ennoble and beautUy ffie, and as making a country worth Uvffig in. Many an ancestral haU here ffi England has been a nursery of that culture wffich has been of example and benefit to aU. Old gold has a civiUzing virtue wffich new gold must grow old to be capable of secreting. I shoffid not tffink of coming before you to defend or to criticize any form of government. AU have theh vhtues, aU their defects, and aU have ffiustrated one period or another ffi the ffistory of the race, with signal services to humaffity and culture. There is not one that could stand a cyffical cross- examination by an experienced criminal lawyer, except that of a perfectly wise and perfectiy good despot, such as the world has never seen, except ffi that wffite-haired kffig of Brownffig's who "Lived long ago In the morning of the world, When Earth was nearer Heaven than now." The Enghsh race, K they ffid not invent government by ffis cussion, have at least carried it nearest to perfection ffi practice. It seems a very safe and reasonable contrivance for occupyffig the attention of the coimtry, and is certaiffiy a better way of settling questions than by push of pUie. Yet, U one should ask it why it shoffid not rather be called government by gabble, it woffid have to fumble ffi its pocket a good wffile before it found the change for a convincing reply. As matters stand, too, it is beginffing to be doubtiffi whether ParUament and Congress sit at Westmffister and Washffigton or ffi the effitors' rooms of the leading journals, so thoroughly is everytffing debated before the authorized and responsible debaters get on their legs. And what shall we say of government by a majority of voices? To a person who in the last century would have caUed ffimseK an Impartial Observer, a numerical preponderance seems on the 172 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS whole, as clumsy a way of arriving at truth as could weU be devised, but experience has apparently shown it to be a conveni ent arrangement for determiffing what may be expedient or advisable or practicable at any given moment. Truth, after all, wears a dffierent face to everybody, and it woffid be too tedious to wait tffi aU were agreed. She is said to Ue at the bottom of a weU, for the very reason, perhaps, that whoever looks down in search of her sees ffis own image at the bottom, and is persuaded not offiy that he has seen the goddess, but that she is far better looking than he had imagined. The arguments against universal suffrage are equaUy un answerable. "'What," we exclaim, "shaU Tom, Dick and Harry have as much weight ffi the scale as I?" Of course, notffing coffid be more absurd. And yet uffiversal suffrage has not been the instrument of greater unwisdom than contrivances of a more select description. Assemblies coffid be mentioned composed entirely of Masters of Arts and Doctors in Diviffity wffich have sometimes shown traces of human passion or prejudice in their votes. Have the Serene Highnesses and Effiightened Classes carried on the business of Mankind so well, then, that there is no use in trying a less costly method? The democratic theory is that those Constitutions are hkely to prove steaffiest which have the broadest base, that the right to vote makes a safety- valve of every voter, and that the best way of teaching a man how to vote is to give him the chance of practice. For the ques tion is no longer the academic one, "Is it wise to give every man the baUot?" but rather the practical one, "Is it prudent to deprive whole classes of it any longer?" It may be conjectured that it is cheaper ffi the long run to ffit men up than to hold them down, and that the baUot ffi their hands is less dangerous to society than a sense of wrong in their heads. At any rate tffis is the ffilemma to which the drUt of opffiion has been for some time sweeping us, and ffi pohtics a ffilemma is a more unmanageable tffing to hold by the horns than a woU by the ears. It is said that the right of suffrage is not valued when it is indiscriminately bestowed, and there may be some truth ffi this, for I have observed that what men prize most is a privUege, even if it be AMERICAN DEMOCRACY i73 that of chief mourner at a funeral. But is there not danger that it wffi be valued at more than its worth U denied, and that some illegitimate way wiU be sought to make up for the want of it? Men who have a voice ffi public affairs are at once affiUated with one or other of the great parties between which society is ffivided, merge their ffidividual hopes and opiffions ffi its safer, because more generalized, hopes and opinions, are disciplined by its tactics, and acquire, to a certaffi degree, the orderly qualities of an army. They no longer belong to a class, but to a body cor porate. Of one thing, at least, we may be certain, that, under whatever method of helping things to go wrong man's wit can contrive, those who have the ffivine right to govern wffi be found to govern in the end, and that the highest privUege to which the majority of mankind can aspire is that of being governed by those wiser than they. Uffiversal suffrage has in the United States sometimes been made the ffistrument of inconsiderate changes, under the notion of reform, and tffis from a misconcep tion of the true meaffing of popffiar government. One of these has been the substitution in many of the states of popffiar election for official selection in the choice of judges. The same system applied to mUitary officers was the source of much evil during our civil war, and, I believe, had to be abandoned. But it has been also true that on aU great questions of national poUcy a reserve of prudence and ffiscretion has been brought out at the critical moment to turn the scale ffi favor of a wiser decision. An appeal to the reason of the people has never been known to faU in the long run. It is, perhaps, true that, by effacing the principle of passive obedience, democracy, iU understood, has slackened the spring of that ductffity to ffiscipline which is essential to "the unity and married calm of States." But I feel assured that experience and necessity wffi cure tffis evU, as they have shown their power to cure others. And under what frame of policy have evils ever been remedied tiU they became intolerable, and shook men out of their indolent indifference through their fears? We are told that the inevitable result of democracy is to sap the foundations of personal ffidependence, to weaken the prffi- 174 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ciple of authority, to lessen the respect due to eminence, whether in station, virtue, or geffius. If these tffings were so, sodety coffid not hold together. Perhaps the best forcing-house of robust ffidividuaUty woffid be where pubhc opiffion is fficUned to be most overbearffig, as he must be of heroic temper who should walk along PiccadiUy at the height of the season ffi a soft hat. As for authority, it is one of the symptoms of the time that the reUgious reverence for it is decUffing everj^where, but this is due partiy to the fact that statecraft is no longer looked upon as a mystery, but as a busffiess, and partiy to the decay of superstition, by which I mean the habit of respecting what we are told to respect rather than what is respectable ffi itseK. There is more rough and tumble ffi the American democracy than is altogether agreeable to people of sensitive nerves and refined habits, and the people take their poUtical duties Ughtiy and laugffingly, as is, perhaps, neither unnatural nor unbecom ing ffi a young giant. Democracies can no more jump away from their own shadows than the rest of us can. They no doubt sometimes make mistakes and pay honor to men who do not deserve it. But they do tffis because they beUeve them worthy of it, and though it be true that the idol is the measure of the worsffipper, yet the worship has ffi it the germ of a nobler religion. But is it democracies alone that faU ffito these errors? I, who have seen it proposed to erect a statue to Hudson, the raUway king, and have heard Louis Napoleon haUed as the savior of society by men who certaiffiy had no democratic associations or leanings, am not ready to think so. But democracies have likewise theh finer ffistmcts. I have also seen the wisest states man and most pregnant speaker of our generation, a man of humble birth and ungaiffiy maimers, of Uttie cffiture beyond what ffis own geffius supplied, become more absolute ffi power than any monarch of modern times through the reverence of ffis countrymen for ffis honesty, ffis wisdom, his sfficerity, ffis faith in God and man, and the nobly humane simpUdty of ffis char acter. And I remember another whom popffiar respect en veloped as with a halo, the least vffigar of men, the most austerely genial, and the most independent of opiffion. 'Wherever he went AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 175 he never met a stranger, but everywhere neighbors and friends proud of him as thek ornament and decoration. Institutions which could bear and breed such men as Lmcoffi and Emerson had surely some energy for good. No, amid aU the frffitless tur- moU and miscarriage of the world, U there be one tffing steadfast and of favorable omen, one tffing to make optimism ffistrust its own obscure distrust, it is the rooted mstffict ffi men to admke what is better and more beautUffi than themselves. The touch stone of political and social ffistitutions is thek abffity to supply them with worthy objects of tffis sentiment, wffich is the very tap-root of civilization and progress. There woffid seem to be no readier way of feedffig it with the elements of growth and vigor than such an organization of society as wffi enable men to respect themselves, and so to justKy them ffi respectmg others. Such a resffit is qffite possible under other conffitions than those of an avowedly democratical Constitution. For I take it that the real essence of democracy was fakly enough defined by the Fkst Napoleon when he said that the French Revolution meant "la carriere ouverte aux talents" — a clear pathway for merit of whatever kffid. I shoffid be fficUned to paraphrase tffis by caUffig democracy that form of society, no matter what its pohtical classffication, ffi wffich every man had a chance and knew that he had it. If a man can climb, and feels himseK encouraged to climb, from a coalpit to the ffighest position for wffich he is fitted, he can weU afford to be mdffierent what name is given to the government under wffich he Uves. The BaUU of Mirabeau, uncle of the more famous tribune of that name, wrote in 1771 : "The Enghsh are, ffi my opuiion, a hundred times more agitated and more imfortunate than the very Algerines themselves, because they do not know and wffi not know tffi the destruction of thek overswoUen power, wffich I beUeve very near, whether they are monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, and wish to play the part of aU three." England has not been obUgffig enough to fuffiU the BaUU's prophecy, and perhaps it was this very carelessness about the name, and con cem about the substance of popular government, tffis skffi ffi getting the best out of thffigs as they are, ffi utilizing aU the 176 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS motives wffich influence men, and ffi givffig one dkection to many impulses, that has been a prmcipal factor of her greatness and power. Perhaps it is fortunate to have an unwritten con stitution, for men are prone to be tinkerffig the work of thek own hands, whereas they are more wiffing to let time and ckcum- stance mend or modUy what time and ckcumstances have made. AU free governments, whatever thek name, are in reahty govern ments by pubhc opiffion, and it is on the quahty of tffis pubhc opffiion that thek prosperity depends. It is, therefore, thek first duty to purUy the element from wffich they draw the breath of ffie. With the growth of democracy grows also the fear, K not the danger, that this atmosphere may be corrupted with poisonous exhalations from lower and more malarious levels, and the question of saffitation becomes more ffistant and pressing. Democracy ffi its best sense is merely the letting in of hght and ak. Lord Sherbrooke, with his usual epigrammatic terseness, bids you educate your future rulers. But woffid tffis alone be a sufficient safeguard? To educate the ffiteffigence is to enlarge the horizon of its deskes and wants. And it is weU that tffis shoffid be so. But the enterprise must go deeper and prepare the way for satisfying those desires and wants ffi so far as they are legitimate. What is reaUy omffious of danger to the existing order of tffings is not democracy (wffich, properly understood, is a conservative force), but the Socialism, wffich may find a ffficrum ffi it. If we cannot equalize conffitions and fortunes any more than we can equalize the braffis of men — and a very sagacious person has said that "where two men ride of a horse one must ride behind" — ^we can yet, perhaps, do something to correct those methods and influences that lead to enormous inequahties, and to prevent thek growing more enormous. It is all very weU to pooh-pooh Mr. George and to prove him mis taken ffi ffis poUtical economy. I do not beUeve that land should be ffivided because the quantity of it is limited by nature. Of what may tffis not be said? A fortiori, we might on the same prfficiple ffisist on a division of human wit, for I have observed that the quantity of tffis has been even more mconveniently limited. Mr. George himself has an ffiequitably large share of it. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 177 But he is right in his impeUing motive; right also, I am convinced, in insisting that humanity makes a part, by far the most unpor- tant part, of poUtical economy; and ffi thinkffig man to be of more concern and more convincing than the longest columns of figures in the world. For unless you fficlude human nature in your adffition, your total is sure to be wrong and your deductions from it fallacious. Communism means barbarism, but Socialism means, or wishes to mean, cooperation and commuffity of in terests, sympathy, the giving to the hands not so large a share as to the braffis, but a larger share than ffitherto ffi the wealth they must combffie to produce — means, ffi short, the practical appUcation of Christianity to Ufe, and has in it the secret of an orderly and benign reconstruction. State SociaUsm woffid cut off the very roots in personal character — seK-help, forethought, and frugaUty — wffich nourish and sustain the trunk and branches of every vigorous Commonwealth. I do not beUeve ffi violent changes, nor do I expect them. Things in possession have a very firm grip. One of the strongest cements of society is the conviction of mankind that the state of thffigs into which they are born is a part of the order of the universe, as natural, let us say, as that the sun should go around the earth. It is a conviction that they wffi not surrender except on compulsion, and a wise society should look to it that this compffision be not put upon them. For the individual man there is no radical cure, outside of human nature itseK, for the evUs to which human nature is hek. The rffie wffi always hold good that you must "Be your own palace or the world's your gaol." But for artfficial evils, for evUs that spring from want of thought, thought must find a remedy somewhere. There has been no period of time in wffich wealth has been more sensible of its duties than now. It builds hospitals, it estabUshes missions among the poor, it endows schools. It is one of the advantages of accumulated wealth, and of the leisure it renders possible, that people have time to think of the wants and sorrows of their feUows. But aU these remedies are partial and palliative merely. 178 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS It is as K we shoffid apply plasters to a sffigle pustffie of the smaUpox with a view of drivffig out the disease. The true way is to ffiscover and to extirpate the germs. As society is now con stituted these are ffi the ak it breathes, ffi the water it drinks, ffi thffigs that seem, and wffich it has always beUeved, to be the most innocent and healtffiffi. The evU elements it neglects corrupt these ffi thek sprffigs and poUute them ffi thek courses. Let us be of good cheer, however, remembering that the mis fortunes hardest to bear are those which never come. The world has outUved much, and wffi outUve a great deal more, and men have contrived to be happy ffi it. It has shown the strength of its constitution ffi notffing more than ffi surviving the quack mefficffies it has tried. In the scales of the destffiies brawn wiU never weigh so much as braffi. Our healffig is not ffi the storm or ffi the whklwmd, it is not ffi monarchies, or aristocracies, or democracies, but wffi be revealed by the stffi smaU voice that speaks to the conscience and the heart, promptffig us to a wider and wiser humaffity. THE WORKING OF THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY^ Charles William Eliot [Charles WiUiam EUot (1834 ) has been for a great many years one of the foremost figures in American education. During the larger part of his career he was president of Harvard University, a position which he fiUed with notable distinction untU his voluntary retirement in 1909. He has not only written and spoken much on educational matters, but has written and spoken much on dvic aflEairs, his utterances always commanding attention because of their clearness and thoughtfulness. The discussion of the achieve ments of American democracy, which is here given with some abridgment, was originaUy deUvered in 1888 before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University.] In discussffig some parts of our national experience, I ffitend to confine myseK to moral and mteUectual phenomena, and shall have littie to say about the material prosperity of the iFrom American Contributions to 'Civilization. (Copyright, 1907, The Century Company.) Reprinted by permission. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 179 country. The rapid growth of the United States in population, wealth, and everytffing which constitutes material strength is, ffideed, marvelous; but this concomitant of the existence of democratic ffistitutions ffi a fertUe land, rich also ffi mmerals, ores, oU, and gas, has often been dUated upon, and may be dis missed with offiy two remarks: Fkst, that a great deal of moral vigor has been put ffito the material development of the United States; and, secondly, that widespread comfort ought to promote rather than to hffider the civilizffig of a people. Sensible and righteous government ought ultimately to make a nation rich; and although this proposition cannot be dkectiy reversed, yet dffiused weU-being, comfort, and material prosperity estabUsh a fak presumption in favor of the government and the prevaUing social conditions under which these blessmgs have been secured. The first question I wish to deal with is a fundamental one: How wisely, and by what process, has the American people made up its mind upon pubhc questions of supreme difficulty and im portance? Not how wffi it, or how might it, make up its mffid, but how has it made up its mind? It is commoffiy said that the mffititude, beffig ignorant and untramed, cannot reach so wise a conclusion upon questions of state as the cultivated few; that the wisdom of a mass of men can offiy be an average wisdom at the best; and that democracy, wffich ffi tffings material levels up, ffi thffigs ffitellectual and moral levels down. Even De Tocquevffie says that there is a midffiffig standard of knowledge in a democracy, to which some rise and others descend. Let us put these speculative opiffions, which have so plausible a sound, in contrast with American facts, and see what condusions are to be drawn. The people of tffis coimtry have had three supreme questions to settle withffi the last hundred and tffirty years: first, the question of independence of Great Britaffi; secondly, the ques tion of formffig a firm federal union; and thkffiy, the question of maffitaiffing that uffion at whatever cost of blood and treasure. In the decision of these questions, four generations of men took active part.. The first two questions were settied by a popffiation mamly EngUsh; but when the thkd was decided, the foreign i8o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS admixture was akeady considerable. That graver or more far- reachffig political problems coffid be presented to any people, it is impossible to imagffie. Everybody can now see that ffi each case the offiy wise decision was arrived at by the mffititude, ffi spite of difficffities and dangers wffich many contemporary states men and pubUcists of our own and other lands thought ffisuper- able. It is quite the fasffion to laud to the skies the second of these three great acffievements of the American democracy; but the creation of the Federal Uffion, regarded as a wise determina tion of a mffititude of voters, was certaiffiy not more remark able than the other two. No government — tyranny or oUgarchy, despotic or constitutional — coffid possibly have made wiser decisions or executed them more resolutely, as the event has proved ffi each of the tffiee cases mentioned. So much for the wisdom of these great resolves. Now, by what process were they arrived at? In each case the process was slow, covering many years dur ffig which discussion and debate went on in pffipits, legislatures, public meetings, newspapers, and books. The best mffids of the country took part ffi these prolonged debates. Party passions were aroused; advocates on each side disputed before the people; the authority of recognized poUtical leaders was invoked; pubUc spirit and seffish ffiterest were appealed to; and that vague but powerful sentiment caUed love of country, felt equaUy by ffigh and low, stkred men's hearts and Ut the ffitellectual combat with lofty emotion. In presence of such a protracted ffiscussion, a multitude of ffiterested men make up thek mffids just as one interested man does. They Usten, compare what they hear with thek own experience, consider the bearings of the question on thek own ffiterests, and consffit thek seK-respect, thek hopes, and thek fears. Not one ffi a thousand of them coffid origffiate, or even state with precision, the arguments he hears; not one ffi a thousand coffid give a clear account of his own observations, processes of thought, and motives of action upon the subject — but the coUective judgment is iffiormed and gffided by the keener wits and stronger wUls, and the coUective wisdom is higher and surer ffi guiffing public conduct than that of one mind AMERICAN DEMOCRACY i8i or of several superior minds unmstructed by mffiion-eyed observation and mUUon-tongued debate. . . . I shaU next consider certam forms of mental and moral ac tivity which the American democracy demands of hundreds of thousands of the best citizens, but wffich are without paraUel ffi despotic and oUgarchic states. I refer to the widely dffiused and ceaseless activity which maffitaffis, first, the immense Federal Uffion, with aU its various subdivisions into states, counties, and towns; seconffiy, the voluntary system ffi reUgion; and thkdly, the voluntary system ffi the higher ffistruction. To have carried ffito successfffi practice on a great scale the federative principle, wffich binds many semi-independent states ffito one nation, is a good work done for aU peoples. Federation promises to counteract the ferocious quarrelsomeness of man kind, and to abolish the jealousy of trade; but its price ffi mental labor and moral ffiitiative is ffigh. It is a system wffich demands not only vital force at the heart of the state, but a dffiused vital ity ffi every part. In a despotic government the ffitellectual and moral force of the whole organism raffiates from the central seat of power; ffi a federal union poUtical vitaUty must be dU- f used throughout the whole orgaffism, as animal heat isdevdoped and maintained in every molecule of the entke body. The suc cess of the United States as a federal uffion has been and is effected by the watcffiffiness, ffidustry, and pubhc spkit of mU Uons of men who spend ffi that noble cause the greater part of thek leisure, and of the mental force wffich can be spared from bread-wmnffig occupations. The costiy expenffiture goes on without ceasffig, aU over the country, wherever citizens come together to attend to the affaks of the vffiage, town, county, or state. Tffis is the price of Uberty and uffion. The weU-known promptness and skffi of Americans ffi organizffig a new com munity resffit from the fact that hundreds of thousands of Americans — ^and thek fathers before them — have had practice ffi managffig pubhc affaks. To get tffis practice costs tune, labor, and vitaUty, which ffi a despotic or oligarchic state are seldom spent ffi tffis ffirection. The successful estabUshment and support of religious ffisti- i82 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS tutions — churches, seminaries, and reUgious charities — upon a purely voluntary system, is another unprecedented acffievement of the American democracy. In offiy three generations American democratic society has effected the complete separation of church and state, a reform wffich no other people has ever at tempted. Yet reUgious ffistitutions are not stinted ffi the United States; on the contrary, they abound and thrive, and aU aUke are protected and encouraged, but not supported, by the state. Who has taken up the work wffich the state has relffiquished? Somebody has had to do it, for the work is done. Who provides the money to build churches, pay salaries, conduct missions, and educate mmisters? Who supphes the braffis for organizffig and maffitaiffing these various activities? Tffis is the work, not of a few officials, but of mUUons of ffiteffigent and devoted men and women scattered tffiough aU the viUages and cities of the broad land. The maffitenance of churches, seminaries, and charities by voluntary contributions and by the administrative labors of volunteers, impUes an enormous and mcessant expenffiture of mental and moral force. It is a force wffich must ever be renewed from generation to generation; for it is a personal force, con stantiy expkmg, and as constantly to be replaced. Into the maffitenance of the voluntary system ffi reUgion has gone a good part of the moral energy wffich tffiee generations have been able to spare from the work of gettffig a Uvffig; but it is worth the sacrffice, and wffi be accounted ffi ffistory one of the most re markable feats of American pubhc spirit and faith ffi freedom. A simUar exhibition of dffiused mental and moral energy has accompaffied the estabUshment and the development of a sys tem of ffigher ffistruction in the Uffited States, with no inheri tance of monastic endowments, and no gKts from royal or ecclesiastical personages disposffig of great resources derived from the state, and with but scanty help from the pubhc purse. Whoever is famffiar with the colleges and universities of the United States knows that the creation of these democratic ffisti tutions has cost the ffie-work of thousands of devoted men. At the sacrifice of other aspkations, and under heavy ffiscour- agements and ffisappoffitments, but with faith and hope, these AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 183 teachers and trustees have buUt up mstitutions, wffich, however imperfect, have cherished scientffic enthusiasm, fostered piety, literature, art, and mamtaffied the standards of honor and pub lic duty, and steadUy kept in view the etffical ideas wffich democ racy cherishes. It has been a popffiar work, to wffidi large num bers of people ffi successive generations have contributed of thek substance or of their labor. The endowment of ffistitutions of education, fficluding Ubraries and museums, by private persons in the United States, is a phenomenon without precedent or par aUel, and is a legitimate effect of democratic ffistitutions. Under a tyranny — were it that of a Marcus Aurelius — or an oUgar chy — were it as enlightened as that which now rules Germany — such a phenomenon woffid be simply impossible. The Uffiversity of Strasburg, was lately estabUshed by an imperial decree, and is chiefly maffitained out of the revenue of the state. Harvard Umversity has been 250 years in growffig to its present stature, and is even now iffierior at many points to the new Uffiversity of Strasburg; but Harvard is the creation of thousands of per sons, Uvffig and dead, rich and poor, learned and simple, who have voluntarUy given it thek time, thought, or money, and lavished upon it thek affection; Strasburg exists by the mandate of the rffimg few dkecting upon it a part of the product of orffi- nary taxation. Like the voluntary system ffi rehgion, the volun tary system ffi the ffigher education fortffies democracy; each demands from the commuffity a large outiay of mteUectual activity and moral vigor. There is another ffirection ffi which the people of the United States have spent and are now spending a vast amount of in tellectual and moral energy — a direction not, as ffi the three cases just considered, absolutely pecuhar to the American re public, but stffi highly characteristic of democracy. I mean the service of corporations. Witffin the last hundred years the American people have mvented a new and large appUcation of the ancient prfficiple of fficorporation. We are so accustomed to corporations as indispensable agents ffi carrying on great public works and services, and great ffidustrial or financial operations, that we forget the very recent development of the corporation i84 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS with limited UabUity as a common busffiess agent. Prior to 1789 there were only two corporations for busffiess purposes ffi Massa chusetts. The EngUsh general statute wffidi provides for ffi corporation with limited Uabffity dates only from 1855. No other nation has made such general or such successfffi use of corporate powers as the American — and for the reason that the method is essentiaUy a democratic method, suitable for a country ffi wffich great ffiffividual or famUy properties are rare, and smaU properties are numerous. Freedom of fficorporation makes possible great combmations of smaU capitals, and, whUe winning the advantages of concentrated management, permits dffiused ownersffip. These merits have been qffickly understood and turned to account by the American democracy. The service of many corporations has become even more important than the service of the several States of the Uffion. The managers of great companies have trusts reposed ffi them wffich are matched offiy in the ffighest executive offices of the nation; and they are relatively free from the numerous checks and restrictions under which the ffighest national officials must always act. The ac tivity of corporations, great and smaU, penetrates every part of the industrial and social body, and thek daUy maintenance brings ffito play more mental and moral force than the maffi tenance of aU the governments on the Contffient combffied. . . . It is easy to see some of the reasons why American corpora tions command the services of men of ffigh capacity and char acter, who ffi other coimtries or ffi earlier times woffid have been ffi the service of the state. In American democratic society cor porations supplement the agencies of the state, and thek func tions have such importance ffi determiffing conffitions of labor, dffiusing comfort and general weU-being among ijiUlions of people, and utilizing mnumerable large streams and Uttie rills of capital, that the upper grades of thek service are reached by merit, are fiUed, as a rffie, upon a tenure during good behavior and efficiency, are weU paid, and have great dignity and con sideration. Of the enormous material benefits wffich have re- sffited from the American extension of the prfficiple of fficorpora tion, I need say notffing. I wish only to poffit out that freedom AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 185 of fficorporation, though no longer exclusively a democratic agency, has given strong support to democratic ffistitutions; and that a great wealth of ffiteUect, energy, and fideUty is devoted to the service of corporations by tiiek officers and dkectors. The four forms of mental and moral activity wffich I have been considering — that wffich maintaffis pohtical vitahty tffioughout the Federal Union; that which supports unsubsidized reUgious ffistitutions; that which develops the ffigher mstmction ffi the arts and sciences, and traffis men for aU the professions; and that wffich is appUed to the service of corporations — all ffiustrate the educating influence of democratic ffistitutions — an mfluence which foreign observers are apt to overlook or under estimate. The baUot is not the offiy poUtical mstitution wffich has educated the American democracy. Democracy is a traiffing- school in wffich multitudes leam ffi many ways to take thought for others, to exercise pubUc functions, and to bear pubUc re sponsibffities. So many critics of the theory of democracy have mamtaffied that a democratic government woffid be careless of pubhc obli gations, and unjust toward private property, that it wffi be mteresting to mquke what a century of American experience indicates upon this important poffit. Has there been any ffis position on the part of the American democracy to create exag gerated pubhc debts, to throw the burden of pubhc debts on posterity rather than on the present generation, or to favor ffi legislation the poorer sort as against the richer, the debtor as against the creditor? The answer to the question is not doubtiffi. With the excep tion of the sudden creation of the great national debt occasioned by the CivU War, the American commuffities have been very moderate in borrowing, the State debts beffig for the most part ffisignfficant, and the city debts far below the EngUsh standard. Moreover, these democratic communities, with a few local and temporary exceptions, pay thek pubhc debts more promptiy than any state under the rule of a despot or a class has ever done. The government of the Uffited States has once paid the i86 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS whole of its pubhc debt, and is in a fair way to perform that feat agaffi After observing the facts of a fuU century, one may there fore say of the American democracy that it has contracted pubhc debt with moderation, paid it with unexampled promptness, acquked as good a pubhc creffit as the world has ever known, made private property secure, and shown no tendency to attack riches or to subsiffize poverty, or ffi either dkection to violate the fundamental prffidple of democracy, that aU men are equal before the law. The sigffificance of these facts is proffigious. They mean that, as regards private property and its security, a government by the many, for the many, is more to be trusted than any other form of government; and that as regards public indebtedness, an experienced democracy is more Ukdy to exffibit just sentiments and practical good judgment than an oUgarchy or a tyranny. An argument agamst democracy, wffidi evidentiy had great weight with Sk Henry Maffie, because he supposed it to rest upon the experience of mankffid, is stated as foUows: Progress and reformation have always been the work of the few, and have been opposed by the many; therefore democrades wiU be obstructive. Tffis argument is completely refuted by the first century of the American democracy, aUke ffi the fidd of morals and jurisprudence, and the fidd of manffiactures and trade. Nowhere, for instance, has the great principle of reUgious tolera tion been so thorougffiy put ffi practice as ffi the Uffited States; nowhere have such weU-meant and persistent efforts been made to improve the legal status of women; nowhere has the conduct of hospitals, asylums, reformatories, and prisons been more care fuUy stuffied ; nowhere have legislative remeffies for acknowledged abuses and evUs been more promptiy and perseverffigly sought. There was a certain plausibffity ffi the idea that the mffititude, who Uve by labor ffi estabUshed modes, woffid be opposed to mventions which would inevitably cause industrial revolutions; but American experience completely upsets this notion. For promptness ffi makffig physical forces and macffinery do the work of men, the people of the Uffited States surpass fficontest- AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 187 ably aU other peoples. The people that mvented and mtroduced with perfect commercial success the river steamboat, the cotton- gffi, tiie parlor-car and the sleepffig-car, the gram-elevator, the street raUway — ^both surface and elevated — the telegraph, the telephone, the rapid prffitffig-press, the cheap book and news paper, the sewffig-machffie, the steam fire-engme, agricffitural macffinery, the pipe-Unes for natural oU and gas, and machffie- made clotffing, boots, furffiture, tools, screws, wagons, ffiearms, and watches — this is not a people to vote down or hffider labor- savffig mvention or beneficent ffidustrial revolution. The fact is that ffi a democracy the mterests of the greater number wffi ffitimately prevaU as they shoffid. It was the stage-drivers and mn-keepers, not the mffititude, who wished to suppress the loco motive; it is some pubUshers and typograpffical unions, not the mass of the people, who wrongly imagffie that they have an ffi terest ffi makffig books dearer than they need be. Furthermore, a just Uberty of combffiation and perfect equaUty before the law, such as prevaU ffi a democracy, enable men or compaffies to en gage freely ffi new undertakings at thek own risk, and brffig them to triumphant success, K success be ffi them, whether the mffititude approve them or not. The consent of the mffititude is not necessary to the success of a prffitffig-press wffich prints twenty thousand copies of a newspaper ffi an hour, or of a ma- chffie cutter wffich cuts out twenty overcoats at one chop. In short, the notion that democracy wffi hffider reUgious, political, and social reformation and progress, or restram commerdal and ffidustrial improvement, is a chimera. There is another criticism of the workmg of democratic msti tutions, more formidable than the last, wffich the American democracy is ffi a fak way to ffispose of. It is said that democ racy is fighting against the best-determmed and most peremp tory of biological laws, namely, the law of hereffity, with wffich law the social structure of monarchical and oUgarchical states is ffi strict conformity. This criticism faUs to recognize the ffis- tffiction between artificial privUeges transmissible without re gard to inherited vktues or powers, and inheritable vktues or powers transmissible without regard to hereffitary privUeges. r88 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Artfficial privileges wffi be aboUshed by a democracy; natural, inheritable vktues or powers are as surely transmissible under a democracy as under any other form of government. Famffies can be made just as endurffig ffi a democratic as ffi an oUgardiic State, K famUy permanence be desked and aimed at. The deske for the continuity of vigorous famffies, and for the repro duction of beauty, geffius, and nobffity of character is uffiversal. "From fakest creatures we deske fficrease" is the commonest of sentiments. The American mffititude wffi not take the chUdren of distffiguished persons on trust; but it is dehghted when an able man has an abler son, or a lovely mother a loveher daughter. That a democracy does not prescribe the close mtermarriage wffich characterizes a strict aristocracy, so-caUed, is physicaUy not a ffisadvantage, but a great advantage for the freer society. The French nobffity and the EngUsh House of Lords furffish good evidence that aristocracies do not succeed ffi perpetuating select types of ffiteUect or of character. From tffis consideration of the supposed conffict between democracy and the law of hereffity the transition is easy to my last topic; namely, the effect of democratic ffistitutions on the production of ladies and gentiemen. There can be no question that a general amehoration of maimers is brought about ffi a democracy by pubUc schools, democratic churches, pubhc con veyances, without ffistinction of dass, universal suffrage, tovwi- meetings, and all the multifarious associations ffi wffich demo cratic society deUghts; but tffis general amehoration might exist, and yet the ffighest types of maimers might fail. Do these faU? On tffis important poffit American experience is akeady ffiter- esting, and I think conclusive. Forty years ago Emerson said it was a cffief feUcity of our country that it exceUed in women. It excels more and more. Who has not seen ffi pubUc and ffi private ffie American women unsurpassable ffi grace and gra ciousness, ffi sereffity and dignity, ffi effluent gladness and abounffing courtesy? Now, the lady is the consummate fruit of human society at its best. In aU the higher waUis of American ffie there are men whose bearing and aspect at once ffistinguish them as gentiemen. They have personal force, magnanimity, AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 189 moderation, and refinement; they are qffick to see and to sym pathize; they are pure, brave, and firm. These are also the quah ties that command success; and hereffi Ues the only natural connection between the possession of property and nobffity of character. In a mobUe or free society the exceUent or noble man is likely to wm ease and mdependence; but it does not foUow that under any form of government the man of many possessions is necessarUy exceUent. On the evidence of my readffig and of my personal observation at home and abroad, I fffily beUeve that there is a larger proportion of ladies and gentlemen ffi the United States than ffi any other country. Tffis proposition is, I think, true with the ffighest defiffition of the term "lady" or "gentle man;" but it is also true, K ladies and gentlemen are offiy per sons who are clean and weU-dressed, who speak gentiy and eat with thek forks. It is unnecessary, however, to claim any superiority for democracy ffi tffis respect; enough that the ffigh est types of manners in men and women are produced abun- dantiy on democratic soU. It woffid appear then from American experience that neither generations of privUeged ancestors, nor large inherited posses sions, are necessary to the makffig of a lady or a gentieman. 'What is necessary? In the first place, natural gKts. The gentle man is born in a democracy, no less than ffi a monarchy. In other words, he is a person of fine bodUy and spkitual quaUties, mostiy innate. Secondly, he must have, tffiough elementary education, early access to books, and therefore to great thoughts and ffigh examples. Thkdly, he must be early brought ffito contact with some refined and noble person — ^father, mother, teacher, pastor, employer, or friend. These are the offiy necessary conffitions ffi peacefffi times and ffi law-abidffig commuffities Uke ours. Ac- cordmgly, such facts as the foUowing are common ffi the United States: One of the numerous chUdren of a smaU farmer manages to fit himseK for coUege, works ffis way through coUege, becomes a lawyer, at forty is a much-tmsted man ffi one of the chief cities of the Union, and is distffiguished for the courtesy and digffity of his bearing and speech. The son of a country black smith is taught and helped to a small coUege by ffis miffister; he I90 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS himseK becomes a miffister, has a long fight with poverty and ffi-health, but at forty-five holds as ffigh a place as his profession affords, and every hne ffi his face and every tone ffi ffis voice betoken the gentieman. The sons and daughters of a successful shopkeeper take the ffighest places ffi the most cffitivated society of tiiek native place, and weU deserve the preemffience accorded to them. The daughter of a man of very imperfect education, who began ffie with notffing and became a rich merchant, is smgularly beautifffi from youth to age, and possesses to the ffighest degree the charm of digmfied and gracious manners. A young gkl, not long out of school, the chUd of respectable but obscure parents, marries a pubUc man, and ffi conspicuous station bears herseK with a grace, ffiscretion, and nobleness wffich she coffid not have exceeded had her blood been royal for seven generations. StrUc- mg cases of tffis kind wffi occur to every person ffi this assembly. They are everyday phenomena ffi American society. What conclusion do they estabhsh? They prove that the social mo- bffity of a democracy, wffich permits the exceUent and weU- endowed of either sex to rise and to seek out each other, and which gives every advantageous variation or sport ffi a famUy stock free opportunity to develop, is immeasurably more bene ficial to a nation than any selective ffi-breedffig, founded on class distinctions, which has ever been devised. Smce democracy has every advantage for producmg ffi due season and proportion the best human types, it is reasonable to expect that science and literature, music and art, and aU the finer graces of society wffi develop and tffiive m America, as soon as the more urgent tasks of subduffig a wUderness and organizffig sodety upon an untried plan are fakly accompUshed. Such are some of the reasons drawn from experience for be- lievmg that our ship of state is stout and sound; but she saUs — "... the sea Of storm-engendering Uberty — " the happffiess of the greatest number her destined haven. Her safety requkes incessant watchfulness and readmess. Without trusty eyes on the lookout, and a prompt hand at the wheel, the AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 191 stoutest ship may be dismantled by a passing squaU. It is offiy inteUigence and ffiscipUne which carry the ship to its port. THE SURVIVAL OF CIVIL LIBERTY^ Franklin Henry Giddings [Franklin Henry Giddings (1855 ) is a distinguished American sociol ogist. He was bom in Sherman, Connecticut. After graduating from Union CoUege, he engaged in journalism for several years. In 1888 he became professor of sociology in Bryn Mawr, holding this position vmtil 1894 when he went to Columbia University. He is now professor of sociology and the history of civiUzation in that institution. The selection here given was first deUvered as a commencement address at Oberlin CoUege, June, 1899. Although it was caUed forth by the Spanish- American War, it is pertinent to the situation of the present day.] Recent events have raised the question of the stabffity of American ffistitutions. The war with Spain was bitterly deplored by many educated men, who feared that mffitary activity woffid necessarUy create arbitrary power and curtaU the hberties of ffi dividual citizens. When our demand for the cession of the PhU- ippine Islands was included in the terms of peace, and the treaty of Paris was foUowed by the despatch of troops to ManUa to put down insurrection, these opponents of the nation's pohcy, beUeving that thek worst fears were being realized, asserted that the American people, intoxicated with mffitary success, were blffidly departing from aU the safe traditions of their ffistory to enter upon a hazardous and probably fatal experunent of imper- iahsm. The arguments of these men have ffisquieted many tunid soffis, some of whom seem to be akeady convfficed that our repubUc is verUy a tffing of history — one more splenffid faUure added to the long hst of glorious, but tragic attempts of earth's bravest sons to build an enduring state upon foundations of equaUty and seK-government. Indeed, so despondent have some of our seK-styled anti-imperiaUsts become that, in thek bitter ness, they do not hesitate to maUgn the character of thek fel- iFrom Democracy and Empire. (Copyright, igoo, The Macmillan Company.) Re printed by permission. 19* NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS low-dtizens, or to msffit the fak fame of the nation that has nurtured and that stffi defends them. In one lamentable ffi stance, a citizen of honored name has so far lost aU sense of reaUty as to declare ffi a pubUc address that "we are a great assassffi nation," and that "the slaughter of patriots staffis our hands." And yet, these proclamations of doom have failed to arouse the nation. Some seventy rnUUons of people contffiue thek daily vocations ffi serenity of mind, whoUy unconscious of the impending extinction of their hberties. Does tffis mean that the plain people, the bone and sinew of the nation, who ffitherto have shown themselves inteUigent enough to deal wisely and fearlessly with the gravest issues of human weKare are, after aU, amazmgly obtuse? Does it mean that, after a hundred years of level-headed seK-govemment, the American people are now bUnffiy movffig toward a rffin wffich clear-sighted men should plaiffiy foresee? Or, does it rather mean that these miUions of plaffi people, with aU their mental limitations, are stffi, as so often they have been ffi the past, immeasurably wiser — that they are gKted with a deeper msight, that they are endowed with a truer knowledge and a saner judgment, and that they are fortified with a sturdier faith — than are the prophets of gloom? That the latter is the true explanation I have not the shadow of a doubt, and for a brief hour I ask your attention to reasons in support of tffis behef. And, first of aU, we have the undeffiable fact that the faith itseK which the American people feel in thek own power, in the stabffity of thek ffistitutions, and in the nobffity of thek destiny, is at the present moment unbounded. 'Whatever the pessimists may say, the mUUons of hard-working, common people do not believe that repubUcan government has faUed, or that civU Uberty is not to be the heritage of thek sons. Never sffice the Constitution was ratffied by the tffirteen origffial com monwealths have the American people, as a whole, felt so con fident of their place among the nations, or so sure of the excel lence of thek polity, and of the vitaUty of thek laws and immuffities. Never have they been so profoundly convfficed that AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 193 their greatest work for civUization Ues not ffi the past, but in the future. They stand at the begmffing of the twentieth cen tury, in thek own mffids fffily assured that the responsibUities which they are about to face, and that the achievements wffich they expect to complete, are immeasurably greater than are those which have crowned the century of thek experiment and discipUne. What, then, are the sources of tffis faith? Is it a baseless enthusiasm, a thoughtiess confidence bom of an ignorant con ceit, or is it ffi reality a substantial and trutffiffi forecast of the future, wffich we may safely accept, as one that is neither more nor less than a projection ffito comffig years of those lessons that experience has taught us in the past? The sources of aU genffine faith ffi the future are two. The first is vitahty. The second is our knowledge of what akeady is or has been. The consciousness of vigorous IKe, the sense of physical power, imparts to those who have it an unconquerable faith ffi thek abUity to achieve; and tffis mere vitahty is undoubtedly the primal source of the American's faith ffi himseK and ffi the destiny of ffis country. It is also our best assurance that the faith wffi find realization. In no other popffiation is there such abounding energy, such ffiventive abUity, such fearless enter prise as ffi the American people. Tffis vitality has been mani fested not offiy ffi our industrial enterprise, but also ffi that very territorial expansion which of late has been under ffiscussion. From the Louisiana purchase to the annexation of HawaU we have seized, with unhesitatmg promptness, every opportunity to broaden our national domain and to extend our ffistitutions to annexed popffiations. Even more convfficingly has our vigor been shown in the fearlessness with wffich the cost of every new responsibffity has been met. Whether tffis cost has been paid ffi treasure or in blood, the American people have met it with out one moment's hesitation. Physical courage is, after aU, the elemental factor in a nation's power, the very fountainhead of its moral stabUity and its faith; and that ffi such courage we are not lacking, the records of Lexffigton and Yorktown, of New M 194 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Orleans and Chapffitepec, of Antietam and Gettysburg, of ManUa and El Caney, wffi teU. Next to vitaUty, and supplementffig it, the basis of faith ffi the future is a sound, fffil knowledge of the present and the past. The American people know facts about thek own numbers, resources, and activities, wffich fffily justKy thek beUef that they are at the beginffing, not approachffig the end, of thek evolution as a civilized nation. Offiy ffi a few spots vntffin our national domaffi does the density of popffiation yet approach the average density of the older European countries. Notwith standing the rapidity with wffich the best lands of the ffiterior and of the Southwest have been appropriated as homesteads, the ffitensive cffitivation of our vast domaffi has hardly begun. Wffile, accordffig to the census of 1890, the states constitutmg the north Atlantic ffivision had a popffiation of 107 to the square mUe, the Uffited States as a whole had less than 22 to the square mUe. The western division had less than 3 to the square mUe; the great north central ffivision, comprisffig some of the most prosperous commonwealths ffi the Uffion, had less than 30; and the south Atiantic division, comprisffig the old slave-ownmg and cotton-growffig states, had less than 33. A popffiation of 300,000,000, instead of 75,000,000, or 80,000,000, woffid not seriously tax our food-producmg capacity. Into tffis domaffi the popffiation of Europe contffiues to dis charge its overflow; and the stream of immigration shows no marked decrease save ffi the exceptional years of ffidustrial de pression. Of cffief sigffificance, however, is the fact that the greater part of aU the immigration that we have thus far received has consisted of the same nationahties from whose amalgama tion the origffial American stock was produced. England, Ire land, Germany, and Scandffiavia have sent to our shores the greater part of our popffiation not descended from the American colonists. Of the foreign-born popffiation enumerated in the United States ffi 1890, 33.76 per cent were from the United Kingdom, 30.11 per cent were from Germany, 10.61 per cent from Canada, 10.09 P^i" ^^'^^ from Norway, Sweden, and Den mark, 1.22 per cent from France, leaving offiy 14.21 percent AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 19S from aU other countries. The total immigration to the Uffited States from 1821 to the 30th of June, 1898, was 18,490,368, and of this total much more than two-thkds came from the Uffited Kingdom and the Germanic countries. When we remember that it was the crossffig of the Germaffic and the Celtic stocks that produced the Enghsh race itseK, we are obUged to assume that the future American people wffi be substantiaUy the same human stuff that created the Enghsh common law, founded parliamentary mstitutions, estabUshed American seK-govem- ment, and framed the Constitution of the United States. AU our knowledge of social evolution compels us to beUeve that a nation wffich has not yet begun to reach the limit of its resources and which is thus stffi receiving great additions to its popffiation by an immigration of elements that, for the most part, are readUy assimUated to the older stock, is one which, K no overwhdmffig catastrophe prevents, must continue for num berless generations to maffitaffi and to perfect its civUization. Nevertheless, it may be said, the mstitutions of civU Uberty presuppose something more than a vigorous and grovnng popu lation that has an unbounded faith ffi its own abUities and des- tiffies. Great peoples have given themselves over to pohcies — not to say to crazes — that have resffited ffi the destruction of thek primitive liberties and ffi the complete transformation of their mstitutions. An energetic people may devote itseK to the production of wealth or to mihtary achievements, and neglect the less alluring task of perfecting and protectffig ffiffividual rights. Rome conquered the world, but at the cost of her repub Ucan simplicity. Florence and Veffice acffieved wealth and splen dor, but bowed to despotism. France overran Europe with her armies, and then enthroned her own mUitary ffictator. These lessons of history are often recaUed, and their appUca tion to American conditions has often been attempted. I think it is ffigh time to protest that, ffi scientffic strictness, these lessons do not apply to ourselves ffi any important particular. The his torian by tills time should understand the truth (wffich the students of physical science ffi our generation have so completely mastered) that like antecedents have like consequents when all 196 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS conditions remain unchanged, but that, when aU conditions are changed, like antecedents, with unerring certaffity, are followed by unlike consequents. Very sUghtiy, ffideed, do the conffitions of American ffie today reproduce the conffitions of Roman, Florentffie, Venetian, or Parisian history. The overwhdmffig dffierence is this: In the earUer days, repubUcan ffistitutions were cherished offiy here and there ffi exceptional commuffities, and they were tiireatened on every hand by the hosts of mffitary despotism; today they are rooted in unnumbered commuffities, which offiy now and then are diverted by war from the normal pursffits of peace. Rome, in the days of her repubUcan freedom, was a single local community practicaUy isolated from any simUar social organization. Such was the situation also of each of the Italian repubUcs and of Paris after the Revolution; for, outside of Paris, France was not yet repubUcan. To undermffie ffi a sffigle isolated town or city any given form of government and to sub stitute for it somethffig totaUy dffierent, has never been a diffi- cffit undertaking. But to offset tffis fact we have the equaUy im portant truth — one of the most important that ffistorical soci ology discloses — that nothing is more difficult than to destroy institutions and customs that are rooted ffi more than one spot, K they admit of bemg carried from one place to another. The Roman Republic was destroyed, but not the Roman law, which Uves today and is appUed to the ffiterests of miffions more of human beings than ffi the days of Julius Csesar. The Roman Empke was overthrown, but not the Roman system of provfficial admimstration, which to tffis hour, ffi its essential features, is preserved ffi the mufficipal and departmental governments of every European state. Bearing these truths ffi mffid, let us look at the conffitions presented by the United States. Instead of being a sffigle city- state, orgaffized on republican Unes, practicaUy isolated from any simUar community, and, therefore, defenseless against any influence powerfully tenffing to undermine or to destroy it, the Uffited States is a strongly organized aggregate of thousands of local repubUcs, each one of which, practicaUy ffidependent in AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 197 its home affaks, preserves aU the traffitions of English civU Uberty, of democratic custom, and of American constitutional order. It is true that not aU of these seK-governffig local commuffi ties enjoy that perfect form of democratic admmistration wffich was developed ffi the New' England town; but whether as towns, counties, or parishes, as fficorporated vUlages, boroughs, or municipaUties, practicaUy all the subdivisions of the American commonwealths are seK-govemffig boffies of one type or another. They make ordmances and elect magistrates, they raise and expend revenues. It is true that important modffications of local government are now takffig place throughout the nation. The concentration of wealth and of popffiation ffi the larger cities, the long-continued depression of agriculture, and the consequent abandonment of farming by large numbers of country-bred youth, are bringffig about a certaffi readjustment of functions between state and township admmistration. It is easy for the state to raise money, fficreasffigly difficffit for the rural town. Consequently, we see a ffisposition to tffiow upon the state governments a part of the burden of maffitainffig roads and bridges, of supportffig schools, and of caring for the ffisane and other defective persons. With this transfer of financial responsi bffity, goes, of course, a transfer of admffiistrative regulation. To this extent, it must be admitted, we are witnessing a certam decay of that local seK-government wffich ffitherto has been most immeffiatdy bound up with the daUy Uves and lesser ffi terests of the people. And even in the cities the abuses of popffiar power have, ffi some ffistances, led to a transfer of authority from municipal to state governments; as, for example ffi cities like Boston, wffich no longer elect or through thek mayors appomt thek pohce commissions, but accept them at the hands of the governor of the commonwealth. Yet, notwithstandffig these facts, it is certam that throughout the national domaffi the lesser local governments stffi have great vitaUty, and that no modffication of our admffiistrative macffinery is Ukely to strip them altogether of thek functions. Far more probable is it, that the Umit of addition to the duties of our commonwealth govern- 198 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ments wffi soon be reached. Certaffi functions wffich ffi the past have been performed by townships and counties, or by muffici- paUties, may be given over to the states because they pertam to matters ffi which aU the people of the commonwealth are dkectiy ffiterested, but other matters of purely local ffiterest wffi be left even more entirely than now to the local admiffistrative organs. States may maffitaffi the more important roads and bridges, but not the lesser ones. They wffi care for the ffisane, but probably not for the ordmary poor. They wffi support some of the ffigher ffistitutions of learffing, but not, to any great extent, the common schools. Local admmistration, however, is not the offiy or, perhaps, the most important means tffiough wffich the traditions of civU Uberty are maffitaffied ffi our American RepubUc. Of the greatest educational influence are the local courts and thek procedure. So long as every boy is bound to learn, not through books, but through the events that happen year by year ffi ffis own town- sffip or county, the fundamental traffitions of the common law, the immunity from arrest without a warrant, the personal responsibffity of the officer of the law, the right of baU and of trial by jury, the right of free speech and of pubhc meeting, there is Uttie danger that the American people wffi submit tamely to any arbitiary attempt of a central government to abridge tiiese hberties. If these thffigs are true, then it is further true that from the traffitions and existing habits of any one of these thousands of seK-goverffing local communities, together composffig the Uffited States of America, coffid be reproduced the entke fabric of American polity, K ffi every other one the entke constitutional system were suddeffiy destroyed. Tffis is a fact uffique ffi the history of civil liberty. It is a guarantee of the perpetffity of our mstitutions, so tremendous that only the blindest of pessimists can fail to appreciate its signfficance. Rememberffig that, as was said before, a form of law or t5^e of institution, or even a custom, once rooted ffi more than one place on the earth's sur face, is practically indestructible, smce K destroyed ffi one it can always be reproduced from another, it is impossible to AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 199 believe that any modffication of our governmental system, whether by territorial expansion or by mffitary activity, whether by the growth of trusts or by any other phenomenon of the pur- sffit of wealth, can ever, throughout the length and breadtii of our vast domaffi, destroy ffi aU these thousands of local com muffities the ffistmcts, the habits, and the ffistitutions of Anglo- Saxon civU Uberty. Not offiy wffi this civU Uberty be preserved, but it wffi also •be developed. The heritage of a nation which, historicaUy speaking, is yet ffi its most vigorous youth, with generations of active effort for the perfection of civilization yet before it, civU Uberty wffi not be worsffipped with passive idolatry, but, con tmuaUy thought about, worked over, and effiarged by a reflec tive people of abounffing vitality and limitless faith ffi thek own destffiy, it wffi be brought to a perfection of justice, of ffiscrimi- nation, of fakness to aU men such as has not yet been acffieved under any human government. To a great extent the task of aU government — through its legislation, its ffiterpretation of law, and its admiffistrative activity — is to reconcUe equaUty with hberty. Most of the restraffits upon Uberty are ffi the mterest of that measure of equaUty wffich experience has shown to be necessary to social stabffity, and which the conscience of mankffid declares to be right. The reconcUiation, however, is not an easy tffing to ac compUsh, and aU systems of law and poUcy remam imperfect. The equaUty to wffich we here refer, and with which pubhc poUcy has to do, is not an equality of bodUy powers, of mental abffities, or of moral attainments. In these matters men are not and, whUe biological evolution contffiues, cannot be equal. Only those writers who are wiffing to misrepresent thek oppon ents ever attribute to the founders of the repubUc the absurd notion that ffi these personal attributes men are bom equal and free. The equaUty wffich the state shoffid create and cherish is that social condition wffich prevaUs when a just government restrams those who, beffig powerful, are also unscrupffious, from taking any uffiak advantage of the weak, and when no artfficial distffictions, privUeges, or monopoUes are created by 200 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the state itseK to aggrandize the few by the impoverishment of the many. To permit the ffiteffigent and the strong to profit by thek superiority, so long as they derive thek gaffi from the bounty of nature, and not from the enslavement or robbery of thek brethren, is one tffing; to permit or to encourage them to use thek superiority at the expense of thek feUows is a totaUy dffierent tffing; and it is the latter wffich is opposed by the notion of equahty as a prffidple of civU government. This notion, however, is of slow growth ffi the minds of men, and of slower application to the concrete facts of legal procedure, poUtical status, property, trade, taxation, and the employment of labor. From the earUest days we ffi America have proclaimed the prfficiple of equaUty before the law. AU men, we say, ffi natural justice have, and ffi the courts must secure, substanti aUy equal rights. Yet we have not always ffi practice faitffiuUy adhered to this ffigh standard. The poor man has not always had the same treatment as the rich man, at the bar of justice. Juries have been bribed, and so occasionaUy have been prosecuting attorneys and even judges. On the whole, however, our record ffi these matters has probably been ffigher than that of any pre- cedffig civilization ffi aU human history; and it is certaffi that the moral forces of the nation are conspkffig to make it yet more satisfactory ffi comffig years. Pohtical equaUty was not an origffial prfficiple of American government. Of the adffit male dtizens comprised witffin the population of less than four mUUon soffis dwelUng ffi the Uffited States a century ago, not one haU enjoyed the poUtical suffrage. A majority were ffisquaUfied by lack of property or of education. The approach to uffiversal suffrage has been very graduaUy made by the abohtion of the earUer restrictions, until now, ffi many of the commonwealths, voters need not even pay a poU-tax. PoUtical equaUty in the long run means an attempt to set Umits to those mequaUties of economic condition wffich rapiffiy grow up ffi a prosperous state K the rights of private property are unconffitionaUy extended to aU the requisites of production, and K no restramts are placed upon the methods of busffiess competition or of trade combffiation. It is this question of the AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 2or relation of the state to economic mequaUty wffich is by far the most perplexffig one to the conscience and the judgment of the patriotic citizen. One immensely important restriction of liberty ffi the mterest of equaUty was made at the foundation of our government, largely through the sagacity and fearlessness of Thomas Jefferson, who did not hesitate to antagonize the land-ownffig aristocracy of Vkginia, to wffich he himseK be longed. Tffis was the prohibition of primogeffiture and entaU. Thanks to tffis wise restriction, the vast estates that under our present laws may be buUt up ffi America can be continued ffi the same famffies through successive generations offiy K thek own ers have the busffiess abffity to use them productively. To what extent we shaU further limit the freedom of bequest and the right of private accumffiation, no statesman or econo mist has at this moment the prescience to foreteU. We offiy know that thousands of thoughtfffi and conscientious men are askffig the question whether the withdrawffig of some portion of the land and productive capital of the nation from private own ersffip — as has been done ffi Australia and New Zealand — ^may not ultimately be demanded by natural justice and a due con sideration for the ffighest social weKare. We know that experi ments ffi the reffistribution of taxation, with the avowed pur pose of placffig a larger share of pubUc burdens upon the owners of great wealtii, are not likely to cease for many years to come. At the same time, we may repose great confidence m both the Puritan conscience and the Yankee common sense of the Ameri can people. WTiatever the difficffities of the undertakmg, we may expect them to find a practical method for limitffig the undue growth of economic inequaUty without discouragmg business enterprise or destroying our prosperity. The same good sense and sound moraUty may be expected to solve also the problems arisffig out of the confficts of ffiffividual Uberty with natural justice ffi our business methods. Legislatures and courts have for many years been earnestiy endeavorffig to maffitaffi the old common-law rule agamst combinations ffi restraffit of trade; but just how moraUty and busffiess expeffiency are to be identffied m practice, we do not yet dearly see. Certam 202 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS it is that at the present moment the conscience of the people is far ffi advance of the positive law. The law as yet provides no way to punish a combffiation that dehberatdy crushes a legiti mate busffiess, not by permanentiy lowerffig prices for the bene fit of consumers, but by a temporary cut wffich is not to be maffitaffied after the rival is destroyed. Such conduct is not yet a crime, but an unsopffisticated consdence pronounces it blameworthy, from a moral poffit of view as wrong as were the cattie-raidffig and castie-bumffig exploits of meffiasval barons, or as any act of wanton conquest. By one or another means it wffi ffitimately be made impossible ffi a nation that values honorable deaUng above gold. As among educated men there are some who distrust the vital mstincts of the people and the popular sense of justice, so also are there some who deplore the popffiar demand for equaUty. BUnded by a cffiture that is at once too sensitive and too narrow ffi its S5mipathies, these men woffid pej-suade us that offiy tffiough the growth of economic ffiequahty can we create a splenffid art, develop a profound phUosophy, and attain elegance of manners. To all such I woffid commend the thoughtiffi conclusions of that most cffitivated, most reasonable of modern critics, Mr. Matthew Arnold, whose essays on "Democracy" and "Equality" are, perhaps, the sanest reflections on these great themes that our age has produced. It is not equahty, it is rather the unchecked growth of a monstrous ffiequahty that, as Arnold shows, ffiti mately destroys aU fresh enthusiasms, aU spontaneous sweetness, aU brightness in social ffitercourse, and that brutaUzes the seffish rich no less than the burdened poor. "Can it be deffied," he asks, "that a certaffi approach to equaUty, at any rate a certam reduction of signal ffiequaUties, is a natural, ffistinctive demand of that impffise wffich drives society as a whole — ^no longer mffividuals and limited classes offiy, but the mass of a com muffity — to develop itseK with the utmost possible fuUness and freedom? Can it be deffied, that to live ffi a society of equals tends ffi general to make a man's spirits expand, and his faculties work easily and actively; whUe, to Uve ffi a society of superiors, although it may occasionaUy be very good discipUne, yet ffi AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 203 general tends to tame the spirits and to make the play of the facffities less secure and active? Can it be denied, that to be heavUy overshadowed, to be profoundly ffisignfficant, has, on the whole, a depressffig and benumbffig effect on the character?" And of the common people ffi France he truly says, that the economic equaUty which was created among them by the Revo lution and the "Code of Napoleon" has undoubteffiy given to the lower classes "a seK-respect and an effiargement of spirit, a con sciousness of countffig for somethffig in thek country's action, wffich has raised them ffi the scale of humanity." "The com mon people, ffi France," he contffiues, "seem to me the soundest part of the French nation. They seem to me more free from the two opposite degradations of multitudes, brutaUty and servffity, to have a more developed human ffie, more of what ffistffiguishes elsewhere the cffitured classes from the vulgar, than the common people in any other country with which I am acquaffited." That tffis view of the relation of equahty to the highest civi lization prevaUs among the American people, as among the people of France, I presume no one wffi seriously question. At the same time, the American is more assertive, more seK-reUant, more mtolerant of an unnecessary limitation of ffis personal Uberty than is the man of Gaffic blood. The American is at bottom a Saxon-Norman. After aU it is the blood of the old un tamable pkates that courses tffiough ffis veffis. Consequentiy, he wffi continue to struggle with this practical problem of the concUiation of liberty with equality. This problem wUl contffiue to furnish the fundamental questions of his politics; and he wffi graduaUy solve it, not by the elaboration of an abstract theory, but by a practical deahng with concrete cases as they arise. Just as our law is developed largely through the evolution of eqffity, whereffi a larger and sounder justice is made to override precedents and techfficalities that have ceased to be a true ex pression of Uving conditions, so shall our poUtics also develop through the evolution of a larger equity, which, passmg the bounds of the equity known to lawyers and the courts, shaU be nothffig less than a fundamental pohcy, expressive of the best conscience and judgment of the nation. 204 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS The great task, then, wffich I foresee for the American people ffi the comffig centuries^ and wffich I beUeve is to be its supreme contribution to dvUization, is the creation of tffis larger eqffity, and its perfect expression and guarantee ffi the institutions of civil Uberty. It is to be the task of the American people, rather than of any other nation, because ffi no other nation are com bffied so many of the forces and conffitions necessary for its per fect acffievement. No other great nation is stffi so young, so vigorous, ffi possession of so exhaustiess a fund of energy for great undertakffigs. In no other nation are the people ffi reaUty so democratic. In no other is the sense of equaUty ffi reaUty so strong. In no other is the ffiffividual so assertive, so Uttie Ukely to surrender his privUege of free iffitiative, and to make himseK a mere creature of the state. But cffiefly is this task committed to America because ffi no other people is so strongly developed that spkit of helpfffiness, of human brotherhood, wffich alone wffi suffice to make the reconciUation of equaUty with Uberty complete and lasting. As yet no other nation ffi the world has shown this spkit ffi such practical and costiy forms — no other has made such sacrffices to emancipate the slave, to give educa tion to the poorest and the humblest, to carry the elements of civUization through home and foreign missions to the unenUght- ened of every land. Tffis spirit, together with the other forces and conditions that I have named, vnU, ffi the comffig years, find a practical solution of the difficffit problem of the right rela tion of equaUty and Uberty, and wffi thereby establish a rela tively perfect equity. There is, however, a proviso, a conffition. AU this wffi hap pen, provided the American population, with its aboundmg vitality, its faith m its ovm powers, and its heritage of Uberal traditions dispersed throughout a wide domaffi, is composed of ffidividual men of the right moral type. Any faUure of char acter, any breakmg away from the ffighest ideals of manhood, could easUy result ffi the destruction of aU our hopes. And here we are brought to a consideration of the relation of our educational ffistitutions to the future of the American nation, and to the survival of dvU Uberty. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 205 The duty of schools and coUeges cannot be told ffi a word. They must impart knowledge, they must quicken the love of truth, they must foster scientffic research, they must ffisdpUne character. But none of these is the supreme obUgation. The ffighest duty of any mstitution of learffing is to present to aU its students a noble ideal of manhood and womanhood, and through aU the ways of discipUne to strive unceasmgly to moffid them to its perfect image. Never shoffid any student find it possible to pass from the qffiet nurture of his coUege ffie ffito the storm and stress of the outer world, without takffig with him a distffict notion of what sort of man, merely as a man, apart from aU his attainments, the coUege graduate shoffid be; a notion that he can never efface, even though, tffiough any evU dispo sition, he shoffid wish to do so; a notion that forever wiU force itseK upon ffis attention, compeUffig him tffiough aU the years of ffis Ufe to measure what he is by that image of what he ought to be. Not, ffideed, ffi aU the endless marvel of detaU can the ideal of character be drawn. By each human beffig for himseK must the detaU be fiUed ffi. But ffi general outUnes we can sketch the type of perfect manhood that we ought to requke of ourselves and of our feUowmen. The perfect citizen demanded by our own age and by our own nation can be characterized ffi a sffigle phrase. The Ameri can who is worthy to be so caUed, the patriot on whom ffis country may depend ffi any hour of peril, the voter who wffi neither take the scoundrel's bribe nor foUow the lead of any fool — ^he is exactiy and fffily described when we say that he is a rationaUy conscientious man. For such a man is, ffist of all, ever3^thmg for wffich the word "man" stands ffi its truest emphasis. He is virUe, a personal force, an orgaffism overflowmg with splenffid power, alert, fear less, able to carry to perfect fulfilment any undertaking to wffich he may put ffis hand. Moreover, he is ffidependent, preservffig ffi his disposition and habits the best traffitions of a pioneer manhood, of those Americans of an earUer time who asked Uttie and ffid much, who made homes and careers for themselves. 2o6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS He demands not too much of sodety or of ffis govemment. He does not expect to be provided for. He does not ask what ready- made places ffi the government service or elsewhere he may shp mto, to enjoy through ffie vnth httie bother or anxiety. Rather does he explore, ffivent, and create opportunities for himseK and for others. It is a melancholy tffing when numbers of educated men go lookffig for "jobs," or stand waitffig for opportuffities to drUt thek way. The educated man has akeady had oppor tunity, and the world rightiy expects him to show powers of ffiitiative and leadersffip. He has no right to be a mere imitator of others; and when he is content to be such, there is something radicaUy wrong either with ffim or with the coUege that has traffied him. In the second place, the true American is a consdentious man. He feels as a vital truth — ^and does not merely say as cant — that no one hveth to himseK. When he has provided for ffis own, he does not think that he has accomphshed the whole duty of man. He remembers that, although he has demanded Uttle of society, he has ffi reahty received much. Education, legal protection, the unnumbered benefits flowing from the ffiven- tions, the sacrffices, and the patriotism of past generations, he has shared. These benefactions he wishes to repay, and he realizes that most of them he must pay for tiirough the activities of good citizensffip. And especiaUy does he realize that no man can pay these debts by merely Uvffig justly ffi private ffie and kindly witffin tbe circle of ffis immeffiate famUy and personal friends. There is no more wretched sophistry than that wffich excuses unprfficipled conduct ffi politics, on the ground that the wrong-doer has always been a good husband and father, and an honorable man ffi his private affaks. No nation can endure wffich draws fine ffistinctions between pubhc and private mor aUty. There is offiy one kind of honor, there is offiy one recog nized brand of common honesty. A man who, to serve ffis party, becomes a Uar and a thief, is a Uar and a thief, through and tiirough, ffi every fibre of ffis beffig, though he never told a false hood to his wKe or robbed an orphan ffiece of her inheritance. And, finaUy, the true American must be a rational man. His AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 207 conscientiousness must not be of that narrow, dogmatic type, which degenerates ffito mere formaUty or, what is worse, ffito intolerant fanatidsm. We must not suppose that because the future of America is fffil of promise it is devoid of dangers. Among the dangers that we have to face, none is more grave than that fanatical passion wffich too often manKests itseK ffi law less deaUngs with criminal offenders — ffi the name of justice de- stroyffig the very foundation of legal retribution — wffich now and then takes the form of a wUd destruction of property ffi a misguided attempt to redress the wrongs of the workffig man, or which, from time to time, breaks forth ffi poUtical crazes that sweep thousands of voters ffito the support of sheer foUy and dishonor. To meet these dangers we must have men not offiy honest and maffiy, but also cool, dehberate, large-mffided, able to deal reasonably with problems that are not easy of solution. "Not tiU the ways of prudence aU are tried, And tried in vain, the turn of rashness comes." But let us not be deceived by words. There is rationaUsm and rationaUsm. The rationalism wffich our country demands is the positive, not the merely negative and fault-findmg kind. We have quite enough of men whose genius consists ffi an acute perception of aU that is wrong or imperfect. We have quite enough of those critics of our political system who can find notffing good sffice the fathers feU asleep. The men of the new day must be of tougher fiber than they, of broader views, of more inventive mffid. The efficient citizen of the twentieth century must be rational ffi a positive and constructive sense. A lover of justice, a hater of wrong, he must be also a ffisciple of wisdom. "For to Uve disobedient to these two, Justice and Wisdom, is no life at aU." In presenting these views of the future of our country and of the type of man which it wffi demand, to you who are about to go forth from coUege ffie mto the realities of that future, I feel assured of comprehension and approval; because, ffi an emffient degree, you have enjoyed the teachffig and received the 2o8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ffispkation wffich foster the maffiy and womaffiy character that I have endeavored to describe. Preemmentiy among our col leges has Oberlffi stood for the positive, the helpfffi, the hopefffi spkit. Preemffientiy has she represented ideals of democracy and equahty. No distffictions of race or of nationaUty have been recognized by her. And not offiy tffis, but an ffispkation of the rarest kffid you have had ffi the personal ffistory of one from whom this ffistitution took its name. Few, ffideed, have been the Uves that have so perfectiy exempUfied the ideal of rationaUy conscientious manhood as ffid that of Jean Frederic Oberlffi, the tireless pastor of the Ban de la Roche. That district of the Vos- ges, when Oberlffi began his labors there, was merely nffie thousand acres of rocky soU, with offiy mffie paths for roads. It was inhabited by a people desperately poor, and so ignorant that few of them coffid read, while none spoke any other lan guage than a barbarous patois. Before Oberlffi ffied, sixty years later, the Ban de la Roche, largely tiirough ffis influence, had been transformed ffito a productive region, densely populated, exportffig agricffitural products, traversed by exceUent roads, and bffilt up with substantial dweffings. Its people had learned to maffitaffi admkable schools and churches, and to speak the French language with a purity not exceUed anjrwhere ffi France. Such are the possibffities of one earnest ffie. 'What may not you accomplish toward the perfection of our American civUization, K, ffi the active years upon wffich you now enter, you are faith- f ffi to examples such as tffis ! Do not, however, be satisfied with any mere foUowffig of example, with any mere coffiormity to standards that have been held before you, ffi your coUege days. From you, as from those who have Uved before you, the world wffi rightiy demand new thoughts and new acffievements. Look back upon your Alma Mater with reverence, but also with a fihal care that she do not too early descend "the qffiet, mossy track of age." As alumffi, let it be your study to ffiscover whereffi her discipUne can be made more Uberal, her teacffing sounder and broader, her ffi- fluence vnder, saner, and more endurffig. And carry with you ffito the larger ffie of American dtizen- AMERICAN DEMOCRACY 209 sffip the same spirit. Be not satisfled with those acffievements of the nation that have passed ffito ffistory. Do not forget the past, but Uve and work for the future. If you and those others who, like you, have enjoyed the privUeges of a liberal training, as educated men and women, as citizens of our repubUc, shaU do your whole duty rationaUy, conscientiously, fearlessly, there can be no faUure of our experiment ffi seK-govemment, no dimffiu- tion of the blessmgs of dvU Uberty. N CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM PATRIOTISM, INSTINCTIVE AND INTELLIGENT^ Ira Woods Howerth [Ira Woods Howerth (i860 ) was bom in Brown County, Indiana. After attending the Northem Indiana Normal CoUege, he engaged for a time in teaching. He then spent several years in advanced study at Harvard and at the University of Chicago. For several years he was con nected as professor with the latter institution, but in 191 2 he became professor of education and director of university extension work in the University of California. This essay is a dear presentation of two diflfering types of patriotism that ought to be weU understood by aU persons.] Patriotism cannot be reaUy understood without knowing somethffig of the manner of its devdopment. PrimarUy it is an identffication of the ffidividual with the group to wffich he be longs — famUy, tribe, state, or nation. The patriot proudly speaks of "my famUy," "my tribe," "my state," "my people." Tffis identffication is based upon a certain feeUng which is the product of group association, and this feehng is ffistinctive. Sociology ascribes the origffi of patriotism to the faiffily ffie, the famUy bemg the ffist social group. That this is cor rect is infficated by the origffi of the word patriotism. It is derived from the Greek word ¦rarptos, wffich means of or belong ffig to one's father. The Indo-Germanic root of "the^w6f3~is pa, from which we have the Latffi pater and the EngUsh words father, paternal, patriarch, patriotism, and many others. Perhaps the root-word itseK is but the natural iffiantile utter ance reduphcated ffi the word papa. At aU events the word patriotism has plaiffiy a famUy origin. The papa, the father, be mg the providffig, protectffig, and goveming element ffi the IFrom Educational Review, vol. xliv, p. 13 Qune, 1919). Reprinted by neimission. 210 CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 211 famUy group, his authority supreme, dignity, protection, and support being personffied ffi him, he was naturaUy the object of reverence and devotion. Loyalty to the pater, the father, the patriarch, was therefore the earUest form of patriotism. In the course of social evolution the famUy enlarged ffito the dan, the gens, or the tribe. The interests of sffigle famffies were then more or less submerged ffi the ffiterests of a group of famffies of wffich each was a component element. The chief representa tive of these larger mterests was the head man, the cffieftain, fficludffig later the councU. Loyalty to the father and fanffiy exclusively was fficonsistent with clan or tribal Ufe. Hence patriotism extended itseK to the mterests of the larger group and thek tribal representatives. There was, so to speak, an expan sion of patriotism. Tffis new form was represented ffi the clan- mshness of the early Scot, "ownffig no tie but to ffis clan," the tribal mstincts of the American Indian and other primitive peoples, and the partisansffip of the early Greeks and Romans. With the formation of the tribe, patriotism passed from fatherism to tribalism. In the amalgamation of tribes mto states and nations the expansion of the feeUng now known as patriotism continued. Loyalty to the tribe passed over ffito loyalty to the state or nation, and the feehng of patriotism became what we ordffiarUy express as love of country, the feehng wffich fficites the ffiffividual to identKy ffis ffiterests more or less with those of his country, and to speaklmd act ffi a manner wffich he supposes wffi ffius trate this identffication. Of course, the feeUng of patriotism is not confined alone to the personal group of which the ffiffividual is a member. It attaches itseK also to the natural surroundffigs of the group. "I love thy rocks and rffis, thy woods and templed hills" is the expression of a trffiy patriotic sentiment. But we may ffidude ffi our conception of a social group the natural con ditions wffich surround it, and no misunderstandmg need arise from definffig patriotism as primarUy an ffistinctive group feelffig. Patriotism, then, Uke aU other thffigs ffi the imiverse, Uke 212 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the mmd and aU its manKestations, has had its origffi and its development. It origffiated ffi association, and association has been the maffi factor in its growth. Now the fact of the evolution of patriotism, and the manner ffi which it has taken place, are the basis of a safe prophecy with respect to what patriotism is to become, U pohtical and social organization and amalgamation continue. The affiUation and federation of countries wffi effiarge the feeUng of patriotism. The "Parlia ment of man and federation of the world" would as certaiffiy conduce to cosmopoUtaffism or political humaffism as tribal associations conduced to tribaUsm, and the consohdation of tribes ffito states and states ffito nations conduced to the modem patriotic feelffig. Love of country must graduaUy give place to love of kind. Although patriotism expands with the enlargffig composition of the group, it does not necessarUy sever itseK from any poffit of attachment. The famUy feeUng may stffi be strong ffi the tribe, as with the Montagues and Capffiets ffi Rome, for ffi stance, and devotion to the state may be powerfffi ffi the dti zens of the nation, as was conspicuously shown ffi the seces sion of the Southern States of America. So also the cosmo- poUtan may retaffi his love of country. He is not necessarUy "a traitor," as some seem to suppose. Neither does this larger patriotism imply a lack of famUy affection with a Mrs. JeUyby's sentimental mterest ffi the inhabitants of Borrioboola-Gha. In pure cosmopohtanism, however, the spkit of national or radal antagoffism must necessarUy vanish, and loyalty to one country or race as agamst another country or race must be controUed and tempered by devotion to humaffity. The narrower and sel fish ffiterests of the particffiar country to which the dtizen be longs must be held iffierior to the mterests of mankind. Of course, aU these interests may coincide, but the world patriot cannot stand with his country "agamst the world," unless his country is right and "the world" is wrong. True loyalty and humanity can mean only devotion to the principles upon wffich the well-being of humanity rests. The world patriot must be loyal to right everj^where agamst wrong anywhere. He must CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 213 stand for justice to aU agamst ffijustice to any. 'When the action or demands of his country conffict with the rights of humanity he must stand for humanity. Hence he may be caUed by his compatriots unpatriotic, but he is so only as viewed from the ffiterests of the smaUer group. The "pohticals" of Russia, for instance, are unpatriotic in the eyes of the Russian Bureau cracy and its supporters. Though they be faitMffi to universal principles of Uberty and equaUty, they are uffiaithfffi to the prffidples of Russian despotism; hence, from a certaffi Russian standpoint, they are unpatriotic. George Kennan, ffi the Outlook for March 30, 1907, gives an interesting and pathetic account of the attempt of some of these poUticals to maffifest thek devotion to the larger prmciples of freedom embodied in our own Declaration of Independence. He says: "On the morning of the Fourth of July, 1876, hours before the first dayUght cannon announced the beginning of the great celebration ffi Philadelphia, hundreds of smaU, rude American flags or strips of red, wffite, and blue cloth fluttered from the grated windows of the poUticals around the whole quadrangle of the great St. Petersburg prison, while the prisoners were faintly hurrahing, singing patriotic songs, or exchanging greetings with one another through the kon pipes which uffited thek ceUs. The celebration, of course, was soon over. The prison guard, although they had never heard of the Declaration of Independence and did not understand the signfficance of this extraordinary demonstration, promptiy seized and removed the flags and tri-colored streamers. Some of the prisoners, however, had more material of the same kind ffi reserve, and at ffitervals throughout the whole day scraps and tatters of red, wffite, and blue were furtively hung out here and there from ceU windows or tied around the bars of the gratings. Late ffi the evening, at a preconcerted hour, the poUticals lighted thek bits of taUow candles and placed them ffi thek windows, and the celebration ended with a faffit but perceptible ffiumination of the great prison." This mournful and touching endeavor to celebrate our Fourth of July did not necessarily indicate a greater love of our country 214 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS than of Russia, but it did imply a devotion to poUtical principles of uffiversal appUcation. We may conceive that the aspkation and ideal of these pohticals were merely that these prffidples should prevaU ffi thek own fatherland. They loved not Russia less, but freedom more. They at least approximated a "higher patriotism." Thus far we have spoken of patriotism as an ffistinctive feel ffig or sentiment. Now, it is characteristic of an mstffict that it acts without reflection. Though originaUy purposive in action, and serving as an agent in inffividual or group preservation, an ffistinct takes no consideration of objective ckcumstances. It is a blind impffise. When the stimffius is provided it operates; and its operation has often led, ffi the course of biological and social evolution, to the extinction of ffidividuals and of groups. Patriotism, therefore, so far as it is instmctive, is impffisive, bUnd, unreasoning, and kreflective. It thrffis, it hurrahs, it boasts, it fights and ffies without calmly considerffig what it is aU about. It resents a fancied insult without stopping to as certaffi whether it is real. It ffies to the defense of the supposed mterests of its group without mquking whether the mterests are worthy or the danger is actual. It is bhnd patriotism and sprffigs from the emotional side of the mffid. It dffiers ffi no essential respect from the impffise of the tiger fto defend its young, or from that of the wUd cattie of the prairie to defend the herd. It is easUy aroused and easUy "stampeded." On the other hand, there is a patriotism which may be ffistffiguished from instinctive patriotism by the word ffiteffi gent. The emotions are subject to the control of the ffiteUect. It is the function and power of the ffiteUect to inffibit, re- straffi, sometimes to eliminate, an ffistinct. Even the mstffict of seK-preservation, strong as it is, has sometimes been whoUy inffibited by a dffiy iffiormed and reflective mind. The proper ffiteffigence may therefore modUy, even reverse, the actions springffig from instinctive feelffig. Patriotic sentiment may be held subject to a thorough knowledge of political and social conffitions and a sense of justice. 'When so held it becomes ffiteffigent patriotism. Inteffigent patriotism, then, is patriotic CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 215 feelffig, instinctive patriotism, under the control and guidance ; of knowledge and reflection. It is love of country and the dis position to serve it, coupled with a knowledge of how to serve it weU. It does not yield to impffise. It looks before and after. It restrams a nation from fightffig when there are no real ffi terests at stake. Now there can be no doubt that the great need of aU nations is inteffigent patriotism. The modern patriot is too much dis posed to act upon impulse. He is "touchy;" he goes off "haK- cocked;" he is fuU of racial prejudice, indulges ffi national bom bast and braggadocio, Chauviffism, Jingoism, and manKests a disposition to wffip somebody. His patriotism is chiefly an ffistffictive patriotism. Such patriotism is a feeUng for one's country without the control of ffiteffigence; it is patriotic zeal without patriotic knowledge. Under its promptffigs the patriotic is sometimes the idiotic. The utterances and actions evoked by it are sometimes ffiustrative of the fact that a man may be a patriot and stffi be a fool. Among the effects-jjf^^mstffictive patriotism is the over- weenffig nationaKggotism, manUested by so many_"patriots." There is a diseas'e^alred by the learned , me^ornama.) Its primary symptom is "the delusion of grandeur." So many patriots are" inegalomamacs that' the disease seems to char- actefize every" nation and every people. It led Israel to regard itseK as a "pecuUar" people, tiie favorite of the Almighty. It ffiduced the Greeks to caU aU other peoples barbarians. The Cffinese, according to thek own estimate, are "celestials," and both the English and the Americans speak of themselves as divinely commissioned to spread the blessings of civilization among "ffiferior" peoples, even K they smother them ffi The process: All tffis is national egotism, megalosiaffia^ It arises from a more or less kreflectiveiHs^ffictive patriotismT Obviously, great national and social dangers are consequent upon ffistffictive patriotism. By manUestffig itseK ffi antipathy toward another nation, and ffi kreflective action, it provokes suspicion, jealousy, hatred, and unnecessary war. Washington, m his "FareweU Address," pomted out some of these dangers. 2i6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS "Antipathy in one nation agaffist another," said he, "ffisposes each more readUy to offer msult and mjury, to lay hold of shght causes of umbrage, and to be haughty and ffitractable, when accidental or triflmg occasions of dispute occur. Hence, fre quent coffisions; obstmate, envenomed, and bloody contests. The nation, prompted by ffi-wffi and resentment, sometimes impels to war the government, contrary to the best calcffiations of policy. The government sometimes participates ffi the national propensity, and adopts through passion what reason would reject; at other times it makes the animosity of the nation sub servient to projects of hostility mstigated by pride, ambition, and other sinister and perfficious motives. The peace often, sometimes perhaps the liberty, of nations has been the victim." Instmctive patriotism forced President McKiffiey ffito a war with Spain which, with national inteUigence and forbearance, might have been avoided. It ffispkes kresponsible and mis chievous remarks and comments concerffing other nations, which tend to provoke hostility. The following is a sample: "I woffid be ffi favor of annexing Canada right now, if I thought England would fight. But just to take Canada and have no brush with England woffid be too tame. There are hundreds of young men ffi this country who would enjoy a war with England, and some of the young veterans of the war would not be slow ffi gomg to the front." This is the language of a former general of the American Army as reported by the Associated Press. The cor respondent of the Pittsburgh Gazette of December 15, 1903, when our relations with Colombia were somewhat straffied, wrote: "There are a lot of young officers ffi Wasffington who are hoping that the complications between tffis country and Colombia wffi result in war. They do not expect it wffi be much of a war, even K there is a conflict between the two forces, but at any rate it wiU open the way to promotion for some of them, and promotion is the sole ambition of the soldiers." Remarks like these are prompted solely by instmctive patriotism, patriotism unrestraffied by social inteUigence. Such patriotism not only leads to national bickering and strife, but it also prevents that national receptiveness so essen- CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 217 tial to progress. "The national egotism which scorns to learn of neighbors," say Brmton, "prepares the pathway to national ruffi. . . . That nation today which is most eager to learn from others, which is furthest from the fatal delusion that aU wisdom flows from its own sprffigs wffi surely be ffi the van of progress."^ But ffistffictive patriotism is not eager to leam from other nations, for the very simple reason that it tffinks they have nothffig superior to teach. To the ffistffictive patriotism noth ffig in foreign nations is worthy of emulation or adoption. He speaks without the sUghtest reverence of "Japs," and "Chinks," and "Dagoes;" of "WUd Irishmen," "rat-eating Frenchmen," and "flat-headed Dutchmen." Such a "patriot" may be a gentie man so far as his more ffitimate personal relationsffips are con cerned, but as a representative of nationahty he is often a braggart, a buUy, or a fool. His patriotism is krational and kresponsible, and consequentiy a danger to his country. In spite of the dangers of instmctive patriotism, however, it must be recognized that, like other ffistincts agaffi, it may serve @' tunes a very lugduljBurpose, lndeed7Tn "the'aBsence ol^sddaf ffiteffigence, it has been absolutely essential to the preservation of social groups. 'When the ffie of a nation, for instance, is endangered, its citizens must rise ffistantly to its defense. There is no tkne for serious reflection.^ To dehbera_te is to be lost. Hence the disposition to sprffig to arms is an elemenf"of "national survival; for it leads the citizens^ to act in concertjlna'sb more effectively. Without instinctive patriotism, no group ffi a hostUe envkonment coffid have suryryed.'T3n the vfhole, those groups ffi wffick it was highest developed are the ones which have persisted. Instmctive patriotism, then, has unquestionably been an element ffi social survival, as well as an element in social danger and destmction. But however serviceable tffis form of patriotism may have been ffi the past, or however necessary ffi a critical national exigency, it is not the kind of patriotism which is needed today. It ffivolves govem- ments ffi needless strKe, and it renders the citizens easUy suscept ible to the pernicious influences of kings, ffiplomats, and un- iBaiM of Social Relationshifs (New York, 1903), p. 60. [Howerth's note.] 2i8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS scrupffious politicians. Hence, it shoffid be supplanted as rapiffiy as possible by ffiteffigent patiiotism. Inteffigent patriotism imphes a particular kffid of knowledge, a knowledge of national and social relationships, and of the prmciples of ffidustrial and poUtical weU-beffig. In the endeavor to develop it ffi the schools, for mstance, we may safely rely upon the existence of patriotic feehng and devote attention exclusively to promoting the right kffid of ffiteffigence. Salut ing the flag, the singing of patriotic songs. Fourth of Jffiy celebra tions as heretofore conducted, to say nothing of most of the patriotic appeals from pffipit and rostrum, are dkected merely to developing instmctive patriotism. The reaUy needed and difficult thffig, however, is to iffiorm the instinct so that it wffi operate, even under trying ckcumstances, to the real advantage and safety of the nation. Education should be dkected not to the development of patriotic feeUng, but to imparting the kffid of knowledge by which that feeUng is restrained and dkected. The dffierence between ffistinctive patriotism and ffiteffigent patriotism, as I have tried to present it, is not, of course, abso lute. FeeUng is necessary to action, and the two can not be separated. But the dffierence between impffisive action and national action is obvious, and so, I tffink, must be the distffic- tion I have drawn between ffistffictive patriotism and ffiteffigent patriotism. Instinctive patriotism is not be to supplanted by ffiteffigent patriotism; it is, rather, to be transformed mto it by knowledge. With the distmction of the two kinds of patriotism now before us it wUl be mteresting to compare some of the patriotic mani festations ffi modern pohtical discussion. Instinctive patriotism, with a superficial knowledge of science, justffies war on the ground of the law of the survival of the fittest. Inteffigent patri otism analyzes the idea of the fittest, finds that it has no ethical signffication, and strives to promote aU activities calculated to fit our nation to survive. Instffictive patriotism prates ffi language which to deUcate ears sounds almost blasphemous, of the unpremeditated occurrences ffi our national ffie as disdosing the wffi of Providence. Inteffigent patriotism recognizes that CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 210 safe and permanent progress is the result of human forethought, that the blunders of a nation are no less deplorable and blame worthy than those of an individual, and that unconsidered or ffi-considered action on the part of man or nation is quite as Ukely to disclose the wffi of the devU as the wffi of the Lord. Instffictive patriotism melodramatically declares that the flag of our country whenever or wherever, and no matter under what ckcumstances, it is erected, shaU never he haffied down. In teffigent patriotism ffisists that whenever and wherever the flag is raised in injustice, or as a symbol of oppression and tyranny, the sooner it is haffied down the better; for the ffiteffi gent patriot is likely to have a feeUng that uffiess it is lowered by our own hands, the God of Justice wffi somehow tear it down and make it a mockery and a mourffiul memory ffi the mmd^ of men. Instffictive patriotism defiantiy proclaims, "My country, right or wrong." Intelligent jgatriotism says, -j "My country, when she is right, and when she is wrong, my ffie I to set her right." Instffictive patriotism, nonplused by~the afgffinents of "the peace advocates, tries to persuade itseK that such advocates are uneducated sentimentaUsts and moUy- coddles. Inteffigent patriotism quietiy contffiues to organize its peace leagues, associations, and federations, schools, tribunals, and unions, confident that proper ffiteffigence wffi make war impossible. The dffierence between the two kmds of patriotism is shown ffi nothffig more clearly than the character of the two national ideals now mculcated. Instffictive patriotism has much to say about our becoming a "world power," the ffievitableness of war, and of our rightful influence ffi the councU of nations. Inteffigent patriotism knows we have long been a world power, that war is neither mevitable nor necessary, and is not so much ffiterested ffi our rightfffi influence as that our influence be exercised ffi the rightfffi way. The ffistffictive patriotic ideal is mffitant; the ffiteffigent, scientffic and ffidustrial. Is it necessary to ffiquire which is the higher form of patriot ism? 'Which is the nobler national aspkation, wffich evmces the loftier patriotism, supremacy ffi war and the arts of de- 220 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS struction, with hundreds of mffiions of our wealth locked up ffi sffips, forts, and arsenals, and thousands of men withdrawn from the peacefffi pursuits to man these mstruments of death, and become a burden on the back of labor, or supremacy ffi industry, in trade, in science, ffi art, ffi hterature, and ffi education, with health, wealth, and happffiess for aU our people; and, because we have charity for aU and maUce toward none, enjoyffig the good-wffi and friendship of aU the world? For which should We strive as a nation, to evoke the fear of the weaker nations by the strength of our armaments (and thek hatred also, for hate is the child of fear), or to deserve and compel thek respect and admiration by fak deahng, justice, modesty, moderation, cour tesy, and charity, and by our sfficerity ffi upholdmg the prmciples of hberty, equaUty, and fraternity? Instinctive patriotism is thrilled by glowffig descriptions of America as mighty ffi battie, or as Mistress of the Seas with hundreds of battieships, those grim leviathans of the deep, plowffig the waves of every sea and prouffiy tossffig from thek kon manes the ocean foam; or restffig unwelcome, it may be, because unbidden, guests ffi the ports of foreign lands; each bearing witness that ffi tffis nation of ours, conceived ffi hberty and defficated to the proposition that aU men are created equal, there is a disposition to forsake the prmciples of the fathers ffi a lust for power, and to foUow in the wake of Babylon and Nffieveh, Greece, Rome and Spaffi, the nations whose bloody ffistory reveals to ffim who wffi but read that the nation that relies upon force must finaUy become the victim of force. For it is written, "They that take the sword shaU perish by the sword." Inteffigent patriotism, on the other hand, is mspked by the ideal of America as a repubUc supremely powerfffi by the force of an effiightened pubhc opiffion, and supremely glorious on account of her successful pursuit of the arts of peace, and because of her acknowledged leadership ffi aU that Uberates and ffits. The prophet of old dedared that there shaU come a time when swords shaU be beaten ffito plowshares and spears ffito prunffig- hooks, and men shaU learn war no more; and that the earth shaU CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 221 be fuU of knowledge as the waters cover the sea. 'When these prophecies are to be fffifiUed no one can know — "Ah, when shaU aU men's good be each man's rule, And universal peace Ue Uke a shaft of Ught across mankind; Or like a lane of beams athwart the sea Thru aU the circle of the golden year?" But these prophedes imply a period of continuous peace and general education ffivolvffig the dffiusion of patriotic knowl edge. 'Who can estimate what this wffi mean to the advance ment of the people? It is not given unto men to foreteU what this nation is to become; it doth not yet appear what we shaU be; but of this we may be sure, that with contffiuous peace, universal education, and ffiteffigent patriotism, eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the imagination of man to conceive the glorious possibffities of the American RepubUc. MESSAGE OF THE FLAG Franklin Knight Lai^; [Franklin Knight Lane (1864 ) was bom in Canada, but in early chUdhood removed to California. He studied at the University of California, engaged in newspaper work, studying law later and entering into practice in San Francisco. For eight years he was a member of the Interstate Commerce Commission at Washington. This position he relinquished in 1913 to become secretary of the interior. In his speeches and writings he is always forcible and inspiring. The brief address here given, deUvered before the employees of the Department of the Interior on Flag Day, 1914, deserves a place among the classics of patriotism. With imagination and insight, with grace and charm, it interprets what the American flag ought to mean to aU who Uve imder it.] Tffis mormng, as I passed ffito the Land Office, The Flag dropped me a most cordial salutation, and from its ripphng folds I heard it say: "Good mornmg, Mr. Flag Maker." "I beg your pardon. Old Glory," I said, "aren't you mis taken? I am not the President of the Uffited States, nor a 222 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS member of Congress, nor even a general ffi the army. I am offiy a Government derk." "I greet you agaffi, Mr. Flag Maker," repUed the gay voice, "I know you weU. You are the man who worked ffi the swelter of yesterday straightenffig out the tangle of that farmer's homestead ffi Idaho, or perhaps you found the mistake ffi that Indian contract ffi Oklahoma, or helped to clear that patent for the hopefffi inventor ffi New York, or pushed the openffig of that new ffitch ffi Colorado, or made that mme ffi LUnois more safe, or brought relief to the old soldier ffi Wyomffig. No matter; wffichever one of these beneficent ffidividuals you may happen to be, I give you greeting, Mr. Flag Maker." I was about to pass on, when The Flag stopped me with these words: "Yesterday the President spoke a word that made happier the future of ten mffiion peons ffi Mexico; but that act looms no larger on the flag than the struggle wffich the boy ffi Georgia is making to win the Corn Club prize tffis summer. "Yesterday the Congress spoke a word which wffi open the door of Alaska; but a mother ffi Michigan worked from sun rise imtU far ffito the ffight to give her boy an education. She, too, is makffig the flag. "Yesterday we made a new law to prevent finandal panics, and yesterday, maybe, a school-teacher ffi Ohio taught his first letters to a boy who wffi one day write a song that wffi give cheer to the miffions of our race. We are aU making the flag." "But," I said impatientiy, "these people were offiy work ing!" Then came a great shout from The Flag: "The work that we do is the makffig of the flag. I am not the flag; not at aU. I am but its shadow. "I am whatever you make me, nothing more. "I am your belief ffi yourseK, your dream of what a People may become. I live a changmg ffie, a ffie of moods and passions, of heart breaks and tked muscles. "Sometimes I am strong with pride, when men do an honest CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 223 work, fitting the raUs together trffiy. Sometimes I droop, for then purpose has gone from me, and C3TiicaUy I play the coward. Sometimes I am loud, garish, and fffil of that ego that blasts judgment. "But always I am aU that you hope to be and have the courage to try for. "I am song and fear, struggle and paffic, and ennobUng hope. "I am the day's work of the weakest man and the largest dream of the most daring. "I am the Constitution and the courts, statutes and the statute makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street sweep, cook, counselor, and clerk. "I am the battie of yesterday and the mistake of tomorrow. "I am the mystery of the men who do without knowffig why. "I am the clutch of an idea and the reasoned purpose of resolution. "I am no more than what you beUeve me to be, and I am aU that you beUeve I can be. "I am what you make me, nothffig more. "I swffig before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourseK, the pictured suggestion of that big thffig wffich makes tffis nation. My stars and my stripes are your dream and your labors. They are bright with cheer, briffiant with courage, firm with faitii, because you have made them so out of your hearts. For you are the makers of the flag, and it is well that you glory ffi the makffig." 224 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS GOOD CITIZENSHIP^ Henry Cabot Lodge [Henry Cabot Lodge (1850 ) was bom in Boston, Massachusetts. He was graduated from Harvard and was for a time lecturer in history in that institution. For three years he was editor of the North American Review. Since 1886 he has served continuously in Washington as either representative or senator from Massachusetts. In spite of the exactions of pubUc Ufe, he has found time to write several brilUant volumes on historical and biographical subjects, the most notable perhaps being his Life of Wash- Assuming at the outset that ffi the Uffited States aU men, young and old, who think at aU realize the importance of good dtizensffip, the ffist step toward its attaffiment or its diffusion is to define it accurately; and then, knowffig what it is, we shaU be able ffiteffigentiy to consider the best methods of creating it and spreadmg it abroad. In tffis case the poffit of ffiscussion and determffiation hes ffi the ffist word of the titie. There is no difficffity ffi the second. The accident of bkth or the certificate of a court wffi make a man a citizen of the repubhc, entitied to take part ffi the government and to have the protection of that government wherever he may be. The quaffiying adjective appUed to dtizensffip is the important thffig here; for, wffile the mere word "citizen" setties at once a man's legal status, both under domestic and ffiterna tional law, and impUes certaffi rights on ffis part, and certaffi responsibihties on the part of ffis govem ment toward him, we must go much further U we woffid define his duties to the state upon the performance of which depends ffis right to be called either good or worthy. Merely to hve with out actuaUy breakffig the laws does not constitute good dtizen sffip, except in the narrow sense of contrast to those who opeffiy or covertly violate the laws which they have helped to make. The word "good," as appUed to citizensffip, means somethffig more positive and affirmative than mere passive obeffience to statutes, U it has any meaffing at aU. The good citizen, K he IFrom A Frontier Town and Other Essays. (Copyright, 1906, Charles Scribner's Sons.) Reprinted by permission. CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 225 woffid deservfe the titie, must be one who performs ffis duties to the state, and who, ffi due proportion, serves ffis country. It is when we undertake to define those duties and determme what the due proportion of service is that we approach the serious diffi cffity of the subject; and yet the duties and the service to the country must be defined, for ffi them hes aU good citizensffip, and failure to render them carries a man beyond the pale. A man may not be a bad citizen — he may pay his taxes and comrffit no statutory offences — but, K he gives no service to ffis country, nor any help to the commuffity ffi wffich he Uves, he cannot properly be caUed a good citizen. Assuming, then, that good citizenship necessarUy impUes service of some sort to the state, the country, or the pubUc, it must be understood, of course, that such service may vary widely in amount or in degree. The man and woman who have a famUy of chUdren, educate them, brffig them up honorably and weU, teaching them to love their country, are good citizens, and deserve weU of the repubUc. The man who, ffi order to care for his famUy and give his chUdren a fak start ffi Ufe, labors honestly and dUigentiy at his trade, profession, or busffiess, and who casts his vote conscientiously at aU elections adds to the strength as weU as to the material prosperity of the country, and thus fffifils some of the primary and most important duties of good citizensffip. Indeed, it may be said, ffi passmg, that he wlio labors ffi any way, who has any mteUectual ffiterest, who employs his leisure for any pubhc end, — even the man who works purely for seffish objects, — ^has one valuable element of good citizensffip to ffis credit ffi the mere fact of ffis ffidustry; for there is nobody so detrimental ffi a country like ours as the mere idler, the mere seeker for seK-amusement, who passes his time ffi constant uncertaffity as to how he shaU get rid of the next day or the next hour of that brief ffie which, however short ffisomecases, is, from every poffit of view, too long for him. . . . Good citizenship demands, therefore, somethffig active; m order to be attained, the man must be usefffi to his country and to his feUowmen, and on tffis usefffiness aU else depends. For tunately, it is possible to be usefffi ffi many ways. "Hold your o 326 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Ufe, your time, your money," said LoweU, "always ready at the hffit of your country." To him it was given to make the last great sacrffice. In time of war, the usefffiness of man is plaffi; he has but the simple duty of offerffig ffis services to ffis country ffi the field. But the service of war, K more glorious, more dangerous, and larger ffi perU and sacrffice than any other, is also the most obvious. When the country is ffivolved ffi war, the first duty of a dtizen is clear — he must fight for the flag; or K, because of age or physical infirmity, he is unable to fight, he must support tiiose who do, and sustaffi, ffi aU ways possible, the nation's cause. Good citizensffip impUes constant readffiess to obey our country's caU. Less dangerous, less glorious, rarely demandmg the last sacrffice, the time of peace is no less ffisistent than the exceptional time of war ffi its demands for good citizensffip. How shaU a man, ffi time of peace, fulfil LoweU's requirement of beffig a usefffi citizen? He may do it ffi many ways, for usefffiness as a dtizen is not confined, by any means, to pubUc office, although it must, ffi some form or other, promote the general as ffistffi guished from the ffidividual good. A man may be a good dtizen ffi the ordffiary sense by fulfilling the fundamental conffitions of honest labor, carffig for ffis famUy, observmg law, and expressffig his opiffion upon governmental measures at the time of election. But tffis does not make him a good citizen ffi the larger sense of usefffiness. To be a usefffi citizen, he must do somethffig for the pubhc service wffich is over and above his work for himseK or ffis f amUy. It may be performed — tffis pubhc service — tffiough the meffium of the man's profession or occupation, or whoUy apart and aside from it. Tffis does not mean that the mere pro duction of a great work of art or Uterature wffich may be a joy and benefaction to humaffity necessarily ffivolves the idea of pubhc service ffi the sense ffi wffich we are considerffig it here. It may or it may not do so. Turner's art is a great possession for the world to have, but his bequest to the National GaUery was a pubUc service. Regnaffit's portrait of Prim was a noble picture, but the artist's death as a solffier ffi defence of Paris was the ffighest pubhc service. The Uterature of the English language CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 227 woffid be much poorer K Edgar AUan Poe had not lived,— ffis verse, ffis prose, ffis art coffid ffi be spared when the accounts of the nmeteenth century are made up, — ^yet it woffid be impossible to say that Poe was a usefffi citizen, highly as we may rate and ought to rate his strange geffius. On the otiier hand, 'Walt 'Wffit- man, who consecrated so much of his work as a poet to his country, was eminentiy a usefffi citizen of ffigh patriotism, for he labored m the hospitals and among the soldiers to help ffis country and ffis feUowmen without any thought of self or seK- mterest, or even of his art. So, Ralph Waldo Emerson was a great and useful citizen, as weU as a great writer and poet, giving freely of ffis time and thought and fame to moffidffig opinion and to the service of ffis country. The same may be said of Holmes and of LongfeUow, of Wffittier and of LoweU, of Bancroft and of Motiey. In any event, thek work woffid have taken ffigh place ffi the Uterature of the Uffited States and of the EngUsh- speaking people; in any event it woffid have brought pleasure to mankffid, and, ffi Dr. Johnson's phrase, woffid have helped us to enjoy Ufe or taught us to endure it. But over and above thek work, they were usefffi citizens ffi a high degree. Thek art was ever at the service of thek country, of a great cause, and of their feUowmen. They helped to dkect and create pubhc opimon, and ffi the hour of stress they sustaffied the national cause with aU the great strength wffich thek fame and talents gave them. With Wffithrop, thek watchword was: "Our country, — ^whether bounded by the St. John's or the Sabme, or however otherwise bounded or described, and, be the measurement more or less, — stffi our country." The poet and the artist, the scholar and the man of letters are, perhaps, as remote ffi thek Uves and pursffits from the generaUy recognized paths of pubhc service as any men ffi a commuffity, yet these few examples show not offiy what they have done, but also what they can do, and how they have met the responsibUities wffich thek ffigh ffiteUectual gKts and large influence imposed upon them. There are also professions which ffivolve in thek pursffit public service of a very noble kind. Clergymen and physidans give freely to the pubUc, to thek 228 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS country, and to the commuffity ffi wffich they hve, their time, their money, thek skffi, their influence, and thek sympathy. It is aU done for others, without hope or thought of seK-ffiterest or reward. It is aU done so naturaUy, so much in the usual course of thek activities, that the world scarcely notes, and certaiffiy does not stop to realize, that the great surgeon exercising ffis skffi, wffich wffi command any sum from the rich, without money and without price for the benefit of the poor in the hospitals, or the clergyman laboring among the miseries of the city slums, is doing pubhc service of the highest kind, and is preemmentiy the usefffi citizen who goes beyond the limits of personal or family ffiterest to work for the general good — to promote the pubhc weKare ffi every possible way. The man of busffiess who devotes ffis surplus wealth to the promotion of education or of art, or the aUeviation of suffering, is doing pubUc service. So, too, among busmessmen and lawyers and journaUsts, among the men engaged ffi the most energetic and active pursffits, we find those who are always ready to serve on committees to raise money for charitable or public purposes, to advance important measures of legislation, and to reform the evUs wffich are especiaUy rUe ffi great municipaUties. To do tffis they give thek money, as weU as thek time and strength, which are of more value than money, to objects wholly outside the labors by wffich they support themselves or thek famffies, or gratKy thek own tastes or ambitions. In tffis fasffion they meet the test of what constitutes usefffiness in a citizen by rendering to the country, to the pubhc, and to their fellow-citizens, service wffich has no personal reward ffi it, but wffich advances the good of others and contributes to the weKare of the commuffity. Thus, in ffivers ways, only infficated here, are men of aU con ditions and occupations able to render service and benefit thek feUow- dtizens. But aU these ways so far suggested are, however beneficial, ffidkect as compared with those usuaUy associated in everyone's mind with the idea of pubUc service. When we use the word "citizen," or "citizenship," the first thought is of the man in relation to the state, as the very word itseK impUes. It is in this connection that we ffist think of service when we CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 329 speak of a public-spkited or usefffi citizen. There are many other pubhc services, as has been said, just as valuable, just as desir able, very often more immediately beneficial to humaffity than those rendered dkectiy to the state or to pubhc affaks, but there is no other wffich is quite so imperative, qffite so near, qffite so obvious ffi the way of duty as the performance of the functions belongffig to each man as a member of the state. In our country tffis is more acutely the case than an)rwhere else, for tffis is a democracy, and the government depends upon the action of the people themselves. We have the government, mufficipal, state, or national, which we make ourselves. If it is good, it is because we make it so. If it is bad, we may tffink it is not what we want, and that we are not responsible for it, but it is none the less just what it is simply because we wffi not take the trouble necessary to improve it. There is no greater faUacy than the comfortable statement so frequently heard, that we owe misgovernment, when it occurs anywhere, to the pohticians. If the pohticians are bad, and yet have power, it is because we give it to them. They are not a force of nature with wffich there is no con- tendffig; they are of our own creation, and, if we disapprove of them and yet leave them in power, it is because we do not care to take the trouble, sometimes the excessive trouble, needful to be rid of them. People in tffis coimtry, as ffi other countries, and as ffi aU periods of ffistory, have, as a rule, the government they deserve. The poUticians, so commoffiy denounced as a class, sometimes justly and sometimes unjustly, have only the advan tage of taking more paffis than others to get what they want, and to hold power in pubhc affaks. To tffis the reply is always made that the average man engaged in busffiess, or ffi a profession, has not the time to give to poUtics wffich the professional poUtician devotes to it. That excuse begs the question. If the average man, active, and constantiy occupied ffi ffis own affaks, cannot find time to choose the men he desires to represent him and perform ffis pubUc business for him, then either democracy is a faUure, or else he can find time U he chooses; and, K he does not choose, he has no right to complain. But democracy is not a failure. After aU aUowances and deductions are made, it is the 230 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS best form of government ffi the world today, and better than any of its predecessors. The faffit is not ffi the system, even if there are in it, as in aU other thffigs human, shortcomings and failures, but ffi those who operate the system; and, ffi a democracy, those who ffi the last analysis operate the system are aU the people. It must always be remembered, also, that ffi representative government aU the people, and not some of the people, are to be represented. In a country so vast in area and so large in popula tion as the United States, constituencies are very ffiverse ffi tiiek qualities and there are many elements. Some constituencies are truly represented by men very aUen to the standards and aspirations of other constituencies. All, however, are entitled to representation, and the aggregate representation stands for the whole people. If the representation m the aggregate is sound, and honestly representative, then the theory of democracy is carried out, and the quality of the representation depends on the people represented. There are two things, then, to be determffied by the people themselves — the general pohcy of the government, and the per sons who are to carry that poUcy mto effect and to perform the work of administration. To attam the ffist object, those who are pledged to one pohcy or another must be elected, and the per sons thus united ffi support of certam general prmciples of pohcy or government constitute a political party. The second object, the choice of suitable persons as representatives of a given polit ical party, must be reached by aU the people who support that party taking part in the selection. In the ffist case, the general poUcy is settled by the election of a party to power; in the second, the individual representative is picked out by ffis fel low-members of the same party. This, ffi broad terms, describes the field for the exertions of the citizen in the domain of poUtics, and the methods by wffich he can make ffis exertions most effective. I am aware that in tffis description I have assumed the existence of poUtical parties as not only necessary but also desirable. This is not the place to enter ffito a ffistory or discussion of the party system. Suffice it to say here that aU experience shows that representative CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 231 government has been a fffil success offiy among the EngUsh- speakmg people of the world, with whom a system of a party of government and a party of opposition has always prevaUed. In other countries the faUures or serious shortcomffigs of rep resentative government are attributed by good judges and observers, both native and foreign, largely to the absence of the party system as practised by us. The alternative of two parties, one carryffig on the government and the other ffi opposition ready to take its place, is the system of groups or factions and consequent coaUtions among two or more of the groups in order to obtaffi a parliamentary majority. Government by group- coalitions has proved to be kresponsible, unstable, capridous, and short-lived. Under the system of two parties, contffiuity, experience and, best of aU, responsibiUty, without wffich aU else is wortffiess, have been obtaffied. That there are evUs ffi the party system carried to the extreme of bUnd or unscrupffious partisansffip, no one denies. But tffis is a comparative world, and the party system is shown, by the experience of two hundred years, to be the best yet devised for the management and move ment of a representative government. Nothffig, ffi fact, can be more shaUow, or show a more profound ignorance of history, than the proposition, so often reiterated as K it were a trffism, that a political party is something whoUy evU, and that to caU anyone a party man is sufficient to condemn him. Every great measure, every great war, every great reform, which together have made the history of England sffice the days of WiUiam of Orange, and of the Uffited States sffice the adoption of the Con stitution, have been carried on and carried tiirough by an organized political party. UntU some better way is discovered and proved to be better, the English-speakmg people wffi con tinue to use the party system with which, on the whole, they have done so weU so far, and the citizen aiming at usefffiness must therefore accept the party system as one of the conditions under which he is to act. The most effective way ffi wffich to act is through the medium of a party, and as a member of one of the two great parties, because m tffis way a man can make his influence fdt, not only 232 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS in the final choice between parties, but ffi the selection of candi dates and ffi the determffiation of party pohtics as weU. This does not mean that a man can be effective only by aUyffig himseK with a party, but that he can ffi that way be most effective, both ffi action and in influence. Many there must be unattached to either of the parties, whose mental condition is such that they can neither submit to discipUne nor yield nor compromise thek own views ffi order to promote the general prffidples ffi which they beUeve, aU of wffich conffitions or sacrffices are necessary ffi order to maffitaffi party organization. These are the voters who sffift thek votes U not thek aUegiance; and, U it were not for them, one party, as politics are usuaUy hereffitary, woffid remain almost contmuaUy in power, and the results would be extremely imfortunate. It is the necessity of appeaUng to these voters which exercises a restraming effect upon the great party organiza tions. But these men who vote as they please at the minute, and yet usuaUy describe themselves by a party name, and as a rule act with one party or the other, must be carefuUy ffistin- guished from the professional independent, whose mdependence consists in nothing but bitterly opposing and seeking to defeat one party at aU times. Tffis independent is the worst of partisans, for he is guided solely by hatred of a party or of individuals, and never supports any tffing because he beUeves in it, but merely as an instrument of destruction or revenge. EquaUy ineffective, even K less malevolent, is the perpetual fault-finder, whether ffi conversation or ffi the newspapers. He calls himseK a critic, blandly unaware that unrelieved mvective is no more criticism than unrelieved laudation, and that true criticism, whether of a book, a work of art, a pubhc measure, or a pubUc man, seeks to point out merits as weU as defects, in order to balance one against the other, and thus assist in the proper conduct of ffie. The real and honest critic and the genuffie independent in poUtics are most valuable, for they are engaged in the advancement of prmciples ffi which they believe, and wffi aid those and work with those who are laboring toward the same ends. But the professional independent, whose sole purpose is to defeat some one party or certaffi specffied persons whom he hates, no matter what that CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 233 party or those persons may be doing, the critic who only finds fault, the professional phUantffiopist or reformer who uses his phUanthropy or reform solely to viffiy his country or his gov ernment, and to bring shame or sorrow to some of ffis feUow- citizens, so that his personal mahce may be gratffied, — these men advance nothing, for their attitude is pure negation, and they generaUy do great harm to any cause which they espouse. They are not useful citizens; but, as a rffie, to the extent of thek power, which luckUy is not great, they are positively ffijurious. The serious difficulty, however, is not with those who give a false dkection to thek poUtical activities, but with the pohtical indffierence which most good citizens exhibit, except on rare occasions when some great question is at issue which stirs the entire commumty to its depths. Yet it is in the ordinary every day affaks of pohtics that the attention of good citizens is most necessary. It is then that those who constitute the undeskable and objectionable dements get control, for they are always on the watch, and to defeat them it is essential that those who deske good and honest government should be on the watch, too. The idea that they cannot spare the tune without detriment to thek own affaks is a mistake. The time actuaUy consumed ffi goffig to a caucus or a convention is not a serious loss. What is most needed is to foUow the course of public affaks closely, to understand what is being done, and what the various canffidates represent; and then, when the time for the vote ffi the caucus or at the poUs arrives, a citizen ffiterested only ffi good govern ment, or ffi the promotion of a given pohcy, knows what he wants and can act ffiteffigentiy. His weakness arises, ahnost ffivariably, from the fact that he does not rouse himself untU the last mffiute, that he does not know just what he wants or with whom to act, and that, therefore, he is taken by surprise and beaten by those who know exactiy what they want and precisely what they mean to do. Here, then, is where the useful citizen is most needed ffi poUtics, and his first duty is to understand his subject, which a Uttie thought and observation day by day wffi enable Viim to do. Let him inform himself, and keep always iffiormed, 234" NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS as to men and measures, and he wffi find that he has ample time to give when the moment of action arrives. No man can hope to be a useful citizen ffi the broadest sense, in the United States, uffiess he takes a continuous and ffiteffigent interest in politics and a fuU share, not only ffi the elections, but also in the primary operations which determffie the choice of canffidates. For this everyone has time enough, and, K he says that he has not, it is because he is mdffierent when he ought to be ffitensely and constantly interested. If he foUows pubUc affaks from day to day, and, thus iffiormed, acts with ffis friends and those who think as he does at the caucus and the poUs, he wiU make his influence fffily felt and wUl meet completely the test of good citizenship. It is not essential to take office. For not doing so, the excuse of lack of time and the demands of more immediate private interest may be valid. But it woffid be well K every man could have, for a short period, at least, some experi ence ffi the actual work of govemment in his dty, state, or nation, even K he has no intention of foUowffig a poUtical career. Such an experience does more to broaden a man's knowledge of the difficulties of pubhc administration than anythffig else. It helps him to understand how he can practicaUy attain that which he thinks is best for the state, and, most important of aU, it enables him to act with other men, and to judge justly those who are doing the work of pubhc ffie. PubUc men, it is true, seek the offices they hold in order -to gratKy thek ambition, or because they feel that they can do good work ffi the world ffi that way. But it is too often overlooked that the great ma jority of those who hold public office are governed by a deske to do what is best for the country or the state, as they understand it. Ambition may be the motive wffich takes most men into pubhc life, but the work which is done by these men after they attam their ambition is, as a rule, disinterested and public- spkited. I have lately seen the proposition advanced that, ffi the last forty years, American public men, with scarcely an exception, have said nothing important because they were so ignorant of their subject, and have done nothing of moment because the country was really governed by professors, men of CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM ,235 busffiess, scientists, presidents of learned societies, and especiaUy by gentiemen who feel that they ought to be ffi ffigh office, but have never been able to get any sufficient number of thek feUow-citizens to agree with them ffi that feelffig. With the exception of the last, aU these dffierent classes ffi the commuffity exercise a strong influence on pubhc opiffion, the course of public affairs, and pubhc pohcy. Yet it is none the less true that the absolute conduct of government is ffi the hands of those who hold high representative or administrative office. The personal quahties and individual abffities of pubhc men have a profound effect upon the measures and pohcies wffich make the history and determine the fate of the nation. Often they origffiate the measures or the pohcies, and they always modKy and formffiate them. Therefore it is essential that every man who deskes to be a usefffi citizen shoffid not offiy take part m moulding pubUc sentiment, ffi selecting canffidates, and ffi winnffig elections for the party or the cause ffi wffich he beUeves, but he should also be famiUar with the characters, abffities, and records of the men who must be the mstruments by which the poUcies are to be carried out and the government admiffistered. There are many ways, therefore, ffi which men may benefit and aid thek feUowmen, and serve the state ffi wffich they Uve, but it is open to aU men alike to help to govern the country and dkect its course along the passing years. In the performance of tffis duty ffi the ways I have tried to mfficate, any man can attaffi to good citizenship of the ffighest usefuffiess. It is not too much to say that our success as a nation depends upon the usefffi citizens who act ffiteffigentiy and effectively ffi poUtics. 236 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS WHAT "AMERICANISM" MEANS^ Theodore Roosevelt [Theodore Roosevelt (1858 ) was graduated from Harvard Univer sity in 1880. In this same year he entered pubUc Ufe as a member of the New York legislature. President Harrison appointed him United States Civil Service Commissioner. Later he became assistant secretary of the navy, a position which he resigned when the Spanish-American War began, to orga,nize the famous cavalry regiment, the "Rough Riders." On his return from Cuba, he was elected governor of New York. In 1900 he was elected Vice-President of the United States, and succeeded to the Presidency on the death of President McKinley. In 1904 he was elected President to succeed himself. In 1912 he was defeated for the Presidency as the candidate of the Progressive party. Among the poUcies which are asso ciated with his name, such, for instance, as the "square deal" between capital and labor, and "social justice" for the wage-earner, "Americanism" has always been conspicuous.] Patriotism was once defined as "the last refuge of a scoundrel;" and somebody has recentiy remarked that when Dr. Johnson gave tffis definition he was ignorant of the infinite possibffities contamed ffi the word "reform." Of course both gibes were quite justifiable, ffi so far as they were aimed at people who use noble names to cloak base purposes. EquaUy, of course, the man shows httle wisdom and a low sense of duty who faUs to see that love of country is one of the elemental vktues, even though scoundrels play upon it for thek own selfish ends; and, inasmuch as abuses contmuaUy grow up ffi civic ffie as in aU other kffids of ffie, the statesman is ffideed a weakling who hesitates to reform these abuses because the word "reform" is often on the Ups of men who are sffiy or ffishonest. What is true of patriotism and reform is true also of American ism. There are plenty of scoundrels always ready to try to be- httle reform movements or to bolster up existing iniquities ffi the name of Americanism; but this does not alter the fact that the man who can do most ffi this country is and must be the man whose Americanism is most sincere and ffitense. Outrag- iFrom American Ideals and Other Essays. (Copyright, 1897, G. P. Putnam's Sons.) Reprinted by permission. CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 237 eous though it is to use a noble idea as the cloak for evU, it is stiU worse to assaU the noble idea itseK because it can thus be used. The men who do iffiquity in the name of patriotism, of reform, of Americaffism, are merely one smaU division of the class that has always existed, and wffi always exist — the class of hypocrites and demagogues, the class that is always prompt to steal the watchwords of righteousness and use them ffi the interests of evU-doffig. The stoutest and truest Americans are the very men who have the least s5Tnpathy with the people who ffivoke the spkit of Americaffism to aid what is vicious ffi our government, or to tffiow obstacles in the way of those who strive to reform it. It is contemptible to oppose a movement for good because that movement has akeady succeeded somewhere else, or to cham pion an existing abuse because our people have always been wedded to it. To appeal to national prejudice agamst a given reform movement is ffi every way unworthy and siUy. It is as chUdish to denounce free trade because England has adopted it as to advocate it for the same reason. It is emffiently proper, ffi dealing with the tarffi, to consider the effect of tarffi legislation ffi time past upon other nations as weU as the effect upon our own; but ffi drawffig conclusions it is ffi the last degree fooUsh to try to excite prejudice agamst one system because it is ffi vogue ffi some given country, or to try to excite prejuffice ffi its favor because the economists of that country have found that it was sffited to thek own pecuhar needs. In attemptffig to solve our difficult problem of municipal government it is mere foUy to refuse to profit by whatever is good ffi the examples of Man chester and BerUn because these cities are foreign, exactiy as it is mere foUy bUndly to copy their examples without reference to our own totaUy dffierent conditions. As for the absurffity of declaimffig against civU-'service reform, for mstance, as "Chffiese," because written examinations have been used ffi China, it woffid be qffite as wise to declaim agamst gunpowder because it was first utilized by the same people. In short, the man who, whether from mere dull fatuity or from an active ffiterest in misgovern ment, tries to appeal to American prejudice agaffist thffigs for- 238 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS eign, so as to ffiduce Americans to oppose any measure for good, should be looked on by ffis feUow-countrymen with the heartiest contempt. So much for the men who appeal to the spkit of Americaffism to sustaffi us ffi wrong-doffig. But we must never let our contempt for these men bhnd us to the nobffity of the idea wffich they strive to degrade. We Americans have many grave problems to solve, many threatening evils to fight, and many deeds to do, K, as we hope and beheve, we have the wisdom, the strength, the courage, and the vktue to do them. But we must face facts as they are. We must neither surrender ourselves to a foolish optimism, nor succumb to a timid and ignoble pessiimsm. Our nation is that one among aU the nations of the earth wffich holds ffi its hands the fate of the coming years. We enjoy exceptional advantages, and are menaced by exceptional dangers; and aU signs mfficate that we shall either faU greatly or succeed greatiy. I ffimly be lieve that we shaU succeed; but we must not foolisffiy blink the danger by which we are threatened, for that is the way to faU. On the contrary, we must soberly set to work to find out aU we can about the existence and extent of every evU, must acknowl edge it to be such, and must then attack it with unyieldmg reso lution. There are many such evUs, and each must be fought after a separate fashion; yet there is one quaUty which we must bring to the solution of every problem — that is, an ffitense and fervid Americanism. We shaU never be successfffi over the dan gers that coffiront us; we shaU never acffieve true greatness, nor reach the lofty ideal wffich the founders and preservers of our mighty Federal Republic have set before us, unless we are Americans in heart and soffi, in spkit and purpose, keenly alive to the responsibffity impUed in the very name of Ameri can, and proud beyond measure of the glorious privUege of bearing it. There are two or tffiee sides to the question of Americaffism, and two or tiiree senses in which the word "Americaffism" can be used to express the antithesis of what is unwholesome and undesirable. In the ffist place we wish to be broadly American and national, as opposed to beffig local or sectional. We do not CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 239 wish, ffi poUtics, in Uterature, or ffi art, to develop that unwhole some parochial spkit, that over-exaltation of the Uttie commu nity at the expense of the great nation, wffich produces what has been described as the patriotism of the viUage, the patriot ism of the beKry. PoUticaUy, the ffidffigence of this spirit was the chief cause of the calamities which befeU the ancient repub lics of Greece, the meffieval repubUcs of Italy, and the petty states of Germany as it was ffi the last century. It is this spirit of provfficial patriotism, this inabffity to take a view of broad adhesion to the whole nation that has been the cffief among the causes that have produced such anarchy ffi the South American states, and wffich have resulted ffi presenting to us, not one great SpaffisR- American federal nation stretehmg from the Rio Grande to Cape Hom, but a squabbUng multitude of revolution-ridden states, not one of which stands even in the second rank as a power. However, poUticaUy tffis question of American nation ality has been settled once for aU. We are no longer ffi danger of repeating in our ffistory the shamefffi and contemptible disasters that have befaUen the Spaffish possessions on this contffient since they threw off the yoke of Spam. Indeed there is, aU through our ffie, very much less of this parochial spkit than there was formerly. Stffi there is an occasional outcropping here and there; and it is just as weU that we should keep steaffily ffi mind the futihty of taUdng of a northern hterature or a southern Utera ture, an eastern or a western school of art or sdence. The Sewanee Review and the Overland Monthly, hke the Century and the Atlantic, do good work, not merely for one section of the country, but for American literature as a whole. Their success reaUy means as much for Americans who happen to Uve ffi New York or Boston as for Americans who happen to hve ffi the GuK States or on the Pacffic slope. Joel Chanffier Harris is emphati- caUy a national writer; so is Mark Twain. They do not write merely for Georgia or Missouri, any more than for lUffiois or Connecticut; they write as Americans and for aU people who can read EngUsh. It is of very great consequence that we should have a fffil and ripe Uterary development in the United States, but it is not of the least consequence whether New York, or 240 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Boston, or Cfficago, or San Francisco becomes the Uterary center of the Uffited States. There is a second side to tffis question of a broad American ism, however. The patriotism of the village or the beKry is bad, but the lack of aU patriotism is even worse. There are phUosophers who assure us that, ffi the future, patriotism wffi be regarded not as a virtue at aU, but merely as a mental stage in the journey toward a state of feeUng when our patriotism wffi include the whole human race and aU the world. This may be so; but the age of wffich these phUosophers speak is stffi several aeons distant. In fact, phUosophers of tffis type are so very advanced that they are of no practical service to the present generation. It may be that ffi ages so remote that we cannot now understand any of the feeUngs of those who wiU dweU in them, patriotism will no longer be regarded as a virtue, exactly as it may be that ffi those remote ages people wffi look down upon and ffisregard monogamic marriage; but as thffigs now are and have been for two or tffiee thousand years past, and are likely to be for two or tiiree thousand years to come, the words "home" and "country" mean a great deal. Nor do they show any tendency to lose thek signfficance. At present, trea son, like adultery, ranks as one of the worst of aU possible crimes. One may faU very far short of treason and yet be an undesk able citizen ffi the commuffity. The man who becomes Euro- peanized, who loses his power of doing good work on this side of the water, and who loses ffis love for ffis native land, is not a traitor; but he is a sffiy and undesirable citizen. He is as em phatically a noxious element in our body poUtic as is the man who comes here from abroad and remaffis a foreigner. Nothffig wUl more quickly or more surely ffisquaffiy a man from doffig good work in the world than the acqukement of that flaccid habit of mind which its possessors style cosmopohtanism. It is not only necessary to Americanize the immigrants of foreign birth who settle among us, but it is even more necessary for those among us who are by birth and descent akeady Ameri cans not to throw away our bkthright, and, with increffible and contemptible foUy, wander back to bow down before the aUen CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 241 gods whom our forefathers forsook. It is hard to beUeve that there is any necessity to warn Americans that, when they seek to model themselves on the Iffies of other civUizations, they make themselves the butts of aU right-tffinkffig men; and yet the necessity certaiffiy exists to give tffis warnffig to many of our citizens who pride themselves on thek standffig in the world of art and letters, or, perchance, on what they woffid style thek social leadersffip ffi the commuffity. It is always better to be an original than an imitation, even when the imitation is of some- tffing better than the original; but what shaU we say of the fool who is content to be an imitation of somethffig worse? Even K the weakhngs who seek to be other than Americans were right ffi deemffig other nations to be better than thek ovwi, the fact yet remaffis that to be a fkst-class American is fifty-fold better than to be a second-class imitation of a Frenchman or English man. As a matter of fact, however, those of our countrymen who do believe in American iffieriority are always inffividuals who, however cultivated, have some orgaffic weakness ffi their moral or mental make-up; and the great mass of our people, who are robustly patriotic, and who have sound, healthy minds, are justffied ffi regardmg these feeble renegades with a haK-impa- tient and haK-amused scorn. We beheve in waging relentless war on rank-growing evils of aU kinds, and it makes no dffierence to us K they happen to be of purely native growth. We grasp at any good, no matter whence it comes. We do not accept the evU attendant upon another system of government as an adequate excuse for that attendant upon our own; the fact that the courtier is a scamp does not render the demagogue any the less a scoundrel. But it remaffis true that, ffi spite of aU our faffits and shortcomffigs, no other land offers such glorious possibffities to the man able to take advantage of them as does ours; it remains true that no one of our people can do any work reaUy worth doffig uffiess he does it primarily as an American. It is because certaffi classes of our people stiU retaffi thek spkit of colomal dependence on, and exaggerated deference to, European opiffion, that they fail to accomplish what they ought to. It is precisely along the hnes 242 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS where we have worked most mdependently that we have accom plished the greatest resffits; and it is ffi those professions where there has been no servffity to, but merely a wise profitffig by, foreign experience, that we have produced our greatest men. Our solffiers and statesmen and orators; our explorers, our wUderness- winners and commonweal th-buUders; the men who have made our laws and seen that they were executed; and tbe other men whose energy and ffigenffity have created our marvel ous material prosperity — aU these have been men who have drawn wisdom from the experience of every age and nation, but who have nevertheless thought, and worked, and conquered, and Uved, and ffied, purely as Americans; and on the whole they have done better work than has been done ffi any other country durffig the short period of our national IKe. On the other hand, it is in those professions where our people have stiiven hardest to moffid themselves ffi conventional Euro pean forms that they have succeeded least; and this holds true to the present day, the faUure beffig of course most conspicuous where the man takes up his abode ffi Europe; where he becomes a second-rate European, because he is over-civilized, over-sen sitive, over-refined, and has lost the hardffiood and maffiy cour age by which alone he can conquer ffi the keen struggle of our national ffie. Be it remembered, too, that this same beffig does not reaUy become a European; he offiy ceases beffig an Ameri can, and becomes nothffig. He throws away a great prize for the sake of a lesser one, and does not even get the lesser one. The paffiter who goes to Paris, not merely to get two or three yea;rs' thorough traffiffig ffi ffis art, but with the dehberate pur pose of takffig up his abode there, and with the mtention of fol lowmg ffi the ruts worn deep by ten thousand earher travelers, ffistead of strUdng off to rise or faU on a new Une, thereby forfeits aU chance of doffig the best work. He must content himseK with aimffig at that kffid of meffiocrity which consists ffi doing fakly weU what has akeady been done better; and he usuaUy never even sees the grandeur and picturesqueness lyffig open before the eyes of every man who can read the book of America's past and the book of America's present. Thus it is with the CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 243 undersized man of letters, who flees ffis country because he, with ffis dehcate, effeminate sensitiveness, finds the conditions of Ufe on tffis side of the water crude and raw; ffi other words, because he finds that he cannot play a man's part among men, and so goes where he wffi be sheltered from the wffids that harden stouter soffis. Tffis emigre may write gracefffi and pretty verses, essays, novels; but he wffi never do work to compare with that of ffis brother, who is strong enough to stand on ffis own feet, and do his work as an American. Thus it is with the scientist who spends ffis youth ffi a German uffiversity, and can thence forth work offiy ffi the fields akeady ffity times furrowed by the German plows. Thus it is with that most fooUsh of parents who sends ffis cffildren to be educated abroad, not knowffig — what every clear-sighted man from Washffigton and Jay down has known — that the American who is to make his way ffi America shoffid be brought up among ffis feUow Americans. It is among the people who hke to consider themselves, and, ffi deed, to a large extent are, the leaders of the so-caUed social world, especiaUy ffi some of the northeastern cities, that tffis coloffial habit of thought, tffis thorougffiy provincial spkit of admkation for things foreign, and inabffity to stand on one's own feet, becomes most evident and most despicable. We thoroughly beUeve ffi every kffid of honest and lawfffi pleasure, so long as the getting it is not made man's cffief busffiess; and we beUeve heartUy ffi the good that can be done by men of leisure who work hard ffi thek leisure, whether at poUtics or phUantiiropy, Uterature or art. But a leisure class whose leisure simply means idleness is a curse to the commuffity, and ffi so far as its members ffistingffish themselves cffiefly by apffig the worst — not the best — traits of similar people across the water, they become both comic and noxious elements of the body poUtic. The thkd sense ffi which the word "Americaffism" may be employed is with reference to the Americanizffig of the new comers to our shores. We must Americanize them ffi every way, ffi speech, ffi poUtical ideas and prffidples, and ffi thek way of lookffig at the relations between Church and State./ We wel come the German or the Irishman who becomes an American. 244 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS We have no use for the German or Irishman who remaffis such. We do not wish German-Americans and Irish-Americans who figure as such ffi our social and poUtical ffie; we want offiy Americans, and, provided they are such, we do not care whether they are of native or of Irish or of German ancestry. We have no room ffi any healthy American commuffity for a German- American vote or an Irish-American vote, and it is contemptible demagogy to put planks ffito any party platform with the pur pose of catcffing such a vote. We have no room for any people who do not act and vote simply as Americans, and as nothffig else. Moreover, we have as Uttle use for people who carry reU gious prejuffices ffito our pohtics as for those who carry preju ffices of caste or nationaUty. We stand unalterably ffi favor of the public-school system ffi its entirety. We beUeve that the English, and no other language, is that ffi which aU the school exercises should be conducted. We are agaffist any ffivision of the school fund, and agaffist any appropriation of pubhc money for sectarian purposes. We are agaffist any recogffition what ever by the state ffi any shape or form of state-aided parocffial schools. But we are equaUy opposed to any ffiscrimffiation agamst or for a man because of ffis creed. We demand that aU citizens, Protestant and Cathohc, Jew and GentUe, shaU have fak treat ment ffi every way; that aU alike shaU have thek rights guaran teed them. The very reasons that make us unqualffied ffi our opposition to state-aided sectarian schools make us equaUy bent that, in the management of our pubhc schools, the adherents of each creed shaU be given exact and equal justice, whoUy without regard to thek rehgious affihations; that trustees, superm ten- dents, teachers, scholars, aU aUke, shaU be treated without any reference whatsoever to the creed they profess. We maffitaffi that it is an outiage, ffi voting for a man for any position, whether state or national, to take ffito account ffis reUgious faith, pro vided offiy he is a good American. When a secret sodety does what ffi some places the American Protective Association seems to have done, and tries to proscribe CathoUcs both pohticaUy and sociaUy, the members of such society show that they them selves are as utterly un-American, as aUen to our school of CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 245 poUtical thought, as the worst immigrants who land on our shores. This conduct is equaUy base and contemptible; they are the worst foes of our pubhc-school system, because they strengthen the hands of its ffitramundane enemies; they shoffid receive the hearty condemnation of aU Americans who are trffiy patriotic. The mighty tide of immigration to our shores has brought ffi its tram much of good and much of evU; and whether the good or the evU shaU predominate depends maijily on whether tiiese newcomers do or do not throw themselves heartUy ffito our national life, cease to be European, and become Americans Uke the rest of us. More than a thkd of the people of the northern states are of foreign birth or parentage. An immense number of them have become completely Americanized, and these stand on exactly the same plane as the descendants of any Puritan, Cavalier, or Kffickerbocker among us, and do thek fffil and honorable share of the nation's work. But where immigrants, or the sons of immigrants, do not heartUy and in good faith throw in thek lot witii us, but cUng to the speech, the customs, the ways of hfe, and the habits of thought of the Old World which they have left, they thereby harm both themselves and us. If they remain alien elements, unassimilated, and with ffiterests separate from ours, they are mere obstructions to the current of our national ffie, and, moreover, can get no good from it themselves. In fact, though we ourselves also suffer from thek perversity, it is they who reaUy suffer most. It is an immense benefit to the European immigrant to change him ffito an Ameri can citizen. To bear the name of American is to bear the most honorable of tities; and whoever does not so beUeve has no busffiess to bear the name at aU, and, K he comes from Europe, the sooner he goes back there the better. Besides, the man who does not become Americanized nevertheless faUs to remain a European and becomes notffing at aU. The immigrant cannot possibly remam what he was, or contffiue to be a member of the Old World society. If he tries to retaffi ffis old language, ffi a few generations it becomes a barbarous jargon; K he tries to retaffi ffis old customs and ways of Ufe, ffi a few generations he becomes an uncouth boor. He has cut himseK off from the Old 246 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS World, and cannot retain his connection with it; and K he wishes ever to amount to anythffig he must throw himseK heart and soul, and without reservation, into the new hfe to which he has come. So, from ffis own standpoffit, it is beyond aU question the wise tffing for the immigrant to become thoroughly American ized. Moreover, from our standpoffit, we have a right to demand it. We freely extend the hand of welcome and of good-feUow- sffip to every man, no matter what ffis creed or birthplace, who comes here honestiy ffitent on becomffig a good United States citizen like the rest of us; but we have a right, and it is our duty, to demand that he shaU indeed become so, and shaU not con fuse the issues with which we are strugghng by ffitroducing among us Old-World quarrels and prejuffices. There are cer tain ideas wffich he must give up. For ffistance, he must learn that American ffie is fficompatible with the existence of any form of anarchy, or, ffideed, of any secret society havffig murder for its aim, whether at home or abroad; and he must learn that we exact fffil rehgious toleration and the complete separation of Church and State. Moreover, he must not brffig ffi ffis Old- World race and national antipathies, but must merge them into love for our common country, and must take pride ffi the tffings wffich we can aU take pride ffi. He must revere offiy our flag; not offiy must it come ffist, but no other flag shoffid even come second. He must learn to celebrate Washington's bktii- day rather than that of the Queen or Kaiser, and the Fourth of July ffistead of St. Patrick's Day. Our poUtical and social questions must be settled on thek own merits, and not comph cated by quarrels between England and Ireland, or France and Germany, with wffich we have nothing to do: it is an outrage to fight an American pohtical campaign with reference to questions of European poUtics. Above aU, the immigrant must learn to taUi and tffink and be United States. The immigrant of today can learn much from the experience of the immigrants of the past, who came to America prior to the Revolutionary War. Many of our most iUustrious Revolutionary names were borne by men of Huguenot blood — Jay, Sevier, Marion, Laurens. But the Huguenots were, on the whole, the CITIZENSHIP AND PATRIOTISM 247 best immigrants we have ever received; sooner than any other, and more completely, they became American ffi speech, con viction, and thought. The HoUanders took longer than the Huguenots to become completely assimilated; nevertheless they in the end became so, immensely to thek own advantage. One of the leadffig Revolutionary generals, Schuyler, and one of the Presidents of the Uffited States, 'Van Buren, were of Dutch blood; but they rose to thek positions, the ffighest ffi the land, because they had become Americans and had ceased beffig HoUanders. If they had remaffied members of an ahen body, cut off by thek speech and customs and behef from the rest of the American community, Schuyler woffid have Uved ffis ffie as a boorish, provfficial squke, and Van Buren woffid have ended his days a smaU tavern-keeper. So it is with the Germans of Peimsylvaffia. Those of them who became Americanized have furnished to our ffistory a mffititude of honorable names, from the days of the Muhlenbergs onward; but those who ffid not become Americanized form to the present day an unimportant body, of no signfficance in American existence. So it is with the Irish, who gave to Revolutionary annals such names as CarroU and SffiUvan, and to the Civil War meii Uke Sheridan and Sffields — aU men who were Americans and nothffig else: whUe the Irish who remaffi such, and busy themselves solely with ahen politics, can have offiy an unhealthy influence upon American IKe, and can never rise as do thek compatriots who become straightout Americans. Thus it has ever been with aU people who have come hither, of whatever stock or blood. But I wish to be ffistinctiy understood on one poffit. American ism is a question of spkit, convictions, and purpose, not of creed or bkthplace. The poUtician who bids for the Irish or Gennan vote, or the Irishman or German who votes as an Irishman or German, is despicable, for aU citizens of tffis commonwealth shoffid vote solely as Americans; but he is not a wffit less des picable than the voter who votes agamst a good American, merely because that American happens to have been bom ffi Ireland or Germany. Know-nothffigism, ffi any form, is as utterly un-American as foreigffism. It is a base outrage to 248 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS oppose a man because of ffis reUgion or bkthplace, and aU good citizens wffi hold any such effort in abhorrence. A Scandffiavian, a German, or an Irishman who has reaUy become an American has the right to stand on exactly the same footing as any native- born citizen ffi the land, and is just as much entitled to the friendsffip and support, social and poUtical, of ffis neighbors. Among the men with whom I have been thrown ffi dose personal contact sociaUy, and who have been among my staunchest friends and aUies poUtically, are not a few Americans who happen to have been born on the other side of the water, ffi Germany, Ireland, Scanffinavia; and I know no better men ffi the ranks of our native-born citizens. In closffig, I cannot better express the ideal attitude that shoffid be taken by our feUow-citizens of foreign bkth than by quoting the words of a representative American, born in Ger many, the Honorable Richard Guenther, of Wisconsin. In a speech spoken at the time of the Samoan trouble, he said: "We know as weU as any other dass of American citizens where our duties belong. We wiU work for our country in time of peace and fight for it in time of war, if a time of war should ever come. When I say our country, I mean, of course, our adopted country. I mean the United States of America. After passing through the crucible of naturaUzation, we are no longer Germans; we are Americans. Our attachment to America cannot be measured by the length of our residence here. We are Americans from the moment we touch the American shore untU we are laid in American graves. We wiU fight for America whenever necessary. America, first, last, and aU the time. America against Germany, America against the world; America, right or wrong; always America. We are Americans." All honor to the man who spoke such words as those; and I beheve they express the feelings of the great majority of those among our fellow-American citizens who were born abroad. We Americans can offiy do our aUotted task weU K we face it SteadUy and bravely, seeing but not fearing the dangers. Above all we must stand shoffider to shoffider, not askffig as to the ancestry or creed of our comrades, but only demanding that they be ffi very truth Americans, and that we aU work together, heart, hand, and head, for the honor and the greatness of our common country. EDUCATED . LEADERSHIP THE SOCIAL VALUE OF THE COLLEGE-BRED' William James [WUUam James (1842-1910), a distinguished American psychologist and philosopher, was born in New York City. He studied for a time in the Lawrence Scientific School, and afterward obtained an M.D. degree from Harvard. In 1872 he began to teach at Harvard as an instructor in psy chology and later became professor. His pubUshed works in his particular field of study have placed him among the foremost thinkers of his generation. This article was originaUy an address deUvered at a meeting of the Asso ciation of American Alumni at RadcUffe CoUege, November 7, 1907.] Of what use is a coUege traiffing? We who have had it seldom hear the question raised — we might be a Uttie non plused to answer it offhand. A certaffi amount of meditation has brought me to this as the pitffiest reply which I myseK can give: The best claim that a coUege education can possibly make on your respect, the best thing it can aspke to accompUsh for you is this=— that it shoffid help you to know a good man when you see him. This is as true of women's as of men's coUeges; but that it is neither a joke nor a one-sided abstraction I shall now endeavor to show. What talk do we commoffiy hear about the contrast between coUege education and the education which busffiess or techffical or professional schools coffier? The coUege education is caUed higher because it is supposed to be so general and so ffisffiterested. At the "schools" you get a relatively narrow practical skffi, you are told, whereas the "coUeges" give you the more hberal culture, the broader outiook, the historical perspective, the phUosophic atmosphere, or sometffing wffich phrases of that IFrom McClurt's Magazine, vol. xJti, p. 419- (February, 190S.) Reprinted by permission. >49 2S0 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS sort try to express. You are made ffito an efficient ffistrument for doffig a defiffite thing, you hear, at the schools; but, apart from that, you may remaffi a crude and smoky kffid of petro leum, fficapable of spreadffig hght. The uffiversities and col leges, on tiie other hand, although they may leave you less efficient for tffis or that practical task, suffuse your whole men- tahty with something more important than skffi. They redeem you, make you weU-bred; they make "good company" of you mentaUy. If they find you with a naturaUy boorish or cadffish mind, they cannot leave you so, as a techffical school may leave you. Tffis, at least, is pretended; tffis is what we hear among coUege-traffied people when they compare thek education with every other sort. Now, exactiy how much does tffis signKy? It is certaffi, to begffi with, that the narrowest trade or pro fessional traming does something more for a man than to make a skffiffi practical tool of him — ^it makes him also a judge of other men's skffi. Whether ffis trade be pleaffing at the bar or surgery or plastermg or plumbffig, it develops a critical sense ffi him for that sort of occupation. He understands the dffierence between second-rate and first-rate work ffi ffis whole branch of ffidustry; he gets to know a good job ffi ffis own Une as soon as he sees it; and gettffig to know tffis ffi ffis own Une, he gets a faffit sense of what good work may mean anyhow, that may, K ckcumstances favor, spread ffito ffis judgments elsewhere. Sound work, clean work, fiffished work; feeble work, slack work, sham work — these words express an identical contrast ffi many dffierent departments of activity. In so far forth, then, even the humblest manual trade may beget ffi one a certaffi smaU degree of power to judge of good work generaUy. Now, what is supposed to be the Une of us who have the ffigher coUege trainffig? Is there any broader Une — sffice our education claims primarUy not to be "narrow" — ffi which we also are made good judges between what is ffist-rate and what is second-rate offiy? 'What is especiaUy taught ffi the coUeges has long been known by the name of the "humaffities," and these are often identffied with Greek and Latffi. But it is offiy as Uteratures, not as languages, that Greek and Latffi have EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 251 any general humanity value; so that ffi a broad sense the human ities mean Uterature primarUy, and ffi a stiU broader sense, the study of masterpieces ffi almost any field of human endeavor. Literature keeps the primacy; for it not offiy consists oi master pieces, but is largely about masterpieces, beffig Uttle more than an appreciative chronicle of human master-strokes, so far as it takes the form of criticism and history. You can give human istic value to almost anythffig by teachffig it historicaUy. Geol ogy, economics, mechanics, are humanities when taught with reference to the successive acffievements of the geniuses to which these sciences owe thek beffig. Not taught thus, hterature remaffis grammar, art a catalogue, ffistory a list of dates, and natural science a sheet of formulas and weights and measures. The sKtffig of human creations! — nothffig less than this is what we ought to mean by the humanities. EssentiaUy tffis means biography; what our coUeges should teach is, therefore, biograpffical ffistory, that not of politics merely, but of any thffig and everythffig so far as human efforts and conquests are factors that have played thek part. Studyffig ffi tffis way, we learn what types of activity have stood the test of time; we acquke standards of the exceUent and durable. AU our arts and sciences and ffistitutions are but so many quests of perfec tion on the part of men; and when we see how ffiverse the types of exceUence may be, how various the tests, how flexible the adaptations, we gaffi a richer sense of what the terms "better" and "worse" may signKy ffi general. Our critical sensibiUties grow both more acute and less fanatical. We sympa thize with men's mistakes even ffi the act of penetrating them; we feel that pathos of lost causes and misguided epochs even wffile we applaud what overcame them. Such words are vague and such ideas are ffiadequate, but thek meaffing is unmistakable. 'What the coUeges — teacffing humaffi ties by examples which may be special, but which must be tj^jical and pregnant — should at least try to give us, is a general sense of what, under various disguises, superiority has always signffied and may stffi signKy. The feeUng for a good human job anywhere, the admkation of the reaUy admkable, the dis- 252 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS esteem of what is cheap and trashy and impermanent — tffis is what we caU the critical sense, the sense for ideal values. It is the better part of what men know as wisdom. Some of us are wise ffi tffis way naturaUy and by geffius; some of us never become so. But to have spent one's youth at coUege, ffi contact with the choice and rare and precious, and yet stffi to be a bhnd prig or vulgarian, unable to scent out human exceUence or to ffivffie it amid its accidents, to know it offiy when ticketed and labeled and forced on us by others, tffis indeed shoffid be ac counted the very calamity and sffipwreck of a ffigher education. The sense for human superiority ought, then, to be considered our Une, as borffig subways is the engffieer's hne and the sur geon's is appendicitis. Our coUeges ought to have Ut up in us a b,sting reUsh for the better kffid of man, a loss of appetite for meffiocrities, and a ffisgust for cheapjacks. We ought to smeU, as it were, the dffierence of quaUty ffi men and thek proposals when we enter the world of affaks about us. Expertness ffi this might weU atone for some of our awkwardness at accounts, for some of our ignorance of dynamos. The best claim we can make for the ffigher education, the best sffigle pffiase ffi wffich we can teU what it ought to do for us, is, then, exactly what I said: it shoffid enable us to know a good man when we see him. That the pffiase is anythffig but an empty epigram foUows from the fact that K you ask ffi what Une it is most important that a democracy like ours shoffid have its sons and daughters skffiul, you see that it is tffis Une more than any other. "The people ffi thek wisdom" — tffis is the kind of wisdom most needed by the people. Democracy is on its trial, and no one knows how it wUl stand the ordeal. Aboundffig about us are pessimistic prophets. Fickleness and violence used to be, but are no longer, the vices which they charge to democracy. 'What its critics now affirm is that its preferences are ffiveterately for the iffierior. So it was ffi the begmnffig, they say, and so it wffi be world without end. Vffigarity enthroned and mstitution- alized, elbowmg everytffing superior from the ffighway, tffis, they teU us, is our irremediable destiny; and the picture-papers EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 253 of the European contffient are already drawing Uncle Sam with the hog ffistead of the eagle for ffis heraldic emblem. The privi leged aristocracies of the foretime, with aU their iniquities, ffid at least preserve some taste for ffigher human quahty and honor certam forms of refinement by thek enduring traditions. But when democracy is sovereign, its doubters say, nobffity wffi form a sort of invisible church, and sfficerity and refinement, stripped of honor, precedence, and favor, wiU have to vegetate on sffi- ferance in private comers. They wffi have no general ffifluence. They wffi be harmless eccentricities. Now, who can be absolutely certaffi that tffis may not be the career of democracy? Nothing future is qffite secure; states enough have ffiwardly rotted; and democracy as a whole may undergo seK-poisoning. But, on the other hand, democracy is a kind of reUgion, and we are bound not to admit its faUure. Faiths and Utopias are the noblest exercise of human reason, and no one with a spark of reason in him wiU sit down fatalisticaUy before the croaker's picture. The best of us are fiUed with the contrary vision of a democracy stumbUng through every error tffi its ffistitutions glow with justice and its customs shffie with beauty. Our better men shall show the way and we shall foUow them; so we are brought round agaffi to the mission of the ffigher education ffi helping us to know the better kffid of man whenever we see him. The notion that a people can run itseK and its affaks anony mously is now weU knovra to be the siffiest of absurffities. Mankmd does notffing save through iffitiatives on the part of mventors, great or smaU, and imitation by the rest of us — these are the sole factors active in human progress. Inffividuals of geffius show the way, and set the patterns, wffich common people then adopt and foUow. The rivalry of the patterns is the history of the world. Our democratic problem thus is statable in ffitra-simple terms: Who are the kffid of men from whom our majorities shaU take thek cue? 'Whom shaU they treat as rightfffi leaders? We and our leaders are the x and the y of the equation here; aU other historic ckcumstances, be they economical, poUtical, or ffiteUectual, are offiy the background 2S4 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS of occasion on wffich the Uvffig drama works itseK out between us. In tffis very simple way does the va,lue of our educated class define itseK; we more than others should be able to ffivine the wortffier and better leaders. The terms here are monstiously simplffied, of course, but such a bkd's-eye view lets us im mediately take our bearings. In our democracy, where every thing else is so sffifting, we alumni and alumnae of the coUeges are the only permanent presence that corresponds to the aris tocracy ffi older countries. We have contffiuous traffitions, as they have; our motto, too, is noblesse oblige: and, uffiike them, we stand for ideal interests solely, for we have no corporate seffishness and wield no powers of corruption. We ought to have our own class-consciousness. "Les inteUectuels !" What prouder club-name could there be than tffis one, used ironically by the party of "red blood," the party of every stupid prejuffice and passion, durffig the anti-Dreyfus craze, to satirize the men ffi France who still retained some critical sense and judgment! Critical sense, it has to be coffiessed, is not an exciting term, harffiy a banner to carry ffi processions. Affections for old habit, currents of seK-interest, and gales of passion are the forces that keep the human sffip moving; and the pressure of the jufficious pUot's hand upon the tiUer is a relativdy ffisignfficant energy. But the affections, passions, and mterests are shUting, successive, and ffis fraught; they blow in alternation whUe the pilot's hand is steadfast. He knows the compass, and, with aU the leeways he is obhged to tack toward, he always makes some headway. A smaU force, K it never lets up, wffi accumu late effects more considerable than those of much greater forces K these work inconsistentiy. The ceaseless whisper of the more permanent ideals, the steady tug of truth and justice, give them but time, must warp the world in their dkection. Tffis bkd's-eye view of the general steering function of the coUege-bred amid the drUtings of democracy ought to help us to a wider vision of what our coUeges themselves shoffid aim at. If we are to be the yeast-cake for democracy's dough, K we are to make it rise with culture's preferences, we must see to it that EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 255 culture spreads broad saUs. We must shake the old double reefs out of the canvas ffito the wffid and sunshffie, and let ffi every modem subject, sure that any subject wffi prove human istic, K its setting be kept only wide enough. Stevenson says somewhere to ffis reader: "You think you are just makffig this bargaffi, but you are reaUy laying down a Unk ffi the pohcy of mankind." WeU, your techffical school should enable you to make your bargaffi splenffidly; but your coUege should show you just the place of that kind of bargaffi — a pretty poor place, possibly — ffi the whole pohcy of mankind. That is the kffid of hberal outiook, of perspective, of atmosphere, which should surround every subject as a coUege deals with it. We of the coUeges must erafficate a curious notion wffich numbers of good people have about such ancient seats of learn ing as Harvard. To many ignorant outsiders, that name suggests Uttie more than a kind of sterUized conceit and fficapacity for beffig pleased. In Effith Wyatt's exquisite book of Chicago sketches caUed Every One His Own Way, there is a couple who stand for cffiture ffi the sense of exclusiveness, Richard Effiot and his femiffine counterpart — ^feeble caricatures of mankind, unable to know any good thffig when they see it, fficapable of enjojTnent uffiess a prmted label gives them leave. Possibly tffis type of culture may exist near Cambridge and Boston, there may be specimens there, for priggishness is just like paffiter's coUc or any other trade-disease. But every good coUege makes its students immune agaffist tffis malady, of which the microbe haunts the neighborhood-prffited pages. It does so by its gen eral tone beffig too hearty for the microbe's hfe. Real cffiture Uves by sympatiiies and admkations, not by ffisUkes and ffis- dains — under aU misleadffig wrappffigs it pounces unerringly upon the human core. If a coUege, tffiough the iffierior human influences that have grown regnant there, fails to catch the robuster tone, its faUure is colossal, for its social function stops; democracy gives it a wide berth, turns toward it a deaf ear. "Tone," to be sure, is a terribly vague word to use, but there is no other, and tffis whole meditation is over questions of tone. By thek tone are aU things human either lost or saved. If 2s6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS democracy is to be saved it must catch the ffigher, healthier tone. If we are to impress it with our preferences, we ourselves must use the proper tone, wffich we, in turn must have caught from our own teachers. It aU reverts in the end to the action of innumerable imitative ffiffividuals upon each other and to the question of whose tone has the ffighest spreadffig power. As a class, we coUege graduates shoffid look to it that ours has spreadffig power. It ought to have the highest spreadmg power. In our essential function of infficating the better men, we now have formidable competitors outside. McClure's Magazine, the American Magazine, Collier's Weekly and, in its fasffion, the World's Work, constitute together a real popular uffiversity along this very Iffie. It would be a pity K any future ffistorian were to have to write words like these: "By the midffie of the twentieth century the ffigher mstitutions of learffing had lost aU influence over public opinion ffi the Uffited States. But the mission of raising the tone of democracy, wffich they had proved themselves so lamentably unfitted to exert, was assumed with rare enthusiasm and prosecuted with extraordinary skffi and success by a new educational power; and for the clarffication of their human sympathies and elevation of thek human prefer ences, the people at large acqffired the habit of resorting ex clusively to the guidance of certaffi private Uterary adventures, commoffiy designated ffi the market by the affectionate name of 'ten-cent magazmes.'" Must not we of the coUeges see to it that no historian shaU ever say anything Uke tffis? Vague as the pffiase of knowing a good man when you see him may be, dffiuse and indefinite as one must leave its appUcation, is there any other formula that describes so weU the resffit at wffich our ffistitutions ought to aim? If they do that, they do the best tffing conceivable. If they faU to do it, they fail m very deed. It surely is a fine synthetic formula. If our faculties and graduates coffid once coUectively come to reaUze it as the great underlying purpose toward which they have always been more or less obscurely gropffig, a great dearness woffid be shed over many of their EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 357 problems; and, as for their influence in the midst of our social system, it would embark upon a new career of strength. THE RELATION BETWEEN A LIBERAL EDUCATION AND TRUE AMERICANISM' Henry Cabot Lodge [For biographical note, see page 224. This selection was originaUy an oration deUvered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard University, Jime, 1892. The title then used, "True Americanism," has been here changed to one which indicates more clearly that the writer was discussing how a Uberal education should be productive of a high type of Americanism.] One of the best known and least read of Queen Anne's men is Sk Richard Steele. His good and evil fortune, his kind heart, his ready wit, ffis attractive but somewhat imperfect character, are aU famUiar to a large posterity with whom he has ever been popffiar. But his writings, in which he took so much simple pride, are, it is to be feared, largely unread. The book of quo tations contams only two sentences of his writing, and one of these can hardly be caUed famUiar. But the other fffily deserves the adjective, for it is perhaps the finest compliment ever paid by a man to a woman. Steele wrote of Lady Elizabeth Hastings that "to love her was a hberal education," and thus rescued her forever from the obhvion of the British Peerage. He certainly did not mean by this that to love the Lady Elizabeth was as good as a knowledge of Latin and Greek, for that woffid have been no compliment at aU, unless from Carlyle's friend Dryasdust, a very dffierent personage from the gaUant and impecunious husband of "Prue." No, Steele meant something very far removed from Latffi and Greek, and everybody knows what he meant, even K one cannot put it readUy into words. To the mind of the eighteenth century, a hberal education entkely classical, K you please, so far as books went, meant the education wffich bred tolerance and good manners and courage, IFrom Harvard Graduates' Magazine, vol. iii, p. 9- (September, 1892.) Reprinted by permission. Q 2S8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS wffich taught a man to love honor and truth and patriotism and aU things of good report. Like the history of Sk John Froissart, it was the part of a liberal education "to encourage aU valorous hearts and to show them honourable examples." Such, I think, we aU believe a Uberal education to be today, ffi its finest and best sense. But yet tffis is not aU, nor are the fields of leam- ffig, which a great university opens to its students, aU. Besides the Uberal education of Steele and the ample page of knowledge which a uffiversity unroUs, there is stffi sometffing more, and tffis sometffing is the most important part. . . . OrdffiarUy we think of a coUege simply as a place where men receive thek preliminary traffiing for the learned professions, where they lay the foundations for a IKe of scientffic or ffistorical investigation, for classical scholarship, or for the study of modem languages or hterature, and where they gather that gen eral knowledge wffich constitutes the higher education, even K the student leaves leamffig behind him at the coUege gate to enter on a Ufe of action or of busffiess. Yet ffi reaUty these are but the detaUs of a Uberal education, and we do not want to lose sight of the city on account of the number of houses immeffiately around us. The great function of a Uberal education is to fit a man for the Ufe about him, and to prepare him, whatever profession or pur sffit he may foUow, to be a useful citizen of the country wffich gave him bkth. This is of vast importance ffi any coimtry, but ffi the United States it is of pecuhar moment, because here every man has imposed upon him the duties of sovereignty, and ffi proportion to ffis capacity and ffis opportuffities are the responsi bffities of that sovereignty. . . . If a man is not a good citizen it boots Uttie whether he is a learned Grecian or a sound Latinist. If he is out of sympathy with ffis country, ffis people, and his time, the last refinement and the ffighest accomphshments are of shght moment. But it is of the last importance that every man, and especiaUy every educated man, in the United States, no matter what ffis profession or busffiess, should be ffi sympathy with his country, with its history ffi the past, its needs ffi the present, and its aspkations for EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 259 the future. If he has tffis, aU the rest wffi foUow, and it is pre cisely at this poffit that there seems to be a real danger ffi our uffiversity Ufe and ffi our Uberal education. The perU, moreover, is none the less real because the wrong influence is subtie. We are apt to gather here at the end of each coUege year in a kmdly and very natural spkit of mutual admkation. Those of us who come from the busy outside world come to renew old memories, and to brighten, K offiy for a moment, the friendships wffich time and separation woffid darken and rust. We are ffi no mood for criticism. Yet it is perhaps as weU not to let the mutual congratffiations go too far, for we have the advantage of coming from without, and are not likely to mistake the atmos phere wffich gathers about a uffiversity for that of the world at large. A Lord ChanceUor of England on one occasion at Oxford said that he had Ustened with dehght to the general admkation wffich everyone had expressed for everybody else, and for the uffiversity ffi particular, and that he was glad to see the great advances that had come sffice his time, and to know that Oxford coffid boast that the tide of thought and civilization had risen ffi the uffiversity as ffigh almost as that wffich flowed without the coUege waUs. The stffig of the satire lay as usual ffi its leaven of truth. The danger of every uffiversity hes ffi its losffig touch with the world about it. This is bad anywhere. It is worse ffi a repubhc than anjrwhere else. We must, however, be more defiffite again K we would reach any resffit. "Losffig touch" is a vague expression, "lack of sym pathy" is httie better. It is not easy to put my meaning ffi one word, but perhaps to say that the first duty of an American uffi versity and its Uberal education should be to make its students good Americans comes as near to it as anything. Stffi we must go a step further, for many persons are prone to sneer at the demand for Americaffism, as K it meant merely a blatant and boastfffi Chauviffism, employed only for the baser pohtical uses. There is always an attempt to treat it as K it were somethffig Uke the utterances wffich Dickens satkized long ago ffi the persons of Jefferson Brick and Elijah Pogram. That was certaiffiy neither an agreeable nor creditable form of national seK-assertion. Yet 26o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS it was infinitely better, coarse and bragging as it was, than the opposite spkit which turns disdainfuUy even from the glories of nature because they are American and not foreign, and which looks scomfuUy at the Sierras because they are not the Alps. The Bricks and the Pograms may have been coarse and vffigar, yet the spkit wffich they caricatured was at least strong, and capable of better thffigs. But the other spkit is pitifuUy weak, and has no future before it except one of further decay. True Americanism is somethffig widely dffierent from either of these. It is reaUy offiy another word for ffiteffigent patriotism. Loud seK-assertion has no part ffi it, and mere criticism and carp- mg, with thek everlastmg whffie because we are not as others are, cannot exist beside it. Americanism ffi its right sense does not tend ffi the least to repress wholesome criticism of what is wrong, on the contrary it encourages it. But this is the critidsm wffich is made offiy as the first step toward a remedy, and is not mere snarUng for snarUng's sake. Such Americaffism as tffis takes pride ffi what we have done and ffi the men we have bred, and knows not the eternal comparison with other people which is the sure sign of a tremffious Uttie mffid, and of a deep doubt of one's own position. To aU of which the answer is constantiy made that this is merely asserting a trffism and a commonplace, and that of course everyone is ffiteffigentiy patriotic. Of the great mass of our people tffis is true beyond question. They are thorougffiy patri otic ffi the best sense. TheoreticaUy it is true of all. Practi cally there is stffi much left to be desked among our UberaUy educated men. It is this precise defect among those who have a Uberal education of which I wish to speak. The danger of the higher education of a great uffiversity is that it may ffi widenffig the horizon destroy the sense of pro portion so far as our own country is concerned. The teachings of a uffiversity open to us the hterature, the art, the science, the leamffig, and the history of aU other nations. They would be qffite worthless K they ffid not do so. These teachffigs form, and necessarUy form, the great mass of aU that we study here. That wffich relates to our own country is mevitably only a small part. EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 261 comparatively speaking, of the great whole. This is quite natural. Our own nation is comparatively new. Its history is not long, and it is not set off by the ghtter of a court, or of an ancient aristocracy. Our hterature is young. Our art is just developing. In the broad sweep of a Uberal education, that wffich relates to the United States is but one of many parts. Hence there is a tendency to lose the sense of proportion, to underrate our own place in the history and ffie of the world, and to forget that knowledge of our own country, wffile it excludes nothing else, is nevertheless more important to each of us than that of all other countries, K we mean to play a man's part ffi ffie. There is no danger that UberaUy educated men wUl overvalue thek own country, there is great danger that they wffi undervalue it. This does not arise from any lack of opportunity here to leam our his tory, or to know what we have done as a people. It comes from a faUure rightly to appreciate our ffistory and our acffievements. We are too apt to think of ourselves as something apart and inferior, and to fail to see our true place ffi the scale of nations. Many men of Uberal education either expect too much of the United States, or value too httle what has been accompUshed here. As has just been said, we are a young nation. Certam fruits of a high civiUzation requke time to ripen. It is foohsh to criticise the absence of those tffings which time alone can bring to perfection, and their coming is retarded, not hastened, by faffit- finding. On the other hand, we are apt to overlook what reaUy has been done, and we often faU to judge rightiy because we use superficial comparisions with some other contemporary people, ffistead of measurffig ourselves by the just standards of the world's history. Let us look for a moment at the last hundred years wffich cover our history as a nation. In that time we have conquered a contffient, won it from the wilderness and the savages, by much privation, and much desperate and heroic fighting, unrecorded for the most part, with nature and with man. Where else ffi the nffieteenth century wiU you find such a conquest as that? And tffis empire that we have conquered we have saved also from beffig rent asunder. That work of salvation cost us four years of 262 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS gigantic war. Look agaffi over the nffieteenth century and see where you can find a war of like magnitude, equal to ours ffi its stake, its fightffig, its sacrffices, or ffi the noble spkit that it evoked among our people. As the French traveler said, stand ffig among the graves at Arlffigton, "offiy a great people is cap able of a great civU war." I wffi not touch upon the material development, unequaled ffi history, which has gone hand in hand with this conquest of waste places and fightffig tribes of Indians. It is enough here to count offiy those ffigher thffigs which show the real greatness of a nation. Turn to the men. In our hundred years we have given to the world's roU of statesmen Wasffington and Lmcoffi. You cannot match them elsewhere ffi the same period. Are there any better, or purer, or greater than they to be found m the tide of time? Take up the Ust of great solffiers. Settffig aside Napoleon, who stands aU apart with Caesar and Hanmbal, what nation has made a larger gUt to the leaders of men m battie than the country which added to the Ust the names of Wasffington, Grant, and Lee? Sffice Nelson feU at Trafalgar, where ffi naval warfare wffi you find a greater chief than Farragut? In those great mventions which have affected the ffistory and development of man, the country which has given to the world the cotton-gffi, the telegraph, the sewmg-machine, the steamsffip, the telephone, and the armored sffip holds a place second to none. Turn now to those fields wffich exact the conditions of an old civilization, — wealth, leisure, and traffitions. Even here, despite the adverse ckcumstances of national youth, there is much to record, much to give fak promise, much ffi which to rejoice. From the time of Franklffi and ffis kite, we ever have done our share ffi scientific work. We have developed a hterature of our own, and made it part of the great hterature of the EngUsh- speaking race. The Luxembourg has opened its jealously guarded doors to give space and place to four American painters, and the cffisel of St. Gaudens has carved statues which no con- EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 263 temporary elsewhere can rival. The bffilffings at the Cfficago Fak came as a beautKffi surprise and a great achievement. They showed that we had the fffil capacity to take rank among the great buUdmg races of the earth. It is a great record for a hundred years. Even K we glance offiy at the mountaffi tops, it is a marvelous story of conquest and growth. If our uffiversities do not teach us to value it rightly, they are of httie worth, for to know the present and to act ffi it we must have a just knowledge of our place ffi ffistory. If we have that knowledge, we shaU realize that a nation wffich, what ever its shortcomings, has done so much and bred such men, has a promise for the future and a place ffi the world which brffigs a grave responsibiUty to those who come to the inheritance. The ffist step, then, for our universities, K ffi the true spkit of a hberal education they seek to fit men for the ffie about them, is to make them Americans and send them forth ffi S3mipathy with thek country. And the second step is like the first: A uffiversity shoffid aim to put a man ffi sympathy with ffis time, and make him comprehend it K we woffid have him take effective part ffi the ffie of ffis time. As the danger on the first poffit of patriotism is that the many-sided teacffings of a university wffi prevent a just sense of the place of our country, so on the second poffit the danger is that deahng largely with the past, the uffiver sity wffi ahenate its students from the present. The past is a good schoolhouse but a bad dwelUng-place. We cannot reaUy understand the present without the fullest knowledge of the past, but it is the present with wffich we are to deal, and the past must not be aUowed to ffide it. There is a very visible tendency ffi uffiversities to become ffi thek teacffings laudatores temporis acti, and tffis tendency is fuU of perU. The world was never made better, the great march of humaffity was never led by men whose eyes were fixed upon the past. The leaders of men are those who look forward, not back ward. "For not through eastern windows only. When dayUght comes, comes in the Ught; In front the sun cUmbs slow, how slowly, But westward look — the land is bright." 264 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS As I say do not undervalue your own country, so I say do not undervalue your own time. The nffieteenth century is dyffig. It has been a great century. It has seen Waterloo, and Sedan, and Gettysburg. As it has passed along it has beheld the settie ment of Australia and South Africa, and the conquest of the American continent. It has replaced the stage-coach with the locomotive, and uffited the contffients with electric cables. It has been the century of Lfficoffi and Bismarck, of Weffington and Grant, and Lee and Moltke. Scott and Thackeray, Dick ens and Hawthorne, have woven stories to rejoice it; and Brown ing and Tennyson and Victor Hugo, LongfeUow, LoweU, Holmes, and Poe have been among its later poets. It has been a time ricffiy worth hvffig ffi. Now in its closing years, with the new and unknown century hard upon us, it is more than ever a time worth Uving ffi, full of marvelous voices to those who wffi listen with attentive ears, fffil of opportunity to anyone who wffi take part ffi its strifes, fuUest of aU of profound ffiterest to those who wffi look upon it with considerate eyes. How, then, is a university to reach the resffits we ought to have from its teachings ffi this country and this period? How is it to ffispke its students with sympathy for thek country and thek time as the most important of aU its lessons? Some persons may reply that it can be obtained by making the university training more practical. Much has been said on this poffit first and last, but the theory, wffich is vague at best, seems to me to have no bearffig here. It is not a practical education wffich we seek in tffis regard, even K it was the busffiess of a uffiversity to give one, but a hberal education, which shaU foster certaffi strong quaUties of heart and head. Our search now and here is not for an education which shaU enable a man to earn ffis Uvffig with the least possible delay, but for a trainffig wffich shaU develop character and mind along certain Unes. To one man Harvard gives the teacffing which fits him to be an engineer, to another that which opens to ffim law or medicme or theology. But to aU her students aUke it is her duty to give that which wffi send them out from her gates able to understand and to sympathize with the IKe of the time. Tffis cannot be EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 265 done by rffies or systems or textbooks. It can come and can only come from the subtie, impalpable, and yet powerful influ ences wffich the spkit and atmosphere of a great uffiversity can exert upon those withffi its care. It is not easy to define or class- Ky those influences, although we aU know thek general effect. Nevertheless it is, I think, possible to get at sometffing suffi cientiy defiffite to indicate what is lackffig, and where the perU Ues. It aU turns on the spkit wffich ffispkes the entke coUegiate body, on the mental attitude of the uffiversity as a whole. This brffigs us at once to the danger wffich I tffink confronts aU our large universities today, and wffich I am sure coffironts that uffi versity wffich I know and love best. We are given over too much to the critical spkit, and we are educatffig men to become critics of other men, ffistead of doers of deeds themselves. Tffis is aU wrong. Criticism is healtMul, necessary, and deskable, but it is always abundant, and is infinitely less important than per formance. There is not the sUghtest risk that the supply of critics wffi run out, for there are always enough middle-aged faUures to keep the ranks fuU, K every other resource shoffid faU. But even if we were short of critics, it is a sad mistake to educate young men to be mere critics at the outset of ffie. It shoffid be the first duty of a uffiversity to breed ffi them far other quahties. Faith and hope, and behef, enthusiasm, and courage, are the quahties to be traffied and developed ffi young men by a hberal education. Youth is the time for action, for work, not for criti cism. A hberal education shoffid encourage the spkit of action, not deaden it. We want the men whom we send out from our uffiversities to count in the battie of ffie and in the ffistory of their time, and to count more and not less because of thek Uberal education. They wiU not count at aU, be weU assured, K they come out trained only to look coldly and criticaUy on aU that is being done in the world, and on aU who are doing it. Long ago Emerson pointed the finger of scorn at tffis type when he said: "There is my fine young Oxford gentieman, who says there is nothing new and nothffig true and no matter." We cannot afford to have that type, and it is the true product of that crit ical spkit wffich says to its scholars, "See how baffiy the world is 266 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS governed; see how covered with dust and sweat the men are who are trying to do the world's business, and how many mistakes they make; let us sit here ffi the shade with Amaryllis and add up the errors of these brffised, grimy feUows, and poffit out what they ought to do, whUe we make no mistakes ourselves by stick- mg to the safe rule of attempting nothffig." Tffis is a very comfortable attitude, but it is the one of aU others wffich a uffi versity shoffid discourage ffistead of fficfficating. Moreover, with such an attitude of mmd toward] the world of thought and action is always affied a cffitivated ffidffierence, than wffich there is notffing more enervatmg. And these tffings are no pale abstractions because they are ffi thek nature purely matters of sentiment and thought. 'When CromweU demanded the New Model, he said, "A set of poor tapsters and town apprentices would never fight against men of honor." They were of the same race and the same blood as the cavahers, these tapsters and apprentices; they had the same muscles and the same bodUy form and strength. It was the right spirit that was lacking, and this CromweU with the keen eye of genius plaiffiy saw. So he set against the passion of loyalty the stern enthusiasm of reUgion, and swept resistance from ffis path. One sentiment agaffist another, and the mightier conquered. Come nearer to our own time. Some six thousand ffi-armed American frontiersmen met ten thousand of the unconquered army of Weffington's veterans hard by New Orleans. They beat them ffi a night attack, they got the better of them ffi an artffiery duel, and finaUy they drove back with heavy slaughter the onset of these ffisciplined troops who had over and over agaffi carried by storm defenses manned by the soldiers of Napoleon. These backwoodsmen were of the same race as their opponents, no stronger, no more inured to hardsffips, than Weffington's men, but they had the right spkit ffi them. They ffid not stop to criticise the works, and to poffit out that cotton-bales were not the kind of rampart recognized ffi Europe. They ffid not pause to say that a properly constituted army ought to have bayonets and that they had none. Stffi less did they set about finffing faffit with thek leader. They went ffi and ffid thek best, and thek EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 267 best was victory. One example is as good as a hundred. It is the spkit, the faith, the courage, the determffiation of men, which have made the world move. These are the quahties wffich have carried the domiffion of the Enghsh-speakffig people across con tffients and over wide oceans to the very ends of the earth. It is the same ffi every field of human activity. The men who see noth ing but the hons ffi the path, who fear rifficule and dread mis takes, who behold the faffits they may commit more plaiffiy than the guerdon to be won, wffi no batties, govern no states, write no books, carve no statues, paint no pictures. The men who do not fear to faU are those who rise. It is the men who take the risks of failure and mistakes who wffi through defeats to victory. If the critical spkit govern in youth, it chokes action at its very source. We must have enthusiasm, not indffierence, wffi- ingness to subordinate ourselves to our purpose, K we woffid reach results, and an imperfect resffit is far better than none at aU. Abraham Lfficoln said once, speakmg of Henry Clay- "A free people ffi times of peace and quiet, when pressed by no com mon danger, naturaUy divide into parties. At such times the man who is of neither party, is not, cannot be, of any consequence. Mr. Clay was therefore of a party." Tffis which Lmcoffi said of politics merely expresses in a single dkection the truth that a man cannot succeed who is a mere critic. He must have the faith and enthusiasm wffich wffi enable him to do battle whether with sword or pen, with action or thought, for a cause ffi wffich he beUeves. This does not imply any lack of independence, any bhnd subservience to authority or prejudice. Far from it. But it does imply the absence of the purely critical spkit with no pur pose but criticism, wffich dries up the very springs of action. "That is the doctrine simple, ancient, true; Such is Ufe's trial, as old Earth smUes and knows. Make the low nature better by your throes; Give earth yourself, go up for gain above." There is nothing fancKul in all this. It is very real, very near, very practical. You cannot win a boat-race, or a footbaU match uffiess you have the right spkit. Thews and sffiews are common 268 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS enough. They can be had for the askffig. But the best wffi not avail K they are not ffiformed with the right spkit. You must have more than traffied musdes; you must have enthusiasm, determination, braffis, and the capacity for organization and subordination. If the critical spkit prevaUs, and everyone is engaged ffi criticisffig, analyzing, and declarmg how much better things woffid be K they were offiy dffierent, you wffi not, you cannot wffi, other thffigs beffig equal. Dffierences in physical quahties may often determme results, but such dffierences come and go like luck at a game of cards. But K the critical, ffidK- ferent spkit reigns, it means sure and continued defeats, for it saps the very roots of action and success. As it is ffi the struggles of the playground or the river, so it is ffi the wider fields of serious life. If a uffiversity breeds a race of little critics, they wffi be able to point out other men's faults and faUures with neatness and exactness, but they wffi ac comphsh nothffig themselves. They wiU make the world no better for thek presence, they wffi not count ffi the conflict, they wffi not cure a single one of the evUs they are so keen to detect. Worst of aU, they vnU bring reproach on a Uberal education, which wffi seem to other men to be a hffidrance when it shoffid be a help. The time ffi which we Uve is fffil of questions of the deepest moment. There has been, during the century now enffing, the greatest material development ever seen, greater than that of aU preceding centuries together. The conffition of the average man has been raised ffigher than ever before, and wealth has been piled up beyond the wildest fancy of romance. We have buUt up a vast social and industrial system, and have carried civiliza tion to the ffighest point it has ever touched. That system and that civilization are on trial. Grave doubts and perUs beset them. The economic theories of ffity years ago stand helpless and decrepit ffi thek immobihty before the social questions which face us now. Everywhere today there is an ominous spkit of unrest. Everywhere there is a feeUng that aU is not well when wealth abounds and none the less dke poverty ranges by its side, when the land is not fuUy populated and yet the number EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 269 of the unemployed reaches to the milUons. One is not either an alarmist or a pessimist because he recognizes these facts, and it woffid be worse than foUy to try to bUnk them out of sight. I beheve that we can deal with them successfuUy K we wffi but set ourselves to the grave task, as we have to the trials and dangers of the past. I am sure that, K these great social problems can be solved anywhere, they can be solved here ffi the United States. But the solution wiU tax to the utmost aU the wisdom and cour age and learffing that the country can provide. 'What part are our universities, with their hberal education, to play ffi the ffis tory that is now making and is stiU to be written? They are the crown and glory of our civilization, but they can readUy be set aside K they faU out of sympathy with the vast movements about them. I do not say whether they should seek to resist, or to sustain, or to guide and control those movements. But K they would not dry up and wither, they must at least understand them. A great uffiversity must be ffi touch with the world about it, with its hopes, its passions, its troubles, and its strivffigs. If it is not, it must be content "For aye to be in shady cloister mewed, Chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitiess moon." LIBERTY AND DISCIPLINEi Abbott Lawrence Lowell [Abbott Lawrence LoweU (1856 ) has been, since 1909, president of Harvard University. He is distinguished as an authority on the science of government, and is the author of many books and articles in this field.] We are Uvffig ffi the midst of a terrffic war ffi wffich each side casts upon the other the blame for causing the struggle; but ffi which each gives the same reason for contffiuing it to the bitter end — that reason beffig the preservation from destruction of the essential prfficiple of its own civilization. One side claims to be fightffig for the Uberty of man; the other for a social system based IFrom Yale Review, vol. v, p. 741. (July, 1916.) Reprinted by permission. 270 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS on efficiency and maffitained by ffisciphne. Of course the dK- ference is one of degree. No one beheves ffi permitting every man to do whatever he pleases, no matter how it may mjure his neighbor or endanger the community; and no country refuses aU freedom of action to the inffividual. But although the dK- f erence is offiy of degree and of emphasis, it is none the less real. Our own people have always asserted thek devotion to the principle of personal liberty, and ffi some ways they have carried it farther than any other nation. It is not, therefore, useless to compare the two prffidples that we may understand thek rela tive advantages, and perceive the dangers of Uberty and the conditions of its fruitfffiness. Americans are more familiar with the benefits of discipUne, ffi fact, than conscious of them ffi theory. Anyone who shoffid try to manage a factory, a bank, a raikoad, a ship, a military company, or an atffietic team, on the prfficiple of havffig every employee or member of the organization take whatever part in the work, and do it ffi whatever way seemed best ffi ffis own eyes, would come to sudden grief and be mercilessly laughed at. We aU know that any enterprise can be successfffi offiy K there is coorffination of effort, or what for short we caU team play; and that tffis can happen offiy K the nature of each man's work, and the way he is to perform it, is arranged with a view to the whole, so that each part fitting ffito its place contributes its proper share to the total resffit. Experience has taught us that the maximum efficiency is attained where the team play is most nearly perfect, and therefore, the suborffination of the' individual to the combined action is most nearly complete. Then there is the greatest harmony of action, and the least waste by friction or working at cross purposes. But everyone is aware that such a conffition does not come about of itseK. Men do not fit into thek places ffi a team or organization spontaneously. UntU they have become experts they do not appreciate the relation of their particular work to the plan as a whole; and even when they have become familiar with the game or the industry, they are apt to overestimate their ovm part ffi it, or disagree about the best method of attainmg the resffit. Every- EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 271 one likes to rule, and when Artemus Ward suggested that aU the men ffi a regiment should be made Brigaffier Generals at once to avoid jealousy, he touched a famihar weakness ffi human nature. He was not obhged to explaffi the joke, because no one faUs to see the absurffity of havffig everybody ffi com mand. But that would be exactly the situation if nobody were ffi command. If there is to be a plan for combffied action, some body must have power to decide what that plan shaU be; and K the part of every performer is to be suborffinated to the common plan, somebody must have authority to dkect the action of each ffi coffiormity with the plan. Moreover, that authority must have some means of carrying its directions ffito effect. It must be maintaffied by ffiscipUne; either by forcffig those who do not play thek parts rightiy to conform to the general plan, or by eUmffiatmg them from the organization. Tffis prfficiple of coordinated effort maffitained by discipUne appUes to every combination of men where the maximum efficiency for a concrete object is desked, be it a busffiess, a charity, or a whole state. It is a vitaUy important prfficiple which no people can afford to lose from sight, but it is not everything. Whether it conduces to the greatest happiness or not is a question I leave on one side, for I am now discussffig offiy effectiveness. Yet even from that standpoffit we have left some tffing out of account. The prfficiple would be absolutely true K men were machines, or K the thffig desked were always a concrete object to be attained by cooperation, such as the buUd ing of a raffioad, the production of wealth, the wffiffing of victory in war or on a pla)dng field. But men are human beings and the progress of civilization is a tffing far too complex to be comprised within any one concrete object or any number of such objects depending on combffied effort. This is where the advan tages of hberty come ffi. Pasteur, one of the greatest explorers of nature and bene factors of the age, remarked that the value of liberty lay ffi its enabling every man to put forth ffis utmost effort. In France under the ancient monarchy men were very nearly born to trades and professions, or at least large portions of tiie people were 272 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS vktuaUy excluded from many occupations. The posts of officers ffi the army were generaUy reserved for men of noble rank. The places of judges were purchased, and were ffi fact largely hereffi tary, and so on through much of the ffigher grade of employ ments. The Revolution broke this system down, and Napoleon msisted that the true prfficiple of the French Revolution was the opening of aU careers to talent; not so much equality as freedom of opportuffity. Under any system of compulsion or restraint a man may be limited to duties unsuited to his qualities, so that he cannot use the best talents he possesses. The opportunities ffi a complex modern civilization are of infinite variety, subtle, elastic, incapable of beffig compassed by fixed regulations for attaiffing defiffite objects. The best plan for perfecting the post office, K strictiy foUowed, would not have produced the telegraph; the most exceUent organization of the telegraph would not have created the telephone; the most elaborate system of telephone wkes and switchboards would not have mcluded the wkeless. The greatest contributions to knowledge, to the industrial arts, and to the comforts of IKe have been unforeseen, and have often come in unexpected dkections. The production of these requked sometffing more than a higffiy efficient organization maintaffied by ffisciphne. Moreover — ^what is nearer to our present purpose — believers ffi the prfficiple of Uberty assert that a man will put forth more effort, and more inteUigent effort, if he chooses his own field, and works in his own way, than K he labors under the constant dkection of others. The mere sense of freedom is stimulating ffi a high degree to vigorous natures. The man who dkects himseK is responsible for the consequences. He guarantees the result, and stakes ffis character and reputation on it. If after selectmg his own career he finds that he has chosen wrongly, he writes himseK down a fool. The theory of liberty, then, is based upon the belief that a man is usuaUy a better judge of his own aptitudes than anyone else can be, and that he wiU put forth more and better effort K he is free than if he is not. Both these principles, of disciphne and of liberty, contaffi much truth. Neither is absolutely true, nor can be carried to EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 273 its logical extreme, for one by subjecting aU a man's actions to the control of a master would lead to slavery, the other by leaving every man free to disregard the common weKare would lead to anarchy. In America we are committed, as it were, to err on the side of Uberty; and it is my purpose to consider here what are the dangers and conditions of Uberty in the American college. It is in coUege that young men first enjoy the pleasure of liberty and assume its responsibffities. They sometimes think themselves stffi under no Uttle restriction, because they cannot leave the coUege during term time without permission, and must attend the lectures, examinations, and other duties; but these are shght compared with the restraints which wiU surround any busy man in after IKe. There is no better place than coUege to learn to use freedom without abusffig it. Tffis is one of the greatest opportunities of college life, the thffig that makes strong men stronger and sometimes weak men weaker than before. Liberty means a freedom of dioice ffi regffiatmg one's con duct. If you are free to attend a lecture, but not free to stay away from it, then it is compulsory. You have no hberty whatever in the matter. A man of wealth has no freedom about payffig taxes. He is obhged to pay them. But he has freedom about giving money away to relieve ffistress, or for other chari table purposes, because he may give or not as he pleases. A man is at liberty to be generous or mean, to be kindly or seffish, to be truthfffi or tricky, to be industrious or lazy. In aU these things his duty may be clear, but he is free to disregard it. In short, liberty means freedom to do wrong as weU as to do right, else it is no freedom at aU. It means freedom to be fooUsh as weU as to be wise, to prefer immeffiate seK-mdulgence to future benefit for oneseK or others, liberty to neglect as well as to perform the duties of the passing hour that never comes agam. But K Uberty were used exclusively to do wrong, it woffid be ffitolerable, and good sense woffid sweep it from the earth. The supposition on which liberty is based, the condition on which it exists, is that men wffi use it for right more than for wrong; that in the long run they will do right more often, and do more that is good, than under a system of restraint. 274 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Mark this, hberty and ffiscipUne are not mutuaUy exdusive. Liberty does not mean that good resffits can ever be attaffied without ffiscipUne. If rightly used it means offiy that regu lation by others is replaced by seK-ffisciphne no less severe and ffiexorable. The man who does not force himseK to work when he is ffisinchned to do so wffi never acffieve anythffig worth doffig. Some reaUy ffidustrious men affect to do offiy what they Uke, never working save when the spkit moves them; and occasionaUy such men deceive themselves ffi tryffig to deceive others. If not, they have usuaUy schooled themselves to want what they ought to want. SeK-ffisciphne has brought thek ffichnations as weU as thek conduct ffito a happy subjection to thek wffi. But, ffi fact, labor carried anywhere near the poffit of maximum productivity, the poffit where a man puts forth ffis utmost effort, is never whoUy pleasureable, although the moral force requked to drive oneseK at top speed varies much ffi dffierent people. An iffie disposition, however, is no sufficient excuse for sffirk- ing. Many years ago a stffigy old merchant ffi Boston lay d3Tng. The old miser turned to the brother sittmg by ffis bedside and said: "John, I wish I had been more generous ffi giving away money ffi my hfe. But it has been harder for me than for most men to give money; and, John, I think the Lord wffi make aUow ance for dffierences ffi temperament." Thus do we excuse our selves for seK-indffigence. How many men ffi every American coUege make an effort to get through vyith Uttie to spare, win a degree, and evade an education? Not an ffisignfficant number. How many strive earnestly to put forth thek utmost effort to obtaffi an education that wffi develop thek ffiteUectual powers to the fuUest extent, and fit them ffi the ffighest possible degree to cope with the problems they wiU face as men and as citizens? Agaffi not an ffisignfficant number, but are they enough to satisfy Pasteur's aspkations, or even to justKy his idea of the object of Uberty? Everywhere ffi the higher education of Europe, whether the system is one of freedom or restraint, whether as in Germany a degree is conferred offiy on men who have real proficiency, or as ffi Oxford and Cambridge a mere pass degree is given for very EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 275 Uttle real work, everjT^rhere the prfficiple of competition is dominant for those who propose to make a marked success ffi Ufe. Let us take the coimtries wffich claim to be fightffig ffi tffis war for Uberty. A student at Oxford or Cambridge knows that ffis prospects, not offiy of a position ffi the university, but at the bar, ffi permanent pubhc employment and poUtical ffie, are deeply influenced by, and ffi many cases almost dependent upon, ffis winffing a place ffi the first group of scholars at graduation. The man who gets it plays thereafter with loaded dice. It gives him a marked advantage at the start, and to some extent foUows him ever afterwards. Of course, there are exceptional men who by abffity come to the front rank without it, but on the whole they are surprisingly few. Mr. BaKour is sometimes referred to as a man who ffid not distingffish ffimseK at Cambridge, and Sk Edward Grey is said to have been an fficorrigibly poor scholar at Baffiol ffi Oxford, yet both of them won thkd-class honors, wffich is not far from what we shoffid consider <& B K rank. To mention offiy men who have been prominent ffi pubhc IKe, Peel, CardweU, Sherbrooke, Gladstone, Harcourt, Bryce, Trevelyan, Asquith, Haldane, Miffier, Simon, Ambassador Spring-Rice, and many more won honors of the first dass at one of the two great EngUsh uffiversities; wffile a number of other men ffis- tingffished ffi pubhc Ufe, such as Disraeh, Chamberlaffi, and Lloyd-George, did not go to Oxford or Cambridge. It would not be difficffit to add a long hst of judges, and ffi fact, as an Oxford man once remarked to me, ffigh honors at the uffiversity have been almost a necessity for reachffig the bench. No doubt the fact that men have achieved distffiction at thek uffiversities is a test of thek abffity; but also the fact that they have done so is a dkect help at the outset of thek careers. If we turn to France we find the same prffidple of compe tition ffi a dkect form though working in other diannels. The Ecole Centrale, the great school of engmeering, and the Beaux Arts, the great school of architecture and art, admit only a limited number of students by competitive exammation; and the men who obtain the highest prizes at graduation are guaranteed pubhc employment for ffie. Europeans beUeve that preemffience in 276 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS those tffings for wffich ffigher education exists is a measure of mteUectual and moral quaUties; and the fact that it is recognized as such tends to make it so, for the rewards attached to it make ambitious and capable young men strive for it, and put forth thek utmost effort ffi the competition. Let us hope that some day our coUeges, and the pubhc at large, wffi recognize more fuUy than they do today the value of exceUence ffi coUege work as a measure of capacity, as a pronuse of future achievement, and thereby draw out more effort among the undergraduates. It is already the case to a large extent in our professional schools, and ought to be the case ffi our coUeges, K a coUege education is reaUy worth the money and labor expended on it. At present the coUege is scholasticaUy democratic. The world rarely asks how a man got ffi, or how he graduated. It is enough that he ffid graduate somehow. Bachelor degrees, whether infficating ffigh scholarship or a minimum of work, are treated by the public as free and equal; and what is worse they are far too much so treated by the coUeges and uffiversities themselves. Now, the requkement for a coUege degree cannot be more than a minimum, and ffi the nature of tffings a rather low minimum, requking on the part of men with more than orffi- nary abffity a very smaU amount of work; far less than is needed to call forth their utmost effort. Tffis is one of many ffiustrations of the weU-known fact that education moves slowly, and follows rather than leads the spkit of the time. We hve ffi a strenuous age, a time of activity and energy. I think it was Bagehot who remarked that the change of habits was evident even in the casual greeting of friends. He says that we ask a man whom we have not met for some time, "¦What have you been doing since I saw you last?" as K we expected him to have been doing sometffing. I remember some time ago reaffing a story ffi a magazine about travelers ffi a rail road tram, who were stopped at a custom house to have thek baggage exammed, and found, that, instead of holffing clothes, thek bags and trunks contained the works they had done in Ufe. It was the last judgment, and several weU-meaffing persons EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 277 found thek many pieces of luggage sadly empty. A gentieman among the number came forward to explaffi tiiat they had sup posed thek duty to consist ffi avoiffing sm, and they had done so; that thek Uves had been spent ffi pleasures, for the most part whoUy mnocent, and that tffis was aU they had understood to be requked of them. The story ffiustrates a change of attitude wffich has come over the world, and men who have passed ffity have seen it come m, comparffig the generation that went before them with that which has foUowed them. Thou shalt is qffite as important as thou shalt not. Professor Mimro ffi speaking ffi a coUege chapel some time ago on the importance of positive as weU as negative moraUty remarked that most people K asked the meaffing of the fourth commandment woffid tffink offiy of its forbiddffig work on Sunday; whereas its openffig words are "Six days shalt thou labor." 'We Uve not offiy in a strenuous world, but ffi the most strenuous part of the world. Innocent leisure is no longer qffite respectable here, except ffi coUege; and it is getting not to be respectable there — except ffi study. Most of us feel that the American coUege is a very precious thffig. It is a clean and healthy place, moraUy, ffiteUectuaUy, and physicaUy. I beUeve that no large body of young men any where in the world hve on the whole such dean hves, or are cleaner or more honorable ffi thought. The coUege is a place where a man may, and where many a man does, develop ffis character and ffis mental force to an ahnost indefiffite extent; where he may, and often does, acquke an ffispiration that sus- taffis him through Ufe; where he is surrounded by influences that fit him, K he wffi foUow them, for aU that is best ffi the citizen of a repubhc. The chief defect ffi the American coUege today is that it has not yet been stkred by the strenuous spirit of the age, the spkit that ffignffies the prfficiple of hberty, or at least it has been stkred mainly ffi the Une of what are caUed student activities. These are excellent things ffi themselves, to be en couraged in full measure, but they do not make up for ffidolence and lack of effort ffi the studies wffich are, after all, the justffica tion for the existence of the coUege. Let us put this matter per- 278 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS fectiy plaiffiy. The good sense of the commuffity woffid never approve of havffig young men devote the whole of thek best four years to the playmg field, or to those other accessories of coUege IKe, the management of athletic or other organizations, or writing for coUege papers. These, as I have said, are exceUent as acces sories, but K they were the whole tffing, K ffistruction and study were aboUshed, the coUege woffid soon be aboUshed also. What, then, ffi a land of restiess activity and energy is likely to be the future of a coUege ffi wffich a large part of the undergraduates regard extra-curricffium activities as the maffi ffiterest, and edu cation as an accessory; and where a smaUer, but not fficonsider able fraction regard aU activity as kksome? If our young men cannot answer that question themselves, let them ask some man who is not himseK a coUege graduate but has worked ffis way up ffi the world by ffis dffigence, perseverance, pluck, and force of character. The danger that under a system of Uberty men wffi faU to put forth thek utmost effort Ues not merely, or perhaps maiffiy, in a lack of moral force. It is due quite as much to a lack of moral and ffiteUectual vision, an ffiabffity to see any valuable resffit to be accompUshed by the effort. Tffis is particularly true in coUege. Many a man who ffitends to work hard thereafter ffi ffis profession or busffiess, tries to get tffiough coUege with a smaU amount of study. He is fuUy aware that ffi ffis future career he wffi make no use of a knov^ledge of the force of the Greek aorist, of the properties of a regffiar paraUelopipedon, or of the effect of the reign of Edward the Fkst on EngUsh constitutional ffistory; and hence he is fficUned to tffink these tffings of no great practical consequence to him. In no form of human productivity of far-reacffing importance is the dkect practical utUity of every step ffi the process visible to the man who takes it. The work man in a factory may not know why he mixes certaffi mgreffients in prescribed proportions, why he heats the mixture to a certain temperature, or why he cools it slowly. It might be difficffit to explaffi it to him; and he does these tffings because they are ordered by the boss. The difficffity of perceivmg the connection between the means EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 279' and the end is greater ffi the case of education, as distmgffished from mechaffical trainffig, than ffi ahnost anythffig else, be cause the processes are more subtle, more ffitangible, less capable of accurate analysis. In fact the raw material that is being worked up is not the subject matter of the work but the mind of the worker himseK; and the effect on ffis mind is not from day to day perceptible. His immediate task is to leam something, and he asks himseK whether it is reaUy worth learffing; whereas the knowledge he acqukes is not of the ffist importance, the vital question being how much he has improved in the abffity to acquke and use it. At school the process is equaUy obscure, but the boy learns ffis lessons because he is obhged to do so. If he is a good boy he learns them weU, because, although bhnd to the meanffig of it aU, he knows it is ffis duty. He does not seek to understand the process; and I recaU now with amusement the ridicffious attempts we sometimes made ffi our school days to explain to our girl friends why it was worth wffile to study Latffi. Many a boy who has ranked high at school, without asking himseK the use of studying at all, does Uttle work ffi coUege, because he asks himseK why he shoffid make the effort and cannot answer the question. The contrast ffiustrates the dffierence between a system of ffiscipUne and one of Uberty. In both the relation of tiie work of the day and the resffit to be attaffied is ffivisible, but the motive power is not the same. Under a system of external ffisdphne the motive power is supphed by the habit of obeffience, effiorced where necessary by penalties. For the good man the habit or duty of bUnd obedience is enough. As Colonel Mudge expressed it when he received a mistaken order to charge and sprang forward to lead Ms regiment at Gettysburg, "It is murder, but it is the order." Some of the greatest examples of heroism in human his tory have been given ffi tffis way. But bhnd obeffience cannot be the motive power where Uberty appUes, and a man must deter mffie ffis own conduct for himseK. In the vast number of actions where the dkect utiUty of each step cannot be seen, he must act on general principles, on a conviction that the particular step is part of a long process wffich leads forward to the end. The 28o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS motive power of Uberty is faith. AU great enterprises, all great Uves, are buUt upon and sustaffied by an overmastering faith ffi something.Faith is based upon imagination wffich can conceive things the eye cannot behold. Young people are prone to think of imagffiation as fantastic, the creation by the mffid of impossible forms and events, ffistortions of nature, or caricatures of man. But it is a ffigher imagffiation wffich pictures ffivisible tffings as they are, or as they might reaUy be. Historic imagffiation does not people the past with impossible beffigs doing senseless acts, but with Uvffig men who thought and acted as men do not tffink and act today, but actuaUy did under conffitions that have long passed away. The true reformer is not he who portrays an ideal commonwealth which coffid never be made to work, but the man whose imagffiation has such a grasp on the springs of human nature that he can foresee how people woffid reaUy conduct themselves ffi conditions yet untried, and whose plans work out as he designed them. If faith is thus based upon imagffiation, its frffition requkes a steadfastness of purpose that is not weakened by discourage ments or turned aside by obstacles that shut out the view and cast dark shadows across the path. The doubter, who asks himseK at every stage whether the immeffiate effort is reaUy worth whUe, is lost. Prophesy confidentiy of him that he will never reach ffis goal. President Pritchett ffi a walkffig tour ffi Switzerland asked a mountaineer about the road to the place wffither he was bound. The man rephed that he had never been there, but he knew that was the path wffich led to it. Such is the pathway to the ventures of ffie. None of us has ever been over the road we ffitend to travel ffi the world. If we beheve that the way we take leads to our destffiation we must foUow it, not stoppffig or turnmg back because a curve ffi the mountaffi traU obscures the distant scene, or does not at the moment seem to lead ffi the right dkection. We must go on in faith that every step along the road brings us nearer, and that the faster we walk the farther we shaU go before ffight faUs upon us. The man who does not feel EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 281 any reason for effort because he cannot see the dkect utffity of the thffigs he learns has no faith ffi a coUege education; and K he has no faith ffi it he had better not waste time on it, but take up something else that he has faith ffi, or that is better sffited to men of Uttie faith. Every form of civilization is, not offiy at its ffiception and in critical times, but always and forever, on trial. If it proves less effective than others it wffi be elimmated, peacefuUy or forcibly, by a gradual process of change or by a catastrophe. Now the test of a civilization based on Uberty is tiie use men make of the Uberty they enjoy, and it is a faUure not offiy K men use it to do wrong, but also K they use it to do notffing, or as httle as is possible to maffitaffi themselves in personal comfort. This is true of our ffistitutions as a whole and of the American col lege ffi particffiar. A student who has no sustaiffing faith ffi the education he can get there; who wffi not practise the seK-ffisd- pUne needed to obtaffi it; who uses his hberty to put forth not ffis utmost, but the least possible, effort; who uses it not to acquke, but to evade, a thorough education, faUs to that extent ffi ffis duty to himseK, to Ms coUege, to Ms country, and to the civiliza tion he inherits. The man who uses his hberty to put forth his utmost effort ffi coUege and throughout ffis ffie, not offiy does his duty, but is helping to make freedom itseK successfffi. He is workffig for a great prfficiple of human progress. He is fightffig the battle of Uberty and securffig its victory ffi the dvUization of mankind. Never have I been able to understand — and even less than ever ffi these terrible days, when young men, on whom the future shone bright with hope, sacrffice from a sense of duty thek Uves, the weKare of those dearest to them, and every thffig they care for — less than ever can I understand how any man can stand ffi safety on a hffiside and watch the struggle of IKe ffi the plaffi below without longing to take part therein; how he can see the world pass by without a cravffig to make ffis mark, however smaU, on his day and generation. Many a man who woffid be eager to join a deadly charge K ffis coimtry were at war, lacks the msight or imagination to perceive that the warfare of 282 « NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS civilization is waged not more upon the battlefield than ffi the workshop, at the desk, ffi the laboratory, and the hbrary. We have learned in tffis stress of nations that men cannot fight with out ammunition weU made ffi abundance; but we do not see that the crucial matter ffi civilization is the preparedness of young men for the work of the world; not offiy an ample supply of the best material, but a product moulded on the best pattern, tem pered and fiffished to the highest poffit of perfection. Is this the ideal of a dreamer that cannot be realized; or is it a vision wffich young men wffi see and tum to a vkUe faith? NATIONALIZING EDUCATION^ John Dewey [John Dewey (1839 ) was bom at Burlington, Vermont. After com pleting his college work at the University of Vermont, he did post-graduate work at Johns Hopkins University. From 1884-1904 he was a member of the department of phUosophy in the University of Michigan, being head of the department during the latter part of this period. In 1902-4 he was director of the school of education of the Umversity of Chicago. Since 1904 he has been professor of phUosophy in Columbia University.] The words "nation" and "national" have two qffite dffierent meanings. We cannot profitably ffiscuss the nationalizmg of education uffiess we are dear as to the dffierence between the two. For one meaffing ffifficates sometffing deskable, somethffig to be cffitivated by education, whUe the other stands for some tffing to be avoided as an evil plague. The idea which has given the movement toward nationaUty, wffich has been such a feature of the last century, its social vitality, is the conscious ness of a community of history and purpose larger than that of the famUy, the parish, the sect, and the province. The upbffild- ing of national states has substituted a unity of feeling and aun, a freedom of ffitercourse, over wide areas, for earher local isola tions, suspicions, jealousies, and hatreds. It has forced men out of narrow sectionaUsm ffito membership in a larger social uffit, 'From Proceedings, National Education Association, 1916. Reprinted by permission. EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 283 and created loyalty to a state wffich subordinates petty and seffish ffiterests. One cannot say tffis, however, without beffig at once remffided that nationalism has had another side. With the possible exception of our own country, the national states of the modern world have been bffilt up tiirough conffict. The development of a sense of uffity witffin a charmed area has been accompaffied by disUke, by hostffity, to aU without. SkiKul pohticians and other seK-seekers have always known how to play cleverly upon patriotism and upon ignorance of other peoples, to identify nationaUsm with latent hatred of other nations. Without exag geration, the present world war may be said to be the out come of tffis aspect of nationaUsm, and to present it m its naked unloveUness. In the past our geograpffical isolation has largely protected us from the harsh, seffish, and exclusive aspect of nationaUsm. The absence of pressure from without, the absence of active and urgent rivaky and hostffity of powerfffi neighbors, has perhaps played a part ffi the failure to develop an adequate unity of sentiment and idea for the country as a whole. InffividuaUsm of a go-as-you-please type has had too fffil swing. We have an inherited jealousy of any strong national governing agencies and we have been fficUned to let thffigs drUt rather than to think out a central, controffing pohcy. But the effect of the war has been to make us aware that the days of geographical isolation are at an end, and also to make us conscious that we are lacking ffi an ffitegrated social sense and pohcy for our country as a whole, irrespective of classes and sections. We are now faced by the difficulty of developing the good aspect of nationahsm without its evil side — of developing a nationaUsm which is the friend and not the foe of ffiternational- ism. Sffice this is a matter of ideas, of emotions, of mteUectual and moral disposition and outiook, it depends for its accompUsh ment upon educational agencies, not upon outward machffiery. Among these educational agencies, the pubhc school takes first rank. When some time ffi the remote future- the tale is summed up and the pubhc, as distffict from the private and merely 284 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS personal, acffievement of the common school is recorded, the question wffich wffi have to be answered is. What has the American pubhc school done toward subordffiatffig a local, provfficial, sectarian, and partisan spkit of mffid to aims and mterests wffich are common to aU the men and women of the country — to what extent has it taught men to think and feel ffi ideas broad enough to be fficlusive of the purposes and happffiess of aU sections and classes? For uffiess the agencies wffich form the mind and morals of the commuffity can prevent the opera tion of those forces wffich are always makffig for a ffivision of ffiterests, dass and sectional ideas and feehngs wffi become dominant, and our democracy wffi faU to pieces. Unfortunately at the present time one resffit of the excitement which the war has produced is that many influential and weU- meanffig persons attempt to foster the growth of an fficlusive nationaUsm by appeal to our fears, our suspicions, our jealousies, and our latent hatreds. They woffid make the measure of our national preparedness our readffiess to meet other nations ffi destructive war rather than our fitness to cooperate with them ffi the constructive tasks of peace. They are so ffisturbed by what has been revealed of ffiternal ffivision, of lack of complete national ffitegration, that they have lost faith ffi the slow poUcies of education. They woffid kinffie a sense of our dependence upon one another by making us afraid of peoples outside of our border; they woffid brffig about uffity withffi by layffig stress upon our separateness from others. The situation makes it aU the more necessary that those concerned with education shoffid withstand popffiar clamor for a nationahsm based upon hysterical excited- ness or mechaffical drffi, or a combination of the two. We must ask what a real nationaUsm, a real Americaffism, is Uke. For uffiess we know our own character and purpose, we are not likely to be ffiteffigent ffi our selection of the means to furtiier them. I want to mention only two elements ffi the nationaUsm wffich our education should cffitivate. The ffist is that the American nation is itseK complex and compound. Strictiy speaking, it is ffiterracial and ffitemational ffi its make-up. It is composed of EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 285 a mffititude of peoples speakffig dffierent tongues, inheritffig diverse traditions, cherishffig varyffig ideals of ffie. This fact is basic to our nationahsm as distffict from that of other peoples. Our national motto, "One from Many," cuts deep and extends far. It denotes a fact wffich doubtiess adds to the difficffity of gettffig a genffine uffity. But it also immensely enriches the possibffities of the resffit to be attaffied. No matter how loudly anyone proclaims Ms Americaffism, K he assumes that any one racial straffi, any one component cffiture, no matter how early settled it was ffi our territory, or how effective it has proved ffi its own land, is to furffish a pattern to wffich aU other straffis and cffitures are to coffiorm, he is a traitor to an American nation alism. Our uffity cannot be a homogeneous thing like that of the separate states of Europe from which our population is drawn; it must be a uffity created by drawffig out and composffig ffito a harmoffious whole the best, the most characteristic, wffich each contributmg race and people has to offer. I find that many who talk the loudest about the need of a supreme and unffied Americaffism of spkit reaUy mean some special code or tradition to which they happen to be attached. They have some pet tradition wffich they would impose upon aU. In thus measurffig the scope of Americaffism by some sffigle element wMch enters ffito it they are themselves false to the spkit of America. Neither Englanffism nor New Englanffism, neither Puritan nor CavaUer, any more than Teuton or Slav, can do anythffig but furffish one note ffi a vast symphony. The way to deal with hyphemsm, ffi other words, is to wel come it, but to welcome it ffi the sense of extractffig from each people its special good, so that it shaU surrender ffito a common fund of wisdom and experience what it especiaUy has to contri bute. AU of these surrenders and contributions taken together create the national spkit of America. The dangerous thffig is for each factor to isolate itseK, to try to live off its past, and then to attempt to impose itseK upon other elements, or, at least, to keep itseK intact and thus refuse to accept what other cffitures have to offer, so as thereby to be transmuted ffito authentic Americaffism. 286 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS In what is rightiy objected to as hyphenism, the hyphen has become somethffig wffich separates one people from other peo ples, and thereby prevents American nationalism. Such terms as Irish-American or Hebrew-American or German-American are false terms because they seem to assume somethffig wffich is akeady in existence caUed America, to which the other factor may be externaUy Mtched on. The fact is, the genuffie American, the typical American, is ffimseK a hyphenated character. TMs does not mean that he is part American and that some foreign mgreffient is then added. It means that, as I have said, he is ffitemational and ffiterracial ffi ffis make-up. He is not Ameri can plus Pole or German. But the American is himseK Pole- German-Enghsh-French-Spaffish-Itahan-Greek - Irish - Scandina vian-Bohemian-Jew and so on. The poffit is to see to it that the hyphen connects ffistead of separates. And tffis means at least that our pubhc schools shaU teach each factor to respect every other, and shaU take paffis to effiighten aU as to the great past contributions of every straffi in our composite make-up. I wish our teachffig of American ffistory ffi the schools woffid take more account of the great waves of migration by which our land for over three centuries has been contffiuously buUt up, and made every pupU conscious of the rich breadth of our national make up. 'When every pupU recognizes aU the factors which have gone ffito our bemg, he wffi continue to prize and reverence that com ffig from his own past, but he wffi think of it as honored ffi bemg simply one factor ffi forming a whole, nobler and finer than itsdf . In short, uffiess our education is nationalized ffi a way wffich recognizes that the pecffiiarity of our nationahsm is its ffiter- nationahsm, we shaU breed enmity and division ffi our frantic efforts to secure uffity. The teachers of the country know tffis fact much better than do many of its pohticians. 'Wffile too often poUticians have been fostering a vicious hyphenateffism and sectionaUsm as a bid for votes, teachers have been engaged ffi transmuting beUefs and feeUngs once divided and opposed, ffito a new tffing under the sun — a national spirit inclusive not exclu sive, friendly not jealous. This they have done by the influence of personal contact, cooperative intercourse, and sharffig m EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 287 common tasks and hopes. The teacher who has been an active agent ffi furthering the common struggle of native-bom, African, Jew, ItaUan, and perhaps a score of other peoples, to attam eman cipation and enhghtenment wiU never become a party to a con ception of America as a nation which conceives of its ffistory and its hopes as less broad than those of humaffity — ^let poUticians clamor for thek own ends as they wffi. The other poffit ffi the constitution of a genuffie American nationaUsm to wffich I ffivite attention is that we have been occupied durmg the greater part of our ffistory ffi subduffig nature, not one another or otiier peoples. I once heard two foreign visitors comffig from dffierent countries ffiscuss what had been impressed upon them as the cffief trait of the American people. One said vigor, youtMul and buoyant energy. The other said it was kffidness, tiie disposition to Uve and let Uve, the absence of envy at tiie success of others. I Uke to think that wMle both of these ascribed traits have the same cause back of them, the latter statement goes deeper. Not that we have more vktue, native or acquked, than others, but that we have had more room, more opportunity. Consequently, the same con ditions wMch have put a premium upon active and hopefffi energy have permitted the kffidher ffistfficts of man to express themselves. The spaciousness of a continent not previously monopolized by man has stimulated vigor and has also ffiverted activity from the struggle agaffist feUowman ffito the struggle agaffist nature. When men make thek gams by fightffig ffi common a wUderness, they have not the motive for mutual dis trust which comes when they get ahead offiy by fighting one another. I recently heard a story wffich seems to me to have somethffig t)^ical about it. Some manffiacturers were discussffig the problem of labor. They were loud in thek complamts. They were bitter agaffist the exactions of uffions, and fuU of tales of an ffiefficiency which seemed to them calcffiated. Then one of them said: "Oh, weU! Poor devUs! They haven't much of a chance and have to do what they can to hold thek own. If we were m thek place, we shoffid be just the same." And the others nodded assent and the conversation lapsed. I call this 288 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS characteristic, for K there was not an ardent sympathy, there was at least a spkit of toleration and passive recogffition. But with respect to this poffit as weU as with respect to our composite make-up, the situation is changing. We no longer have a large unoccupied continent. Pioneer days are past, and natural resources are possessed. There is danger that the same causes wffich have set the hand of man agaffist Ms neighbor ffi other coimtries wiU have the same effect here. Instead of sharffig ffi a common fight agaffist nature, we are akeady start ing to fight agaffist one another, class agaffist class, haves agaffist have-nots. The change puts a defiffite responsibffity upon the schools to sustaffi our true national spkit. The vktues of mutual esteem, of human forbearance, and weU-wishing, wffich ffi our earUer days were the unconscious products of ckcumstances, must now be the conscious frffit of an education wffich forms the deepest sprffigs of character. Teachers, above aU others, have occasion to be distressed when the earher idealism of welcome to the oppressed is treated as a weak sentimentahsm, when sympathy for the imfortunate and those who have not had a fak chance is regarded as a weak indffigence fatal to efficiency. Our traffitional ffisposition ffi these respects must now become a central motive in pubhc education, not as a matter of condescension or patronizffig, but an essential to the maffitenance of a trffiy American spkit. AU this puts a responsibffity upon the schools which can be met offiy by wideffing the scope of educational facffities. The schools have now to make up to the ffisinherited masses by conscious ffistruction, by the development of personal power, skffi, abffity, and iffitiative, for the loss of external opportuffities consequent upon the passffig of our pioneer days. Otherwise power is likely to pass more and more ffito the hands of the wealthy, and we shaU end with this same aUiance between ffiteUectual and artistic culture and economic power due to riches, which has been the curse of every civilization ffi the past, and wMch our fathers ffi thek democratic ideahsm thought tffis nation was to put an end to. Sffice the idea of the nation is equal opportunity for aU, to EDUCATED LEADERSHIP 289 nationalize education means to use the schools as a means for makffig tills idea effective. There was a tune when tffis coffid be done more or less weU simply by providffig schooffiouses, desks, blackboards, and perhaps books. But that day has passed. Opportuffities can be equalized offiy as the schools make it thek active serious business to enable aU alike to become masters of thek own industrial fate. That growing movement wMch is caUed industrial or vocational education now hangs ffi the scales. If it is so constructed ffi practice as to produce merely more competent hands for suborffinate clerical and shop positions, K its purpose is shaped to drffi boys and gkls mto certaffi forms of automatic skffi wffich wffi make them useful ffi carrying out the plans of others, it means that, ffistead of nation- alizffig education ffi the spkit of our nation, we have given up the battie, and decided to refeudalize education. I have said nothffig about the poffit which my titie most naturaUy suggests — changes ffi admffiistrative methods wffich wffi put the resources of the whole nation at the ffisposition of the more backward and less fortunate portions, meaffing by resources not only money but expert advice and gffidance of every sort. I have no doubt that we shaU move ffi the future away from a merely regional control of the pubhc schools ffi the dkection of a more central regulation. I say nothffig about this phase of the matter at tffis time, not offiy because it brffigs up technical questions, but because this side of the matter is but the body, the mechanism of a nationalized education. To nationalize American education is to use education to promote our national idea, which is the idea of democracy. Tffis is the soffi, the spkit, of a nationalized education, and, unless the ad mffiistrative changes are executed so as to embody tffis soul, they wffi mean simply the development of red tape, a mechaffical imiformity and a deadening supervision from above. Just because the ckcumstances of the war have brought the idea of the nation and the national to the foreground of every one's thoughts, the most important tffing is to bear ffi mind that there are nations and nations, tffis kind of nationaUsm and that. Uffiess I am mistaken, there are some now usffig the cry of an 290 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS American nationaUsm, of an mtensffied national patriotism, to further ideas wffich characterize the European nations, especiaUy those most active m the war, but wffich are treasonable to the ideal of our nation. Therefore, I have taken this part of your time to remffid you of the fact that our nation and democ racy are eqffivalent terms; that our democracy means amity and good wffi to aU humaffity (fficludffig those beyond our border), and equal opportuffity for aU withm. Sffice as a nation we are composed of representatives of aU nations who have come here to Uve ffi peace with one another and to escape the enmities and jealousies which characterize Old World nations, to nationalize our education means to make it an mstrument ffi the active and constant suppression of the war spkit and ffi the positive cffiti vation of sentiments of respect and friendsffip for aU men and women, wherever they Uve. Sffice our democracy means the substitution of equal opportuffity for aU for the Old World ideal of unequal opportunity for dffierent classes, and the limitation of the inffividual by the class to wffich he belongs, to nationalize our education is to make the pubUc school an ener getic and wUlffig ffistrument ffi developffig iffitiative, courage, power, and personal abffity ffi each mdividual. If we can get our education nationalized ffi spkit ffi these dkections, the national- izffig of the administrative macffinery wffi ffi the end take care of itseK. So I appeal to teachers ffi the face of every hysterical wave of emotion, and of every subtie appeal of siffister class interest, to remember that they, above aU others, are the con secrated servants of the democratic ideas ffi wffich alone this country is trffiy a distinctive nation — ^ideas of frienffiy and helpfffi mtercourse between all and the eqffipment of every inffividual to serve the commuffity by his own best powers ffi his own best way. CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS EXPERIMENTS IN GOVERNMENTi Elihtt Root [EUhu Root (184s ) was bom in CUnton, New York. After being graduated from Hamilton CoUege, he studied law and has practised his pro fession during the greater part of his Ufe in New York City. He entered pubUc life as secretary of war under President McKinley, and was secretary of state during President Roosevelt's administration. After serving one term as senator from New York, he resumed the practice of law. He has distin guished himself signaUy both as a lawyer and a pubUcist. His lectures at Princeton University in 1913 under the Stafford Littie Endowment — from which the selection here given is taken — were forcible pleas for caution in adopting innovations in government.] There are two separate processes gomg on among the civilized nations at the present time. One is an assaffit by Sociahsm agamst the ffiffividuahsm which underhes the social system of western civilization. The other is an assaffit against existffig mstitutions upon the ground that they do not adequately pro tect and develop the existffig social order. It is of tffis latter process m our own country that I wish to speak, and I assume an agreement that the right of ffiffividual Uberty and the m- separable right of private property wffich Ue at the foundation of our modern civilization ought to be maffitaffied. The conffitions of ffie ffi America have changed very much sffice the Constitution of the Uffited States was adopted. In 1787 each state entering ffito the Federal Union had preserved the separate organic ffie of the origffial colony. Eadi had its center of social and busffiess and pohtical ffie. Each was sepa rated from the others by the barriers of slow and difficffit com- iFrom Experiments in Government. (Copyright, 19131 Princeton University Press.) Reprinted by permission. 291 292 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS muffication. In a vast territory, without raffioads or steamsffips or telegraph or telephone, each commuffity hved withffi itseK. Now, there has been a general social and ffidustrial rearrange ment. Production and commerce pay no attention to state hnes. The ffie of the country is no longer grouped about state capi tals, but about the great centers of contmental production and trade. The organic growth wffich must ffitimately determme the form of institutions has been away from the mere union of states toward the uffion of ffidividuals ffi the relation of national citizenship. The same causes have greatiy reduced the mdependence of personal and famUy Ufe. In the eighteenth century ffie was simple. The producer and consumer were near together and coffid find each other. Everyone who had an eqffivalent to give ffi property or service coffid readily secure the support of him seK and ffis famUy without asking anything from government except the preservation of order. Today almost aU Americans are dependent upon the action of a great number of other per sons, mostly unknown. About haK of our people are crowded into the cities and large towns. Thek food, clothes, fuel, Ught, water — aU come from ffistant sources, of which they are ffi the main ignorant, tiirough a vast, comphcated machffiery of pro duction and distribution with which they have httie direct rela tion. If anythffig occurs to ffiterfere with the workmg of the macffinery, the consumer is individuaUy helpless. To be cer taffi that he and his fanffiy may contffiue to Uve, he must seek the power of combffiation with others, and in the end he ffi- evitably caUs upon that great combination of aU citizens which we call government to do somethffig more than merely keep the peace — to regffiate the machinery of production and distribu tion and safeguard it from ffiterference so that it shaU contffiue to work. A similar change has taken place in the conditions under which a great part of our people engage ffi the ffidustries by wffich they get their Uvffig. Under comparatively simple ffi dustrial conditions the relation between employer and employee was maiffiy a relation of ffidividual to ffiffividual, with ffiffividual CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 293 freedom of contract and freedom of opportunity essential to equaUty in the commerce of life. Now, in the great manufactur ing, minmg, and transportation ffidustries of the country, in stead of the free give and take of mdividual contract, there is substituted a vast system of coUective bargaiffing between great masses of men organized and actmg tiirough thek representa tives, or. the individual on the one side accepts what he can get from superior power on the other. In the movement of these mighty forces of orgaffization the individual laborer, the indi vidual stockholder, the individual consumer, is helpless. There has been another change of conditions through the development of political organization. The theory of poUtical activity which had its origin approximately ffi the admmistra tion of President Jackson, and which is characterized by Marcy's declaration that "to the victors belong the spoUs," tended to make the possession of office the primary and aU-absorbffig pur pose of political conflict. A complicated system of party organ ization and representation grew up under wffich a disciplffied body of party workers ffi each state supported one another, controlled the machinery of nomination, and thus controUed nominations. The members of state legislatures and other officers, when elected, felt a more acute responsibility to the organization which coffid control thek renomination than to the electors, and therefore became accustomed to shape thek con duct accordmg to the wishes of the nommating organization. Accordingly the real power of government came to be vested to a high degree in these unofficial pohtical organizations, and where there was a strong man at the head of an organization ffis con trol came to be somethffig very closely approachffig ffictator- ship. Another feature of this system aggravated its evUs. As population grew, political campaigns became more expensive. At the same time, as wealth grew, corporations for production and transportation fficreased ffi capital and extent of operations and became more dependent upon the protection or toleration of government. They found a ready means to secure this by contributffig heavily to the campaign funds of political organiza tions, and therefore their mfluence played a large part in deter- 294 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS miffing who should be nominated and elected to office. So that ffi many states political organizations controUed the operations of government, in accordance with the wishes of the managers of the great corporations. Under these ckcumstances our govern mental institutions were not working as they were ffitended to work, and a deske to break up and get away from this extea constitutional method of controffing our constitutional govem ment has caused a great part of the new poUtical methods of the last few years. It is manifest that the laws which were entkely adequate under the conditions of a century ago to secure mdividual and pubUc welfare must be ffi many respects ffiadequate to accomplish the same results under all these new conditions; and our people are now engaged ffi the difficult but imperative duty of adapting thek laws to the life of today. The changes ffi conffitions have come very rapidly, and a good deal of experiment wffi be neces sary to find out just what govemment can do and ought to do to meet them. The process of devisffig and tryffig new laws to meet new conditions naturally leads to the question whether we need not merely to make new laws, but also to modKy the prfficiples upon which our government is based and the ffistitutions of government designed for the application of those prfficiples to the affaks of life. Upon tffis question it is of the utmost im portance that we proceed with considerable wisdom. By ffistitutions of government I mean the established rffie or order of action through which the sovereign (ffi our case the sovereign people) attaffis the ends of govemment. The govern mental institutions of Great Britaffi have been established by the growth through many centuries of a great body of accepted rules and customs wffich, taken together, are caUed the British Constitution. In tffis country we have set forth in the Dedara- tion of Independeiice the principles which we consider to lie at the basis of civil society "that aU men are created equal; that they are endowed, by thek Creator, with certain unalienable rights; that among these are ffie, liberty, and the pursuit of happffiess. That to secure these rights, governments are ffisti- CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 29S tuted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed." In our Federal and state constitutions we have established the institutions through which these rights are to be secured. We have declared what officers shaU make the laws, what officers shaU execute them, what officers shall sit ffi judgment upon claims of right under them. We have prescribed how these officers shall be selected and the tenure by which they shaU hold thek offices. We have Umited them ffi the powers wffich they are to exercise, and, where it has been deemed necessary, we have im posed specffic duties upon them. The body of rules thus pre scribed constitute the governmental ffistitutions of the United States. When proposals are made to change these institutions there are certam general considerations wffich shoffid be observed. The first consideration is that free government is impossible except through prescribed and estabUshed governmental ffisti tutions, wffich work out the ends of government tiirough many separate human agents, each doing ffis part in obedience to law. Popffiar wUl cannot execute itself dkectiy except through a mob. Popular wUl cannot get itself executed tffiough an irresponsible executive, for that is simple autocracy. An executive limited only by the direct expression of popular wffi cannot be held to responsibihty agamst ffis wffi, because, having possession of aU the powers of govemment, he can prevent any true, free, and general expression adverse to himself, and unless he yields vol untarily he can be overturned only by a revolution. The famiUar Spaffish-American dictatorships are ffiustrations of tffis. A dictator once estabUshed by what is or is aUeged to be pubUc choice never pei'mits an expression of pubhc wffi wffich wffi dis place ffim, and he goes out only tiirough a new revolution be cause he alone controls the macffinery through wMch he coffid be displaced peaceably. A system with a plebiscite at one end and Louis Napoleon at the other coffid not give France free government; and it was only after the humiUation of defeat ffi a great war and the horrors of the Commune that the French ' people were able to estabUsh a government wffich woffid reaUy 296 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS execute thek wffi tffiough carefuUy devised mstitutions ffi wMch they gave thek cffief executive very Uttie power ffideed. We shoffid, therefore, reject every proposal wffich ffivolves the idea that the people can rffie merely by votffig, or merely by votffig and havffig one man or group of men to execute thek wffi. A second consideration is that ffi estimatffig the value of any system of governmental ffistitutions due regard must be had to the true functions of government and to the Umitations imposed by nature upon what it is possible for government to accomplish. We aU know, of course, that we cannot abohsh aU the evUs ffi tffis world by statute or by the effiorcement of statutes, nor can we prevent the inexorable law of nature wffich decrees that sufferffig shaU foUow vice, and aU the evU passions and foUy of mankffid. Law cannot give to depravity the re wards of vktue, to ffidolence the rewards of ffidustry, to ffidU- ference the rewards of ambition, or to ignorance the rewards of leamffig. The utmost that government can do is measurably to protect men, not agaffist the wrong they do themselves, but agaffist jvrong done by others, and to promote the long, slow process of educating mmd and character to a better knowledge and nobler standards of Ufe and conduct. We know aU tffis, but when we see how much misery there is ffi the world and ffistinc- tively cry out agamst it, and when we see some tffings that gov ernment may do to mitigate it, we are apt to forget how Uttie, after aU, it is possible for any government to do, and to hold the particffiar government of the time and place to a standard of responsibiUty wMch no government can possibly meet. The cffief motive power wffich has moved mankmd along the course of development wffich we call the progress of civilization has been the sum total of inteffigent seffishness in a vast number of ffidividuals, each working for ffis own support, ffis own gam, ffis own betterment. It is that which has cleared the forests and cffitivated the fidds and bffilt the sffips and raikoads, made the ffiscoveries and inventions, covered the earth Avith commerce, softened by intercourse the enmities of nations and races, and made possible the wonders of Uterature and of art. Gradually, CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 297 during the long process, selfishness has grown more intelligent, with a broader view of individual benefit from the common good, and gradually the ffifluences of nobler standards of altrffism, of justice, and human sympathy have impressed themselves upon the conception of right conduct among civUized men. But the complete control of such motives wffi be the mffiennium. Any attempt to effiorce a miUennial standard now by law must neces sarily faU, and any judgment wffich assumes government's responsibffity to enforce such a standard must be an unjust judgment. Indeed, no such standard can ever be forced. It must come, not by superior force, but from the changed nature of man, from his wUlffigness to be altogether just and mercKul. A thkd consideration is that it is not merely useless, but ffijurious for government to attempt too much. It is maffifest that to enable it to deal with the new conditions I have de scribed we must ffivest government with authority to ffiterfere with the mdividual conduct of the citizen to a degree hitherto unknown ffi tffis country. When govemment undertakes to give the ffidividual citizen protection by regffiatmg the conduct of others toward him ffi the field where formerly he protected himseK by ffis freedom of contract, it is limitffig the hberty of the citizen whose conduct is regulated and taking a step in the dkec tion of paternal government. WhUe the new conffitions of in dustrial ffie make it plaiffiy necessary that many such steps shaU be taken, they shoffid be taken offiy so far as they are necessary and are effective. Interference with inffividual Uberty by gov ernment shoffid be jealously watched and restraffied, because the habit of undue interference destroys that independence of character without wffich m its citizens no free govemment can endure. We shoffid not forget that wffile institutions receive thek form from national character, they have a powerful reflex in fluence upon that character. Just so far as a nation aUows its mstitutions to be moulded by its weaknesses of character rather than by its strength, it creates an influence to increase weakness at the expense of strength. The habit of undue interference by government ffi private 298 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS affairs breeds the habit of undue .reUance upon government ffi private affaks at the expense of inffividual iffitiative, energy, enterprise, courage, ffidependent manhood. The strength of seK-government and the motive power of progress must be found in the characters of the ffiffividual citizens who make up a nation. Weaken ffiffividual character among a people by comfortable reliance upon paternal govem ment and a nation soon becomes incapable of free seK-govern ment and fit offiy to be governed: the ffigher and nobler qualities of national IKe that make for ideals and effort and acffievement become atropffied and the nation is decadent. A fourth consideration is that ffi the nature of tffings aU government must be imperfect because men are imperfect. Every system has its shortcomings and fficonveffiences; and these are seen and felt as they exist ffi the system under wffich we Uve, wffile the shortcomings and fficonveffiences of other systems are forgotten or ignored. It is not unusual to see governmental methods reformed and after a time, long enough to forget the evUs that caused the change, to have a new movement for a reform wffich consists in changing back to substantially the same old methods that were cast out by the first reform. The recognition of shortcommgs or fficonveffiences in govem ment is not by itseK sufficient to Warrant a change of system. There shoffid be also an effort to estimate and compare the short comings and inconveffiences of the system to be substituted, for although they may be dffierent they wiU certaiffiy exist. A ffith consideration is that whatever changes m govemment ought to be made, we shoffid follow the method wffich under takes as one of its cardffial points to hold fast that which is good. Francis Lieber, whose affection for the country of ffis birth equaled ffis loyalty to the coimtry of ffis adoption, once said: "There is this difiEerence between the EngUsh, French, and Germans: That the EngUsh only change what is necessary and as far as it is neces sary; the French plunge into aU sorts of novelties by whole masses, get into a chaos, see that they are fools, and retrace their steps as quickly, with a high degree of practical sense in aU this unpracticabiUty; the Germans CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 299 attempt no change without first recurring to first principles and metaphysics beyond them, systematizing the smaUest details in their minds; and when at last they mean to apply aU their meditation, opportunity, with its wide and swift wings of a gull, is gone." TMs was written more than sixty years ago, before the present French RepubUc and the present German Empke, and Lieber would doubtless have modffied his conclusions ffi view of those great acffievements ffi government K he were writing today. But he does correctiy ffidicate the dffierences of method and the dangers avoided by the practical course wffich he ascribes to the EngUsh and ffi accordance with wffich the great structure of British and American hberty has been bffilt up generation after generation and century after century. Through aU the seven hundred years sffice Magna Charta we have been shaping, adjusting, adg,pting our system to the new conditions of ffie as they have arisen, but we have always held on to everytffing essentiaUy good that we have ever had m the system. We have never undertaken to begffi over agaffi and bffild up a new system under the idea that we coffid do it better. We have never let go of Magna Charta or the BiU of Rights or the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution. 'When we take account of aU that governments have sought to do and have faUed to do ffi tffis seffish and siffiffi world, we find that as a rffie the appUca tion of new theories of government, though devised by the most briffiant constructive genius, have avaUed but Uttie to preserve the people of any considerable regions of the earth for any long periods from the evUs of despotism on the one hand or of anarchy on the other, or to raise any considerable portion of the mass of mankind above the hard conffitions of oppression and misery. And we find that our system of government which has been built up ffi this practical way through so many centuries, and the whole history of wffich is potent ffi the provisions of our Constitution, has done more to preserve Uberty, justice, security, and freedom of opportuffity for many people for a long period and over a great portion of the earth, than any other system of govern ment ever devised by man. Human nature does not change very much. The forces of evil are hard to control now as they 300 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS always have been. It is easy to fail and hard to succeed ffi recon- ciUng Uberty and order. In deaUng with tffis most successfffi body of governmental mstitutions the question shoffid not be what sort of government do you or I think we shoffid have. WTiat you and I think on such a subject is of very Uttie value ffideed. The question shoffid be: How can we adapt our laws and the workmgs of our govem ment to the new conffitions which coffiront us without sacrfficing any essential element of tffis system of government wffich has so nobly stood the test of time and without aban doffing the pohtical principles wffich have ffispired the growth of its institutions? For there are pohtical principles, and nothffig can be more fatal to seK-government than to lose sight of them under the influence of apparent expediency. . . . The Constitution of the Uffited States deals ffi the main with essentials. There are some non-essential ffirections such as those relatmg to the methods of election and of legislation, but ffi the maffi it sets forth the foundations of government ffi clear, simple, concise terms. It is for this reason that it has stood the test of more than a century with but slight amendment, while the modern state constitutions, into which a multitude of ordmary statutory provisions are crowded, have to be changed from year to year. The pecuUar and essential quaUties of the government established by the Constitution are: First, it is representative. Second, it recognizes the Uberty of the mffividual citizen as ffistinguished from the total mass of citizens, and it protects that liberty by specffic Umitations upon the power of government. Thkd, it ffistributes the legislative, executive, and jufficial powers, wffich make up the sum total of aU government, mto three separate departments, and specfficaUy limits the powers of the officers in each department. Fourth, it superimposes upon a federation of state govern ments a national government with sovereignty acting dkectiy not merely upon the states, but upon the citizens of each state, withffi a Une of limitation drawn between the powers of the national government and the powers of the state governments. CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 301 Fifth, it makes observance of its lunitations reqffisite to the vaUffity of laws, whether passed by the nation or by the states, to be judged by the courts of law in each concrete case as it arises. Every one of these five characteristics of the govemment established by the Constitution was a distinct advance beyond the ancient attempts at popular government, and the elimina tion of any one of them woffid be a retrograde movement and a reversion to a former and ffiscarded type of government. In each case it woffid be the abandonment of a ffistffictive feature of government which has succeeded, ffi order to go back and try agaffi the methods of government which have faUed. Of course we ought not to take such a backward step except under the pressure of mevitable necessity. THE LIBERATION OF A PEOPLE'S VITAL ENERGIES^ Woodrow Wilson [For biographical note regarding author, see page 141. The volume from which this selection was taken is a compUation of the more significant por tions of President's WUson's campaign speeches delivered previous to his election the first time. Throughout the speeches there is a fine tone of unselfish pubUc service and of a new spirit of social justice in poUtics and national life.] No matter how often we tffink of it, the ffiscovery of America must each time make a fresh appeal to our imagffiations. For centuries, indeed from the beginning, the face of Europe had been turned toward the east. AU the routes of trade, every im pulse and energy, ran from west to east. The Atlantic lay at the world's back door. Then, suddeffiy, the conquest of Constanti nople by the Turk closed the route to the Orient. Europe had either to face about or lack any outiet for her energies; the un known sea at the west at last was ventured upon, and the earth learned that it was twice as big as it had thought. Columbus did not find, as he had expected, the civilization of Cathay; he IFrom The New Freedom. (Copyright, 1913, Doubleday, Page & Co.) Reprinted by permission. 302 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS found an empty continent. In that part of the world, upon that new-found haK of the globe, mankind, late ffi its history, was thus afforded an opportuffity to set up a new civilization; here it was strangely privUeged to make a new human experiment. Never can that moment of uffique opportuffity faU to exdte the emotion of aU who consider its strangeness and richness; a thousand fancKffi ffistories of the earth might be contrived with out the imagffiation daring to conceive such a romance as the ffidffig away of haK the globe until the fuffiess of time had come for a new start ffi civilization. A mere sea captam's ambition to trace a new trade route gave way to a moral adventure for humaffity. The race was to found a new order here on this delectable land, wMch no man approached without receiving, as the old voyagers relate, you remember, sweet aks out of woods aflame with flowers and murmurous with the sound of peUucid waters. The hemisphere lay waitffig to be touched with ffie — ^ffie from the old centers of Uvffig, surely, but deansed of defilement, and cured of wearmess, so as to be fit for the vkgin purity of a new bride. The whole thffig sprffigs ffito the imagi nation like a wonderful vision, an exqffisite marvel wffich once offiy ffi aU ffistory coffid be vouchsafed. One other thing only compares with it; offiy one other thing touches the springs of emotion as does the picture of the sffips of Columbus drawffig near the bright shores — and that is the thought of the choke ffi the tMoat of the .immigrant of today as he gazes from the steerage deck at the land where he has been taught to beUeve he ffi his turn shaU find an eartffiy paradise, where, a free man, he shaU forget the heartaches of the old Ufe, and enter ffito the fuffihnent of the hope of the world. For has not every sffip that has pointed her prow westward borne ffither the hopes of generation after generation of the oppressed of other lands? How always have men's hearts beat as they saw the coast of America rise to thek view ! How it has always seemed to them that the dweUer there would at last be rid of kffigs, of privUeged classes, and of aU those bonds wffich had kept men depressed and helpless, and would there realize the fuU frffition of his sense of honest manhood, woffid there be one of a great CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 303 body of brothers, not seekmg to defraud and deceive one another, but seekffig to accomphsh the general good ! 'What was ffi the writings of the men who founded America — to serve the seffish ffiterests of America? Do you find that m thek writings? No; to serve the cause of humaffity, to brffig liberty to mankind. They set up their standards here ffi America m the tenet of hope, as a beacon of encouragement to aU the nations of the world; and men came tiirongffig to these shores with an expectancy that never existed before, with a confidence they never dared feel before, and found here for generations together a haven of peace, of opportuffity, of equality. God send that ffi the comphcated state of modem affaks we may recover the standards and repeat the acffievements of that heroic age! For ffie is no longer the comparatively simple thffig it was. Our relations one with another have been profounffiy modffied by the new agencies of rapid commuffication and transporta tion, tenffing swKtly to concentrate ffie, widen commuffities, fuse interests, and compUcate aU the processes of Uvffig. The mdividual is dizzUy swept about ffi a thousand new whirlpools of activities. Tyranny has become more subtie, and has learned to wear the gffise of mere ffidustry, and even of benevolence. Freedom has become a somewhat dffierent matter. It cannot, — eternal prfficiple that it is, — ^it cannot have altered, yet it shows itseK ffi new aspects. Perhaps it is offiy reveaUng its deeper meaning. What is Uberty? I have long had an image ffi my mmd of what constitutes Uberty. Suppose that I were buUffing a great piece of powerfffi machinery, and suppose that I shoffid so awkwardly and unskU- fuUy assemble the parts of it that every time one part tried to move it woffid be ffiterfered with by the others, and the whole thffig would buckle up and be checked. Liberty for the several parts would consist in the best possible assembUng and adjust ment of them aU, would it not? If you want the great piston of the engine to run with absolute freedom, give it absolutely per fect alignment and adjustment with the other parts of the 304 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS macMne, so that it is free, not because it is let alone or isolated, but because it has been associated most skffiuUy and carefuUy with the other parts of the great structure. What is hberty? You say of the locomotive that it runs free. What do you mean? You mean that its parts are so assembled and adjusted that friction is reduced to a minimum, and that it has perfect adjustment. We say of a boat sMmmffig the water with Ught foot, "How free she runs," when we mean, how per fectiy she is adjusted to the force of the wffid, how perfectiy she obeys the great breath out of the heavens that fiUs her sails. Tffiow her head up ffito the wind and see how she wffi halt and stagger, how every sheet wffi shiver and her whole frame be shaken, how mstantiy she is "ffi kons," ffi the expressive phrase of the sea. She is free offiy when you have let her faU off agam and have recovered once more her ffice adjustment to the forces she must obey and cannot defy. Human freedom consists in perfect adjustments of human ffiterests and human activities and human energies. Now, the adjustments necessary between ffiffividuals, be tween ffiffividuals and the complex ffistitutions amidst wffich they Uve, and between those institutions and the govemment, are infiffitely more intricate today than ever before. No doubt tffis is a tkesome and roundabout way of sayffig the tffing, yet perhaps it is worth whUe to get somewhat clearly ffi our mffid what makes aU the trouble today. LKe has become complex; there are many more elements, more parts, to it than ever before. And, therefore, it is harder to keep everytffing adjusted — and harder to find out where the trouble Ues when the machffie gets out of order. You know that one of the mterestffig tffings that Mr. Jefferson said ffi those early days of simphcity which marked the begffi- nings of our government was that the best government consisted ffi as Uttie governffig as possible. And there is stffi a sense in which that is true. It is still intolerable for the government to interfere with our individual activities except where it is neces sary to interfere with them ffi order to free them. But I feel confident that K Jefferson were Uving in our day he woffid see CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 305 what we see: that the individual is caught in a great confused nexus of aU sorts of complicated circumstances, and that to let Mm alone is to leave him helpless as against the obstades with which he has to contend; and that, therefore, law ffi our day must come to the assistance of the inffividual. It must come to Ms assistance to see that he gets fair play; that is all, but that is much. Without the watcMffi interference, the resolute ffiter ference, of the government, there can be no fak play between individuals and such powerfffi ffistitutions as the trusts. Free dom today is sometffing more than being let alone. The pro gram of a government of freedom must ffi these days be posi tive, not negative merely. WeU, then, ffi this new sense and meanffig of it, are we pre servffig freedom ffi tffis land of ours, the hope of aU the earth? Have we, inheritors of this continent and of the ideals to wffich the fathers consecrated it — have we maintaffied them, reaUzing them, as each generation must, anew? Are we, ffi the consciousness that the Ufe of man is pledged to higher levels here than elsewhere, striving stUl to bear aloft the standards of liberty and hope, or, ffisffiusioned and defeated, are we feehng the ffisgrace of having had a free field in wMch to do new tffings and of not having done them? The answer must be, I am sure, that we have been ffi a fak way of faUure — tragic faUure. And we stand in danger of utter failure yet except we fffifil speedily the determination we have reached, to deal with the new and subtie tyrannies accordffig to thek deserts. Don't deceive yourselves for a moment as to the power of the great mterests wffich now dominate our develop ment. They are so great that it is almost an open question whether the government of the United States can dominate them or not. Go one step further, make thek organized power permanent, and it may be too late to turn back. The roads ffiverge at the poffit where we stand. They stretch thek vistas out to regions where they are very far separated from one an other; at the end of one is the old tkesome scene of government tied up with special interests; and at the other shines the Uber- atffig Ught of ffidividual iffitiative, of ffiffividual liberty, of m- T 3o5 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS dividual freedom, the Ught of untrammded enterprise. I beUeve that that Ught sffines out of the heavens itseK that God has created. I beUeve ffi human Uberty as I beUeve ffi the wffie of IKe. There is no salvation for men ffi the pitifffi condescensions of industrial masters. Guarffians have no place ffi a land of freemen. Prosperity guaranteed by trustees has no prospect of endurance. Monopoly means the atrophy of enterprise. If monopoly persists, monopoly wUl always sit at the helm of the government. I do not expect to see monopoly restram itself. if there are men ffi this country big enough to own the govern ment of the United States, they are going to own it; what we have to determffie now is whether we are big enough, whether we are men enough, whether we are free enough, to take posses sion agaffi of the govemment wffich is our own. We haven't had free access to it, our minds have not touched it by way of gffid ance, ffi half a generation, and now we are engaged in notffing less than the recovery of what was made with our own hands, and acts only by our delegated authority. I teU you, when you discuss the question of the tariffs and of the trusts, you are ffiscussing the very lives of yourselves and your chUdren. I beUeve that I am preacffing the very cause of some of the gentiemen whom I am opposing when I preach the cause of free industry ffi the United States, for I thmk they are slowly gkding the tree that bears the ffiestimable fruits of our Ufe, and that if they are permitted to gird it entkely nature wffi take her revenge and the tree wiU die. I do not believe that America is securely great because she has great men ffi her now. America is great ffi proportion as she can make sure of having great men ffi the next generation. She is rich ffi her unborn chUdren; rich, that is to say, if those unborn children see the sun in a day of opportunity, see the sun when they are free to exercise thek energies as they wiU. If they open their eyes ffi a land where there is no special privilege, then we shall come into a new era of American greatness and American Uberty; but K they open thek eyes in a country where they must be employees or nothing, if they open their eyes in a land of merely regffiated monopoly, where all the conditions of CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 307 mdustry are determmed by small groups of men, then they wUl see an America such as the founders of tMs Republic would have wept to thmk of. The offiy hope is ffi the release of the forces which pMlantiiropic trust presidents want to monopolize. Offiy the emancipation, the freeing and hearteffing of the vital energies of all the people wUl redeem us. In aU that I may have to do in pubUc affaks ffi the United States I am going to think of towns such as I have seen ffi Inffiana, towns of the old Ameri can pattern, that own and operate their own ffidustries, hope- fuUy and happily. My thought is going to be bent upon the mffitiplication of towns of that kffid and the prevention of the concentration of ffidustry in tffis country ffi such a fashion and upon such a scale that towns that own themselves wiU be im possible. You know what the vitaUty of America consists of. Its vitaUty does not Ue ffi New York, nor ffi Chicago; it wffi not be sapped by anythffig that happens ffi St. Loffis. The vi tality of America lies ffi the brains, the energies, the enterprise of the people throughout the land; m the efficiency of thek fac tories and ffi the richness of the fields that stretch beyond the borders of the town; ffi the wealth wffich they extract from nature and originate for themselves tffiough the ffiventive geffius characteristic of all free American commuffities. That is the wealth of America, and K America ffiscourages the locality, the community, the self-contaffied town, she wiU kill the nation. A nation is as rich as her free communities; she is not as rich as her capital city or her metropoUs. The amount of money ffi Wall Street is no inffication of the wealth of the American people. That indication can be found only ffi the fer tiUty of the American mind and the productivity of American industry everywhere tiiroughout the United States. If America were not rich and fertile, there would be no money ffi Wall Street. If Americans were not vital and able to take care of themselves, the great money exchanges would break down. The weKare, the very existence of the nation, rests at last upon the great mass of the people; its prosperity depends at last upon the spirit in which they go about thek work in their several commuffities throughout the broad land. In proportion as her 3o8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS towns and her countrysides are happy and hopefffi wffi America realize the ffigh ambitions which have marked her ffi the eyes of aU the world. The weKare, the happffiess, the energy and spkit of the men and women who do the daUy work ffi our mmes and factories, on our raikoads, ffi our offices and ports of trade, on our farms and on the sea, is the underlyffig necessity of aU prosperity. There can be notffing wholesome uffiess thek Ufe is wholesome; there can be no contentment unless they are contented. Thek physical weKare affects the soundness of the whole nation. How woffid it sffit the prosperity of the United States, how woffid it suit busffiess, to have a people that went every day sadly or sffileffiy to thek work? How woffid the future look to you K you felt that the aspiration had gone out of most men, the confidence of success, the hope that they might improve thek conffition? Do you not see that just so soon as the old seK- confidence of America, just so soon as her old boasted advantage of individual liberty and opportunity, is taken away, aU the energy of her people begffis to subside, to slacken, to grow loose and pffipy, without fiber, and men simply cast about to see that the day does not end ffisastrously with them? So we must put heart ffito the people by takffig the heartiess- ness out of pohtics, busffiess, and industry. We have got to make politics a thffig ffi wffich an honest man can take ffis part with satisfaction because he knows that Ms opffiion wffi count as much as the next man's, and that the boss and the mterests have been dethroned. Business we have got to un trammel, aboUshffig tariff favors, and raikoad ffiscrimination, and creffit deffials, and aU forms of unjust handicaps agaffist the Uttie man. Industry we have got to humanize, — not through the tmsts but tffiough the dkect action of law guaranteeffig protection agamst dangers and compensation for injuries, guaranteeffig saffitary conffitions, proper hours, the right to organize, and aU the other tffings wffich the conscience of the country demands as the workingman's right. We have got to cheer and mspkit our people vnth the sure prospects of social justice and due reward, with the vision of the open gates of opportuffity for aU. We CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 309 have got to set the energy and the ffiitiative of this great people absolutely free, so that the future of America wffi be greater than the past, so that the pride of America wffi grow with acffieve ment, so that America wffi know as she advances from generation to generation that each brood of her sons is greater and more en Ughtened than that wffich preceded it, know that she is fulfilling the promise that she has made to mafficind. Such is the vision of some of us who now come to assist m its realization. For we Democrats woffid not have endured tffis long burden of exUe K we had not seen a vision. We coffid have traded; we coffid have got into the game; we coffid have sur rendered and made terms; we coffid have played the role of patrons to the men who wanted to domffiate the mterests of the ¦ country — and here and there gentiemen who pretended to be of us did make those arrangements. They coffidn't stand privation. You never can stand it uffiess you have witffin you some im perishable food upon wffich to sustaffi ffie and courage, the food of those visions of the spkit where a table is set before us laden with palatable fruits, the fruits of hope, the fruits of imagffiation, those ffivisible thffigs of the spirit wffich are the offiy tffings upon which we can sustaffi ourselves tiirough this weary world witii- 'out faffitmg. We have carried ffi our minds, after you had thought you had obscured and blurred them, the ideals of those men who first set thek foot upon America, those httie bands who came to make a foothold ffi the wUderness, because the great teemffig nations that they had left beffind them had for gotten what human Uberty was, Uberty of thought, Uberty of reUgion, Uberty of residence, Uberty of action. Sffice thek day the meaning of hberty has deepened. But it has not ceased to be a fundamental demand of the human spkit, a fundamental necessity for the ffie of the soffi. And the day is at hand when it shaU be reaUzed on tffis consecrated soU — a New Freedom — a Liberty widened and deepened to match the broadened ffie of man ffi modern America, restorffig to him in very truth the control of his govemment, throwmg wide all gates of lawfffi enterprise, unfettermg ffis energies, and warming the generous impffises of ffis heart — a process of release, emanci- 3IO NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS pation, and ffispkation, fffil of a breath of Ufe as sweet and wholesome as tiie aks that fiUed the sails of the caravds of Columbus and gave the promise and boast of magnificent Opportuffity m wMch America dare not fail. A PLEA FOR THE AMERICAN TRADITIGN^ Winston Churchill [^A^ston Chuchill (1871 ) was bom in St. Loius, Missouri. He was graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1894, but resigned from the Navy in order to devote himself to writing. He has produced some ten novels of distinction, several of them deaUng with problems of American life and poUtics. He has himself taken an active part in poUtics in New Hampshire, the state in which he is now Uving.] It has been the complacent custom of the average man to despise systems of phUosophy, to think of them as harmless specffiations made for arm-chaks and leisure. Every once m a wffile the world undergoes a rude awakeffing from tffis faUacy, as when it is shaken by a French Revolution. The unrest of the masses ffi the eighteenth century, becoming conscious ffi the pffilosophy of the rights of man, hghted a conflagration that took a quarter of a century to quench and left a transformed world behind it. And recentiy we have had once more a terrUymg proof that phUosopffies, that cffitures, may be dynamic. Those who had seen and studied the German Empke before the war beheld the spectade of a nation wMch, tiiough not without internal ffissensions and party strKe, had acffieved a remarkable degree of efficiency and individual contentment; a nation ffi which waste had been largely elimffiated, ffi wffich poverty was less prevalent than ffi the Anglo-Saxon democracies. Prosperity was more widely dffiused. The industrial problem, hangmg menacffigly over England and America Uke an evU genie above the smoke, ffi Germany was apparentiy far on its way toward solution. The transformation from a loosely kffit, IFrom Harper's Monthly Magazine, vol. cxxxii, p. 299 (January, 1916). Reprinted by permission. CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 311 over-popffiated group of states ffi wffich there was much misery and poverty into a rich, seK-confident, and aggressive empke had taken place witffin a comparatively few years. It was not until the war broke out that we of the Anglo- Saxon democracies began to inquire why and how, only to find to our amazement that tffis growth was due to a prfficiple at work among the German people, a phUosophy, a Kffitur, a leaven with which they had become saturated. It is not necessary here to enter into an analysis of tffis Kffitur, or to attempt to pass judg ment upon it; apparently it is a development from an odd com bination of the systems of many thinkers; it has been shaped by the needs and envkonment of a people and is ffi harmony with the temperament of that people. Nor is it needfffi to inquke to what extent tffis national phUosophy or culture was ffiteUec tuaUy conscious. In the early days of our repubhc the American was imbued with a racial tradition whose origin goes back to the Magna Charta; a traffition laying emphasis on mffividual iffiti ative and individual freedom. It was ffi our blood, and it made the British Colonies and the Uffited States of America. The average Scotch-Irish settler, the western fanner, did not know any more of Locke or Adam Smith than the German peasant of today knows of Fichte and Hegel, Nietzsche, von Trdtschke, or Bernharffi. But this American traffition, because of the change from a simple agricultural and a complex ffidustrial society, has graduaUy become obscured. It is dffierence in ideas, in views of IKe, that arouses suspicions and antagoffisms, that leads to conffict between ffiffividuals as weU as nations. The emotions, the longings, and aspkations of a people are expressed by thek thinkers ffi ideas, and ideas lead to action. Whatever may be the merits or demerits of the German culture, the revelation of its existence and nature has sharply aroused thinking Americans to the realization that it is not for us. Both our traditions and temperament are opposed to it. We are beginning to grasp the fact that democracy is at stake — what ever democracy has come to mean. The opening of the present war found the Anglo-Saxon democracies in a state of muddle and chaos. Our houses were 312 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS not ffi order. And that we might have to defend our mstitutions, such as they were, never seems to have occurred to us. We had evolved no system of defense ffi harmony with the nature of our government, with our traffitions — ^we had no system of defense worthy of the name. And England, save for her navy, was in the same phght. Prosperity had made many of us smug and seffish, ready to reap profits out of other people's misfortunes; we had mistaken the pursffit of wealth for the pursffit of happi ness; we were wastefffi, and riddled with pohtical corruption. The rise of modern mdustry with its ffitroduction of the machine had changed the face of our civilization, largely swept away the democracy we had, created a class of economic dependents; established, ffideed, an economic slavery — a slavery no less real than that ffi wffich the master was ffiffividualized. And that equality of opportuffity, so prevalent when land and resources were plentKffi, had dwindled amazffigly. Serious writers agree that it is growffig fficreasffigly difficffit for men to rise from the ranks of the workers, partiy because of increasmg dass soUdarity, partiy because of the great denial necessary to acquke suffident funds — a deffial that reacts on the famUy. Those who do rise become recrffits of a hostUe camp — the camp of the employer; and those who do rise seem to be possessed more markedly than ever of those characteristics — so hostUe to democratic ideals — hffited at by the author of the "Spoon River Anthology:" "Beware of the man who rises to power From one suspender." We are in the tffioes of ffidustrial strKe, class strKe, the very condition our forefathers who founded tffis nation hoped to obviate. We have a large element of our population burffing with a sense of ffijustice and dependence — fedffigs that partially die down offiy to flare up again; an element for the most part un educated ffi any real sense of the word; an element imbued with crude and non-American ideas as to how this injustice is to be righted. Thek solution is one of class soUdarity and revolution, and they cannot be blamed for advocating it. We must make up our mffids that we shaU not have peace or order untU equaUty CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 313 of opportuffity tends to become restored and dependence elimi nated. We shall have to find and put ffi practice, K democracy is to endure, a democratic solution of the ffidustrial problem. It is curious, but true, that it does not seem to have occurred to us to examffie the traditions of our race to see whether these might not be developed and made as applicable to the problem of industrial democracy as they had been to that of poUtical democracy. Our statesmen, ffi thek despak, attempted to solve the problem by a tendency to adopt a collectivism borrowed from Central Europe. Indeed, many of the measures passed ffi Eng land and America durffig the past dozen years are ffi prfficiple ahen to the American tradition and temperament. Pensions, for ffistance, are not compatible with Anglo-Saxon ffidependence and respect; nor do we take kffiffiy to laws, however benevo lent, that hamper the freedom and development of the ffiffividual. Coercion is repugnant to us. It has been said that the United States of America is no longer Anglo-Saxon. But I beheve that I am ffi accord with experience and modem opiffion when I say that envkonment is stronger than hereffity, and that our immigrants become imbued with our racial mdividuahsm — at present largely mstructive and materiaUstic ffi quaUty. 'Whether our immigration problem is at present beffig hanffied with wisdom and efficiency is qffite another matter. Professor Dewey quotes a sentence from Heffie declarmg that nations have an ffistffictive presentiment of what is requked to fuffil thek missions, and it is quite true that we m America have such a presentiment, although we have not translated it ffito a conscious creed or cffiture; with us it is httle more than a pre sentiment, but the war has served to make us realize, that, K our democracy is to be preserved, its survival must be justffied, it must be efficient. The first essential to such efficiency is that our phUosophy, our spkit and ideals, shoffid be defined, and secondly that our citizens from the early years of childhood should be saturated and animated with these principles and ideals. In short, we must have a culture of American democracy. 314 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and that cffiture must be in harmony with the character and temperament and traffitions of the nation. For this reason it becomes essential to examffie our character and traditions, for nations as weU as men must first arrive at a thorough comprehension of thek characters before a scheme of IKe can be made to fit them. The "presentiment of destffiy" hes hidden in character. The leopard cannot change his spots: men and nations cannot change thek inherent characteristics, but they can develop and transform these, dkect them from material toward spkitual ends. Offiy a Uttie reflection is requked to convffice any one that the Anglo-Saxon, and particffiarly the American, is an inffividual- ist. It is said with much truth that we are lawless by nature, and we have, ffideed, very little respect for laws. We are jealous of control; we are not and never have been a submissive people, and we coffid not hve under a benevolent government that woffid teach us what is good for us. Our forefathers came over here to Uve unto themselves, to exercise thek own opiffions and work out thek own destffiies. However unattractive such ffiffividual- ism may appear, we have to make the best of it, to make vktue out of necessity. AU good people — contrary to Sunday-school traditions — are not alike. And if we are going to become good, we must become good ffi our own way. 'When certaffi American colonists, impatient with British interference, rebeUed agaffist England, they wrote down ffi the Declaration of Independence a creed, a pffilosophy, that was quite in keepffig with Anglo-Saxon temperament, with Anglo- Saxon ideals as far back as the Magna Charta. Every man is entitled to IKe, hberty, and the pursuit of happffiess. A govern ment was necessary, but they were determined to have as littie government as possible, to give the inffividual the greatest amount of Uberty consistent with any govemment at all; they laid stress on inffividual iffitiative and development, on seK- realization. Our forefathers were neither saints nor dreamers. They also were not averse to the accumffiation of wealth, and undoubt edly they had an eye to the maffi chance. But there is one truth CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 315 that cannot be too emphatically affirmed, that in human affaks the material and the spiritual are inextricably mixed together, though one or the other may be preponderant. In spite of — ^perhaps because of — the fact that the American creed was a magffificent declaration of faith ffi man, it was received with derision and laughter ffi Europe, regarded as Utopian. Yet we are pledged to it, both by our temperament and traffitions. We cannot do otherwise. We shaU have to work out our destiny along these Iffies. But ffistead of spiritualizing this creed we have steadUy materialized it, we have mistaken the pursuit of happffiess for the pursffit of wealth; we have faUed to grasp the truth that happiness hes — and hes alone — ffi seK-realization; that the ac quisition of wealth, that the triumph of man over nature, is merely accessory to happiness. The creed is deeply religious m its sublime trust ffi man, its confidence that he wih not pursue false gods forever, that he wffi come at length to a realization of the futihty of the purely material, and that he wffi turn at last voluntarUy and make ffis contribution to the whole. I should like to emphasize that word voluntarily, because it is the most sigffificant ffi democracy. We are a nation of volunteers; we do not wish to be forced ffito servffig our government, but to do so of our own free wUl. TMs does not mean that voluntary service is unorganized service. Our creed iffiers also that before we can have efficiency ffi government we must have seK-control ffi inffividuals. It differs from the German cffiture ffi that it impUes development and ffitimate uffity tiirough dffierentiation, and a beUef that that nation is the richest nation which contains the most ffigUy developed and richest ffidividuals. National wealth, both mater ial and spiritual, grows out of the seK-realization of citizens and thek voluntary contributions to the nation. American democracy, then, as I have said, confesses its trust ffi mankffid, and K we open our eyes we may see about us no lack of experiments throughout the repubUc ffi wffich this trust m humaffity is beffig more or less justffied. Many of our universities and some of our pubUc sdiools have adopted a 3i6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS quaUfied system of seK-government, and our faith is such that we are even applymg it, and not without encouragement, to the prison system. Trust is the despak of poUticians. Democracy must, from its very nature, evolve its own truths from experience and traffitions, and can accept no external authority. It is an adventure. It is never safe — otherwise the element of faith would be eliminated from it. It grows as the soffi grows, through mistakes and sufferffig. Nevertheless, there is ffi it some guiffing prfficiple of progress that is constant, and with wffich its citizens shoffid be imbued and inspked. I am speaking of an American cffiture, usffig it ffi the German sense of Kffitur. To quote Professor Dewey agaffi: Cffiture, accordffig to Kant, dffiers from civUization ffi this, that civUization is a natural and largely unconscious or ffivoluntary growth, the by-product of the needs engendered when people Uve close together, whUe cffiture is deUberate and conscious, the frffit not of men's natural motives, but of natural motives transformed by the inner spkit. Observe the word transformed. The spkit of democracy, the pffilosophy of democracy, needs to be developed and made conscious ffi order that we may grad uaUy transform our material ffiffividuaUsm ffito a spkitual ffiffividuaUsm. Thus the pursffit of happiness becomes the struggle for seK-realization; thus the riches and the gKts devel oped are devoted, voluntarUy, to the good of the whole. There is no coercion, but a spkit. Competition becomes emulation, such as we see now among scientists, or ffi that finer element of the meffical profession that bends aU its energies for the benefit of humanity. Trust is the order of the day. Inffividual ffiitiative is stimffiated rather than paralyzed, and the citizen contributes to government rather than attempts to compel government to contribute to him. AU this does not make organization any the less necessary. It does not mean that the volunteer must not be trained. Qffite the contrary. But it does mean that the volunteer must grow up conscious of the traditions of ffis country, ffistffied with the spkit of its institutions. As has been said, it woffid seem of late years that there has CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 317 been a tendency to lose faith ffi the vktue of the prmciples of American democracy to right wrongs, to cure the evils that modem ffidustriaUsm has brought in its traffi. A marked senti ment has arisen, demanffing that government be given strong coercive powers to be exercised on behaK of and for the protec tion of the economicaUy dependent. Such legislation is class legislation — ^it either takes for granted that an economicaUy dependent class is inevitable, or else that the members of the dependent order wffi graduaUy be emancipated, not as ffiffivid uals, but as a class. From the poffit of view of our traffitions it is qffite as subversive as legislation ffi favor of the economicaUy powerfffi. 'Vicious as this undoubteffiy is, it has been to a large extent extra-legal and therefore withffi the bounds of cure. That an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure may be taken as a cardffial motto of our democracy. We are, of course, face to face at present with a conffition and not a theory, and we have today the anomalous situation of a pohtical quasi-democ- racy upon wffich an economic oUgarchy has been superimposed — we have an economicaUy dependent class that has offiy the choice between masters, as Herbert Croly ffi ffis Progressive Democracy poffits out; a class whose members as ffidividuals have no command over the conffitions ffi wffich they shall work; and the fact that these conffitions are often ffictated by labor uffions does not emancipate the ffidividual. In such a case we are as far from American democracy as ever. Old-age pensions, minimum-wage laws, workffigmen's compensation acts, may, ffi the mudffie we have got ffito, be necessary to secure a temporary measure of justice, but fundamentaUy they are not American. Conscription was necessary in our CivU War, but conscription is not ffi harmony with Anglo-Saxon democracy. The laws I have mentioned are poffitices and not cures, inasmuch as they do not go to the root of the evU. These laws confess no ffitimate trust ffi human nature; they assume that a situation wffi always exist wherein the powerfffi wffi take advantage over the weak unless a strong government steps ffi to restram them. Democracy is contributive; it does not receive favors from its government, but coffiers them. And the tendency to throw 3x8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the onus of support on government is not to create a seK-reliant people, nor a seK-respecting, resourcefffi, and ffiventive people. Labor tends to become routine; there is no pride ffi it. Unless labor is emancipated from its condition of dependence, uffiess we restore ffigffity and pride ffi work, and begffi to reestabUsh that comparative equaUty of opportuffity that once existed when tffis country had wide, empty lands and unclaimed re sources, our repubhc wffi go on the rocks. Of this we may be sure. It cannot contffiue to exist haK slave and haK free. Uffiess our citizens without ffistinction of class are awakened to the danger and ffistffied with the spkit of our traffitions, we shaU have a dass revolution, and that means coUectivism with aU its leveUng influences. CoUectivism does not tend to produce the rich ffidividual, because iffitiative is destroyed. Class soUdarity ffi a class struggle agaffist ffijustice 'has ffideed its ennobUng influence, but it is a very dffierent thffig from what Americans understand as patriotism. Moreover, the character istics of tMs class struggle ffi its earher stages is that of the barter of one kffid of property for another — and so long as labor is regarded as property it can never have any true digffity or dis tinction. The struggle, m spite of the heights ffi sacrffice often attaffied to by workffig men and women on strike, ffi spite of thek physical and moral sufferffigs, is founded fundamentaUy on material issues. The great mass of workmg people are at present uneducated ffi any true sense, and therefore thek ambitions, once gained, are apt to be satisfied with purely material comforts. A proof of tffis may be found ffi the fact that ffi times of pros perity, when work is plentKffi and wages ffigh, the labor agitator generaUy preaches to deaf ears uffiess the employees can be con vfficed that the employer is takffig too large a share of the profits. What, then, is the American solution? It depends absolutely upon the elimffiation of the class spkit from our body poUtic. Let us examffie once more the theory of our state. We find m it certam fundamental principles ffi harmony with our national and racial character, ,and "our general conclusion is, therefore, that we shaU achieve no progress by breakffig with traffitions, but on the other hand these traditions must be CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 319 developed to cope with new conditions that arise and confront us, conditions for wffich no man or set of men are to blame. One of these new conffitions is this, that ffistead of a sparsely settied land fabffiously rich ffi resources, with plenty of room for all who might come, we have today a popffiation of a hundred miffion and the resources largely taken up and exploited. The day of the pioneer is past; the day of the admiffistrator is at hand; hus bandry and effidency must take the place of waste. In former times, when lands and resources were plentKffi, a large equaUty of opportuffity existed, and equaUty of opportuffity is the very foundation stone of American inffividuahsm. Indeed, it may be said that the state ffid guarantee tffis equahty ffi not seizffig the lands and resources for herseK, but ffi throwmg them open to her citizens. A logical development, therefore, of the American doctrffie, K indeed it be a development rather than application to new conditions, is that the state shoffid guarantee equahty of oppor tunity ffi a modem industrial commonwealth. And this guarantee of a fak start may be said to be the one positive function ffi the theory of the American state. AU other adjustments, the right- mg of ffijustices and wrongs, must be left to the workffigs of the American democratic spkit ffi the citizens themselves, must depend upon the extent to which the body poUtic is saturated with tffis spkit. It is ffi truth what may be caUed a big order. But there is no other way out for us. It is a fact of profound signfficance that American demo cracy from its very beginnffig ffistffictively laid stress on uffi versal education, and foreign travelers who came a hundred years ago to study our curious ffistitutions were struck by the extent to wffich cffitivation had permeated our citizenship. A seK-governffig people must be ffiteffigent. And — ^be it noted — what was largely meant by education was the adequate prepara tion of the young for ffiteffigent participation ffi the Ufe and affaks of the nation as it then existed. An almost increffible change has taken place sffice then. Our simple repubhc has become a complex commonwealth. And we must bear in mind that the final justification for the existence 320 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS of this commonwealth must be that of creatffig material wealth for spkitual ends. An ffidustrial commonwealth does not imply mere utffitariaffism; the analogy of the bee and the hive does not hold. LKe is not without its graces; existence is a rounded thffig. Literature and art are not alone for the privUeged, but are made more and more democratic, are part and parcel of the education of aU, wffile religion is inhereiit in govemment itseK, ffi harmony with it — the contributive spkit of the whole. A new system of education based on psychology, on scientffic prfficiples, an education for IKe ffi a modern industrial democracy, is beffig put into practice ffi various parts of the Uffited States, and is destined ultimately to supplant the old system. Educa tion ffi its very nature is selective, but what may be called the new education is not that which we know as vocational, wffich is class education. It does not undertake to educate the workman for a workman. It is based on the American theory that every citizen, whatever Ms future caUffig may be, must be made familiar with the development of ffidustry, with the development of govemment, of art and hterature and religion, from the earUest times up to the present. Tffis is not so difficffit as it seems. It is an education in the prfficiples of growth, ffi the social develop ment of humanity. It is analogous to the physical and mffividual devdopment of humaffity from the egg. It is an education in truth, ffi science, and ffi straight thinking. IndustriaUy the modern sted-mUl is an evolution from the village blacksmith's shop and foundry, just as a modern textUe- mUl is an evolution from the home spiiming- wheel and loom on the farm. These ffidustries have been taken out of the home, the blacksmith-shop and the foundry are no longer famUiar vffiage spectacles. 'What was a part of the education of the inffividual outside of the school has now, perforce, become a part of the general educational task. The new education is based on the sound prffidple of the dkect appUcation of thought to action, of passing from the concrete to the abstract rather than from the abstract to the concrete. The uses of knowledge are held up as mcentives to its acqukement. The cffild learns to read because he loves stories; CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 321 he learns arithmetic and weights and measures because he wishes to buUd a house; whUe the practice of a measure of seK-govern ment ffi school leads to a grasp of its value ffi democracy. Presently the future citizen discovers what he can do best, to select the particular service m Ufe for wffich nature has fitted ffim. It may not be an important service, he may not be eqffipped by nature for a leader. But he has had his opportuffity. The state has given it to Mm. The opportuffity does not necessarUy cease when his early education has been finished, since some ffidividuals develop late. But under such a system no citizen is able to say that he has not had a chance to develop what is ffi him, and thus the element of ffiscontent is removed at its source. He is, so far as the state can make ffim such, a rounded individual; he has learned to use ffis hands and his head, and to appreciate the finer tffings ffi Ufe. It is quite true that men wffi not work except for a prize; the personal possession of property is essential, but K the prize has not a spkitual aspect it is dross. In so far as work itseK is the prize, ffi so far as the acffieved gKt is a contribution, and a voluntary contribution, to humaffity it is worthy of ffidividual effort. Education founded on these prmciples ffistffis patriotism ffi stead of class feelffig, and strikes at the very root of the tendency toward class soUdarity and class strKe. And it imphes, further more, a truer conception of democracy than that held ffi Jack son's day — a democracy of leadership combined with responsi bffity. The choice individuals are developed with the least possible resentment. Guaranteed education is therefore a fundamental prfficiple ffi American democracy, but before leavffig the subject, it is weU, m adffition to dweUing upon the signfficance of experiments such as the Gary schools, to call attention to another experiment, that of education ffi detaU, which is beffig tried along tiaffitional American lines at Schenectady and Cfficinnati and other places ffi tffis country. Here, at Uffion CoUege and the Uffiversity of Cincinnati, education is ffirectiy connected with mdustry, the theoretical knowledge acquked ffi the coUege or uffiversity 322 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS immediately appUed by the students m the great manufacturmg estabhshments whose properties Ue adjacent. Thus students who prove thek abihty are actuaUy ffi the industry and ffi Une for rapid advancement. They are famffiar with its theory as weU as with its processes. Lastiy, students learn ffi the schools and uffiversities to value the prfficiples of American democracy to such an extent that they are wiffing to defend them, to fight K necessary for the right of seK-development that is the American heritage. Even as the industrial army of the future must be recruited from educated citizens rather than from raw and ignorant masses, so must the mffitary forces of the republic. It is a question whether mffitarism ever was or ever wffi be an American trait; but those who fear it, who are apprehensive that a large army wffi create a dangerous, ffigh-handed rffiing caste, need have no dread of such a caste K our army is organized ffi harmony with democratic prfficiples. The American democratic state, then, has but the one positive function, that of guaranteeing to each of its citizens a fak start — sffice the protection of rights is merely negative. The emphasis is laid on the spkit, the trust is put ffi the spkit, not in the law. Enlightened self-interest is the old and much-ridicffied phrase; an ffiumffiatffig pffiase, nevertheless; ffiffividual iffitiative and the satisfaction of ffidividual achievement remain; the seK-ffiterest remaffis also, but transformed by enhghtenment and made con tributory to the interests of the whole. Here is precisely the paradox of Cffiistiaffity: "He that findeth his ffie shall lose it, and he that loseth ffis ffie for My sake shaU find it." It is no wonder, indeed, that such a pohtical creed as our fore fathers composed seemed to Europe impractical and Utopian. Thus analyzed, it must seem to many Utopian today. That our Anglo-Saxon theory of democracy is no short cut to the mffien- ffium is qffite evident, and K democracy is to have any approach to perfection, that comparative perfection must be one of growth, not of achievement. A satisfaction in development rather than in acffievement seems to be the principle of life. Congress and state legislatures may pass coercive laws ffi the hope of securffig a crude justice, but it has been weU said that CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 323 there never was a law that a coach and four coffidn't be driven tffiough. We Americans are skiKffi coach-drivers, and coach- drivffig tiirough laws as obstacles has been the pastime and delight of many corporation lawyers. PubUc opffiion must pre cede laws and not foUow them. The truth may as weU be faced that our salvation depends absolutely on what is caUed public opiffion, and pubUc opiffion is offiy another name for the demo cratic spkit or cffiture with wffich our electorate must be satu rated. For those who have eyes to see, however, there are signs m various quarters of the growth of tffis spkit, and these may be taken as concrete ffiustrations of its workffigs. There is a senti ment, for ffistance, ffi favor of what we call "proffibition" — an example of the extreme that is apt to precede moderation. The moderate term, of course, is temperance, for temperance imphes seK-control. Wave after wave of "proffibition" has swept over the country, leaving some states — to use the vivid expres sion — high and dry. Whatever of value there is ffi tffis sentiment is the resffit of a conviction dawnffig on our people that alcohoUc beverages are what modern economics aptiy caU illth, ffi contra- distffiction to wealth. The educated citizen of a democracy must become famffiar with the deterioratmg effects of alcohol, its influence on hand and brain and the consequent loss ffi inffividual service, as weU as the degeneracy and ffisaffity that foUow its excessive use. A people who have been deprived of alcohol by a benevolent government wffi undoubteffiy be a saner and healthier people, but they wffi neither be as ffiteffigent nor as efficient nor as developed as that people wffich ffitimately arrives at the know ledge as to why alcohol is harmfffi and paralyzffig to efficiency, and which voluntarUy deprives itseK of it. Here is the prfficiple of democracy ffi a nutsheU. A pubUc opiffion is graduaUy created by an educative process, and laws foUow it as a matter of course. On the other hand, "proffibition" that has not an educated pubUc opiffion beffind it is a laugMng-stock, as the experience of some of our states ffi New England and elsewhere has proved. There is a new spkit ffi the uffiversities, a healtffier and sounder public opiffion than existed at the end of the nffieteenth 324 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS century; a new ffiterest in and knowledge of government and enthusiasm for democracy, with a deske to share its tasks and responsibffities. The response to the caU of the traming-camps at Plattsburg and elsewhere is an encouraging ffiffication of it. Pecffiiarly sigffificant, however, is the bkth of tffis new spkit among employers of labor — an ffiffication that emulation may replace competition. There is no need to be cynical on tffis score, to ffisist that the men who control great corporations and com binations of capital have been frightened out of many practices ffi wffich they ffitherto have ffidffiged. There can be no question that the pubUc attitude toward these practices has changed, and it would be stupid and un-American to maffitaffi that this opffiion has not permeated the element that employs labor, and made them more American also. Tffis emffiative spkit, tffis ffidication of the dawnffig of enlightened seK-ffiterest, tffis wffi- ffigness to put a shoffider to the wheel, is at present more marked among employers of the large corporations. But it wiU spread, and is spreadffig. Even as we have today m the meffical profession an association, an emffiative body of medical opiffion purKymg that profession of quackery and fraud and strictiy commercial practice, even as we have among the lawyers bar associations, so we shaU have among busffiess men and employers a growffig element that sets its face agamst practices ffitherto ffidffiged ffi, makffig these practices more and more difficult of accompUshment by the remnant. When employers of thek own iffitiative take steps to insure the safety and health of thek employees, and at thek own risk make experi ments that tend toward the ffitimate estabhshment of ffidustrial democracy, toward givffig the workffig man a share and ffiterest ffi the ffidustry, labor must respond. Littie by httie ffiffividual animosities are broken down and class animosity is weakened. It makes no dffierence K these experiments with a view to ffidus trial democracy do not meet the demands of extremists; it makes no dffierence whether motives are mixed K the good be predomi nant. If the spkit is there, we may trust to its working. Our watchwords must be patience and faith, faith that our great problem of industrial democracy will one day be solved by the CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 325 same principle of equality of opportuffity, by the same trust in man that solved for us the problem of pohtical democracy. A nation saturated with the conviction that aU shoffid have an equal chance, imbued with this volunteer, emffiative spirit ffistffied by education and growmg out of experience, cannot ffitimately go wrong. Let us therefore make our ffiffividual con tributions, and be assured that it is better to give than to receive. CAN DEMOCRACY BE ORGANIZED?i Edwin Anderson Alderman [Edwin Anderson Alderman (1861 ) was bom in Wilmington, North CaroUna. He was educated at the University of North CaroUna, and was for several years a teacher in the pubUc schools of North CaroUna. He has been successively professor of pedagogy at the University of North Caro Una, president of the University of North CaroUna, president of Tulane University, and, since 1904, president of the University of Virgima. He has been strongly interested in poUtical and social questions, and his addresses, deUvered with the accompUshments of a finished orator, have been brilUant discussions of many important questions. The selection here given was originaUy an address before the North Carolina Literary and Historical Society in 1915.] The Uffited States of America is one of the oldest govern ments on earth. England and Russia alone, among the nations of Europe, equal it ffi age, and even England has undergone such radical changes ffi the past century, as compared with the Uffited States, as to constitute us, with our unchanged govem ment since 1789, the most stable of modem nations. Our near ness to the perspective and our absorption ffi our own ffie have bUnded us to the mspiring National panorama, as it has imfolded itseK before the world. First, a group of rustic commuffities, making common cause in behaK of ancient guarantees of Enghsh freedom; then suspicious colonies, unused to the ways of democ racies, striving after some bond amid the clash of jealous mter ests; then a wonderfffi paper-writffig, compact of high sense and IFrom Proceedings of the North Carolina Literary and Historical Society, 1915. Reprinted by permission. 326 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS human foresight and tragic compromise; then a young repubUc, lacking the instinct of uffity, but vkUe, uffiovely, raw, wayward, in its confident young strength. Some confused decades of sad, earnest effort to pluck out an evU growth planted ffi its hfe by the hard necessities of compromise by the fathers, but wMch needs must blossom into the flower of civil war before it could be plucked out and thrown to the void. Then young manhood, nursing its youth, whole and indivisible, proven by trial of fire and dark days, opeffing its eye upon a new world of steam and force, and seizing greedUy and seffisffiy every coign of vantage; and today the most venerable repubUc, the richest of nations, the champion and exemplar of world democracy. No nation, I venture to assert, was ever born grounded on so defiffite and fixed a prfficiple and with so conscious a purpose. Such a wealth of hope for humanity never before gathered about a mere political experiment, and such a mass of pure ideaUsm never before suffused itseK into the framework of a state. How can such a nation so begun, so advanced, so beset, be so guided, that aU of its dtizens shaU indeed become free men, entermg continuaUy mto the possession of ffiteUectual, material, and moral benefits? How can a people devoted to ffiffividuaUsm and freedom retain that ffidividualism which guarantees freedom and yet engraft upon thek social order that genius for cooperation wffich alone ffisures power and progress? These are the final ffiterrogatories of democracy as a sane vision gUmpses it, robbed of its earUer ffiusions. The fathers of tffis repubUc ffid not under stand the present mould of democracy. The very word was obnoxious to them. Their ideal was a state the dtizens of wffich chose their leaders and then trusted them. They did not fore see the socialized state. They did not envisage a mffiute and paternal organization of sodety which may be achieved alike by Prussian absolutism or mere sociaUsm, which is cffionologicaUy, K not logicaUy, the cffild of democracy. The fear that tugged at thek hearts was the fear of tyranny, the dread of kffigs, the denial of seK-ffirection, which prevented a man from speaking ffis opffiion or goffig Ms way as he wffied. Thek democracy was a workmg government which shoffid give effect to the wffi of the CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 327 people and at the same time provide sufficient safeguard for ffiffividual Uberty. The emphasis of the time was everywhere upon the rights of thie ffidividual rather more than upon the duties of the citizen. When thek theories, as Mr. Haffiey points out, seemed likely to secure this resffit, the fathers pubUshed them bolffiy; when they seemed likely to ffiterfere, they ignored them. The creed, then, wffich had a reUgious sanction ffi an age of moral imagination to men of superb human enthusiasm like Washffigton, FrankUn, Jefferson, and Adams, was the behef that democracy, considered as ffiffividual freedom, was the final form of human society. It is idle to deny that a century of trial has somewhat duUed the halo about this ancient concept of democ racy, but ffi my judgment offiy to men of Uttie faith. It is quite true that our democracy of today is not what Rousseau thought it woffid be, nor Lord Byron, nor Shelley, nor Karl Marx. But as we meffitate about it and conclude that it has not realized aU of its hopes, we ought to try to settie first what it has done and then place that to its credit. Here are some thffigs that I think democracy has done, or helped to do. It has abated sectarian fury. Sectarian fury is rifficffious ffi tffis age; it was not always so. It has aboUshed slavery. It has protected and effiarged manhood suffrage, and has gone far toward womanhood sffi- frage. It has mitigated much social ffijustice. It has devel oped a toucffing and almost sublime faith ffi the power of education, Ulustratmg it by expendffig six hundred miffion dollars a year ffi the most daring tffing that democracy has ever tried to do: namely, to fit for citizenship every human beffig bom witffin its borders. It has increased kffidness and gentieness, and thus dimiffished the fury of partisansffip. It has preserved the form of the Uffion tffiough the storm of a civU war, and yet has had power to touch with healffig unity and forgiveness its pas sions and tragedies. It has conquered and civilized a vast con tinent. It has developed great agencies of cffiture and has some how made itseK a symbol of ffiffividual prosperity. It has developed a common consciousness and a volunteer statesman- sMp among its free citizens as maffifested more strikffigly than elsewhere ffi the world in great educational, reUgious, scientffic 328 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS and phUantiiropic societies, wffich profoundly influence and moffid sodety. Out of what other state could have issued as a volunteer movement so efficient an agency as the Commission for the ReUef of Belgium or the RockefeUer Saffitary Com mission? It has permitted and fostered the growth of a pubUc press of gigantic power reflecting the crudities and impffises of a vast and varied popffiation, but charged with a fierce idealism and staunch patriotism that have almost given it a place among the coordinate branches of our organized government. It has stimffiated ffiventive geffius and business enterprise to a point never before reached m human annals. It has brought to Ameri- can-mmdedness millions of men of aU races, creeds, and ideals. I do not, therefore, think that democracy as it has evolved among us has faUed. What autocracy on earth has done as much? It has justffied itseK of the sufferings and sacrffices and the dreams of the men who established it ffi tffis new land. But it has also without doubt, by the very trust that it places in men, developed new shapes of temptations and wrong-doffig. Democ racy, Uke a man's character, is never dear out of danger. The moral Ufe of men, said Froude, is Uke the ffight of a bkd m the ak; he is sustaffied only by effort, and when he ceases to exert himseK he faUs. And the same, it seems to me, is impressivdy true of ffistitutional and governmental ffie. Patriotism — wffich is hard to define and new with every age— and pubhc spkit — which is hard to define and new with every age — ^must constantiy redefine themselves. Patriotism meant manhood's rights when Washffigton took it to ffis heart. It somehow speUed cffiture, refinement and ffistffiction of mind when Emerson ffi his PM Beta Kappa address besought the sluggish ffiteUect of his country to look up from under its kon Uds. It signffied national ideals and theories of government to the solffiers of Lee and to the solffiers of Grant. It meant indus trial greatness and a splenffid desire to annex nature to man's uses when the great business leaders of this generation and of the last generation bffilt up thek great businesses and tied the Union together ffi a uffity of steel and steam more completely than aU the wars coffid do, and did it with a patriotism and a CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 329 statesmansffip and an imagination that no man can deny. The honest businessman needs somebody to praise him. He has done a great service in tMs country, and when he is steady and honest there is no greater force in aU our ffie. A decade ago patriotism in America meant a reaction from an unsocial and seffish ffidividualism to restraint and consideration for the general weKare, expressing itseK in a cry for moderation and fakness and justice and sympathy ffi the use of power and wealth as the states of spkit and mmd that alone can safeguard republican ideals. The emphasis, as I have said, was formerly on the rights of man; it is getting to be placed, as Mazzffii preached, upon the duties of man. If ffi our youth and feverish strength there had grown up a spirit of avarice and a deske for quick wealth, and a theory of IKe in lesser minds that estimated money as every thffig and was wiUing to do anythffig for money, that very fact served to define the patriotic duty and mood of the national mmd. Tffis reawakened patriotism of the common good had the advantage of appeal to a sound pubhc conscience, and of beffig supported by a valid pubUc opiffion. The part that vffigar cun- ffing has played in creating great fortunes has been made known to tffis democracy and they are comffig to know the genuine from the spurious, and some who were once looked at with ad miration and approval as great ones, are not now seen ffi that light. Tffis very growth ffi ffiscernment gave us power to see ffi a nobler and truer light, for the people of America, the names of those upright soffis ffi busffiess and ffi pohtics — and there are many noble men ffi busffiess and poUtics — ^who have held true in a heady time and who have kept dean and kept human thek public sympatffies and thek republican ideals and by so doffig have kept sweet thek country's fame. Democracy simply had met and outfaced one of the miffion moral crises that are likely to assaU free government, and I believe that it is cleaner today in rffiffig passion, ffi motive, and ffi practice than it has been in ffity years. It is now clear to aU mffids that the movement of our busffiess operations in tffis repubhc, unregffiated and proceedffig along 33° NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ffidividualistic Unes, had come perilously near to developffig a scheme of mojiopoly and a union of our pohtical machffiery with the forces of private gain that might easUy have transformed our democracy ffito some ugly form of tyranny and ffijustice. We have halted tMs tendency somewhat tarffily, but resolutely, and the nerves of the Nation were somewhat shaken by the very thought of what might have been, very much as a man gazes with gratitude and yet with fear upon a ffidden precipice over which his pathway led. We had been sapng over and over to ourselves with fierce determination that tffis nation shoffid remain democratic, and should not become plutocratic or auto cratic or sociahstic; and we should find the way to guarantee this. AU about us were heard the voices of those who thought they saw the way and who were beckonffig men to foUow, but new dangers faced us, however, even as we left the andent ffigh way and attempted to cut new paths, for ffi endeavorffig to make it possible for democracy, as we understood it, and a vast industriaUsm, as we had developed it, to live together justiy under the same pohtical roof, we had plaiffiy come to a pomt where there was danger of our government developmg ffito a system of state sociaUsm in conflict with our deepest traffi tions and convictions. The leadersffip of the future, therefore, would have a triple problem — to protect the people agaffist privUege, to raise the levels of democratic Uvffig, and to pre serve for the people the ancient guarantees and ffiestimable advantages of representative government and ffiffividual initiative. You wffi observe that I have thus far spoken as a citizen preoccupied with the thoughts of that ancient world wffich ended on August i, 1914, and I have not permitted myseK to align and examine in f uU the perUs and weaknesses of democratic society as they had manKested themselves under conffitions of peace and apparent prosperity. These weaknesses had akeady begun, under the strain of ordinary industrial ffie, to reveal themselves under five general aspects, each aspect being ffi essence a sort of revulsion or excess of feehng from what were considered definite poUtical vktues: — CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 331 I. A contempt of obedience as a virtue too dosely allied to servffity. 2. A disregard of disdplme as smaddng too much of docffity. 3. An Unpatience with traffied techffical skffi as seemffig to affirm that one man is not so good as another. 4. A faUure to understand the value of the common man as a moral and political asset and an inabffity to coordffiate educa tion to daUy Ufe as a means of forwarding national ends and ideals. 5. A crass ffiffividuaUsm wMch exalted seK and its rights above society and the solemn social obUgation to cooperate for the common good. The theory of democracy which alone among great human movements had known no setback for a century of time, was fast becoming seK-critical and disposed to self-analysis, and especiaUy in America these fundamental weaknesses were being assailed in practical forms. The Uberal or progressive movement in our poUtics was striking at the theory of crass inffividuahsm, and after the unbalanced fashion of social reform was movffig toward pure democracy of state socialism ffi the mterest of com munal weKare. Our old, original, ffitense American ffiffividuaUsm, shamed by its ffi-govemed cities and lack of concem for popffiar weKare, had passed forever. SociaUsm, considered as a paternal form of government, exercising strict regulation over men's Uves and destrojdng inffividual energy and ffiitiative, was stffi feared and resisted; but the social goal of democracy was becomffig even by the most conservative, to be considered the advance ment and improvemtat of society by a protection of Ufe and health, by a reformation of educational methods and by a large amount of governmental control of fundamentals for the com mon good. A mffititude of laws, rangffig from laws governffig milk for babies, to pubUc parks and free ffispensaries and vast corporations, attested the vigor of tffis new attitude. And strange to say tffis new spirit was not whoUy seK-begotten. Plutocracy, with its common sense, its economies and hatred of waste, its organization and its energy, had taught us much. We, too, had caught a spirit from what we used to caU effete 332 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Europe. AustraUa taught us how to vote; Bdgium, Germany, and England that there was a democracy adapted to dty and factory as weU as to the farm and countryside. The forces of education were pleadffig the cause of team work in modern ffie, scientfficaUy dkected, not by amateurs and demagogues, but by experts and scientists, whether m city government or public hygiene or scientffic land cffiture, wffile seriousness and seK-restraffit were everjnvhere the themes of public teachers, pleaffing for order and orgaffization as an ideal of pubhc weKare, nearly as vital as liberty and seK-dkection. And then, without warnffig, feU out tffis great upheaval of the world, so vast, so fundamental, despite its sorffid and stupid begffiffings, that the duUest among us must dimly realize that a new epoch has registered itseK m human affaks. War is a great pitiless flame. It sweeps its fiery torch along the ways of men, destroyffig but renovatmg, kiUffig but qffickeffing, and even amid its horrors of corruption and death leavffig wffite ashes cleaffiy and fertile. War is also a ghastiy mkror ffi wffich actuaUties and ideals and tendencies reflect themselves ffi awfffi vividness. Who caused tffis war, who wffi be aggrandized by tffis war — its triumphs and humffiations — ^are important and movffig, but not vital questions. The fundamental question is what effect wffi its reactions have upon that movement of the human spkit caUed democracy, begun so simply, advanced so steadfastly, yesterday acclaimed as the ffighest development of human pohty, but today akeady being sneered at and snarled at by a host of enemies. Wffi war, the harshest of human facts, destroy, weaken, modKy, or strengthen essential democracy? It is my conviction that the Affies ffi tffis struggle are fighting for democracy — ^at least for the brand of democracy with which my spkit is famffiar and wffich my soul has learned to love. Once more ffi the great human story, the choice is beffig made between contrasting civilizations, between ideals and ffistitu tions, between Uberty and the lesser IKe. Every drop of my blood leaps to sympathy with those peoples who, heeffiess of inexorable efficiency, dream a mightier dream of an order dkected by justice, ffivigorated by freedom, ffistmct with the ffigher hap- CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 333 pffiess of ffidividual Uberty, seK-dkected to reason and coopera tion. "For what avaU the plough or saU, or land or Ufe K freedom faU?" The very weaknesses of democratic government under the crucial test of war appeal to me. The tutelage of democracy breeds love of justice, the methods of persuasion and debate, and a conception of ffie wffich makes it sweet to Uve and m a way destroys the temperament for war, until horror and wrong and reversion to type create anew the savage impffise. Whatever way victory faUs, democracy is destffied to stand its trial, and to be submitted to a merdless cross-examffiation by the mffid and spkit of man. It may and wffi yield up some of its aspirations; it wffi seize and adapt some of the weapons of its foes; it may relffiqffish some of its ancient theories and methods; it wffi shed some of its hamperffig weaknesses; but it wffi stffi remaffi democ racy, and it is the kffig, the autocrat, and the mechaffical state wffidi wffi suffer ffi the end rather than the common man who, m sublime loyalty to race and flag, is now reddeffing the soffi of Europe with ffis blood, or the great prfficiple wffich has f ascmated every generous thinking soffi sffice freedom became the heritage of man. The Germans are a mighty race, fecund ffi physical force and organizing genius. Hike the French of 1789, tihey are now more possessed with a group of passionate creative impffises than any other nation. Tffis granffiose ideaUsm, for such it is, seems to me reactionary, but it is held with a sort of tiirUUng devotion and executed with undoubted geffius. Nffieteen hundred and fourteen is for the Prussians a sort of Prussian Elizabethan age, ffi wffich vast dreams and ideas glow ffi the hearts and minds of Teutoffic Raleighs, Drakes, and Grenvffies, ready to ffie for them. The ideal of organization, the thought of a great whole muting its members for effective work in bffildmg a powerfffi state, and the wddffig of a monstrous federal uffion of nations akin ffi mterest and dvilizations possess the Germaffic mind. For the German the mdividual exists for the state, and ffis concept of the state is far more beautKffi and spkitual than we Americans generaUy imagffie. The state is to be the resffitant of the best thought and efforts of aU its uffits. They have a glorious concept of com- 334 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS munal weKare, but to them parliamentarism is frankly a disease aInd suffrage a menace. To them, and I am quotmg a notable German scholar, "democracy is a thing, infirm of purpose, jealous, timid, changeable, unthorough, without foresight, blundermg along m an age of luciffity gffided by confused ffi stincts." On the whole Germany is probably better govemed m extemal forms than the Uffited States or England. The material conffitions of her people are better, her cities deaner, her econo mies finer, her social Ufe better admiffistered, and her power to acffieve amazffig resffits under the fiercest of tests nearly marvel ous. The world cannot and probably wffi not reject as vUe aU tffis German scholarsffip, concentration, and scientffic power. The world may either slavisffiy imitate Germany, or wisely modify or set up a contrary system overtoppffig the German ideal ffi definite accompUshment, according to the ffichnation of the scales of victory. The fataUty of the German nation is that it does not behold the world as it is. It beholds its ideals and is logic-driven to thek acffievement. It has gone from the sand waste of Brandenburg to world-power by force and the wffi to do, and by force and wffi it seeks its wffi and hacks its way tiirough. It is enslaved by the majesty of plan and pre cision — the power of concert. Napoleon, "that ablest of ffistoric men," as Lord Acton caUed ffim, tried aU this once and faUed. But here it aU is agaffi, with its weapons of flame and force. Germany, apparentiy, does not understand the fak doctrffie of Uve and let hve. Pride sustaffis its soffi, and ambition dkects its energy. In spite of aU these concrete acffievements Germany does not seem to me a progressive nation, but rather a Giant of Reaction — a sort of mixture, as someone has caUed it, of Ancient Sparta and Modern Science. And it is weU to hold ffi mind that this mass-efficiency is brought to pass by subjectffig even m the minutest particffiars the ffiffividual to the supreme authority of the state. This subjection is scientffic, well-meant, but very minute. The flaw of democracy is that it does understand and sym pathize with the soul of man, but is so sympathetic with his yearning for free seK-government and seK-dkection, so opposed CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS Si5 to force as a moffiffing agent, so jealous of iffitiative, that it has not yet found the bindffig thread of social organization by wffich self-government and good government become one and the same tffing. Let us coffiess that "Les mosurs de la liberie" cannot be the manners of absolutism. Debate, pohtical agitation, bold, popffiar expression, are not the methods of smooth predsion and rdentiess order. Napoleon revealed to the world the demo cratic passion and passed off the stage. Perhaps it is the destffiy of the Prussian to teach us admiffistration and order and to put us in the way of findffig and acffievffig it without sacrificing our hberties, and then he, too, wffi pass. To work out a free democratic, socialized Ufe, whereffi the inffividual is not lost in a metaphysical super-state, nor sunk in inaction and seffishness, by ffiducffig deske for such Ufe, by applymg trained ffiteffigence to its acffievement, and by sub jectffig ourselves to the tests and discipUnes that wffi brffig it to pass — that is the task of American democracy and ffideed of a fuUer, deeper world-wide democracy. The center of gravity of the autocratic state is ffi the state itseK, and ffi such ideals as seK-anomted leaders suggest. The effect of the democracy has been to sffift the center of gravity too much to the mffividual seK and ffis immediate weKare. There must be a golden mean somewhere and we must find it. 'When the great readjustment dawns, when the gapmg wounds of war have healed, aU the world wffi be seekmg tffis golden mean. The social democrat of Germany, who is sUent now ffi ffis splenffid National devotion, wffi be seekffig it; the Russian peasant, ffiarticulate, mystic, reflective; the Frenchman with his clear braffi and forward-lookffig soffi; the EngUshman wrapped ffi Ms great tradition. Perhaps ffi our untouched and undreamed vigor, we shaU become the champions of the great quest. , There woffid be fitness m such a resffit. Here continental democracy was bom; here it has grown great upon an fficom- parable soU and with enormous waste. Let us prepare for our colossal moral and practical responsibUities ffi the world Ufe, therefore, not alone by preparing commonsense establishments 336 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS of force on land and sea, untU such time as human reason shaU deem them not needed, but by the greater preparedness of seK- restraffit, seK-analysis, and seK-disciphne. Let us not surrender our age-long dream of good, just seK-government to any mechan ical ideal of quickly obtainffig material resffits erected ffito a crude dogma of efficiency. Democracy must know how to get material resffits economicaUy and qffickly. Democracy must and can be organized to that end, and tffis organization wffi un doubteffiy involve certaffi surrenders, certam social and pohtical seK-abnegations in the mterests of coUectivism. But I hold the faith that all this can be done yet, retaiffing ffi the fanffiy of freedom that sffinffig jewel of ffiffividual hberty wMch has glowed ffi our Ufe since the begffinffig. The great democratic nations — ^America, England, France, Switzerland — ^have before them, therefore, the problem of retaiffing thek standards of inffividual hberty, and yet contriving juster and finer admiffis trative organs. Certaiffiy the people that have bffilt tffis Union can learn how to coordffiate the activities of its people and obtam resffits as defiffite as those obtaffied under systems of mere authority. Smce my coUege days I have been hearffig about and admk- ing the German geffius for research, for adaptation of scientffic truth and for organization. Now the whole world stands haK astoffished and haK envious of thek creed of effidency. In so far as tffis creed is opposed to sUpshodness and waste, it is altogether good, but the question arises. Is the abffity to get tffings done weU deaffiy to Uberty, or is it consistent with personal liberty? In examinffig German progress, I do not find as many examples of supreme inffividual efficiency or mdependent spkit as I find in the democratic nations. The steam engffie, the factory system, telegraph, telephone, wireless, electric Ught, the gasohne engme, aeroplane, machine gun, the submarffie, uses of rubber, dread naught, the mighty names of Lister and Pasteur, come out of the democratic nations. The distinctive German genius is for admiffistration and adaptation, rather than for independent creation. His civU service is the finest ffi the world. He knows what he wants. He deddes what training is necessary to get CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 337 that resffit. He umversalizes that trainffig. He enforces obe dience to its disdplme. A man must have skffi; he must obey; he must work; he must cooperate. The freer nations deske the same resffits, but neglect to effiorce thek reaUzation. Thek theory of govemment forces them to plead for its attaffiment. Certaffi classes and individuals heed this persuasion, and in an atmosphere of precious freedom great personaUties sprffig ffito being. In the conffict between acffievement based on subjection and splenffid obedience, and that based on pohtical freedom, my behef is that the system of pohtical and social freedom wffi triumphantiy endure. In essence, it is the conffict between the efficiency of adaptation and organization and the efficiency of mvention and creation. What autocracy needs is the tffiffi and push of ffiffividual hberty, and the continental peasant wffi get it as the resffit of tffis war, for the guns of autocracy are cele- bratffig the dowffiaU of autocracy, even ffi its most ancient fast ness — Russia. These autocracies wffi realize thek real greatness when they substitute humffity for pride, freedom for accompUsh ment, as compeUffig national motives. 'What democracy needs is the ffiscipUne of patient labor, of traffied skiU, of thoroughness m work, and a more socialized conception of pubhc duty. As President Eliot has poffited out, the German theory of social organization is very young, and her Uterature, pffilosophy, and art are fakly new. It is a bit premature to concede the supreme vaUdity of her Kffitur and of her pohtical orgaffization untU she can poffit to such names as Dante and Angelo, Shakspere and MUton, Newton and Darwin and Pasteur, and until such names appear ffi her pohtical history as Washffigton and Jefferson and Burke. Tffis is not meant to deny the surpassing greatness of her music and her phUosophy, nor to miffimize the glory of her Goethes or ScffiUers or Lessings or Steffis, but to suggest that she has not yet reached the superlative. It is not yet qffite sure that with all their genius for organization and effidency, they may not be seK-dkected to ruffi. Certaiffiy the German has as much to learn from the freer nations as we have to learn from the Teutonic geffius. Switzerland has organized her democracy and kept her personal hberty, and there is no finer spectade on 338 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS earth today than the spectacle of France, seed-sowffig, torch- bearing France ; France, that has touched the heights and sounded the depths of human experience and national tragedy; "La belle France," that has substituted duty for glory as a national motive, and has kept her soffi free ffi tiie valley of humiliation; grim, patient, sUent, far-seeing France, cUngffig to her repubhcan ideals and reorganizing her Ufe from hovd to palace ffi the very impact of conffict and death, so that it is enabled to present to the world the finest example of organized efficiency and mihtary glory that the world has seen ffi some generations. In order to organize an autocracy, the rffiers ordaffi that it shaU get ffi order and provide the means to brffig about that end. To organize a democracy, we must organize its soffi, and give it power to create its own ideals. It is primarUy a peace organization, and that is proof that it is the forward movement of the human soul and not the movement of scientffic reaction. It is tiirough a severe mental traiffing ffi our schools and a return to the concep tion of pubhc duty wffich gffided the sword and upffited the heart of the Founder of the RepubUc that we shaU find strength to orgaffize the democracy of the future, revolutionized by sdence and by urban Ufe. The right to vote imphes the duty to vote right; the right to legislate, the duty to legislate justiy; the right to judge about foreign pohcy, the duty to fight K necessary; the right to come to coUege, the duty to carry one's seK hand somely at coUege. Our youth must be taught to use thek senses, to reason simply and correctiy, from exact knowledge thus brought to them to attaffi to sfficerity ffi thought and judgment tiirough work and patience. In our home and civic ffie, we need some moral eqffivalent for the traiffing wffich somehow issues out of war — the glory of seK-sacrifice, obeffience to just authority, contempt of ease, and a realization that tiirough thoughtiul, coUective effort great resffits wffi be obtaffied. A great spiritual glory wffi come to these European nations through thek sorrow and strivffig, wffich wffi express itseK ffi great poems and great hterature. They are preparffig new sMffies at wffich mankffid wffi worsffip. Let us take care that prosperity be not our sole national endowment. War asks of men seK-deffials and sacrffice CHANGES AND ADJUSTMENTS 339 for ideals. Peace must somehow do the same. Autocracy orders men to forget seK for an over-seK caUed the state. Democracy must ffispke men to forget sdf for a stUl ffigher thffig called humaffity. There stands upon the steps of the Sub-Treasury bffildmg, in WaU Street, the bronze figure of an old 'Vkginia country gentie man lookffig out with Ms honest eyes upon the sea of hurryffig, gaffi-gettmg men. TMs statue is a remarkable aUegory, for m his grave, thoughtiffi person, Washffigton embodies that form of pubUc spirit, that balance of character, that uffion of force and justice that redefines democracy. Out of his Ups seems to issue the great creed wffich is the core of democratic society, and around wffich this finer organization shall be soUdly bffilt. Power rests on fitness to rffie. Fitness to rffie rests on traffied mffids and spirits. You can trust men K you wffi traffi them. The object of power is the pubhc good. The ffitimate judgment of mankind ffi the mass is a fakly good judgment IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY THE WORLD CONFLICT IN ITS RELATION TO AMERICAN DEMOCRACY! Walter Lippmann [Walter Lippmann (1889 ) was bom in New York City. He was graduated from Harvard in 1910, and for a time was assistant in phUosophy in that institution. Later he formed editorial coimections in New York, writing much for the periodical press. He is the author of several books dealing with poUtics and kindred subjects. The article here reprinted, which gives a comprehensive review of the conditions leading to America's entering the world war, was originaUy read before a meeting of the American Academy of PoUtical and Social Science, in the summer of 191:7, shortiy after this step had been taken.] The way m wMch President Wilson dkected America's entrance ffito the war has had a mighty effect on the pubUc opffiion of the world. Many of those who are ffisappomted or pleased say they are surprised. They woffid not be surprised had they made it thek busffiess tffis last year to understand the pohcy of thek government. In May, 191 6, the President made a speech wffich wffi be counted among the two or tiiree decisive utterances of American foreign poUcy. The Sussex pledge had just been extracted from the German govemment, and on the surface American neutraUty seemed assured. The speech was an announcement that Ameri can isolation was ended, and that we were prepared to jom a League of Peace. This was the foundation of all that foUowed, and it was intended to make clear to the world that America woffid not abandon its traffitional pohcy for imperiaUstic adven- iFrom Annals of the American Academy of Social and Political Science, vol. Ixxii, p. I Quly, 1917.) 340 IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 34i ture, that if America had to fight it would fight for the peace and order of the world. It was a great portent ffi human ffistory, but it was overshadowed at the time by the openffig of the presidential campaign. Tffiough the summer the President insisted agaffi and again that the time had come when America must assume its share of responsbffity for a better organization of mankffid. In the early autumn very startlmg news came from Germany. It was most coffiusing because it promised peace maneuvers, hffited at a separate arrangement with the Russian court party, and at the resumption of unhmited submarffie warfare. The months from November to February were to teU the story. Never was the situation more perplexing. The prestige of the AUies was at low ebb, there was treachery ffi Russia, and, as Mr. Lansffig said, America was on the verge of war. We were not offiy on the verge of war, but on the verge of a bewUdering war which woffid not command the whole-hearted support of the American people. With the election past, and a continffity of admimstration assured, it became President WUson's task to make some bold move wffich woffid clarKy the mudffie. WhUe he was preparffig this move, the German chanceUor made his high-handed pro posal for a bhnd coffierence. That it woffid be rejected was obvi ous. That the rejection would be foUowed by the submarine war was certaffi. The danger was that America woffid be drawn ffito the war at the moment when Germany appeared to be offering the peace for wffich the bulk of American people hoped. We know now that the peace Germany was prepared to make last Decem ber was the peace of a conqueror. But at the time Germany coffid pose as a nation which had been deffied a chance to end the war. It was necessary, therefore, to test the sfficerity of Germany by asking pubUcly for a statement of terms. The President's ckcular note to the powers was issued. This note stated more precisely than ever before that America was ready to help guarantee the peace, and at the same time it gave aU the beffig erents a chance to show that they were fighting for terms wMch coffid be justffied to American opiffion. The note was very much misunderstood at ffist because the President had said 342 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS that, sffice both sides clauned to be fightffig for the same thing, neither could weU refuse to define the terms. The misunder- standffig soon passed away when the replies came. Germany brushed the President aside, and showed that she wanted a peace by intrigue. The Affies produced a document wffich con- taffied a number of formffias so cleverly worded that they might be stretched to cover the wUdest demands of the extremists or contracted to a moderate and just settiement. Above aU, the Affies assented to the League of Peace wffich Germany had dis missed as krelevant. The war was certaffi to go on with America drawn m. On January 22, after submarffie warfare had been decided upon but before it had been proclaimed, the President made Ms address to the Senate. It was an ffitemational program for democracy. It was also a last appeal to German hberals to avert a catastio- phe. They ffid not avert it, and on February i, Germany attacked the whole neutral world. That America woffid not submit was assured. The question that remaffied to be decided was the extent of our participation m the war. Shoffid it be merely de fensive on the high seas, or shoffid it be a separate war? The real source of coffiusion was the treacherous and despotic Russian govemment. By no twist of language coffid a partnersffip with that government be made consistent with the prmciples laid down by the President ffi ffis address to the Senate. The Russian Revolution ended that perplexity and we coffid enter the war with a clear conscience and a whole heart. 'When Russia became a repubhc and the American repubUc became an enemy, the German empke was isolated before mankffid as the final refuge of autocracy. The prfficiple of its Ufe is destructive of the peace of the world. How destructive that prffidple is, the everwidenffig drde of the war has disclosed. n Our task is to define that danger so that our immense sacrffices shaU serve to end it. I cannot do that for myseK without turnmg to the origffis of the war ffi order to trace the logical steps by IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 343 wffich the pursffit of a German victory has enlisted the enmity of the world. We read statements by Germans that there was a conspkacy agamst thek national development, that they found themselves enckded by enemies, that Russia, usffig Serbia as an mstrument, was tryffig to destroy Austria, and that the Entente had akeady detached Italy. Supposing that aU this were true, it woffid remaffi an extraordffiary tffing that the Entente had succeeded in en- ckclffig Germany. Had that empke been a good neighbor in Europe, by what mkacle coffid the old hostiUty between England and France and Russia have been wiped out so quickly? But there is positive evidence that no such conspiracy existed. Germany's place in the sun is Asia Minor. By the Anglo- German agreement of June, 1914, recently pubhshed, a satis factory arrangement had been reached about the economic exploitation of the Turkish empke. Professor Roffibach has acknowledged that Germany was given concessions "wffich exceeded aU expectations," and on December 2, 1914, when the war was five months old, von Bethmann-HoUweg declared ffi the Reichstag that "tffis understanffing was to lessen every possible pohtical friction." The place ffi the sun had been secured by negotiation. But the road to that place lay through Austria-Hungary and the Balkans. It was this highway which Germany determmed to control absolutely; and the chief obstacle on that highway was Serbia backed by Russia. Into the complexities of that Balkan mtrigue I am not competent to enter. We need, however, do no more than follow Lord Grey ffi the behef that Austria had a genuffie grievance against Serbia, a far greater one certaiffiy than the Uffited States has ever had agaffist Mexico. But Britain had no stake in the Austro-Serbian quarrel itseK. It had an interest in the method which the central powers took of settUng the quarrel. When Germany declared that Europe could not be consffited, that Austria must be aUowed to crush Serbia without reference to the concert of Europe, Germany pro claimed herseK an enemy of international order. She preferred a war wffich ffivolved aU of Europe to any admission of the fact 344 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS that a cooperative Europe existed. It was an assertion of un limited national sovereignty wffich Europe coffid not tolerate. ' TMs brought Russia and France mto the field. Instantly Germany acted on the same doctrffie of unlimited national sovereignty by striking at France tffiough Belgium. Had Bdgium been merely a smaU neutral nation the crime would stffi have been one of the worst ffi the history of the modern world. The fact that Belgium was an mternationalized state has made the mvasion the master tragedy of the war. For Belgium represented what progress the world had made towards cooperation. If it could not survive then no intemationaUsm was possible. That is why tffiough these years of horror upon horror, the Belgian horror is the fiercest of aU. The bumffig, the shooting, the starving, and the robbing of smaU and inoffensive nations is tragic enough. But the German crime ffi Belgium is greater than the sum of Belgium's misery. It is a crime agaffist the bases of faith at which the world must bffild or perish. The mvasion of Belgium mstantiy brought the five British democracies ffito the war. I think this is the accurate way to state the fact. Had the war remaffied a Balkan war with France engaged merely because of her treaty with Russia, had the fightffig been confined to the Franco-German frontier, the British empke might have come ffito the war to save the balance of power and to fulfil the naval agreements with France but the conffict woffid probably never have become a people's war ffi aU the free nations of the empke. 'Whatever justice there may have been ffi Austria's origffial quarrel with Serbia and Russia was overwhelmed by the exMbition of national lawlessness ffi Belgium. This led to the thkd great phase of the war, the phase wMch concerned America most immeffiately. The AUies dkected by Great Britaffi employed sea power to the utmost. They barred every road to Germany, and undoubteffiy violated many com mercial rights of neutrals. 'What America woffid do about tffis became of decisive importance. It if chose to uphold the rights it daimed, it woffid aid Germany and cripple the AlUes. If IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 34S it refused to do more than negotiate with the AUies, it had, what ever the tedmicaUties of the case might be, tffiown its great weight agaffist Germany. It had earned the enmity of the Ger man govemment, an enmity wffich broke out mto ffitrigue and conspkacy on American soU. Somewhere ffi the wffiter of 1915, America was forced to choose between a policy which helped Germany and one which helped the Affies. We were coffironted with a situation ffi wffich we had to choose between opeffing a road to Germany and makffig an enemy of Germany. With the proclamation of submarffie warfare ffi 1915 we were told that either we must aid Germany by crippUng sea poWer or be treated as a hostUe nation. The German poUcy was very simple: British mastery of the seas must be broken. It coffid be broken by an American attack from the rear or by the German sub marffie. If America refused to attack from the rear, America was to be counted as an enemy. It was a case of he who is not for me is agaffist me. To such an alternative there was but one answer for a free people to make. To become the aUy of the conqueror of Belgium agaffist France and the British democracies was utterly out of the question. Our choice was made and the supreme question of American pohcy became: how far wffi Germany carry the war against us and how hard shaU we strike back? That we were aligned on the side of Germany's enemies no canffid man, I think, can deny. The effect of tffis aUgnment was to make sea power absolute. For mastery of the seas is no longer the posses sion of any one nation. The supremacy of the British navy m tffis war rests on international consent, on the consent of her affies and of the neutrals. Without that consent the blockade of Germany coffid not exist, and the decision of America not to resist aUied sea power was the final blow wffich cut off Germany from the world. It happened graduaUy, without spectacffiar announcement, but ffistory, I think, wUl caU it one of the deci sive events of the war. The effect was to deny Germany access to the resources of the neutral world, and to open these resources to the AUies. Poetic justice never devised a more perfect retribution. The 346 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS nation wMch had struck down a neutral to gaffi a mffitary ad vantage found the neutral world a partner of its enemies. That partnersffip between the neutral world and Germany's enemies rested on merchant sMppffig. This suggested a new theory of warfare to the German govemment. It dedded that sffice every sffip afloat fed the resources of its enemies, it might be a good idea to sink every sffip afloat. It decided that smce aU the ffighways of the world were the communications of the Affies, those commimications shoffid be cut. It decided that K enough sffips were destroyed, it ffidn't matter what sffips or whose sffips, England and France woffid have to surrender and make a peace on the basis of Germany's victories ffi Europe. Therefore, on the 31st of January, 191 7, Germany abolished neutrality in the world. The policy wffich began by denyffig that a quarrel ffi the Balkans coffid be referred to Europe, went on to destroy the mtemationaUzed state of Belgium, culminated ffi ffi- ffiscrimffiate attack upon the merchant sffippffig of aU nations. The doctrine of exclusive nationalism had moved tffiough these tiiree dramatic phases until those who held it were at war with mankffid. m The terrible logic of Germany's poU(y had a stupendous resffit. By striking at the bases of aU ffitemational order, Ger many convfficed even the most isolated of neutrals that order must be preserved by common effort. By denyffig that a sodety of nations exists, a sodety of nations has been forced ffito exis tence. The very thffig Germany chaUengcd Germany has estab lished. Before 1914 offiy a handfffi of visionaries dared to hope for some kffid of federation. The orthodox view was that each nation had a destiny of its own, spheres of influence of its own, and that it was somehow beneath the ffigffity of a great state to discuss its so-called vital interests with other governments. It was a world ahnost without common aspkation, with few effec tive common ideals. Europe was spht into shKtffig affiances, democracies and autocrades jumbled together. America lay apart with a buddmg imperiaUsm of its own China was marked IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 347 as the helpless victun of exploitation. That old poUtical system was one in which the German view was by no means altogether ffisreputable. Internationalism was haK-hearted and generaUy regarded somewhat cynicaUy. 'What Germany did was to demonstrate ad nauseam the doc trine of competitive nationalism. Other nations had appUed it here and there cautiously and timidly. No other nation ffi our time had ever appUed it with absolute logic, with absolute preparation, and with absolute disregard of the consequences. Other nations nad daffied with it, compromised about it, mudffied along with it. But Germany foUowed tffiough, and Germany taught the world just where the doctrine leads. Out of the necessities of defense men agaffist it have graduaUy formulated the ideals of a cooperative nationahsm. From aU parts of the world there has been a movement of ideals workffig slowly towards one end, towards a ffigher degree of spiritual unanimity than has ever been known before. Cffina and Inffia have been stirred out of thek dependence. The American repubUc has abandoned its isolation. Russia has become some tffing like a repubUc. The British empke is movffig towards closer federation. The Grand Affiance caUed mto existence by the Gennan aggression is now sometffing more than a mffitary coalition. Common ideals are working tiirough it — ideals of local autonomy and joffit action. Men are crymg that they must be free and that they must be united. They have learned that they cannot be free uffiess they cooperate, that they cannot cooperate uffiess they are free. I do not wish to underestimate the forces of reaction in our coimtry or ffi the other nations of the Alliance. There are poUti cians and commercial groups who see ffi this whole tffing notffing but opportuffity to secure concessions, maffipulate tariffs and extend the bureaucracies. We shall know how to deal with them. Forces have been let loose wffich they can no longer control, and out of this immense horror ideas have arisen to possess men's soffis. There are times when a prudent statesman must buUd on a contracted view of human nature. But there are times when new sources of energy are tapped, when the impossible becomes 348 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS possible, when events outrun our calculations. This may be such a time. The AUiance to wffich we belong has suddeffiy grown hot with the new democracy of Russia and the new ffiternationalism of America. It has had an access of spiritual force wffich opens a new prospect ffi the poUcies of the world. We can dare to hope for things wffich we never dared to hope for ffi the past. In fact K those forces are not to grow cold and frittered they must be turned to a great end and offered a great hope. IV That great end and that great hope is nothing less than the Federation of the World. I know it sounds a httie old-fasMoned to use that pffiase because we have abused it so long ffi empty rhetoric. But no other idea is big enough to describe the affia,nce. It is no longer an offensive-defensive mffitary agreement among diplomats. That is how it started, to be sure. But it has grown, and is growffig, into a uffion of peoples determffied to end forever that intriguffig, adventurous nationahsm wffich has torn the world for tffiee centuries. Good democrats have always beheved that the common ffiterests of men were greater than thek special ffiterests, that rffiing classes can be enemies, but that the nations must be partners. Well, tffis war is bemg fought by nations. It is the nations who were called to arms, and it is the force of nations that is now stirrmg the world to its foundations. The war is ffissolving into a stupendous revolution. A few months ago we stiU argued about the Bagdad corridor, strategic frontiers, coloffies. Those were the stakes of the ffiplomat's war. The whole perspective is changed today by the revolution m Russia and the intervention of America. The scale of values is transformed, for the democracies are unloosed. Those democ racies have nothing to gain and everythffig to lose by the old competitive nationalism, the old apparatus of ffiplomacy, with its criminal rivakies in the backward places of the earth. The democracies, if they are to be safe, must cooperate. For the old rivakies mean friction and armament and a ffistortion of aU the hopes of free government. They mean that nations are IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 349 orgamzed to exploit each other and to exploit themselves. That is the ffie of what we caU autocracy. It estabUshes its power at home by pomtffig to enemies abroad. It fights its enemies abroad by dragooffing the popffiation at home. That is why practically the whole world is at war with the greatest of the autocracies. That is why the whole world is turn mg so passionately towards democracy as the only principle on wffich peace can be secured. Many have feared, I know, that the war agamst Prussian mffitarism woffid resffit the other way, that ffistead of Uberalizmg Prussia the outcome woffid be a Prussian- ization of the democracies. That woffid be the outcome K Prusso- Germany won. That woffid be the resffit of a German victory. And that is why we who are the most peacefffi of democracies are at war. The success of the submarffie woffid give Germany victory. It was and is her one great chance. To have stood aside when Germany made tffis terrible bid for victory woffid have been to betray the hope of free government and ffitemational uffion. There are two ways now ffi wMch peace can be made. The first is by poUtical revolution in Germany and Austria-Hungary. It is not for us to define the nature of that revolution. We can not dictate hberty to the German people. It is for them to decide what political institutions they wffi adopt, but K peace is to come tiirough revolution we shaU know that it has come when new voices are heard in Germany, new pohdes are proclaimed, when there is good evidence that there has, ffideed, been a new orienta tion. If that is done the war can be ended by negotiation. The other path to peace is by the definite defeat of every item in the program of aggression. This wffi mean, at a minimum^ a demonstration on the field that the German army is not ffivm- cible; a renunciation by Germany of aU the territory she has con quered; a special compensation to Belgium; and an acknowledg ment of the faUacy of exclusive nationaUsm by an application for membersffip ffi the League of Nations. Frontier questions, colonial questions, are now entkely sec- 350 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ondary, and beyond tffis mimmum program the Uffited States has no dkect mterest ffi the territorial settiement. The objects for wffich we are at war wffi be attaffied K we can defeat abso lutely the foreign pohcy of the present German government. For a rffiing caste wffich has been humiliated abroad has lost its glamor at home. So we are at war to defeat the German govern ment ffi the outer world, to destroy its prestige, to deny its conquests, and to tffiow it back at last ffito the arms of the Ger man people marked and ffiscreffited as the author of their mis eries. It is for them to make the final settiement with it. If it is our privUege to exert the power wffich turns the scale, it is our duty to see that the end justffies the means. We can vrin notffing from this war unless it culminates ffi a uffion of Uberal peoples pledged to cooperate ffi the settiement of aU outstanding questions, sworn to tum agaffist the aggressor, determffied to erect a larger and more modern system of ffitemational law upon a federation of the world. That is what we are fighting for, at tffis moment, on the ocean, ffi the sffipyard and m the factory, later perhaps ffi France and Belgium, ffitimately at the councU of peace. If we are strong enough and wise enough to wffi tffis victory, to reject aU the poison of hatred abroad and ffitolerance at home, we shaU have made a nation to which free men wffi tum with love and gratitude. For ourselves we shaU stand committed as never before to the realization of democracy ffi America. We who have gone to war to insure democracy ffi tiie world wffi have raised an aspkation here that vriU not end with the overtMow of the Prussian autocracy. We shaU tum with fresh ffiterests to our ovm tyranffies — to our Colorado mmes, our autocratic steel industries, our sweatshops and our slums. We shaU caU that man un-American and no patriot who prates of Uberty ffi Europe and resists it at home. A force is loose ffi America as weU. Our own reactionaries wffi not assuage it with thek Bffiy Sundays or control through lawyers and poUticians of the Old Guard. IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 3Si AMERICAN AND ALLIED IDEALS^ Stuart Pratt Sherman [Stuart Pratt Sherman (1881 ) was bom at Anita, Iowa. After graduating at WiUiams CoUege, he studied at Harvard, and became, in 1906, an instructor in EngUsh in the Northwestern University. In the fol lowing year he went to the University of IlUnois where he is now professor of EngUsh. In his writings, especially in the field of Uterary criticism, he has shown himself one of the most brilUant of the younger men of letters in the United States.] I have heard one of our prophets declaring that either Ger many or America is destffied to rffie the world, and that on the whole he hopes it wffi be America. If I may speak out of my own convictions, there is one tffing more abhorrent to my con science than that Germany shoffid domffiate the world by force of arms. That one more abhorrent thffig is that America should dominate the world by force of arms. 'When a man execrates on the part of a foreign nation a course wffich he praises on the part of his own nation; when a man curses Germany because it is mffitaristic and then rebukes America because it is not mffi- taristic; when a man revUes the Germans for cryffig, "On to Calais" and then turns to ffis feUow countrjmien cryffig, "On to Panama;" when a man rifficffies the Germans for caUing them selves God's chosen people, and then turns to the Americans and caUs them God's chosen people; when a man upbraids the Germans for shoutffig right or wrong my country, and then turns to the Americans shouting right or wrong my coimtry — coffironted by tffis buU-headed preposterous nationalism the experienced Muse of history bursts ffito scorffiffi laughter; he that sitteth ffi the heavens turns away ffis face; and Americans in the midst of tffis horrible slaughter are properly admoffished to prepare for the next war! Nor can we escape from the derisive laughter of the Immortals by talking about the Anglo-Saxons. Offiy one degree removed from the preposterous nationaUst is the preposterous Anglo- iFrom American and Allied Ideals. (No. 12, War Information Series, February, 1918, issued by tiie Committee on Public Information.) Reprinted by permission. 3S2 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Saxon. I feel fakly ffitimate with the ideals of America; they are mme. I know sometffing of the ideals of England; they are aUied to America's. But what are the Anglo-Saxon ideals? Do they fficlude Disraeh's, Mr. Lloyd-George's, or Mr. WUson's? For that matter, who are the Anglo-Saxons — other than those Germanic tribes that drove back the Celtic and Pictish ancestors of our Scotch-Irish presidents? I do not see how the American scholar's sjonpathies can be strongly enUsted ffi a feud in behaK of the Anglo-Saxon blood. 'What stake have the countrymen of Lafayette m a blood feud of the Anglo-Saxons? Or the country men of Garibalffi? Or the countrymen of Kerensky? Or the Japanese? Or the Brazffians? Or the Portuguese? Or the people of Cffina and Siam? The ties of blood and race count for next to nothffig ffi tffis conffict. The Enghsh-speakffig peoples have no monopoly in the ideals of the AUies. The American who now raises the flag of Anglo-Saxoffism raises a meaffingless symbol wffich ffisffits the pride of miffions of Ms feUow country men and most of the AUies, and may weU chaUenge the Orient to muster and drffi her miffions for the next war. Appeals to race prejuffice, to a purely seK-regardffig patriot ism, tp the old-fasffioned nationaUsm, happUy do not nowadays always carry conviction to the mteUectual class to wffich edu cated men are aUeged to belong. Many of them have bamshed race prejuffice as a relic of tribal days. Many of them are con vfficed that national pride needs a schoolmaster; and are glad that it has one ! They have stuffied the world upheaval m which the nations now quake; they have searchingly scrutinized their own consciences; and many of them have reached the conclu sion that the master cause of tffis tragedy, of wffich aU the world's the stage, is precisely the old seK-regarffing nationahsm — the nationaUsm which glorffies power and has no prfficiple of con traction to oppose to its principle of expansion. 'When they hear Germans ^outhig "Deutschland ilber Alles," a,D.d Americans shoutffig "America ilber Alles," thek hearts refuse to raUy to either caU. They say that the offiy way to avoid brutal and Mdecus clashes of ffitemational strife for national expansion is to stop IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 353 this barbaric shouting; and to set up and establish supemational ideals and prfficiples which shaU impose an effective check upon the ffidefinitdy expansive principle of nationahty. Some of our statesmen teU us that it cannot be done. They declare that they are too stupid to contrive the macffinery of ffitemational government. We do not altogether beheve them. We have a very great confidence ffi both the mgenuity and the power of statesmen; and it is based upon experience. We believe that statesmen can do anything that they have a mffid to do. We beheve m the ffigenffity and power of statesmen, because we see them aU aroimd the world accomphshffig much more difficffit and incredible thffigs, such, for example, as persuadffig great nations to pledge thek last doUar and thek last man and to walk through the vaUey of the shadow of hideous death to sup port a statesman's word, phghted perhaps without their knowl edge or consent. From that spectacle we derive our behef that when statesmen heartily apply their ffigenffity to contrivffig what the hearts of aU the plain people of the world deske, they wffi be not a little surprised to discover the easffiess of the task and the ffiexhaustible power beffind them. ¦Where shaU we find the supemational principles and powers wMch we wish our statesmen to estabUsh, wMch we demand that they shaU establish? We shaU find them ffi the cause for which America and her associates are now fighting. Cynics may say that each of the Affies is fightffig for its own special mterest, its own pecffiiar cffiture, its trade, to recover this or that bit of territory, to annex tffis or that province or port. Doubt less seffish motives do enter to some extent into the practical considerations of most of the governments, just as brutal and seffish men enter mto the armies. But uffiess the leadffig spokes men of the Affies are black-hearted liars, they are about a nobler busffiess than national buccaneering. And whatever the governments are about, we are profoundly convfficed that the great mass of the people of the Affies are not cyffics and do not intend to be dupes; that they are not fightffig for ports and prov inces and trade; that they are fighting for the common ffiterests of the whole fanffiy of civilized nations — ^for nothffig less than w 354 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the cause of mankffid. They can umte from the ends of the earth as one people, sinking their national pecuharities, because they are drawn by a bond deeper than language or nationaUty or race; they are drawn by the bond that uffites the common wealth of nations. They are not fighting for French or EngUsh or American law, justice, truth, and honor, but for international law, ffitemational truth, ffitemational justice, ffitemational honor. The new national pride and patriotism developed by this conffict finds its basis ffi the service wffich each nation renders to the cause above aU nations, the cause of civUized society, the cause of civffized man. The new type of patriot no longer cries, "my country against the world," but "my country /o/- the world." The moment that he takes that attitude he finds no more hos tffity between the idea of nationaUsm and the idea of ffiter- nationahsm than between the idea of a company and the idea of a regiment, or the idea of a state and the idea of a nation. As each good citizen's loyalty to his state accepts a prfficiple of control ffi ffis loyalty to ffis nation, so ffis loyalty to ffis nation accepts a prfficiple of control ffi his loyalty to the general fanffiy of nations. Here is the great fact wffich chaUenges the loyalty of every humane man. Propaganda for America and the Affies is not to be urged to the disadvantage of any nation whatsoever, pro vided offiy that each nation is wiffing to behave Uke a member of a famUy of nations, provided only that it wffi accept for its con duct outside its borders the fundamental principles of civiliza tion. Our propaganda is not for separatism and exclusion. It is rather our profound conviction that there is no room left m the world for barbarians, for heathen tribes vrithout the law. Humaffity is not safe whUe any nation professes inhumanity. We are not fighting to put the Germans out but to get them m. Furthermore we have got to take the Orient in, frankly and fffily; or in aU probabiUty we or our chUdren, or our chUdren's cffildren, wffi have to fight the Orient. To some of us the ffi fluence upon the Orient of the German rebeffion agaffist the FamUy of Nations appears as not the least omffious and dreadful aspect of the present war. IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 3SS If out of the infinite travaU of this war there is to come a new bkth of national freedom under ffitemational law, K these our numberless dead are not to have ffied ffi vaffi, we must keep our great war aims ever viviffiy before us. We must not merely defeat our adversaries but also estabhsh the prfficiples for which we drew the sword. If ffi the day of victory the apathy of en Ughtened men permits reactionaries and old-fasffioned statesmen to arrange a peace under wffich the nations revert to the former state of international anarchy and competitive preparations for fresh conflicts, the spkits of mffiions of bemocked and victimized young dead men shoffid rise from their graves to protest agaffist the great betrayal. To ffisure that the war shaU end as a purg ing tragedy and not as an empty farce we need now and shaU need for a long time to come impassioned expositors of the laws of man and God, profaned by the enemy and defended by America and the Affies. The ffist duty of the propagandist is to determme what the ideals and prmciples of the Affies are; and tffis ffivolves deter miffing what they are not. One can best discover what they are not by reaffing modern German hterature, German news papers, German etffics and pohtics, the works of Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Trdtschke, Bernharffi, Hartmann, etc. If time is short, one can qffickly sharpen one's consciousness of what our ideals are not by readffig daUy one or two selections from an anthology of German thought, such as is contained in Conquest and Kultur, pubhshed by the Committee on PubUc Information. In tffis Uterature one wffi make acquamtance vrith the Kaiser's tribal god who has merited the kon cross for his able support of the strategy of the German General Staff, the god who is to stand arm m arm with the Kaiser reviewing ffis Uffians on the Day of Judgment. There one wffi find the leaders of German thought deKying a state with no aspect of deity but power; denjdng the right of smaU nations to Uve; revivmg old and ffi- stituting new forms of slavery; affiriffing that might is right; defending the ravishment of Belgium; rejoicing in the Lusitania massacre; glorifying Schrecklichkeit; recommendffig that sffips of friendly neutrak shoffid be spurlos versenkt; advocating keepffig 3S6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS subject peoples ffi ignorance and misery; chanting the hoUness of war and hopffig that it may last forever; extoUffig war as the prime element of thek Kultur; and proudly declaring their opposition to the estabhshment on earth of the kingdom of righteousness and peace. There one wffi find the ideals and prmciples of a govemment wffich has covenanted with death and agreed with heU. The propaganffist can do good service by holffing these ideas up to execration, not because they are German ideas but because they are ideas hostile to the commonwealth of man. And K by chance any spokesman of the AUied nations falls ffito the error of saying anytffing resembling these ideas, the propaganffist may perform equaUy good service by pointing out with emphasis that he speaks hke one of the depraved leaders of German thought and an enemy of the Affies. His happiest occupation, however, shoffid be the ffiscovery, coUection, and enthusiastic promffigation on every proffered occasion of the ideals of the Affies. This kind of propaganda has not yet received the attention it deserves. The tendency has been to expose the perversity and iffiqffity of the enemy's aims and to take for granted the righteousness and justice of our own. As the war proceeds, the Affied nations are steadUy drawn by necessity to fight fire with fire; to parry the blow of an autocratic government, they have had to make thek own gov ernments temporarily autocratic; to meet the rush of a nation in arms, they have had to put thek own nations in arms; to resist the assaffit of a people trained to sacrffice aU to the state, they have been compeUed for the nonce to demand a simUar sacrffice. As aU the participants ffi this dreadfffi mdee become more and more deeply imbrued ffi the blood and wrath of com bat, it grows fficreasffigly difficffit to ffistmguish by thek ex temal aspects the victim from the assassin. TMs hour when his hands are subdued to the dark color of the bleeding mke wherein he grapples with the foe is the bitter hour for the idealist. It is the hour of siffister opportunity for the man who bffilds ffis phUosophy upon the fficorrigible baseness of our human natures. It is then that the cyffic and the reactionary croak and shout: IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 357 "You are aU tarred with the same brush. We bet on the black est. FaU to! and the devU take the Mndmost." Tffis is the hour when it tremendously concerns us to be reminded who began the war and what it is about. TMs is the hour when it behooves us to remember that our soldiers are defendmg the causes wffich our statesmen define. It is the busffiess of the strategists of international idealism to demand that the armies of the Affies shaU never fight for a cause unworthy of the com monwealth of man. Where shaU we look for the ideals of the Affies? PrimarUy, perhaps, ffi the utterances of the AUied statesmen at the present time and ffi the vast hterature of the conffict. Take, K you like, Siam's statement of its reasons for enterffig the war, to "uphold the sanctity of ffitemational rights agaffist nations showffig a contempt of humaffity." Or take Mr. WUson's statement that our motive is not "revenge or the victorious assertion of the physical might of the nation, but offiy the vffidication of right, of human right, of wffich we are offiy a sffigle champion;" or ffis other statement that we fight "for a uffiversal domiffion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shaU bring peace and safety to aU nations and make the world itseK at last free." It shoffid be a great source of ffispkation and confidence to recognize that the ideals of the Affies have been the ideals of just men ffi aU ages; so that we may find them, most of them, expressed in aU the great hteratures of the world, ancient and modern, fficludffig the hterature of the great Germans of the eighteenth century. Contemporary German thought is pre historic, reversionary, paradoxical. It seeks to fly agaffist the great wffids of time, to row agamst the deep current of human purposes, to ignore the grand agreements of civUized men, and to seek its sanction ffi the unconscious law of the jungle. The Affies are seekffig to cooperate with the power not ourselves wffich has been struggUng for righteousness through the entke ffistory of man; and thek cause wiU be borne forward by the confluent moral energies of aU times and peoples. It was to Goethe that Arnold generously gave creffit for the idea of an ffitemational repubUc of mteUectual men, an idea 3i8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS precious to every scholar and man of letters. "Let us conceive," said Arnold, "of the whole group of civUized nations as beffig, for ffiteUectual and spkitual purposes, one great confederation whose members have a due knowledge both of the past out of wffich they aU proceed, and of one another. Tffis was the idea of Goethe, and it is an ideal wffich wffi impose itseK upon the thoughts of our modern societies more and more." It was Goethe who said: "National hatred is somethffig pecuUar. You wffi always find it strongest where there is the lowest degree of cffiture. And there is a degree where it vaffishes altogether and where one stands to a certaffi extent above nations." These are ideals of the Affies, now scoffed at by the depraved leaders of the thought of Goethe's countrjmien. Mr. Roosevelt has ffiscovered the cause of the Affies ffi the words of Micah: "What more doth the Lord requke of thee than to do justice and love mercy and to walk humbly with thy God?" Another of the Prophets, as K foreseeffig the advice given by the German General Staff to the God of the German armies, expressed an ideal of the Affies when he said: "'Who hath dkected the Spkit of the Lord, or beffig Ms CounseUor hath taught him? . . . Behold, the nations are as a drop of a bucket, and are counted as the smaU dust of the balance. . . . AU nations before Him are as nothing; and they are counted to Him less than notffing and vaffity. . . . [When His spkit is poured from on high] judgment shaU dweU in the vrildemess, and righteousness remam ffi the frffitfffi field. And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness, quiet ness and assurance forever." Confucius expressed an ideal of the Affies, very dear to the heart of aU Americans, when he said: "People despotically governed and kept ffi order by puffishment may avoid iffirac- tion of the law, but they wffi lose thek moral sense. People vktuously governed and kept ffi order by the inner law of seK- control wffi retaffi thek moral sense, and moreover become good." Cicero expressed a majestic ideal of the AUies, when he said: "True law is right reason coffiormable to nature, uffiversal, IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 359 unchangeable, etemal, whose commands urge us to duty, and whose proffibitions restraffi us from evU. . . . Neither the senate nor the people can give us any dispensation for not obey- ffig this uffiversal law of justice. . . . It is not one thffig at Rome, and another at Athens; one tffing today, and another tomorrow; but ffi aU times and nations this uffiversal law must forever reign, eternal and imperishable. It is the sovereign master and emperor of aU thffigs. God himseK is its author, its promffigator, its enforcer. And he who does not obey it ffies from ffimseK, and does violence to the very nature of man." English Uterature, especiaUy smce the seventeenth century when the ffivffie right of kffigs received its death blow, is fuU of expressions of Affied ideals. MUton impUes one in Paradise Regained "They err who count it glorious to subdue By conquest far and wide, to overrun Large coimtries, and in field great batties win. Great cities by assault; what do these worthies But rob and spoU, burn, slaughter, and enslave Peaceable nations, neighboring or remote Made captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove And aU the flourishing works of peace destroy."* And MUton expresses an ideal of the Affies for the period foUow ffig the war: "If after beffig released from the toils of war, you neglect the arts of peace . . . K you think it is a more grand, or a more beneficial, or a more wise pohcy, to ffivent subtie expeffients for increasing the revenue, to multiply our naval and military force, to rival ffi craft the ambassadors of foreign states, to form skilKul treaties and affiances, than to admiffister unpoUuted justice to the people, to redress the ffijured, to suc cor the ffistressed, and speedUy to restore to every one ffis own, you are ffivolved in a cloud of error, and too late you wffi per ceive, when the ffiusion of those mighty benefits has vanished, *Quoted by E. de S^lincourt in English Poets and the National Ideal. [Shermtn's note.] 36o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS that ffi neglecting these, you have offiy been precipitatffig your own ruin and despak." The hterature of France, especiaUy since the French Revolu tion, is full of the ideals of the AUies. For France I wffi quote a few lines from the essay by 'Victor Gkaud on French civiliza tion, recently pubUshed ffi tffis country by the Department of Romance Languages of the Uffiversity of MicMgan: "France has never been able to beUeve that force alone, the force of pride and brute strength, coffid be the last word ffi the affairs of tffis world. She has never admitted that science coffid have for its ultimate purpose to mffitiply the means of destruc tion and oppression, and it was one of her old writers, Rabelais, who pronounced these memorable words: 'Science without con science is the ruin of the soffi.' She has not been able to con ceive that an ethnic group, a particffiar type of mind, should have the right to suppress others: instead of a rigid and mechaffi cal unKormity of thought and ffie, the ideal to which she aspires is that of the free play, spontaneous devdopment, and the Uvffig harmony of the nations of the world." In the response of the South American states to the appeal of the cause of the Affies, deep has caUed unto deep. No novel ckcumstance, no momentary impffise, no revelation of yesterday has revealed to the Latin-American peoples thek essential com munity of interest with France, with England, with the Umted States of the North. Tffiough all temporary misunderstanffings and estrangements, they have remembered that they are kmdred offspring of one great emancipative idea, inheritors of a common political purpose, pUgrims to a common goal. Tffiough the con fusions of desperate wars Simon Bolivar, the Washington of thek revolutions, led them a hundred years ago to the tiireshold of the new world of national independence, civic equality, Uberty, popffiar sovereignty and justice. He, man of strKe though he had to be, cherished IKelong ffis fond dream of a parUament of man, and in the evening of ffis ffie summoned on the Isthmus of Panama a congress of nations, wffich he ffitended shoffid present a united front to imperial aggression, become the per petual source and guarantor of pubhc law, and estabUsh concord IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 361 among all peace-loving peoples. From that day to this the statesmen of South America have been with increasmg earnest ness and effectiveness the friends of arbitral justice and the architects of international peace. 'What shaU I say of America but that the ideals for wMch the Affies are now every day more consciously fighting presided over her birth as a nation and have been her guiffing stars ffi aU the ffigh moments of her history? I mean that the American nation, established at an epoch of inteUectual expansion, was to a re markable degree founded upon international principles by men of international outlook and sympathies. Our founders ffi general claimed nothing for Americans but what they were wiU- ffig and anxious to concede to all men; so that it has ever been a splenffid traffition of the American Govemment, when about to take a momentous step, frankly to state its case, and opeffiy to invite the considerate judgment — not of Americans — but of mankffid, thus cheddng the expansive prfficiple of nationaUsm by the contractive prfficiple of a supemational aUegiance. America, furthermore, has never estabUshed the worsffip of a tribal or national deity. The God ffivoked by the framers of our Declaration of Independence, our Constitution, our Con gress, our Courts, and by our great presidents, has quite obvi ously, I tffink, been approached as the Father of Mankind. The eighteenth century deists — men Uke Paffie, Franklin, and Jefferson — ^had ffideed thorougffiy repudiated the idea of a warlike tribal Jehovah; the quaUties wffich they habituaUy attributed to the deity were justice and benevolence; and these characteristics have remamed, I beUeve, the leadffig ones ffi what we may caU our national conceptions of ffiviffity. And how has our national faith ffi a Father of aU Mankffid been re flected ffi our political conceptions? WeU, Benjamm Franklin said in the midst of a great war: "Justice is as strictiy due between neighbour Nations as between neighbour citizens . . . and a Nation which makes an unjust war is offiy a great Gang." And our Declaration of Independence holds that the God of nature has made it seK-evident that all men are created equal and endowed with ffiaUenable rights to Ufe, Uberty, and 362 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the pursffit of happffiess. Wasffington, ffi his "FareweU Address," expresses his faith that Providence has connected the permanent fehcity of a nation with its virtue; accordmgly he urges his countrymen to forego temporary national advantages, and to try the novel experiment of always acting nationally on prffici ples of "exalted justice and benevolence." Jefferson, ffi ffis first inaugural, f ehcitates Ms countrymen on the fact that reUgion in America, under aU its various forms, fficfficates "honesty, truth, temperance, gratitude, and the love of man." Liberty, equality, justice, benevolence, truth — these are not tribal ideals. AU these ideals wffich our national fathers derived from the Father of all Nations, Lfficoln received and cherished as a sacred heritage, and he added something precious to them. He took them into his great heart and quickened them with ffis own warm sense of human brotherhood, with ffis instinctive gentieness and compassion for aU the cffildren of men. "With mahce towards none; with charity for all; with firmness for the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to fiffish the work we are ffi; to bffid up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shaU have borne the battie, and for his widow, and ffis orphan — to do aU wMch may acffieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with aU nations." 'Why do these words, uttered near the bitter end of a long war, touch us so deeply, and tffiffi us year after year? Because ffi them the finest mor ality of the ffiffividual American is identffied at last with the moraUty of the nation. The words consecrate the loftiest of aU American ideals, namely, that the conduct of the nation shaU be inspked by a humaffity so pure and exalted that the humanest citizen may realize his ffighest ideals in devotion to it. That ideal stffi animates the American people. We are not senffing out our young men today to fight for a state wffich acknowledges no duty but the extension of its own merciless power. We are sending them out to fight for a state wffich finds its highest duty ffi the defense and extension of justice and mercy. Our national purpose has been solemnly rededicated to the objects of the canonized Father and the Preserver of the RepubUc. We are not to break with our great traffitional aspka- IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 363 tion towards the expression in the state of the civffity, moraUty, and responsibiUty of the humanest citizens. In the noble words of Mr. WUson's recent address: "The hand of God is laid upon the nations. He wffi show them favor, I devoutiy beUeve, offiy K they rise to the clear heights of ffis own justice and mercy." So beheve all just men. Here then let us close our appeal to those who have drawn apart from this our war and have sought for thek emotions a neutral place of refuge above the conflict. The cause of America and the AUies is the defense of the common cffiture of the famUy of civilized nations. It is the cause of the commorwealth of man. The ideals and prfficiples which we wish to take hold of character and govern conduct are the best principles and ideals that men have. We need not fear the perUs that beset the propagandist K we have once a clear vision of the object of our propaganda. We need not fear lest we become wUy Uars, for our very object is that central human truth which is the object of all knowledge. We need not fear lest we become venomous haters, for our very object is the fficulcation of the sense of human brotherhood and human compassion. We need not fear lest we become besotted nationalists, for our very object is the inculcation of a sense for those common tffings wffich should be precious to all men, everjrwhere, at aU times. We have drawn the sword to defend what Cicero beautKuUy caUed, "the country of aU mteffigent beffigs." 364 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ETHICAL PROBLEMS OF THE WAR» Gilbert Murray [Gilbert Murray (1866 ) is regius professor of Greek, Oxford Uni versity. He was bom Lq Sydney, New South Wales. After being graduated from St. John's CoUege, Oxford, he was for a year FeUow of New CoUege, Oxford, and then became professor of Greek in Glasgow Umversity (1889- 1899). WhUe in his present position he has several times visited the United States to lecture on Greek Uterature. Since the beginning of the war, he has spoken and written in a very thoughtful way upon the problems of the war. Some of these have been brought together in book form under the title, Faith, 'War, and Policy. This selection was originally deUvered as an address to the Congress of Free Churches, England, in October, 1915, and represents the reaction toward the war on the part of a representative EngUshman.] Curiously enough I remember speakffig ffi tffis hall, I suppose about ffiteen years ago, against the pohcy of the war ffi South Africa. I httie imagmed then that I should hve to speak m favor of the policy of a much greater and more ffisastrous war, but that is what, on the whole, I shaU do. But I want to begm by facing certam facts. Don't let us attempt to bffid ourselves or be blinded by pffiases ffito thinking that the war is anythffig but a disaster, and an appaffing disaster. Don't let us be led away by views wffich have some gleam of truth m them ffito beUevffig that tffis war wffi put an end to war — that it wiU convert Germany, and certaiffiy convert Russia to Uberal opm- ions, that it wffi estabUsh natural frontiers tiiroughout Europe or that it wffi work a moral regeneration ffi nations wMch were somehow sapped by too many years of easy Uving in peace. There is some truth, and very valuable truth, ffi aU those con siderations, but they do not alter the fact that the war is, as I said, an appaffing disaster. We knew when we entered upon it that it was a disaster — ^we knew that we shoffid suffer, and that aU Europe would suffer. Now let us run over very briefly the ways ffi wffich it is domg evU. Let us face the evU first. There is, first, the mere suffering, the leagues and leagues of human sufferffig, that is now spreadmg IFrom The War of Democracy: ihe Allies' Statement, edited by James Bryce. (Copy right, 1917, Doubleday, Page & Company.) Reprinted by permission. IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 36s across Europe, the suffering of the solffiers, the actual wounded combatants, and, beffind them, the sufferffig of non-combatants, the sufferffig of people dispossessed, of refugees, of people tumed suddeffiy homeless ffito a world without pity. Beffind that you have the sufferings of dumb anknals. We are not lUsely to forget that. There is another side wffich we are even less likely to for get, and that is our own personal losses. There are very few people ffi tffis room who have not suffered ffi that ffirect, personal way; there wffi be stiU fewer by the end of the war. I don't want to dweU upon that question; the tears are very close behffid our eyes when we begffi to think of that aspect of tffings, and it is not for me to bring them forward. Think, again, of the state's loss, the loss of aU those chosen men, not mere men taken haphazard, but young, strong men, largely men of the most generous and self-sacrfficing impulses who responded most swKtiy to the caU for their loyalty and thek hves. Some of them are dead, some wiU come back ffijured, maimed, mvaUded, ffi various ways broken. There is an old Greek proverb wffich exactly expresses the experience that we shaU be forced to go through, "The spring is taken out of your year." For a good time ahead the years of England, of most of Europe, wffi be without a spring. In that consideration i tffink it is only fair, and I am certaffi that an audience like this wiU agree with me, to add aU the nations together. It is not offiy we and our affies who are suffering the loss there; it is a loss to humanity. Accordmg to the Russian proverb, "They are all sons of mothers," the wUdest Senegalese, the most angry Prussian. And that is the state that we are ffi. We rejoice, of course we rejoice, to hear of great German losses; we face the fact. We do rejoice; yet it is terrible that we shoffid have to; for the loss of these young Germans is also a great and a terrible loss to humanity. It seems almost trivial after these considerations of ffie and death, but tffink, too, of our monetary losses; of the fact that we have spent 1,595 milUons and that we are throwing away money at the rate of nearly five miUions a day. Yet just tffink what it means, that precious surplus with which we meant to make England finer ffi every way — that surplus is gone. 366 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS From a rich, generous, sanguffie nation putting her hopes in the future, we shaU emerge a rather poverty-stricken nation, bound to consider every penny of fficreased expenffiture; a harassed nation, offiy fortunate K we are stffi free. Just think of aU our schemes of reform and how they are blown to the four wffids — schemes of social improvement, of ffidustrial improve ment; a scheme like Lord Haldane's great education scheme wMch was to begffi by carffig for the health of the smaU chUd, and then lead him up by a great ladder from the primary school to the uffiversity! How some of us who were speciaUy ffiter ested ffi education reveUed ffi the thought of that great idea; but it was goffig to cost such a lot of money. It woffid cost nearly as much as haK a week of the war ! Think what riches we had then, and, on the whole, although we are perhaps the most generous nation ffi Europe, what Uttie use we made of them. We speak of spiritual regeneration as one of the resffits of war, but here, too, there is the spkitual evU to be faced. I do not speak merely of the danger of reaction. There wffi be a grave danger of poUtical reaction and of reUgious reaction, and you wffi aU have your work cut out for you ffi that matter. The poUtical reaction, I beUeve, wffi not take the form of a mere wave of extreme Con servatism; the real danger wffi*be a reaction agaffist anytffing that can be caUed meUow and wise m poUtics; the real danger wiU be a struggle between crude militarist reaction and violent unthinkmg democracy. As for reUgion, you are probably aU anxious as to what is goffig to happen there. Every narrow form of rehgion is ffitffig up its horns agaffi; rank superstition is begm- ning to flourish. I am told that fortune-teUers and crystal- gazers are reaUy havffig now the time of thek Uves. It wffi be for bodies Uke yourselves to be carefffi about all that. But besides that there is another more dkect spiritual danger. We cannot go on Uvffig an abnormal ffie without gettmg fundament ally disorganized. We have seen that, especiaUy ffi Germany; with them it seems to be a much stronger tendency, much worse than it is with us; but clearly you cannot permanentiy concen trate your mind on injurmg your f eUow creatures without habitu ating yourseK to evU thoughts. In Germany, of course, there is a IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 367 deUberate cffit of hatred. There is a process, wMch I won't stop to analyze, a process utterly amazffig, by which a higffiy civilized and ordinarUy humane nation has gone on from what I can offiy caU atrocity to atrocity. How these people have ever induced themselves to commit the crimes ffi Belgium wffich are attested by Lord Bryce's Commission, even to organizing the flood of calculated mendacity that they pour out day by day, and, last of aU, to stand by passive and apparentiy approvmg, whUe deeds like the new Armenian massacres are goffig on under their egis, and ffi the very presence of thek consuls., aU tffis passes one's imagination. Now we do not act like that; there is sometffing or other in the EngUsh nature wffich wffi not aUow it. We shall show anger and passion, but we are probably not cap able of that organized cruelty, and I hope we never shaU be. Yet the same forces are at work. I do not want to dweU upon this subject too long, but when people talk of national regeneration or the reverse, there is one very obvious and plaffi test wffich one looks at first and that is the drink bffi. We have made a great effort to restram our drinkffig; large numbers of people have given up consuming wffie and spkits altogether, foUowffig the King's example. We have made a great effort and what is the resffit? The drink bffi is up seven miffions as compared with the last year of peace! That seven mUUons is partiy due to the fficreased price; but at the old prices, it woffid stffi be up rather over two miffions. And ahead, at the end of aU tffis, what pros pect is there? There is sure to be poverty and unemployment, great and long continued, just as tiiere was after 181 5. I tmst we shaU be better able to face it; we shaU have thought out the difficffities more; we who are left with any reasonable margffi of subsistence wffi, I hope, be more generous and more clear-sighted than our ancestors a century earher. But ffi any case there is comffig a time of great social ffistress and very httie money indeed to meet it with. We shaU acffieve, no doubt, peace ffi Europe; we shaU have, probably, some better arrangement of ., frontiers, but underneath the place there wUl be terrific hatred. And in the'heart of Europe, ffistead of a treacherous and grasping neighbor, we shaU be left with a deadly enemy, hving for revenge. 368 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Now, ladies and gentlemen, I do not think that I have sffirked the ffiffictment of this war. It is a terrible ffiffictment; and you wffi ask me, perhaps, after that description, K I stffi beUeve tiiat our poUcy ffi dedarffig war was right. Yes; I do. Have I any doubt ffi any corner of my mffid that the war was right? I have none. We took the path of duty and the offiy path we coffid take. Some people speak now as K goffig on with the war was a kffid of ffidffigence of our evU passions. The war is not an ffidffigence of our evU passions; the war is a mart)T:dom. Now, let us not exaggerate here. It is not a mart)n:dom for Cffiistiaffity. I saw a phrase the other day that we were fight ffig for the naUed hand of One crucffied, agamst the "maUed fist." That description is an ideal a man may carry ffi ffis own heart, but, of course, it is an exaggeration to apply to our national position, to the position of any nation in ffitemational politics. We are not saints; we are not a nation of early Cffiistians. Yet we are fightffig for a great cause. How shaU I express it? We are a country of ripe political experience, of ancient freedom; we are, with aU our faffits, I tffink, a country of kffiffiy record and generous ideals, and we stand for the estabUshed traffition of good behavior between the nations. We stand for the observ ance of treaties and the recogffition of mutual rights, for the traffition of common honesty and common kindliness between nation and nation; we stand for the old decencies, the old human ities, "the old ordmance," as the Kffig's letter put it, "the old ordffiance that has bound civUized Europe together." And agaffist us there is a power wffich, as the Kffig says, has changed that ordffiance. Europe is no longer held together by the old decencies as it was. The enemy has substituted for it some rule which we cannot yet fathom to its fffil depth. You can caU it militarism or Realpolitik K you like; it seems to involve the domination of force and fraud; it seems to ffivolve orgamzed rutffiessness, orgaffized terrorism, organized mendacity. The phrase that comes back to my mind when I think of it is Mr. Gladstone's description of another evU rule — it is the negation of God erected ffito a system of govemment. The sort of thing for which we are fightffig, the old ordmance, the old kffidUness, IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 369 and the old humanities — is it too much to say that, K there is God ffi man, it is in these thffigs, after aU, that God in man speaks? The old orffinance is ffiogical. Of course it is ffiogical. It means that civffized human beings in the midst of thek greatest passions, in the midst of their angers and rages, feel that there is sometffing deeper, somethffig more important than war or victory — that at the bottom of all strKe there are some remnants of human brotherhood. Now, I do not want to go into a long list of German atrocities; much less do I want to denounce the enemy. As Mr. Balfour put it ffi his whimsical way: "We take our enemy as we find him." But it has been the method tiiroughout tffis war — the method the enemy has foUowed — to go at each step outside the old conventions. 'We have sometimes foUowed. Sometimes we have had to foUow. But the whole ffistory of the war is a history of that process. The peoples fought according to certain rffies, but one people got outside the rffies right from the beginmng. The broken treaty; the calculated ferocity in Belgium and northern France; the kUhng of women and non-combatants by sea and land and ak; the sheUffig of hospitals; the treatment of wounded prisoners ffi ways they had never expected; aU the doctoring of weapons with a view to cruelty; explosive buUets: the projectile doctored with substances wMch woffid produce a gangrenous wound; the poisoned gases; the iffiected weUs. It is the same method throughout. The old conventions of humanity, the old arrangements wffich admitted that beneath our cruelties, beneath our hatreds there was some common humaffity and friendlmess between us, these have been systematically broken one after another. Now observe: these tffings were done, not recklessly, but to gain a specffic advantage; they were done, as Mr. Secretary Zimmermann put it in the case of Miss Cavell, "to inspire fear." And observe that in many places they have been successfffi. They have ffispked fear. Offiy look at what has recently happened and what is happenffig now in the Balkans. Every one of these Balkan states has looked at Belgium. The German agents have told them to look at Belgium. They have looked at Belgium and thek courage has faUed X 370 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS them. Is that the way m wMch we wish the govemment of the world to be conducted ffi future? It is the way it wffi be uffiess we and our Affies stand firm to the end. AU these poffits, terrible as they are, seem to me to be merely consequences from what happened at the very beginnffig of the war. There are probably some people here who differ from what I am sayffig, and I am gratefffi to them for the patient way in wffich they are hsteffing to me. To aU these I woffid eamestiy say: "Do not despise the ffiplomatic documents." Remember carefuUy that the ffiplomacy of Jffiy and August, 1914, is a central fact. Remember that it is the one part of the ffistory antecedent to tffis war wffich is absolutely clear as dayUght. Read the documents and read the serious stuffies of them. I woffid recommend speciaUy the book by Mr. WiUiam Archer, caUed "Thirteen Days." There is also Mr. Headlam's admkable book, "The History of Twelve Days," and the equaUy admk able book by the American jurist, Mr. StoweU. There the issue is dear and the question is settied. The verffict of history is akeady given ffi these negotiations. There was a ffispute, a somewhat artfficial ffispute, wffich coffid ea^Uy have been settied by a httie reasonableness on the part of the two principals. If that faUed, there was the meffiation of friends, there was a con ference of the disffiterested nations — there was appeal to the concert of Europe. There was the arbitration of The Hague— an arbitration to wffich Serbia appealed on the very first day and to wffich the Czar appealed agaffi on the very last. All Europe wanted peace and fak settiement. The governments of the two Central Powers refused it. Every sort of settiement was overridden. You vriU aU remember that, when every settiement that we coffid propose had been shoved aside, one after another, Sk Edward Grey made an appeal to Germany to make any proposal herseK — any reasonable proposal — and we bound our selves to accept it, to accept it even at the cost of deserting our associates. No such proposal was made. AU Europe wanted peace and fair dealing except one Power, or one pak of Powers, K you so caU it, who were confident, not in the justice of their cause, but ffi the overpowerffig strength of their war machine. IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 371 As the semi-official newspaper said: "Germany does not enter coffierences ffi wMch she is likely to be in a minority." By fak dealffig they might have got thek rights or a little more than their rights. By war they expected to get somethffig like the suprem acy of Europe. In peace, with thek neighbors reasonable, ffi no pressing danger, Germany dehberately preferred war to fak settlement; and thereby, ffi my judgment, Germany committed the primal and fundamental sm agaffist the brotherhood of man kind. Of course, aU great historical events have complicated causes, but on that fact almost alone I shoffid base the justice and the necessity of our cause in tffis war. Other objects have been suggested; that we are fightffig lest Europe shoffid be subject to the hegemony of Germany. If Germany naturaUy, by legitimate means, grows to be the most influential power, there is no reason for anyone to fight her. It is said we are fight ing for democracy agaffist autocratic government. I prefer democracy myseK, but one form of government has no right to declare war because it dislikes another form. It is suggested that we are fightffig to prevent the break-up of the Empke. In that case, from motives of loyalty, of course we shoffid have to fight, and I think the break-up of the Empke woffid be a great ffis- aster to the world. But not for any causes of that description woffid I use the pffiase I have used, or say that ffi tffis war we were undergoffig a martyrdom. I do use it dehberately now, for I beUeve no greater evU coffid occur than that mankind shoffid submit, or shoffid agree to submit, to the rffie of naked force. Now I woffid ask agaffi those who are foUowffig me, as I say, with patience, but I have no doubt with difficffity, to re member that this situation, in spite of particffiar detaUs, is, on the whole, an old story. The Greeks knew aU about it when they used the word "Hubris" — that pride engendered by too much success wMch leads to every crime. Many nations, after a career of extraordinaiy success, have become mad or drunk with ambition. "By that sm feU the angels." They were not so wicked to start with but afterward they became devils. We shoffid never have said a word agaffist the Germans before this madness entered ffito them. We liked them. Most of Europe 372 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS rather Uked and admked them. But, as I said, it is the old story. There have been tyrants. Tyrants are common tffings ffi ffistory. Bloody aggression is a common tffing ffi ffistory ffi its darker periods. But nearly always where there have been tyrants and aggressors there have been men and peoples ready to stand up and suffer and to ffie rather than submit to the tyrant; the voice of ffistory speaks pretty dearly about these issues, and it says that the men who resisted were right. So that, laffies and gentie men, as, with our eyes open, we entered ffito tMs struggle, I say, with our eyes open, we must go on with it. We must go on with it a united nation, trusting our leaders, obeying our rffiers, mffiffing each man Ms own business, refusing for an ffistant to lend an ear to the agitated wffispers of faction or of hysteria. It may be that we shaU have to traverse it until the cause of humanity is won. And now, laffies and gentlemen, that beffig the cause, we are gkt up ffi tffis war to the performance of a great duty; and there are many tffings ffi it wMch, evU as they are, can ffi some way be turned to good. It Ues with us to do our best so to tum them. If we take the old analogy from biology we are a commumty, a pack, a herd, a flock. We have reaUzed our uffity. We are one. I think most of us feel that our Uves are not our own; they be long to England. France has gone tiirough the same process to an even greater degree. Mr. KipUng, who used certaiffiy to be no special lover of France, has told us that there "the men are wrought to an edge of steel, and the women are a Une of fire beffind them." Our ffivisions before the war it is a ffisgrace to think of. They were so great that the enemy calculated upon them, and judged that we shoffid not be able to fight. These divisions have not been kffied as we hoped; the remnants of them are stffi Uvffig. I cannot bear to speak of them. Let us think as httie as possible about them, and lend no ear, no patience to the people who try to make them persist. As for the ffivision of class and class, I think there, at least, we have made a great gain. I woffid ask you to put to yourselves tffis test. Remember how before the war the ordffiary workman spoke of ffis employer and the employer of his workmen, and tffink now how the aver age soldier speaks of ffis officer and how the officer speaks of bis IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 373 men. The change is ahnost immeasurable. Inside the country we have gaffied that uffity; outside, ffi our relations with foreign countries, we have also made a great gam. Remember, we have affies now, more affies, and far doser affies than we have ever had. We have learned to respect and to understand other nations. You cannot read those ffiplomatic documents of wffich I spoke without feelffig respect for both the French and Russian ffiplo- matists for thek steadffiess, thek extreme reasonableness, thek entke loyalty, and, as you study them, you are amused to see the Uttie dffierences of national character aU workffig to one end. Sffice the war has come on we have learned to admire other nations. There is no man in England who wffi ever agaffi ffi ffis heart dare to speak sUghtmgly or with contempt of Belgium or Serbia. It is somethffig that we have had our hearts opened; that we, who were rather an ffisular people, welcome other nations as friends and comrades. Nay, more, we made these affiances origffiaUy about a special prfficiple on wffich I would like to say a sentence or two. That is the principle of entente, or cordial understandffig, wffich is speciaUy connected with the name of our present Foreign Secretary, and, to a sUghter extent, with that of ffis predecessor. The prfficiple of entente has been explained by Sk Edward Grey several times, but I take two phrases of his own particffiarly. It began because he found that aU experience had shown that any two great empkes who were toucffing each other, whose ffiterests rubbed one against another frequentiy ffi dffierent parts of the world, had no middle course open to tiiem between contffiual Uabffity to friction and corffial friendsffip. He succeeded ffi estabUshmg that relation of per fect frankness and mutual friendsffip with the two great empkes with whom our ffiterests were always rubbing. Instead of fric tion, ffistead of suspicion and ffitrigue, we estabUshed with our two old rivals a permanent habit of fak deahng, frankness and good wffi. The second great prfficiple of entente was this, that there is nothffig exclusive ffi these friendsffips. We began it with France, we continued it with Russia, we achieved it in reaUty, although not ffi actual ffiplomatic name, with the Uffited States, and practicaUy also with Italy, and anyone who 374 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS has read the diplomatic ffistory wffi see the effort upon effort we made to estabUsh it with our present enemies. I think we have here some real basis for a sort of Affiance of Europe — that sort of better concert for wffich we aU hope. One cannot guess details. It is very likely ffideed that at the beginnffig Germany wffi stay outside and wffi refuse to come ffito our kffid of concert. If so we must "take our enemies as we find them." The fact of there beffig an enemy outside wffi very likely make us ffiside hold together all the better for the ffist few years. 'When we are once thorougffiy ffi harness, and most nations have the practice of habitually trustffig one another and never ffitriguffig agamst one another, then, no doubt, the others wffi come ffi. Now I spoke at the beginnffig about the possible dangers of reaction, but there is a very good side also ffi the reaction. Part of it is right. It is a reaction against superficial tffings, superficial ways of feelffig, and perhaps also superficial ways of thought. We have gone back ffi our daUy experience to deeper and more primitive thffigs. There has been a deepenffig of the quahty of our orffinary ffie. We are caUed upon to take up a greater duty than ever before. We have to face more perU; we have to endure greater suffering; death itseK has come close to us. It is intimate in the thoughts of every one of us, and it has taught us in some way to love one another. For the first time for many centuries tffis "unhappy but not ffiglorious generation," as it has been caUed, is Uving and moving daUy, wakffig and sleepffig, in the habitual presence of ffitimate and tremendous thffigs. We are hvffig now ffi a great age. A thffig wffich has struck me, and I have spoken of it else where, is the way ffi wffich the language of romance and melo drama has now become true. It is becoming the language of our normal hfe. The old pffiase about "dying for freedom," about "death beffig better tiian ffishonor" — ^phrases that we thought were fitted for the stage or for chUdren's stories, are now the orffinary truths on wffich we hve. A phrase which happened to strUie me was recorded of a Canadian solffier who went down, I think in the Arabic, after saving several people; before he sank he turned and said, "I have served my King and country and this IN ARMS FOR DEMOCRACY 375 is my end." It was the natural way of expressffig the plain fact. I read yesterday a letter from a solffier at the front about the death of one of ffis feUow-soldiers, and the letter ended qffite simply: "After aU he has done what we aU want to do — die for England." The man who wrote it has sffice then had ffis wish. Or, agaffi, K one wants a phrase to Uve by, which woffid a few years ago have seemed somewhat unreal, or "high falutffi'," he can take those words that are now ffi everybody's mffid: "I see now that patriotism is not enough — I must die vrithout hatred or bitterness toward anyone." Romance and melodrama were a memory, broken fragments Uvffig on of heroic ages of the past. We Uve no longer upon fragments and memories; we ourselves have entered upon a heroic age. As for me, personaUy, there is one thought that is always with me, as it is with us aU, I expect — the thought that other men are dyffig for me, better men, younger, with more hope ffi thek Uves, many of them men whom I have taught and loved. I hope you wffi aUow me to say, and wffi not be ffi any way offended by the thought I want to express to you. Some of you wffi be orthodox Cffiistians and wffi be familiar with that thought of One who loved you d)dng for you. I woffid like to say that now I seem to be famffiar with the feelffig that somethffig innocent, somethffig great, something that loves me has ffied, and is dyffig daUy, for me. That is the sort of community that we are now — a commuffity ffi wffich one man ffies for ffis brother — and underneath aU our hatreds, aU our littie angers and quarrels, we are brothers who are ready to seal our brotherhood with blood. It is for us that these men are dyffig, for us, the women, the old men, and the rejected men, and to preserve the civiliza tion and the common ffie wffich we are keepffig ahve and reshap ing toward vrisdom or unwisdom, toward unity or discord. WeU, laffies and gentiemen, let us be worthy of these men; let us be ready, each one, with our sacrffice when it is asked. Let us try, as citizens, to Uve a life wffich shaU not be a mockery to the faith these men have placed in us. Let us buUd up an England for wffich these men, lying ffi thek scattered graves over the face of the green world, woffid have been proud to die. AFTER THE CONFLICT A LEAGUE TO ENFORCE WORLD PEACES William Howard Taft [WUUam Howard Taft (1857 ), twenty-seventh President of the United States, was bom in Cincinnati, Ohio. After graduating from Yale University, he entered upon the practice of law in his native city, rising SteadUy into positions of pubUc trust and usefulness. Among the most nota ble of these were judge of the Sixth United States District, the first dvU governor of the Philippine Islands, secretary of war in the cabinet of President Roosevelt. In November, 1908, he was elected to the Presidency, and was renominated at the close of his term. He was, however, defeated by Woodrow WUson, and has been, since 1913, Kent professor of law in Yale University. He has always taken a great interest in the questions of arbitration and world wide peace. This selection gives an account of one of the most widely dis cussed schemes for reducing the probabiUty of war as much as possible.] Tffis is an assembly of those who dkect the formffig of char acter of the youth of the country and who, because of thek in- teffigence and attention to the issues of the day and thek stand ffig ffi the community, exercise a substantial influence ffi fram- ffig and makffig effective the popffiar wffi. Tffis meeting, there fore, gives an exceptional opportuffity to spread to the four corners of the Uffited States the consideration of a constructive plan for national and human betterment. I seize tffis chance to bring before you the program of an association already organ ized and active to promote a league to enforce world peace. Our program is limited to the estabUshment of such a league after the present world war shall close. We are deeply interested ffi bringing this war to a dose, and we would rejoice much m successful meffiation, but, ffi order to be useful, we limit our plan to the steps to be taken when peace comes, and to an ffiter- national arrangement between the powers after war ceases. IFrom Proceedings of the National Education Association, igi6. 376 AFTER THE CONFLICT 377 The league was organized on Bunker Hill Day, a year ago, m Independence Hall, at PhUadelpffia. Its program contem plates a treaty between the great powers of the world, by wffich the signatories agree to be bound to four obhgations: the first is that aU questions arisffig between the members of the league shaU be submitted to a judidal tribunal for hearffig and judg ment; the second, that all questions wffich cannot be settied on prffidples of law and eqffity shaU be submitted to a councU of condUation for hearffig and a recommendation of compromise; the thkd, that K any member of the league commits acts of hos tiUty agaffist another member before the question between them shall be submitted as provided ffi the first two artides the remaffider of the members of the league shaU joffitiy use forth with thek economic and mffitary forces agaffist the member pre- maturdy resortffig to war and ffi favor of the member prema- turdy attacked; the fourth, that congresses between the mem bers of the league shaU be held from time to time to formulate and codify rffies of ffitemational law to govern the relations between the members of the league, uffiess some member of the league shaU signKy its ffissent vrithffi a stated period. I. Considerffig the fourth clause first, the question arises: What is ffitemational law? It is the body of rffies governffig the conduct of the nations of the world toward one another, acqffi- esced ffi by aU nations. It lacks scope and defimteness. It is found ffi the writings of ffitemational jurists, ffi treaties, in the resffits of arbitration, and ffi the decisions of those mufficipal courts wffich apply ffitemational law, like the Supreme Court of the United States and courts that sit ffi prize cases to determffie the rffies of ffitemational law goverffing the capture of vessels ffi naval warfare. It is obvious that a congress of the league, with quasi-legislative powers, coffid greatiy add to the efficacy of ffitemational law by effiargffig its apphcation and codifymg its rffies. It woffid be greatiy ffi the interest of the world and of world peace to give to such a code of rffies the express sanction of the fanffiy of nations. 2. Comffig now to the ffist proposal, ffivolvffig the submission of aU questions at issue, of a legal nature, to a permanent ffiter- 378 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS national court, it is sufficient to point out that the proposal is practical and is justffied by precedent. The Supreme Court of the Uffited States, exercising the jurisffiction conferred on it by the Constitution, sits as a permanent international tribunal to decide issues between the states of the Uffion. The law govern ing the settiement of most of the controversies between the states cannot be determmed by reference to the Constitution, to statutes of Congress, nor to the legislation of the states. Shoffid Congress ffi such cases attempt to enact laws, they woffid be ffivahd. The only law wffich appUes is that wffich appUes be tween independent governments, to wit, international law. Take the case of Kansas against Colorado, heard and decided by the Supreme Court. Kansas complaffied that Colorado was using more of the water of the Arkansas River which flowed tffiough Colorado ffito Kansas than was equitable, for purposes of irri gation. The case was heard by the Supreme Court and decided, not by a law of Congress, not by the law of Kansas, not by the law of Colorado, for the law of neither appUed. It was decided by principles of ffitemational law. Many other ffistances of simUar dedsions by the Supreme Court coffid be cited. But it is said that such a precedent lacks force here because the states are restraffied from goffig to war with each other by the power of the National Govemment. Admitting that tffis quaUfies the precedent to some extent, we need go no farther than Canada to find a complete analogy and a fffil precedent. There is now sitting, to decide questions of boundary waters (exactiy such questions as were considered m Kansas versus Colorado), a permanent court, consisting of three Americans and three Canaffians, to settie the prfficiples of mter- national law that apply to the use of rivers constitutffig a boun dary between the two countries and of rivers crossing the boun dary. The fact is that we have got so ffito the habit of arbitra tion with Canada that no reasonable person expects that any issue arisffig between us and that country, after a hundred years of peace, wffi be settled otherwise than by arbitration. If this be the case between ourselves and Canada, and England, why may it not be practicable with every weU-estabUshed and ordered AFTER THE CONFLICT 379 government of the great powers? The second Hague conference, attended by aU nations, recommended the estabhshment of a permanent international court to decide questions of a legal nature arising between nations. 3. The second proposal involves the submission to a com mission of concUiation of aU questions that cannot be settled in court on prmciples of law or equity. There are such questions wffich may lead to war, and frequentiy do, and there are no legal rffies for decision. We have such questions giving rise to friction in our domestic ffie. If a lady who owns a lawn permits children of one neighbor to play upon that lawn and refuses to admit the chUdren of another neighbor, because she thinks the latter chUdren are badly trained and wffi injure her lawn or her flowers, it requkes no imagination to understand that there may arise a neighborhood issue that wffi lead to friction between the famiUes. The issue is, however, a non-justiciable one. Courts cannot settle it, for the reason that the lady ownffig the lawn has the right to say who shall come on it and who shaU be ex cluded from it. No justiciable issue can arise, unless one's im agination goes to the point of supposffig that the husbands of the two differing ladies came together and clashed, and then the issue ffi court wffi not be as to the comparative trainffig of the cffildren of the famiUes. We have an analogous question in our foreign relations, with reference to the admission of the Cffinese and Japanese. We dis criminate agamst them ffi our naturaUzation and immigration laws and extend the benefit of those laws offiy to wffites and persons of African descent. This discrimination has caused much ffi-feeUng among the Japanese and Cffinese. We are withffi our international right ffi excludffig them, but it is easy to understand how resentment because of such ffiscrUnination might be fanned mto a flame, K, through lawless violence or unjust state legisla tion, the Japanese might be mistreated within the United States. We have had instances of the successfffi resffit of commissions of concUiation where the law could not cover the dffierences between the two nations. Such was the case of the Beffiffig Sea controversy. We sought to prevent the killing of female seals 38o NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS in the Behrffig Sea and asserted our territorial jurisffiction over that sea for tffis purpose. The question was submitted to ffiter- national arbitrators, and the decision was agaffist us, but the arbitrators, ffi order to save to the world the offiy valuable and extensive herd of fur seals, recommended a compromise by treaty between the nations concerned, and, accorffingly, treaties have been made between the Uffited States, Great Britain, Russia, and Japan, which have restored the herd to its former size and value. So much, therefore, for the practicable charac ter of the first two proposals. The thkd proposal is more novel than the others, and gives to the whole plan a more constructive character. It looks to the use of economic means ffist, and mffitary forces K necessary, to effiorce the obligation of every member of the league to submit any complaint it has to make agaffist another member of the league, either to the permanent ffitemational court or to the commission of concffiation, and to await final action by that tribunal before begffining hostffities. It wffi be observed it is not the purpose of this program to use the economic boycott or the joffitiy actffig armies of the league to effiorce the judgment declared or the compromise recommended. These means are used offiy to prevent the beginning of war before there has been a complete submission, hearffig of evidence, argument, and de cision or recommendation. We sfficerdy beUeve that ffi most cases, with such a delay, such a winnowing out of the issues, and such an opportunity for the peoples of the dffiermg countries to understand one another's positions, war woffid generaUy not be resorted to. Our ambition is not to propose a plan, the perfect workffig out of wffich wffi absolutely prevent war, ffist, because we do not think such a plan coffid perfectly work, and, secondly, because we are wiffing to concede that there may be govern mental and international ffijustice which cannot be practically remeffied except by force. If, therefore, after a' fffil discussion and decision by impartial judges or a recommendation by earnest, sincere, and equitable compromisers, a people stiU thinks that it must vffidicate its rights by war, we do not attempt ffi this plan to prevent it by force. AFTER THE CONFLICT 381 Havmg thus explamed what the plan is, let us consider the objections which have been made to it. The first objection is that, ffi a dispute between two members of the league, it woffid be practicaUy difficffit to determffie wffich one was the aggressor and wffich one, therefore, ffi fact began actual hostffities. There may be some trouble ffi this, I can see, but what we are dealffig with is a working hypothesis, a very general plan. The details are not worked out. One can suggest that an ffitemational councU engaged ffi an attempt to mediate the dffierences might easUy determine for the league wffich nation was at faffit ffi beginnffig hostffities. It woffid doubtiess be necessary, where some issues arise, to requke a maintenance of the status quo untU the issues were submitted and decided in one tribunal or the other; but it does not seem to me that these suggested difficffities are insuperable or may not be completely governed by a detaUed procedure that of course must be fixed before the plan of the league shaU become operative. The second objection is to the use of the economic boycott and of the army and the navy to effiorce the obligations entered mto by the members of the league upon the recalcitrant member. I respect the views of pacffists and those who advocate the doc trffie of non-resistance as the offiy Christian doctrffie. Such is the view of that Society of Friends which, with a courage higher than that of those who advocate forcible means, are vrilUng to subject themsdves to the injustice of the wicked in order to carry out their ideal of what Christian action shoffid be. They have been so far ffi advance of the general opiffions of the world m thek ffistory of three hundred years, and have Uved to see so many of thek doctrines recognized by the world as just, that I always differ with them with reluctance. Stffi it seems to me that ffi the necessity of preservffig our civilization and savffig our country's freedom and mdividual liberty, maffitained now for one hundred and twenty-five years, we have no right to assume that we have passed beyond the period in history when nations are affected by the same fraUties and the same tempta tions to cupiffity, cruelty, and injustice as men. In our domestic commuffities we need a pohce force to protect the innocent and 382 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the just agaffist the crimffial and the unjust, and to maffitaffi the guaranty of ffie, Uberty, and property. The analogy between the domestic commuffity and that of nations is sufficientiy dose to justKy and requke what is, ffi fact, an ffitemational poUce force. The attitude of those who oppose usffig force or a threat of force to compel nations to keep the peace is reaUy like that of the modern school of theoretical anarcffists, who maffitaffi that K aU restraint were removed and there were no government, and the cffildren and youth and men and women were traffied to seK-responsibihty, every member of society woffid know .what ffis or her duty was and woffid perform it. They assert that it is the existence of restraffit that leads to the violation of right. I may be permitted to remark that with modern fads of educa tion we have gone far ffi the dkection of applyffig tffis prfficiple of modern anarchy ffi the ffiscipUne and education of our chU dren and youth, but I do not tffink the resffit can be said to justKy the theory, K we can judge from the strikes of school chUdren or from the general lack of ffisciphne and respect for authority that the risffig generation manKests. The time has not come when we can afford to give up the tiireat of the pohce and the use of force to back up and sustain the obUgation of duty. The thkd objection is that it woffid be unconstitutional for the United States, tffiough its treaty-makffig power, to enter into such a league. The objection is based on the fact that the Constitution vests ffi Congress the power to declare war. It is said that tffis league woffid transfer the power to dedare war away from Congress to some foreign councU, in which the United States woffid have offiy a representative. Tffis objection grows out of a misconception of the effect of a treaty and a coffiusion of ideas. The Uffited States makes its contract with other na tions under the Constitution tiirough the President and two- thkds of the Senate, who constitute the treaty-makffig power. The President and tie Senate have a right to bind the 'Uffited States to any contract with any other nation coverffig a subject- matter within the normal field of treaties. For tffis purpose the President and the Senate are the Uffited States. When the con tract comes to be performed, the Uffited States is to perform it AFTER THE CONFLICT 383 through that department of the government wffich by the Con stitution shoffid perform it, and wffich shoffid represent the government and shoffid act for it. Thus, the treaty-making power may bffid the Uffited States to pay to another country under certaffi conffitions a mffiion dollars. 'When the conditions are fulfiUed, then it becomes the duty of the United States to pay the miffion doUars. Under the Constitution offiy Congress can appropriate the million doUars from the treasury. There fore it becomes the duty of Congress to make that appropriation. It may refuse to make it. If it does so, it ffishonors the written obUgation of the Uffited States. It has the power either to per form the obUgation or to refuse to perform it. That fact, how ever, does not make the action of the treaty power ffi bffidffig the Uffited States to pay the money unconstitutional. So the treaty-makffig power may bffid the 'United States under certaffi conffitions to make war. When the conffitions arise requiring the makffig of war, then it becomes the duty of Congress honor ably to perform the obligation of the Uffited States. Congress may violate tffis duty and exercise its power to refuse to dedare war. It thus ffishonors a bffidffig obhgation of the United States. But the obhgation was entered into ffi the constitutional way and it is to be performed ffi the constitutional way. We are not lackffig ffi precedent. In order to secure the grant of the Canal Zone and the right to finish the canal, the treaty-making power of the Uffited States agreed to guarantee the integrity of Panama. The effect of tffis obligation is that K any other nation attempts to subvert the government of the Republic of Panama or to take any of her territory, the Uffited States must make war against the nation thus invading Panama. Now, Congress may refuse to make war against such a nation, but K it does so, it vio lates the honor of the United States in breaking its promise. The Uffited States cannot make such a war unless its Congress de clares war. That does not make the guaranty of the integrity of Panama entered ffito by the treaty-making power of the United States unconstitutional. So here, when conditions arise under this league to enforce peace which would require the United States to lend its economic means and mUitary force to resist 384 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS the hostUe action of one member of the league agaffist another, it woffid become the duty of Congress to declare war. If Con gress ffid not discharge that duty, as it has the power not to do under the Constitution, it merely makes the Uffited States gffilty of violating its phghted faith. Again, it is said that to enter ffito such a league woffid require us to mamtain a standffig army. I do not think this foUows at aU. If we become, as we shoffid become, reasonably prepared to resist unjust mffitary aggression, and have a navy sufficiently large, and coast defenses sufficiently weU equipped to constitute a first line of defense, and an army which we coffid mobUize mto a half-million trained men witffin two months, we woffid have aU the force needed to do our part of the police work ffi resisting the uffiawfffi aggression of any one member of the league agamst another. Fourtffiy, it has been urged that for us to become a party to tffis league is to give up our Monroe Doctrffie, under wffich we ought forcibly to resist any attempt on the part of European or Asiatic powers to subvert an ffidependent government ffi the Western Hemisphere, or to take from such a government any substantial part of its territory. It is a sufficient answer to this objection to say that a question under the Monroe Doctrine would come under that class of issues wffich must be submitted to a councU of conciliation. Pendffig tffis, of course, the status quo must be maintained. An argument and recommendation of compromise woffid foUow. If we ffid not agree to the compromise and proceeded forcibly to resist violation of the Doctrffie, we would not be violating the terms of the league by hostffities entered upon thereafter. More than this, as Professor Wilson of Harvard, the weU-known authority upon international law, has pointed out, we are already under a written obhgation to delay a year before begmffing hostihties, in respect to any question arising between us and most of the great powers, and tffis neces sarUy mcludes a violation of the Monroe Doctrffie. It is difficult to see, therefore, how the obUgation of such a league as this would put us in any ffifferent position from that wffich we now occupy ffi regard to the Monroe Doctrffie. AFTER THE CONFLICT 385 FffiaUy, I come to the most formidable objection, which is that the enterffig ffito such a league by the United States ysroffid be a departure from the poUcy that it has consistentiy pursued smce the days of Washington, ffi accordance with the advice of his "FareweU Address," that we enter into no entanghng affi ances with European countries. Those of us who support the proposals of the league beUeve that were Wasffington Uvffig today he woffid not consider the league an entanghng affiance. He had ffi mffid such a treaty as that which the Uffited States made with France, by wffich we were subjected to great embar rassment when France attempted to use our ports as bases of operation agamst England when we were at peace with England. He certamly ffid not have ffi mffid a uffion of aU the great powers of the world to enforce peace, and wffile he did dwell, and prop erly dwelt, on the very great advantage that the United States had ffi her isolation from European disputes, it was an isolation wffich does not now exist. In ffis day we were offiy tffiee and a haK millions of people, with tffirteen states strung along the Atiantic seaboard. We were five times as far from Europe as we are now ffi respect to speed of transportation, and we were twenty-five times as far away ffi respect fo speed of communi cation. We are now one hundred mUUons of people between the two oceans and between the Canadian Une and the GuK. We face the Pacffic witii Caffiornia, Oregon, and Washffigton, wffich alone make us a Pacffic power. We own Alaska, the north western comer of our continent, a domiffion of immense extent, with natural resources as yet hardly calcffiable, and with a country capable of supporting a considerable body of population. It makes us a close neighbor of Russia across the Behrffig Straits; it brings us dose to Japan with the islands of the Beffiffig Sea. We own HawaU, two thousand mUes out to sea from San Fran cisco, with a population fficludffig seventy-five thousand Japanese laborers, the largest element of that popffiation. We own the PhUippine Islands, one hundred and forty thousand square mUes, with eight millions of people under the eaves of Asia. We are properly anxious to maffitain an open door to Cffina and to share equaUy ffi the enormous trade wffich that Y 386 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS country, with her four hundred teeming mffiions, is bound to furffish when organized capital and her wonderfffi labormg popu lations shaU be ffiteffigentiy dkected toward the development of her naturaUy rich resources. Our discrimmation agaffist the Japanese and the Cffinese presents a possible cause of friction ffi the resentment that they now feel, wffich may lead to untoward emergencies. We own the Panama Canal ffi a country which was recentiy a part of a South American confederation. 'We have mvested four hundred miUions ffi that great world enterprise to uffite our eastern and western seaboards by cheap transporta tion, to increase the effectiveness of our navy, and to make a path for the world's commerce between the two great oceans. We own Porto Rico with a miffion people, ffiteen hundred mUes out at sea from Florida, and we owe to those people pro tection at home and abroad, as they owe aUegiance to us. We have guaranteed the mtegrity of Cuba, and have reserved the right to enter and maintain the guaranty of Ufe, Uberty, and property, and to repress insurrection in that island. Smce origi naUy turffing over the island to its people, we have had once to return there and restore peace and order. We have on our southern border the ffitemational nuisance of Mexico, and no body can foresee the complications that wffi arise out of the anarchy there prevaiUng. We have the Monroe Doctrffie stffi to maffitain. Our relations to Europe have been shown to be very near, by our experience ffi pursuffig lawfuUy our neutral rights ffi our trade upon the Atiantic Ocean with European coimtries. Both beUigerents have violated our rights and, ffi the now nearly two years wffich have elapsed sffice the war began, we have been close to war in the defense of those rights. Contrast our present world relations with those which we had ffi Wasffington's time. It woffid seem clear that the conffitions have so changed as to justKy a seeming departure from advice directed to such a dif ferent state of thffigs. One may reasonably question whether the Uffited States, by uniting with the other great powers to prevent the recurrence of a future world war, may not risk less in assuming the obUgations of a member of the league than by refusing to become such a member ffi view of her world-wide AFTER THE CONFLICT 387 ffiterests. But even K the risk of war to the United States woffid be greater by enterffig the league than by staymg out of it, does not the Uffited States have a duty as a member of the family of nations to do its part and run its necessary risk to make less probable the comffig of such another war and such another ffis- aster to the human race? We are the richest nation ffi the world, and, m the sense of what we could do were we to make reasonable preparation, we are the most powerfffi nation ffi the world. We have been show ered with good fortune. Our people have enjoyed a happffiess known to no other people. Does not tiiis impose upon us a sacred duty to joffi the other nations of the world ffi a fraternal spkit aiid with a wiUffigness to make sacrffice K we can promote the general weKare of men? At the close of tffis war the governments and the people of the beffigerent countries, under the enormous burdens and sffi- ferffig from the great losses of the war, wffi be ffi a condition of mind to accept and promote such a plan for the effiorcement of future peace. President WUson, at the head of this administra tion and the iffitiator of our foreign poUcies under the Consti tution, and Senator Lodge, the seffior RepubUcan member of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and therefore the leader of the opposition on such an issue, have both approved of the prfficiples of the league to enforce peace. Sk Edward Grey and Lord Bryce have indicated thek sympathy and support of the same prfficiples, and we understand that M. Briand, of France, has simUar views. We have found the greatest encouragement m our project on every hand among the people. We have raised a large fund to spread our propaganda. I ask your sympathy and support. 388 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS GOOD TEMPER IN THE PRESENT CRISIS^ Lawrence Pearsall Jacks [Lawrence PearsaU Jacks (i860 ) was bom in Nottingham, England. Since 1903 he has been professor of phUosophy, Manchester CoUege, Oxford. He is also editor of the Hibbert Journal. During the war he has contributed to EngUsh and American magazines a number of notable war articles.] Etffical reconstruction does not requke the mvention of a new system of etffics. The old systems contaffi enough and more than enough to serve our purpose, K people woffid offiy put them ffito practice. These old systems are not aU of equal value or of equal truth, but the least true of them stands for sometffing ffi advance of the actual practice of the world. If any of them were to be adopted and loyaUy carried out by man kffid — any one of them from the Chffiese system of Lao-Tse to the idealism of T. H. Green — ^we shoffid see an immense improve ment ffi the conduct of men. I was readffig the other day about Epicureaffism, a much discreffited system. But I coffid not resist the impression that K we were aU good Epicureans we shoffid behave ourselves much better than we do. The trouble about etffics is not that the systems are wrong — though many of them are — but that people don't foUow them even where they are right. There is no department of thought where the ffistffiction between teachffig and learffing is of more importance. To teach etffics is one thing; to get the etffics learned wffidi is taught is quite another — tiiough the two are very often coffiused. A vast amount of ethics has been taught wffich mankffid has never learned: and we may weU ask ourselves whether a world which has refused to hear Moses and the Prophets wffi be more attentive to our improvements of thek doctrffie. Let us remember that the moral reformers of our time are not the first to attempt etffical reconstruction. The Ten Commandments were an ethical reconstruction of great importance. And yet many generations IFrom The Yale Review, vol. vii, p. 512 (April, 1918). Reprinted by permission. AFTER THE CONFLICT 389 of men have been taught them without leamffig them. What better fate have we to expect? So then, though I believe etffical reconstruction to be much needed today as a resffit of the great social upheaval of recent times, I doubt K it is to be brought about by the ffivention of a new system of etffics. Nor need we ffivent so much as a new virtue. Here agaffi the old vktues are sufficient. 'What we shoffid try to do, ffi the ffiterests of etffical reconstruction, is to study the old virtues more closely and fix our attention on that one which is the mother of them aU. Perhaps "the mother" is too strong a term. Some of the vktues are climatic — by wffich I mean that they furffish the climate, the atmosphere, the soU ffi wffich aU the other vktues grow. As moral reformers — not as moral philosophers only, but as moral reformers anxious for a reconstruction of ethics — we shoffid fix our attention on these dimatic vktues. We may be sure that K only we can get the climate right, the atmosphere right, the soU right, the rest wiU be comparatively easy; whereas K the climate is wrong aU our labors wffi be in vam. The clunatic vktue I am about to name as the basis of etffical reconstruction is one wffich is harffiy mentioned ffi any textbook of moral phUosophy. Its name lacks the dignity which woffid entitle it to a place ffi a phUosophical treatise. It is sffiiply good temper. But though good temper is a very homely expression, it is certaiffiy not more vague, nor more likely to be misunderstood, than any of the great moral terms wffich we speU with capital letters, such as Justice, Liberty, or Truth. Suppose a group of people were asked these two ques tions ffi rapid succession: ffist, 'What is truth? — then, 'What is good temper? I venture to say that most of them woffid find the truth question the harder of the two. They would agree more rapidly about good temper than they would about truth. WUUam James, not to speak of others, devoted a considerable part of his pffilosophical gKts to defining truth. But no phi losopher, so far as I am aware, has found it necessary to write a treatise on the meaning of good temper. The reason is that the term is sufficientiy weU understood by everybody who hears it. 390 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Assured of that I name good temper as the basic virtue of etffical reconstruction. If the reader is not satisfied with tffis and insists on havmg a proper definition of the term I wffi do my best to meet him. Fortunately I am able to quote a very ffigh authority, K not for a defiffition of good temper at least for a most accurate de scription of it. It may be found ffi the thirteenth chapter of St. Paul's First Epistle to the Corintffians. That we may have them before us, here are a few of the statements: "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not charity I am become as soundffig brass or a tinkling cymbal." "If I shoffid bestow aU my goods to feed the poor, and K I give my body to be burned and have not charity it profiteth me nothffig." "Charity never faUetii; but whether there be prophecies they shaU faU, whether there be tongues they shaU cease, whether there be knowledge it shaU vaffish away." It is plaffi that St. Paffi has here got hold of one of those "mother-truths" to wffich Goethe attached so much importance. He is describing a climatic vktue — a virtue, that is, which pro vides the ak, the hght, the soU ffi which aU the other vktues grow. It is qffite easy to translate ffis language ffito modern pffiaseology — and to bring it home to tffis modern question of ethical reconstruction. "If you want a new moral world," St. Paul says to us, "improve your temper. Do not put your trust in mere arrangements of one kind or another. So long as your temper remains bad no good arrangement can do itseK justice. Even a league of peace would not work if the parties to it were in a bad temper. Unless the charity that never faUeth is present the league of peace wffi spend its time ffi quarrehng. Do not trust ffi knowledge, for knowledge can be perverted to bad ends, and always is so perverted when temper is bad. Then as to social problems — poverty, distress, and the others. By aU means let public money be raised for these objects; let the pubUc tax itseK that the poor may be fed. But don't spoU your temper in the process, or it wffi profit nothffig. Above aU, place no final AFTER THE CONFLICT 391 confidence in tongues. Ethical reconstruction is not to be effected by making speeches about it, nor by writing books about it, nor by passing laws about it, nor by spelUng it with capital letters. Tongues shaU cease, partly because the speakers grow tked, partly because the hearers grow tked of hstenffig to them. But good temper is never tiresome either to itseK or to others." Such then is good temper; and I submit that it is the greatest ethical need of the present time. No matter where you look, to international morals, to state morals, to pohtical morals, to private morals — the need stands out as one and the same. If we take the evUs that exist in any of these departments, and the crunes that are committed, we shaU find ultimately that bad temper is at the root of them aU. Fkst as to the ffitemational situation. 'When we look at this ffi a broad Ught what must strike us aU is the utter un reasonableness of it, the sheer, stark, flagrant unreasonable ness — aU signs of bad temper! If any dozen individuals were to take up the reciprocal attitudes ffi wffich the leaffing states of the world now stand, K they were to do the same thffigs to one another and to say the same tffi'ngs of one another, how should we judge those dozen ffidividuals? These men, we should say, have lost thek tempers and thek heads. They are beside themselves. They have got into such a rage with one another that they literaUy don't know what they are doing nor what they are talkffig about. They are aU mad together. Let us go to the mother-truth of thffigs — even though it was. a German who gave us that advice. 'What was the origffi of the present war? Bad temper. 'What has maffitaffied it for three years and more? Bad temper. 'What has given it a char acter of ferocity which has no paraUel in the recorded wars of history? Bad temper. What threatened the peace of the world for generations before the war? Bad temper. 'What, unless we are very carefffi, wffi contffiue to threaten the peace of the world after the war has come to an end? Bad temper. Turn next to the etffical conditions as they exist witffin the national boundaries of the British Empke — I am writing from England — or at least as they did exist before the war. 392 ' NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS What was the outstanding feature of those conditions? Agam, I answer, bad temper. Bad temper was hffidering aU round. It was preventing a workmg accommodation between labor and capital. It was preventing a settlement of the Irish question and is preventffig it now. It was keeping a whole mffititude of groups, parties, and sects at loggerheads with one another. It was actuaUy diviffing the sexes, and England was tffieatened with a woman's war. Everybody was ffi a rage with somebody. Reform was beffig ffiscussed aU around; but it was not being ffis- cussed amicably, and the reformers, ffistead of helpffig one another, were hffidering one another and gettffig ffi one an other's way. There were many of them abroad, and their temper was not good. I have just been readffig Mr. Bertrand RusseU's book on social reconstruction; and I coffiess to findffig ffi it a certain oversight, and that at the pomt where most people are apt to be simUarly bUnd. Mr. RusseU speaks of the strKe that always goes on ffi democratic communities between the sup porters of estabhshed order on one side and the innovators, the friends of progress, on the other. He shows how these two tendencies by operatffig together may be made to work out to a good resffit. Now, aU that is very important, but it is by no means the whole of the story. In adffition to this strKe between established order and innovation, there is the more active strKe that goes on among the innovators themselves. One of the commonest mistakes we make is to speak of progress as though it had a unitary aim, as though aU innovators, aU advocates of change, from the nature of the case, formed a like-mmded band of brothers, agreed on the changes that ought to take place, agreed on the order in which they ought to come, and agreed as to the manner in which they ought be to carried out. Tffis is seldom or never the case when progressive tendencies are at work. On the contrary, a severe struggle for existence goes on among these tendencies themselves. This is why so many promising revolutions have come to notffing. It is not so much because the old order was wrong as because the new tendencies became weak by exhaustffig thek strength in mutual quarrels. AFTER THE CONFLICT 393 In this way the French Revolution ended in the mUitary despo tism of Napoleon; and we all can see how a like danger threatens the Russian Revolution at the present moment. These things suggest to us the immense importance of good temper ffi a democratic community. Of aU the forms of govern ment man has devised, democracy is the one wffich requkes the largest amount of sweet reasonableness. It is requked ffi order to adjust the immense diversities of opiffion and policy which inevitably arise where thought is free and where an open field is offered for the proposals of the ffinovator. Per contra, bad temper is never so ffisastrous as it is under democratic con ffitions. Once let it prevaU, and the forces of progress, ffistead of working together, faU upon one another, hinder one another, thwart and paralyze one another; ffiteffigence is expended ffi party or sectional warfare, strength goes ffito quarreUng, and there is an immense wastage of good ideas. Under these ckcum stances democratic government is not seK-govemment — of the people, by the people, and for the people — ^and it is offiy by a fiction that we can caU it even representative. For what is then done by legislators does not represent what the people want, but only so much as is left over of what they want after the various quarreling sections have settied thek accounts and exhausted thek spleen and thek rhetoric. Now, this was the condition toward wffich aU dasses ffi England were drKting before the war. Some people might say they had actuaUy arrived at it; I wffi content myseK with say ing they were drifting toward it. The good of democracy was ffi danger of being spoUt and undone by the abommable ebuffitions of bad temper which had broken out among the various parties and sections ffi the progressive movement. It was not merely that the old was arrayed agaffist the new, but the new was arrayed agaffist itseK. One of the effects of freedom, as we aU know, is to breed strong individualities. Freedom allows men to develop on thek own lines; and when they have developed, the result is an immense diversity of strongly marked individuals with opffiions of thek own as to what ought to be done, and how it 394 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS ought to be done. Tffis is what we aU want; the best society is precisely that which includes the largest variety of character and type. But the danger is tffis: that strongly marked ffiffivid uals are apt to be ffitolerant of one another. That danger can be avoided offiy when the spkit of accommodation, the spkit of sweet reasonableness — I had almost said the spkit of good humor — is ffi the ascendant. If the opposite spkit prevaUs, democracy becomes a mere dash and struggle of the ffivergent types it has created; and often it has gone to pieces from that very cause and has been replaced by some form of autocracy. The terms I have just used — the spkit of accommodation, and the rest — are offiy other names for what St. Paffi caUs "the charity that never faUeth." And agaffi I name it as the basis of reconstruction. As time goes on, the strong inffividual- ities wffich Uberty produces wffi grow stronger, and the dK- ferences among them wffi become more and more numerous. I see no prospect whatever of unKormity of type; aU the tendencies of the time are toward ffiversities of type. Let us turn back for a moment to the international situa tion. The AUies are fightffig for the right of nationaUties to develop on their own Unes. If that ideal is realized, what may we expect? We shall have a large number of nations, a larger number than ever, each of them developing a cffiture and character of its ovm, becoming a strong and ffistinct ffi dividual with opinions and ideals of its own — ffiversity of type. But suppose these nations, each with its own strongly marked character, should be ffitolerant of each other. Suppose they lack the spkit of accommodation, of sweet reasonableness, of tolerance, of good humor. Wffi you have peace? No, you wUl have war. Dangerous as bad temper is when a dozen ffistmct nationalities are involved, it wUl become far more dangerous when there are a hundred of them. Once more, aU depends on the charity that never faUeth. Or consider the state of affaks ffi any one country, say, England, after the war. Tffink of the immense number of reconstructions of aU sorts that have been akeady planned out. Two pictures arise before the mind. One is a picture of AFTER THE CONFLICT 395 jostle and chaos in wffich aU these schemes are fightffig for front place, nobody vrilhng to give way, or to make room, each section ffisisting on the unmediate realization of its own demand, and threatenffig tffis and that K it is refused. If that picture comes true, there wiU resffit an atmosphere as unfavorable as it weU coffid be to any kind of ethical knprovement. The other picture is more difficult to pamt. It is the picture qf a good-tem pered commuffity animated by a spkit of give and take, accom modating, reasonable, considerate, aboundffig ffi good feUow- sffip, ready to treat, and to make the best of thffigs until some thing better can be provided. In such an atmosphere ethical improvement would have a favorable chmate. Nay, more. The advent of tffis social and poUtical good temper, ffi place of the bad temper to wffich we have been accustomed, woffid itseK be a real step of progress. It woffid do more to improve the value of human ffie than any law that could be put on the statute book. Indeed, it woffid do the work of law to a very great extent. For we shoffid then see that many of the changes we seek to effect by means of law are far better effected by the exercise of common- sense and kffid feehng as between man and man. The general conclusion is that K we are to have a real etffical reconstruction — actual improvement of conduct — ^we must have a basis for it, or rather an atmosphere and climate, ffi the tem per of the commuffity. The question then arises. How are we to secure good temper? What are the causes of it? Perhaps it woffid be weU to frame the question rather dffierently. 'What are the causes of bad temper ffi a commuffity? I rather tffink K we coffid keep bad temper out good temper woffid come ffi of itseK. Bad temper ffievitably arises whenever material wealth is the main object of social pursuit. This is so much of a com monplace that I need harffiy pause to prove it. Some people, however, hold it ffi a rather haK-hearted way. They hold that wealth causes bad temper only when it is unfakly dis tributed. As an abstract proposition I daresay that is true. The trouble lies ffi the application of it. In practice it is extremely difficffit to convffice anybody that ffis share of wealth is a fair one. It may be a Uberal share, it may be a large share, but what 396 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS is to prevent him from tffinkffig and claimffig that it ought to be much larger? People are not easUy satisfied on this pomt, especiaUy when they are fficlffied to be suspicious of one another. Far be it from me, however, to behttie the importance of fak distribution. Its importance cannot be exaggerated. But no scheme of that kind, even though it is worked and backed by the authority of the state, wffi be successfffi unless certaffi conffitions are present. The conditions are that the parties concerned m the ffistribution shaU be on good terms with one another; that the various trades, and the various ranks of labor, from the most skiUed to the least, shall have confidence ffi each other's good faith, and be ready to take a generous view of each other's merits. Only ffi such an atmosphere can anybody be got to accept ffis share as a fak one. If the opposite conffitions are present, K the spkit of suspiciousness is abroad, K bad blood is in ckcffia- tion, K groups and parties have no confidence ffi one another, K men think thek neighbors are tryffig to take advantage of them, K the habit is to assume that every man is a rascal untU he has proved the contrary, then the scheme of ffistribution, no matter what it is, wffi satisfy nobody. "Fakness" wffi be treated as a dodge, and K the state backs the scheme up, the cry wiU be raised that the state has been captured by vffiams. 'We are fond of talkffig of the economic basis of society. I venture to say that society has no basis ffi economics either good or bad. The basis of society is human; it consists ffi the mutual trust of man in man, which no economic scheme can ever replace. The same holds true of ffitemational relations. So long as the great states of the world base thek greatness on material possessions they wffi never love one another, and there wiU be mighty httie of the charity that never faUeth ffi thek mutual dealffigs. Rich states wffi always be objects of envy to those less rich than themselves. We shaU always have one state com- plaming that it hasn't got its fak share — a sufficientiy large place ffi the sun — and poffitffig to some other state wffich has more than its fair share — which is exactly what Germany, a very rich state, has been doing for years. It is impossible to exaggerate the amount of international bad temper wffich arises AFTER THE CONFLICT 397 from tffis very cause — and at times it becomes so bad that nations are perfectiy krational, and the very elements of ethics are cast to the wffids. Of course, the state wffich is the richest of aU, and has no cause to envy the others, may be ffi the best possible temper; but this wffi not protect it from the evU temper of the others who envy its supremacy. Its riches wffi expose it not offiy to envy but to robbery; and no sooner does that start than aU the evU passions are let loose. So long as civiliza tion is based on wealth the outiook for ffitemational good temper is very black. Lookffig now to the inner IKe of the commuffity, can we name any other cause of bad temper, besides that connected with the pursuit of wealth? I beUeve we can. There is a tend ency ffi aU democratic commuffities to over-legislate, to produce more laws than are needed. Jeremy Bentham, who knew aU that was to be known ffi ffis time about law-makffig, regarded aU legislation as a necessary evU. Every law provokes a certaffi amount of bad temper m the process of makffig it. It kritates the community for the time beffig. In plaffi language there is always "a row." Can we name an important law about the mak mg of wffich there was not a row? WeU, these rows may be necessary, and even wholesome up to a poffit, but don't let us multiply them to such a poffit that we get ffito the row-habit. Instead of tryffig how many laws we can make, let us rather try how many we can do without, K offiy for the sake of checkffig the habit of quarrelsomeness; because, K quarrelsomeness be comes chroffic, K it becomes the normal temper of the community then unreasonableness wffi be general, and etffical reconstruc tion wUl be out of the question. Remember that etffical recon struction is always reconstruction by consent. But we shaU never get that consent out of a nasty-tempered commuffity. One of the maffi conditions of etffical reconstruction is that we shaU keep legislation witffin proper bounds, that we shaU avoid hav ing so much of it that our tempers become permanently spoUed. Puttffig aU tffis together, it is evident that ethical recon struction depends on certaffi profound changes ffi the stmc- ture of civUization, They ffidicate a tune when wealth wffi 398 ' NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS no longer be the basis of civilization; and when people will trust one another more than they do and rely less on the arm of the law. Such changes wiU not come about suddeffiy, and any attempt to make them sudden woffid offiy lead to ffis- aster. We have before us no more than an object of gradual endeavor. Yet to have even that ffi these times of rocldng con fusion is no smaU tffing, and we can begffi at once. A civiUzation not based upon wealth; a democracy whose ideal is not the maximum of legislation but the mim'mnm. Such is the dream. Can it be realized? In answer let me re mffid the reader of Plato's conception of the ffivisible state. The true state, accordmg to Plato, is not offiy ffivisible now, but remaffis ffivisible forever. Its nature is to be ffivisible; it can never be otherwise. "I do not beUeve it is to be found any where on earth," says Glaucon at the end of the ffinth book of the Republic. "Ah weU," answers Socrates, "the pattern of it is perhaps laid up ffi heaven for him who wishes to behold it. . . . And the question of its present or future existence on earth is quite uffimportant." But many persons are not content with that. They ffisist on turnmg the ffivisible state ffito a visible one. They appear to think that so long as the state is ffivisible it is not real and doesn't work. It never occurs to them that ffi tryffig to make it visible they may do violence to its nature; so that it becomes not more real but less real, and gets into a condition where it works baffiy or doesn't work at aU. And yet I believe that such is often the case. We see exactiy the same process at work ffi the ffistory of religion. The mind of man has always kicked agaffist the notion that the deity is invisible. The notion has been that a real deity, an effective deity, must be a deity that can be seen; that an ffivisible deity, K I may say so, is no good. Hence in the history of aU reUgions we can trace a process of tummg the ffivisible deity into the visible one, and the process ends va. set ting up some wooden idol of the god, a thing one can see and feel and hanffie — a thffig of wffich one can say "there it is." Then it is ffiscovered that by makffig the god visible men have AFTER THE CONFUCT 399 done violence to his nature. The visible wooden idol won't work. It can neither save nor help nor deUver. By becoming visible it has lost the attributes of God — and when that is ffis covered the idol is smashed. Most of our current notions of the state, even as they are sometimes expounded by phUosophers, are at the stage of idolatry. They lead to a worship of visible ffistitutions. Now, I have nothing to say agamst visible mstitutions. The need of them is obvious — ^parUaments, laws, ffigffiy traffied departments, systems of town arrangements, and perhaps armies and navies — though of these last I am not so sure. What I object to is the worship of them. Nothffig wffi ever persuade me that these visible thffigs, either singly or together, are the state; whUe, as to wor- sffippffig them, I woffid as soon think of falling down on the pavement of 'WffitehaU and saying my prayers to the War Office. These tffings I can see; but the true state is sometffing wffich cannot be seen and wffich I for one do not expect to see and do not want to see. I agree with Socrates: the question of its present or future existence on tffis earth is quite ununportant. The comffig changes ffi social structure wffi take the form of a fuUer recogffition of the clauns of the ffivisible state — uffiess ffideed the war end ffi such a way as to set them back for the time being — as would unquestionably happen K Germany were to win. We may expect a gradual declffie of emphasis on the visible state, and a gradual increase of emphasis on the in visible. The change wiU come without violence, and tiiere wiU be nothffig ffi it to offend the supporters of established order. Littie by httle it wffi be discovered that what is now entrusted to the visible forces can be much better done by the ffivisible. It wffi be seen that human nature contams immense reserves of ffivisible force which have never yet been made use of. The world's resources of common sense and kffid feeUng have harffiy been tapped up to now; but we shaU tap them more and more, and by usffig them we shaU bffild up tiie true, ffivisible state. What the new basis wffi be is hard to say. Perhaps Mr. RusseU has got the right word— creativeness. QuaUty must take the place of quantity. The ideal wffi no longer be to pro- 400 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS duce as much as possible, nor to get as large a share as you can of what has been produced. The ideal wUl rather be that every man shaU enjoy ffis day's work and that a good article shaU come out at the end of iti Beauty, wffich we have banished from our common ffie, with such dreadful consequences to us aU, so that many of us have ahnost lost the taste for exceUence; beauty, wffich cannot be bought for gold and riches and is so shy of the places where men make money, wffi return with healffig on its wffigs. The creation of beauty — by wffich I do not mean mere pictures to hang ffi our dravring-rooms or ornaments to place on the chimney piece — ^but exceUent articles of every description, thffigs which it wffi be a deUght to make, a dehght to have, a deUght to use — things wffich plaiffiy dedare that the workman has enjoyed ffis day's work and that a good article has come out at the end of it — this wffi provide a slowly wideffing field for human ffiteffigence and human energy. It wffi not do away vrith com petition: but ffistead of competffig as heretofore as to who can produce most, we shaU compete as to who can produce best — a very dffierent thffig — a kffid of competition ffi wffich men can freely ffidulge without the least danger that they wffi learn to hate one another ffi the process. It wffi teach them to love one another. MeanwhUe the true state wffi remaffi just as ffivisible as it now is. But wherever two or tiiree are gathered together, there it wffi be ffi the midst of them. In conclusion I wffi add one word more ffi the hope of per suading the reader that the ffivisible state is the real state. 'Who are the members of the state? 'What are they? 'Where are they? ShaU we say that the members of the state are the sum total of the persons who happen to be ahve at the moment? ShaU we say that a man remaffis a member of the state offiy so long as he draws the breath of IKe and ceases to be a member the moment that breath goes out of ffis body? What then of the thousands, of the tens of thousands of men, who have laid down their Uves for the state in these three years? When the buUet struck them dovm, when the bursting shell blew them to fragments, did they cease then and there to be members of the state for which AFTER THE CONFLICT 401 tiiey had sacrificed tiiek Uves? I trow not. I claim them as the dearest and the closest and the most influential of aU my feUow- dtizens ffi the great commonwealth. And yet they have no votes, and yet tiiey are ffivisible ! Votes? If votes coffid be given to those who have most influence, to whom woffid they be given first? They would be given to the ffivisible mffititudes of the mighty dead— not to these recent dead alone, but to mUUons behffid them, rank behffid rank ffi the long tale of the buried generations. That is not the language of psychical research. It is the language of severe poUtical phUosophy. It is the statement of a fact. WHAT SHALL WE WIN WITH THE WAR?» Ernest Hunter Wright [Ernest Hunter Wright (1882 ) was born in Virgima and pre pared for coUege in the schools of that state. He was graduated from Columbia University in , 1905, and received the Doctor's degree from the same institution in 1910. Since 1910 he has been a member of the English Department of Columbia University, and now holds the rank of Assistant Professor. The article here reprinted is an interesting forecast of some of the consequences of the war.] In material gam we do not a'sk a groat's worth from the war; that is understood. We shaU give billions for freedom, but do not want a cent ffi booty. We are ready to pour out our blood that the world may be rescued, but we woffid not barter a drop of it for patches of territory. If the words ffi wffich we renounce the spoils ffi advance have grown common with us to the point of triteness, that very fact is truly remarkable. Except that we woffid avoid the semblance of satisfaction, at present, of aU tunes, we might pause to wonder how often ffitherto such an ideal as tffis, now commonplace, has moved a people of free choice to an equal strife and sacrifice. 'What nation before has offered aU the gold and aU the Uves that may be needed solely •From The Century, vol. xcvi, p. 339 (July. 1918). Z 402 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS that an idea may prevaU? But let the question be anytiimg except a boast. It impUes a mere fact, accepted as seK-evident among us, and we have not thought to plume ourselves upon it. Not we, but the world, has learned it. It is one great tffing that we have akeady won out of the war. Of immaterial thffigs there are also a number that we do not ask. We crave no vengeance. Less than twenty years ago miffions of us made patriotism vocal ffi the cry, "Remember the Maine!" Now, despite hymns of hate tumed finaUy agamst ourselves especiaUy, no one is urgffig us to remember the Lusi tania, We are not tryffig to forget it, but we have no need to spur our zeal with slogans clamorffig for penalties unpayable for deeds kreparable, done to us or done to others. Nor are we m the lists to vrin mere honor. We woffid not lose it ; we dearly hope that when the clouds of battie pass we shaU have as ample a measure of it as our friends ffi the struggle have akeady gamed. Yet we shoffid never have plunged ffito a national duel, any more than our citizens engage ffi private ones, to settie a poffit of honor solely, however important that may be. On the contrary, even ffi humffiation we were wiffing to endure, as ffi settiement we stand ready to propose "any unprecedented tffing" that promises to make the world safer. It is solely because safety wffi come ffi no other way that we commit ourselves to fight to the last ounce of our manhood for its preservation. Whoever hopes for less than that, or whoever lusts for more, is not of us. Of that we are certaffi. And yet it may be that, K we fight like men for that cause, we shaU wffi mudi more. That we do not demand more is the best reason for behevffig that we may receive it. Maiffiy the gam may come, as is usual with immaterial gaffis, unsought, ffievitably; but we may possibly do much to speed its comffig and assure its permanency K we form some anticipation of it. Changes of vast extent are certaiffiy comffig upon us. The body social cannot be stirred and shaken in unprecedented action only to relapse into its former habitudes. Ancient questions reviewed by us in tffis crisis wiU, some of them, receive new answers, and new questions wiU arise. We shall have need more than ever AFTER THE CONFLICT 403 to "Prove aU tffings; hold fast that wffich is good." May we, then, with our eyes stiU fastened on the one goal that must be won, consider for a moment, even thus early, what other wm- nmgs may be ours? We may wm uffity. To many of the more discermng among us, of whatever social creed, tiie lack of it has long seemed one of our faiUngs. "La France," ffi Michelet's appeaUng pffiase, "est une personne;" and lovers of that land have always felt the term as sometffing more than a figure of speech. Hardly could the warmest admker of the Uffited States have used it of ffis own country a year ago. America was not a "person;" she was an aggregation. We had begun as disuffited coloffies imcom- moffiy diverse ffi social or reUgious or economic aims, and the crisis that made us free came far short of makffig us one. Con trarieties persisted through the years when each state was goffig its ovm precarious way, and, when the ffitolerable resffit forced a closer federation, burst ffito flames of antagoffism that were smothered vrith difficffity, and offiy partly, by the compromises of the Constitution. For two more generations they smoldered on, and then flared up ffi a waU of ffie searffig its wide way be tween the two camps of hatred ffito wffich it had parted the land. The first of our crises faUed to imite us, and the second was ffisastrously divisive. AU that is over now, we say, and thank Heaven. WeU, yes, K we mean that the notion of secession is dead and that the memory of Mosby on the one hand, or of the march through Georgia on the otiier, is aU but obUterated. But if we mean that, ffi the mass of the people especiaUy, no prejudice hangs over from the ancient time, that none arises out of the stffi dffierent social ideals of New York and Charleston, or out of the far more differ ent ffiterests of the Southem planter and the Northem banker and merchant, we might be nearer to the truth. Whatever was happenffig ffi Massachusetts, south of the Potomac boys even of the second generation after Appomattox were brought up in considerable ffistrust of the offsprffig of the Yankee. I can vouch for it that the scion of the new-comer from the North had a hard time ffi school ffi my day ffi the mneties. 404 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS Many a day we sent him home blubbermg ffis r's to ffis mother, and the principal was not very hard on us for it. One morffing we had a holiday to see the solffiers go off to Cuba. We sped them on their way with damorous patriotism, and when the traffi was out of sight we tumed our surplus energy to pummel- ffig the Uttle carpet-bagger from Vermont. A few months later the President passed through our town, and ffi a speech gave thanks that a common cause had at last made us ffito "one country and one people." But it was not qffite true, as the Uttle carpet-bagger had reason to know later; the cause had not been great enough, the struggle ffitense enough, to brffig uffison. There was stffi a North and a South. More strikffigly there is an East and a West, or several Easts and several Wests. A land so vast and so ffiversffied has en forcedly developed dffierent types and clasffing ffiterests, and its rapid growth has left its people httie leisure to reason them selves into Uke-mffidedness. And state governments have aided physical geography ffi tffis matter. In one state you may do busffiess for which in another you woffid go to jaU; ffi one you may be married and crazy, in another sffigle and sane. In the inteUigent society of certam regions a young man who has no sociaUstic leaffing is in danger of beffig considered untffinkmg, wffile ffi another region to coffiess to sociaUsm woffid be to court the estate of outcast. However httie we may habituaUy think of it, the dffierences between the Caffiorffian and the Vermonter, the Mormon and the South Carolinian, are rather extreme for a country so young and perfectly at peace with itseK. Think of the charges and countercharges we have heard recently from one part of the country accusing another part of apathy toward the Great War, think of the campaigns launched ffi one region with the purpose of "waiting up" another. The spectacle of a promffient author in New York challenging a Kansas bishop to raise a thousand dollars for a war charity, and offetmg ffi that glad case to retract her charges against Kansan hebetude, is a case ffi poffit. The more ffisquieting sight of many delegates ffi Watsffington representffig one region of the country as agamst or at the AFTER THE CONFLICT 405 expense of the whole, with the pork-barrel as their perfect work, is only too famiUar. Just as these words are beffig written, the morning paper brings a pronouncement from a congressman that clamors for quotation. The legislator points out that ten south ern states are now controffing thirty-one out of sixty chairman sffips ffi the House, that four of these states alone control eighteen chairmansffips, and that the South shoffid keep tffis power at great costs. He contffiues: But it won't be able to do so if these ten southem states vote almost solidly against the Federal Suffrage Amendment. The South has every thing to lose by such a short-sighted poUcy. ... I speak as a southem Democrat. . . . The Democratic party is now in control of aU branches of the Federal Govemment. Almost every committee assignment, so far as the chairmanships are concerned, is held by southem Democrats. . . . For the southem Democrats in Congress to say to the millions of patriotic women of the nation that suffrage shaU not be given them would bring down upon our heads such condemnation from the suffrage states that we would be driven from power. No pleadffig for or agamst suffrage here, no mquiry as to whether even the South wants it, nothffig but unashamed nuffity of sectional graspffig — ffi the ffinth month of the war! Our illustration happens to be f urffished by a Kentuckian, but others as impressive might be quoted from deputies of every state. The thffig woffid be amazing K it were not so American. But even such differences are uffimportant, most people wiU agree, in comparison with those of social or of economic class. Oregoffian and New Yorker can get along together when they meet, though we must remember that the vast majority of them never do meet; but what about the mffier and the coal baron, the I. W. W. ffi the lumber camp and the broker on the exchange? The piece-worker ffi AUen Street and the negro bent over the cotton ffi Mississippi have about as Uttle as is possible ffi common with the manufacturer who more or less ffirectiy pays them both. Of course we share class problems with every other nation, and with some for whom they are more perplexffig than for us; but the rapidity of their growth m tffis land of plenty is rather 4o6 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS remarkable. The contrast here between the four hundred and the four mUUon, between doUars and musde or inheritance and brains, has grovm apace for a country where nature left much for all. Twenty or so years ago Coxey's Army was a joke; today it woffid be at least a symptom, and the ffifference measures a development of class consciousness. With us, also, the contrast is hkely to be between ffiordmate wealth and dke poverty. In tffis respect we are very Uke England, where enormous fortunes exist side by side with bitter penury, and we are much worse off than France, where colossal private wealth is rarer and where unmitigated poverty is aU but unknown. In any large city ffi America a sffigle block often separates famffies Uvffig under conffitions more extremely dffierent than coffid weU be found ffi aU France. And to emphasize these class ffistinctions, we have imported, maiffiy ffito the four miffion, men from every quarter of the globe, and made up ffi two-tffirds of the states a piebald population unparalleled ffi any sizable area of the Old World. Most of the so-caUed mixed races of Europe are fairly pure ffi comparison, not with the people of New York City, but with those of the Wisconsffi plaffis. But aU these fficongruities have never brought a clash? The meltffig-pot has never boUed over? WeU, there have been mutterffigs. There are some thinkers, and not excitable ones, who have foreseen a race war ffi store for us or for our cffildren. There are others who fear a new secession as the land fiUs up K mterests grow more contraffictory. There are far more who prophesy a conffict of dasses amounting to revolution. Possibly we need fear none of these forecasts, though any one of them might have seemed plausible four years ago by the side of a preffiction that we shoffid now be at war ffi Europe. Whatever may be the danger of the future, the fact that we have had so little friction in the last ffity years has been due mainly to the circumstance that we were all too busy to stop and make trouble. Each tenth of us was too hard pushed to worry overmuch about what the other nine-tenths were doffig. Few people want a revolution when they are too rushed to take the time off for it and on the whole too prosperous to feel AFTER THE CONFLICT 407 the need of it. But quiescence may be apathy, not uffity. The mere mdifference of most of us to the rest of us might be a main reason for our drKtffig apart. So far there has been more than a man's work for every man, with little time to ffiterfere with other men. But what wffi happen ffi the day approachffig fast when there is less? How wiU our sectionaUsm, our class antagoffism, our ffiffividuaUsm, measure ffi that day agamst our cohesion as one people? There is no mtention here of borrowffig trouble from the future. We are not worrymg about a clash that may or may not come; we mean solely to mention some of the splendid changes now taking place ffi regard to our unity as a people. The answer to the questions just propounded no one knows, of course, though everyone has hopes. But the one sure fact is tffis: that its first crisis having failed to weld it into one, and its second havmg riven it asunder, our heterogeneous haK-continent has had to wait for tffis its thkd and most portentous crisis for a great common cause. We have met a problem and a piece of work dwarfing anythffig that we ever thought woffid faU to us. It has come home to every one of us, of whatever region or whatever class. We know that we shaU stand or faU together, and aU the more because we have now seen the one other country of our size ffi the world faU before our enemy because ffivided. A hundred miffion of us are facffig Washffigton, facing Flanders, facffig ffie and death; and the resffit in national uffity akeady surpasses aU expectation and aU precedent among us. Ten miffion men and women have opened thek purses to lend the nation money; not an act of ffigh virtue at a four per cent profit, though the refusal woffid have been vicious, but a tie of no mean force among those people and between them and the Govern ment. Ten miUion more wffi share in the partnersffip later. MilUons more of men and women who Uttle dreamed a year ago of deviating from their daUy round at the country's caU have gone to camps and hospitals and trenches. There the nephew of Lee has taken the hand of the grandson of Grant, the Wffite Mountaffi boy is keeping step with the Hoosier, and the young nffiUonaire is swappffig anecdotes and "makffigs" with the 4o8 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS plumber — uffiess the plumber has won ffis spurs. We have never had a school of equahty approacffing a draft army facffig common work and common perU. It is as democratic as the Subway and as unifymg as the coUege, without the bad ak of the one or the manufactured sentiment of the other, and it gives also a fine trainffig in order, precision, tightness that hardly any other American institution affords. Those who are not yet caUed to tffis onerous service are get ting at home an appredable lesson in fraterffity. It takes a strffigent time like the present to put ffiffividual men and classes on their mettie ffi coffiederate effort. And classes are approach ffig each other. A lady throws open her parlors to a congress called by her butier to consider food-savmg. In general, — ^for the exceptions, though noisy, are few, — capitaUst and laborer stand shoffider to shoffider straiffing to do thek best. In general, labor gams fficreasffigly for its services, and capital pays the larger bffis of the war, a fact that few of the right-mffided wffi deplore. And K the smaU-salaried man feels the pffich more than either, the tightenffig of ffis belt vrill probably not impede a desk- able expansion of ffis better sentiments. The few who stand aloof and "strut their uneasy hour" are growffig loneUer every day. If anyone tffinks that they are many, a Uttie readffig ffi the ffistory of the CivU War on either side wffi soon alter ffis opiffion. He wffi easUy convffice ffimseK of the prime fact that never before, not ffi the war for ffidependence, not ffi the war for the uffion, or at any other time or over any other question, has America enjoyed such unanimity. Based on free consent, a unanimity like tffis is of fficalculable value. It need not ffiterfere with a ffigh degree of ffiversity in non-essential matters, and human nature may be amply trusted to see that it does not. SmaU as she is, for ffistance, that nation whom Michelet loved to caU a "person" because ffi the hour of need she coffid be of one mffid, rejoices ffi a larger ffiversity of personal or local habit concerning thffigs not fundamental than we enjoy ffi tffis country. If we can preserve the uffity we have now gaffied, and are stiU to gain, upon non-essentials, or that portion of it that is consonant with freedom of opimon m periods AFTER THE CONFUCT 409 of smaUer strain, K we can make permanent that sense of ffiter- dependence between each tract of the country and aU the rest, between each social group and aU the others, we shaU have won a great good fortune out of the war. The measure of aU tins that we shaU preserve doubtiess depends largely on the firmness and wisdom with wffich we pro secute the war and solve the problems that wffi arise when we have won it. At least we have an opportunity that we have never had before. Is it too much to hope that we may come out of the war deservffig some such pffiase as that with wffich Michelet crowned ffis country? Without that single-mffidedness m the face of danger wffich distffigffishes our gaUant aUy possibly above aU other peoples, the battle of the Mame woffid never have been won, our aid might never have been possible, and the ffistory of centuries might have been reversed. One coffid hardly wish a larger gaffi for ffis own coimtry than that she, too, prove worthy of the titie so fitly given to happy France. We may win ffi cosmopolitanism. For unaffimity at home is no foe to corffiaUty abroad, but rather, ffi aU ordffiary times, its firm aUy. And whether or not we have enjoyed a satisfactory harmony among ourselves, it is aU but uffiversaUy agreed that we have been slow to understand and to appreciate our sister nations. Here agaffi we had too much work at home to worry greatiy as to what was happenffig elsewhere. We also had a strong traffi tion of aloofness, wise ffi its origffi among tffiee miffions depend- ffig on the sailffig-sffip for thek connection vrith the outer world, but dubious ffideed ffi its apphcation to a hundred mUUons fur- mshed with steam and wireless. But whatever the reasons, no one can weU profess that we have been a cosmopoUtan nation, wffile many woffid argue that we have been the most isolated of aU great peoples; and tffis despite the fact that ffi racial origms we are about the most ffitemational of aU and great globe trotters to boot. One of our ffistffigffished miffisters to a foreign country was sayffig the other day that ffi general our ffiplomats are admked and esteemed abroad as upright gentlemen of fine capacity, but that for years they have astoffished the statesmen of the conti- 410 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS nent by thek ignorance of what was reaUy goffig forward ffi the chanceUeries of Europe, or thek ffidffierence to it. At home we have produced noble statesmen of whom we are jUstiy proud, but hardly an ffitemational figure. In busffiess and finance we have had potentates ffi plenty, but few whose influence has reached far beyond our own shores — ^f ew RothschUds or Rhodeses. For the protection of South American repubhcs and of our own we have upheld a Monroe Doctrffie for a century; and how much do we know about those southern countries under our wmg? PitKuUy Uttle. The British, French, Spaffish, Germans coffid give us lessons about our nearest neighbors. If tffis is true of Ecuador, what, say, of the Balkans? How many of our mffids went absolutely void, a few years ago, at the mention of them ! Many Parisians of some education coffid have drawn us a pretty good map of them, sketched thek ffis tory, named thek present rffiers, and told us a Uttie about thek popffiation and their ffidustries. The stohd ffiffifference of many Americans, especiaUy of those at some ffistance from centers of ffiscussion, through months and years of the present war, the feelffig so humffiating to some of thek compatriots that the war was a squabble between powers across the ocean who ought to have had sense enough to keep the peace, and that it was none of our busffiess except as it raised our prices and possibly our mcomes, — the feelffig wffich, translated ffito a thousand pla cards, read, "No war talk here," — aU tffis was evidence of an ffisffiarity unflattermg to America. It is useless to mffitiply the uncomfortable ffiustrations. In one word, we were a great people apart. WeU, we are goffig to get over a great deal of that, and it is ffigh time we were doffig so. History does not teU a very reassur- ffig tale of peoples that have striven to hve apart, any more than memoks give a comforting account of recluses. The comparison is not perfect, of course, but it is certaffi that no nation can cut itseK off from the world without stuntffig its material and spiritual growth. For the nation as for the ffidividual man, "A talent is developed ffi solitude, a character ffi the current of the world." Is it permissible to hazard a suspicion that wffile we had AFTER THE CONFUCT 411 talent ffi plenty, especiaUy in practical and ffi ffiventive efforts, K less ffi pure science and ffi the arts, the American character, compared, for ffistance, vrith the French or the British, was a Uttie undefined and possibly a bit loose-jointed? Perhaps, if true, this is no more than the awkwardness of adolescence, and K so, experience is the remedy. And we are now beginnffig a fffil experience of those world problems wffich have been the common heritage of European peoples. Questions once aU but academic here have become vital to us as fffil citizens of the world. We are sharffig with the nations that lead ffi cffiture and acffievement a cause perhaps the greatest that has actuated effort ffi aU time. And our own part ffi the effort wffi be large, however shght it may of necessity remaffi as yet. Our blood and our counsels wffi mffigle with our friends', we shaU share ffi thek triumph, and solve with them the problems of settiement that ensue. Our one hope is to do weU. But ffi the meantime we may gaffi much that is of great price, and much that is beyond price, out of the association. We may batter down that waU of American misprision and of British ffisdam that has separated us from the EngUsh. We shall surely demoUsh, K we have not akeady done so, that notion once so prevalent among us that the Frenchmen of today are offiy anemic descendants of thek lusty forbears, that notion that led a promffient American magazme a few years before the war to conduct a long debate as to whether the French were a decadent race or not. We may put an end to one behef about ourselves, unmerited, K ever reputation was, yet sffigffiarly strong ffi the opiffion of most foreigners, that we are a people who Uve for money. We got the reputation because there were such fortunes to be made here and so many people makffig them; and no prodi- gaUty or phUantffiopy, though ffi both we led the world, did much to paffiate it. 'Whole-hearted contribution to a war not for ourselves alone, but for the world, may wipe out the last vestiges of that prejuffice. Clearffig away a thousand misunderstandffigs Uke these, we may conceivably hope to cement ffi national friend ships the foundations of endurffig peace. We may iwm m modesty. It is a gKt wffich visitors among us 412 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS from abroad and observers of our own travelers ffi foreign countries have not been prone to take as typical of us. To have founded a country on prfficiples so new, borrowed, though they were from tffinkers of the Old World, and to have made a wUder ness into a world power withffi a century, give us natural reason for pride ffi ourselves. But the most reasonably proud Americans — ^and the present writer woffid faffi be counted among them — have not infrequently smiled or blushed, accordmg to thek temperament and the occasion, at irrational exffibitions of boast- fffiness on the part of thek compatriots. To the thoughtfffi traveler abroad ffi other days, perhaps, these words wiU best commend themselves, for few of us have got as far as Southampton vrithout wonderffig where the particular boat-load of Americans who shared the voyage could have been collected; and the wonder grew as we kept meetffig parties from the boat at strategic poffits for sight-seeing on the Contffient. People Uke us abroad, of course, especiaUy ffi France; we are the most generous of thek visitors (uffiess tffis be a boast !) and we are so happy-go-lucky that we are easy to get along with. But although they give us a warm welcome, they have an honest feel ffig, more of amusement than of maUce, that they must expect a good deal of braggmg from us. And we ourselves, when we speak of "spread-eagleism," are usuaUy thinkffig of our own coimtry. One of our weekUes that has of late been so ferocious on the traU of unwise patriots as to leave too Uttie space to mention the other kffid was itseK gffilty recentiy of sayffig that "What ffistffigffishes the statesmanship of President WUson from that of tiie other leaders of the Affied cause ... is notffing but superior rationality." Only that ! Even K obviously true, the statement woffid be exceptionaUy raw. So far as the present writer knows, America is the first of the Affies to prmt such a statement. Supposing that an Enghsh review had said it of Lloyd-George or a French paper of C16menceau, how shoffid we feel about it? Possibly we do not fffily deserve the notable reputation for spread-eagleism that we have gained, but ffi view of the iUustra tions it is offiy fak ffi candor to plead gffilty to havffig Ughted a AFTER THE CONFLICT 413 good deal of fire under aU the smoke. We coffid hardly have savored the famous "Yankee ffi King Arthur's Court" so much K we had not seen ourselves, however caricatured, ffi him. Many of us have been a Uttie like ffim, whether in a court abroad or ffi the bank or grocery at home. We were the people, the brave and the free. We had the red blood, let the blue flow tffiough whose veins it chose. We had the ships and the guns — or we shoffid get them the mffiute the need came, K it ever did. We thought the French were effete; there is no use denying it, however much we may have had our eyes opened. We thought the Enghsh were stupid, more or less Dundrearys, and we stopped offiy too in frequently to ask how Dundrearys coffid manage such an empire so harmoffiously. We were the clean-cut race of quick brains. We coffid Uck the world, K the world ever required it. To be sure, we had a good deal of dirty linen to wash at home. We had political corruption of a scale unknown in the two countries just mentioned. We had poverty undreamed-of in the first mentioned of them. We were coming to hate a captain of industry as much, and as indiscrimffiately, as we hated a lord. Such things we woffid debate among ourselves, but let a foreigner approach us upon these topics, and we turned to him our American front and proceeded to show him how, despite any Uttie ffijustices, our land of promise enjoyed a certain superi ority over ffis ovrai outworn country. Not always ffid we do tffis, but too frequently. We may honestiy disclaim arrogance; we can harffiy prefer a claim to modesty. But much of that we may now leam. The sUence of French heroism may lead us to emffiation. The honest confession of British muddUng may teach us to acknowledge ours, K we must. The arrogance of Prussia may knpress upon us the amiabffity of its opposite. Congestion on railroads, delays ffi sffip-buUdffig, shortages of ammuffition, of unKorms, of coal, may set us aU so busy mending faults that we shaU have time neither for boasting nor for writffig articles ffi deprecation of it. Far more knportant, the powerfffi enemy that coffironts us wiU demand every ounce of strength that is ffi us and wiU leave us Uttie breath for words of seK-gratffiation. A brigand armed 414 NATIONAL IDEALS AND PROBLEMS with the panoply of wealth and science is holffing the world at bay. We shaU find him mortal, we shaU overpower him, and rid the world of ffis menace; but we shaU know that we ffid not do it alone, that against ffim we shoffid have been aU but powerless alone, and the lesson wffi be a good one for our seK-esteem. Leamffig from the British and GaUic veterans, £is we must, we shaU come to esteem them as we woffid esteem ourselves. And our foe wffi so tax our powers before we overcome him, vriU so rudely shake any over-confidence we may have fdt, that in the victory we shaU probably fed thanksgivffig without vaffiglory. 'What veteran victor over Prussia wiU want to come back and teach ffis chUdren any form of goosestep? There may have been a Uttie of that when we declared war, — not much, for we had learned a great deal in tffiee years, — ^but there wffi probably be less when it is over. There was some of it ffi and after our clash with Spaffi, because that was more Uke an excursion than a war. But the heroes that return from Belgium vriU be soberer, and despite the acclamations vrith wffich we shaU receive them, they wffi find us soberer. Let it be hoped that our modesty and our valor may be equal. That we may wffi a great deal more than has been suggested here, or than can be comprehended by one mffid considerffig so large a question, need harffiy be ffitimated. To mention one material benefit, not of the kffid, however, that was waived in our ffist sentences, we may learn enough about economy, per sonal and national, to add greatiy to our weU-beffig. At the least we may hope never agaffi to hear — ^what some of us used to feel a sort of pride ffi — that one coffid feed Paris with the food that New York wastes. At the most we may expect that the education in savffig wffich wiU come to people of aU classes ffi our spendtffiKt nation tiirough the Liberty Loans wffi endure to our benefit long after the war and possibly witffin a generation offset the huge cost of the struggle. We may gaffi ffi physical manhood, despite heavy losses, by inuring millions of men to work and ak. 'UntU one sees a regi ment of raw recrffits, and remembers that they are chosen men, one scarcely realizes how far physical trainffig has been the affair AFTER THE CONFUCT 415 of the minority ffi coUeges and gymnasiums. For ourselves and from our AlUes we may leam a good deal about organization. If we have thought weU of ourselves ffi tffis respect ffitherto, we were usuaUy considerffig private organizations rather than govern mental. Foreigners have often marveled how we coffid operate a trust so weU and a city or state so badly, and many of us have marveled, also. With the Govemment assumffig a large share ffi the greatest war, ffi wffich the control of raikoads and of' other enterprises is a detaU, we shaU be more stupid than we shoffid like to beUeve K we do not reach a ffigher mark ffi cor porate management. For many further benefits we may reasonably hope, and doubtiess others have occurred to the reader. It may be better for us not to make our prophecies over-specffic. Certaiffiy general gaffi may be predicted a good deal more confidentiy than tffis or that particffiar reform. But K the specffic prophecy is the more precarious, it is perhaps also the less important. To say that gain in general, over and above the attainment of our prime and unalterable purpose ffi the war, may come to us out of aU our tribffiation and despite aU our losses, to state tffis for our comfort somewhat expressly ffi reply to a vague opiffion stffi persistffig despite of ffistory, that no nation ever goes to war for any reason with resffits other than damagffig, has been the maffi purpose of tffis article. And not for our comfort merely, but rather that we may form and foster, some idea of what good may come to us, m the behef that its comffig and its permanence may be more probable if we receptively anticipate it for the land we love. Printed in the United States of America. 'T^HE following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author or on kindred subjects. BY THE SAME AUTHOR College Life: Its Conditions and Problems By MAURICE GARLAND FULTON Professor of English in Davidson CoUege Cloth, izmo, J24 pp., $ 1,4.0 In this volume, for use in English Composition courses, the selections have been chosen chiefly from the writings of college presidents and other educators. They relate to questions and problems of the student's personal relation to the various aspects of college life, such as the intellectual, the social, the athletic, and the scholastic. The material thus selected not only enables the student at the beginning of his college- career to come in contact with sane and helpful orientation, but also stimulates him to think in his composition work. The suggestiveness of the selections affords an impetus in the practice of composition, as the method for teaching the subject made possible by the use of this book provides : first, for the reading of the essays ; second, for the discussion of their leading thoughts ; and, third, for the writing by the student on topics suggested by this reading and discussion. Although suggestiveness in ideas has been the main criterion of choice, the selections serve well as models of clear, direct, and incisive modern English. The selections do not represent the different types of discourse, but endeavor to set the student at the general task of composition without confining him too narrowly to any one form. The material serves readily as a basis for the expository and argu mentative writing which is generally first required in the Freshman composition course. The book contains the following parts : Pur pose of the College ; The CoUege Curriculum ; Choice of Courses ; Intellectual Ideals ; Athletics and Recreation ; General Reading ; College Organizations; CoUege Government; Conduct and the Inner Life ; The CoUege Man in the World's Work. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New Tork BY THE SAME AUTHOR Expository Writing Materials for a College Course in Exposition by Analysis and Imitation COMPILED AND EDITED, WITH QUESTIONS AND EXEEClSES, BT MAURICE GARLAND FULTON Professor of English In Davidson College Cloth, i2mo, 55S pages, $1.40 EXTRACTS FROM PREFACE In preparing this book of selections illustrative of some of the various phases of expository writing, for use either in the general Freshman course in EngUsh composition or in a special course in exposition to be taken in the Sophomore or Junior year, I have had in mind certain definite aims, the principal of which are the foUowing; First, to make definite and systematic appUcation of the method of learning to write through the examination and imitation of good models. Second, to centre attention upon exposition, since it is the kind of writing that is most directly serviceable in practical Ufe and that most readUy exemplifies the essential quaUties of effective composition — accuracy, logicalness, and economy of presentation. Third, to draw the selections chiefly from the field of scientific writing, because of the intrinsic interest of such subject-matter to young persons. Fourth, to have the selections of such length that the analysis of them vnU afford a "severe logical setting-up exercise." This book aims to give material for conducting a course in compo sition by the method of analysis and imitation. No attempt has been made to teach systematic rhetoric. The purpose has been the simple one of opening in a practical way the student's eye to some of the major problems of writing. The selections presented are complete articles, chapters, or other large component parts of books, rather than excerpts of a few para graphs, in order that the study of them may afford training in the power to think straight, which is so little a part of the rising genera tion. In few ways can the strengthening and developing of the thinking power be more readily secured than by the carrful analysis of expository selections. Hence, the selections in this book are of greater length than is usual in eimUar volumes. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York English Composition By CHESTER NOYES GREENOUGH Professor of EngUsh in Harvard Umversity, and FRANK W. C. HERSEY Instructor in EngUsh in Harvard University Cloth, i2mo, j^g pages, $1,40 I. The book makes a point of treating that part of the process of vreiting which takes place before any words are put on paper; namely, the perception of good descriptive and narrative material, and the use of books and periodicals for expository and argumenta tive material; weighing and estimating of one authority against another ; the use of libraries, catalogues, and indexes, and the making of notes on books and lectures. 2. Throughout it treats English composition, not as a separate subject, but as a matter which runs through all subjects and which includes all the spoken and written business of the day. 3. In description and argument, which are sometimes thought to succeed by mere vividness, it emphasizes structiural principles. 4. Instead of merely treating the principles of composition — unity, emphasis, and coherence — in the abstract, after briefly explaining them, it shows what modifications they undergo in the different kinds of composition. 5. The exercises and original problems are an important feature of the book. CONTENTS Introduction.Part I. Gathering and weighing materials. Part II. Exposition, including Biography and Criticism; Argu ment; Description; Narrative. Part ni. Structure, including sentences, paragraphs, and whole compositions considered with respect to unity, emphasis, and co herence. Part IV. Diction, including grammar, spelling, pronunciation, abbreviations, representation of numbers, choice of words, number of words. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY PublisherB 64-66 Pifth Avenue Hew York College Readings in English Prose By FRANKLIN W. SCOTT Assistant Professor of EngUsh, and JACOB ZEITLIN Associate in EngUsh in the Umversity of Illinois izmo, 653 pages, $1.40 "Six hundred pages crammed full of illustrative material in all forms of composition. Valuable as a reference book for models, most of which are new, selected from modem writers or speakers." — School Review, Chicago. "The specimens selected for this volume of prose by Professors Scott and ZeitUn, of the University of Illinois, represent a greater range in subject matter, in typical forms and in variations of style than other texts of this sort. The book is aU meat, more than 650 pages of it. The editors have taken account of the special interest of the engineering and agricultural student, and have provided material which wiU appeal particularly to his taste, without being so technical in treatment as to baffle the lay inteUigence. Many of the selections are from contemporary writings. The book is divided in a large way into examples of exposition, argument, description, narrative, and letters. The appendix contains more than twenty- five students' themes which are classified under the same general heads." — Journal of Education, Boston. "Wider in range than most similar volumes." — English Journal. "The result is a volmne which the general reader wiU find as en tertaining and as instructive as the college student. The articles are arranged under the various heads of exposition, argument, de scription, narrative, and letters." — San Francisco Chronicle. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Pifth Avenue New York A Manual of Good English ,By HENRY NOBLE MacCRACKEN President of Vassar CoUege and HELEN E. SANDISON Instructor in EngUsh in Vassar CoUege %,go The present volume, a review of authorized practice in Enghsh composition, is mtended for use as a text in the Freshman course in that subject. The present tendency, in the teaching of Enghsh com position, for power, originahty and vivid expression, makes it essential that the student have a reminder of grammar and good form. Such a reminder this book is designed to be. It will also be useful to the writer in search of more detailed discussions of disputed usage than are to be found in the dictionary. Great care has been taken to present rules and ter minology which are in harmony with the best authorities and with reliable current usage, and to incorporate the best use of great bodies of publications rather than the narrower and more theoretical rules of the makers of dictionaries. The treatment of questions of usage and syntax is flexible. Instead of saying "this is right" and "that is wrong" there is a certain amount of gradation and quahfication. In fact throughout the manuscript the lack of dogmatism is noticeable. The matters of typographical detail and general arrangement, also, have been carefully planned with the convenience of the stu dent in mind. The chapter headings are: I. Words; II. Sentences; III. Paragraphs ; IV. Punctuation ; V. Capitahzation and the Use of Hyphens ; VI. SpeUing ; VII. Preparation of Manuscript and Correction of Proof ; VIII. Letter Writ ing ; Appendix, Exercises for Drill m Grammatical Review. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publiahers 64-66 Pifth Avenue Jfew York YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 9002 01428 1209 ffir^i rf^'^^^rfiWIiiiffliaiiT^