life, in 1873, and bequeathed seven million dollars for a university and
academy to be founded in his native city of Baltimore. The
administrative council elected Gilman as its president, and it is
Gilman’s memorable service to have accomplished that of which America
was most in need in that moment of transition—an academy which should
concentrate its entire strength on the furtherance of serious scientific
investigation quite without concessions to the English college idea,
without any attempt to reach a great circle of students, or without any
effort to annex a legal or theological faculty. Its sole aim was to
attract really eminent specialists as teachers in its philosophical
faculties, to equip laboratories and seminaries in the most approved
manner, to fill these with advanced students, and to inspire these
students with a zeal for scientific productiveness. This experiment has
succeeded remarkably. It is clear to-day that the further development of
the American university will not consist in developing the special
professional school, but will rather combine the ideals of the college
with the ideals of original research. But at that time when the new
spirit which had been imported from Germany began to ferment, it was of
the first importance that some such institution should avowedly, without
being hampered by any traditions, take up the cause of that method which
seeks to initiate the future school-teacher into the secrets of the
laboratory. Since Gilman retired, a short time ago, the famous chemist,
Ira Remsen, has taken his place. A brilliant professor of Johns Hopkins,
Stanley Hall, has undertaken a similar experiment on a much more modest
scale, in the city of Worcester, with the millions which were given by
the philanthropist Clark. His Clark University has remained something of
a torso, but has likewise succeeded in advancing the impulse for
productive science in many directions, especially in psychology and
education.
In the year 1868, Cornell University was founded in the town of Ithaca,
from the gifts of Ezra Cornell; and this university had almost exactly
opposite aims. It has aimed to create a university for the people, where
every man could find what he needed for his own education; it has become
a stronghold for the utilitarian spirit. The truly American spirit of
restless initiative has perhaps nowhere in the academic world found more
characteristic expression than in this energetic dwelling-place of
science. The first president was the eminent historian, Andrew D. White,
who was appointed later to his happy mission as Ambassador to Berlin. At
the present day the philosopher Shurman stands at the helm, whose
efforts in colonial politics are widely known. Senator Stanford, of
California, aimed to accomplish for the extreme West the same thing that
Cornell had done for the East, when in memory of his deceased son he
applied his entire property to the foundation of an academy in the
vicinity of San Francisco. Leland Stanford is, so far as its financial
endowment goes, probably the richest university in the country. As far
as its internal efficiency has gone, the thirty million dollars have not
meant so much, since the West has to depend on its own students and it
has to take them as it finds them. In spite of this, the university
accomplishes an excellent work in many directions under the leadership
of the zoölogist Jordan, its possibly too energetic president. While its
rival, the State University of California, near the Golden Gate of San
Francisco, is perhaps the most superbly situated university in the
world, Leland Stanford can lay claim to being the more picturesque. It
is a dream in stone conjured up under the Californian palms. Finally,
quite different, more strenuous than all others, some say more
Chicagoan, is the University of Chicago, to which the petroleum prince,
Rockefeller, has deflected some twelve million dollars. The University
of Chicago has everything and offers everything. It pays the highest
salaries, it is open the whole year through, it has accommodations for
women, and welcomes summer guests who come to stay only a couple of
months. It has the richest programme of collateral lectures, of
university publications and of its own periodicals, has an organic
alliance with no end of smaller colleges in the country, has
observatories on the hill-tops and laboratories by the sea; and,
whatever it lacks to-day, it is bound to have to-morrow. It is almost
uncanny how busily and energetically this university has developed
itself in a few years under the distinguished and brilliant presidential
policy of Harper. One must admire the great work. It is possible that
this place is still not equal to the older Eastern universities as the
home of quiet maturity and reflection; but for hard, scholarly work it
has few rivals in the world.
Johns Hopkins and Cornell, Stanford and Chicago, have been carefully
designed and built according to one consistent plan, while the state
universities have developed slowly out of small colleges more like the
old institutions of Colonial days. Their history is for the most part
uneventful; it is a steady and toilsome working to the top, which has
been limited not so much by the finances of the states, but rather by
the conditions of the schools in the regions about them. The largest
state university is that of Michigan, at Ann Arbor, not far from
Detroit. In number of students it is next to Harvard. One of its
specialties is a homœopathic medical faculty in addition to the
allopathic.
It would be a great mistake to suppose that, with the blossoming out of
the large and middle-sized universities, all of which have colleges as
one of their departments, the small colleges have ceased to play their
part. Quite on the contrary; in a certain sense the small college
situated in rural seclusion has found a new task to work out in contrast
to the great universities. It is only in the small college that the
young student is able to come into personal contact with the professor,
and only there can his special individuality be taken into account by
his alma mater. One scheme does not fit all the students, and not only
in those regions where the homely college represents the highest
attainable instruction of its kind, but also in many districts of the
maturest culture, the college is for many youths the most favourable
place for development. Thus the New England States would feel a great
loss to the cause of culture if such old colleges as Williams, Brown,
Amherst, and Dartmouth should simply deliver over its students to
Harvard.
These smaller colleges fulfil a special mission, therefore, and they do
their best when they do not try to seem more than they really are. There
was the danger that the colleges would think themselves improved by
introducing some fragments of research work into their curriculum, and
so spoiling a good humanitarian college by offering a bad imitation of a
university. Of course, there can be no talk of a sharp separation
between college and university, for the reasons which we have emphasized
many times before. It is necessary, as we have seen, that there should
be a long continuous scale from the smallest college up to the largest
university. It is true that many of the small institutions are entirely
superfluous, and not capable of any great development, and so from year
to year some are bound to disappear or to be absorbed by others. Many
are really business enterprises, and many more are sectarian
institutions. But in general there exists among these institutions a
healthy struggle for existence which prospers the strongest of them and
makes them do their best. The right of existence of many of the small
and isolated professional schools is much more questionable. Almost all
the best medical, legal, and theological schools of this order have
already been assimilated to this or that college, and the growing
together of the academies which started separately and from small
beginnings into organic universities is in conformity with the
centralizing tendency everywhere in progress in our time.
Many of the smaller colleges are, like all the state institutions, open
to both sexes. Besides these, however, there thrive certain colleges
which are exclusively for women. The best known of these are Bryn Mawr,
Vassar, Wellesley, Smith, Radcliffe, and Barnard. Barnard College, in
New York, stands in the same relation to Columbia University as
Radcliffe College does to Harvard. Every one of these leading women’s
colleges has its own physiognomy, and appeals rather to its special type
of young woman. Vassar, Wellesley, Smith, and Bryn Mawr lie in quiet,
retired little towns or villages: and the four years of college life
spent together by something like a thousand blooming, happy young women
between the years of eighteen and twenty-two, in college halls which are
surrounded by attractive parks, are four years of extraordinary charm.
Only Bryn Mawr and Radcliffe lay any special stress on the advanced
critical work of the graduates. In Smith, Vassar, and Wellesley it is
mostly a matter of assimilation, and the standard of scholarship is not
much higher than that of the German Arbiturientenexamen, together with
possibly one or two semesters of the philosophical faculty. In
Wellesley, women are almost the only teachers; while in Bryn Mawr almost
all are men, and in Smith the teachers are both men and women.
In statistical language, the following conditions are found to hold. If
for the moment we put college and graduate schools together as the
“philosophical faculty,” there studied in the year 1900 in the
philosophical faculties, 1,308 students for every million inhabitants;
in the legal faculties 166, in the medical 333, and in the theological
faculties 106. Ten years previously the corresponding figures were 877,
72, 266, 112, respectively, and twenty-five years ago they were 744, 61,
196, and 120, respectively. Thus the increase in the last ten years has
been a remarkable one; theology alone shows some diminution in its
numbers. If we consider now the philosophical faculties more closely, we
discover the surprising fact that in the last decade the male students
have increased 61 per cent., while the female have increased 149 per
cent. The degrees conferred in the year 1900 were as follows: college
degrees of bachelor of arts—to men 5,129, to women 2,140. The degree of
bachelor of science, which is somewhat lower in its standard, and
requires no classical preparation, was given to 2,473 men and 591 women.
The degree of doctor of philosophy to 322 men and 20 women. The private
endowment of all colleges together amounts to 360 million dollars, of
which 160 million consist in income-bearing securities. The annual
income amounted to 28 millions, not counting donations of that year, of
which 11 millions came from the fees of students, about 7 millions were
the interest on endowments, and 7.5 millions were contributed by the
government. Thus the student pays about 39 per cent. of what his tuition
costs. The larger donations for the year amounted to about 12 millions
more. The number of colleges for men or for both sexes was 480, for
women alone 141. This figure says very little; since, in the case of
many women’s institutions, the name college is more monstrously abused
than in any other, and in the West and South is assumed by every upstart
girls’ school. There are only 13 women’s colleges which come up to a
high standard, and it may at once be added that the number of
polytechnic and agricultural schools whose conditions for entrance
correspond on the average to those of the colleges amounts to 43. Also
these stand on many different levels, and at the head of them all is the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in Boston, which is now under the
brilliant leadership of President Pritchett. Almost all the technical
schools are state institutions.
There were, in the year 1900, 151 medical faculties having 25,213
students: all except three provide a four years’ course of study.
Besides these, there were 7,928 dental students studying in 54 dental
schools, and 4,042 students of pharmacy in 53 separate institutions.
There were 12,516 law students, and 8,009 theological students. Out of
the law students 151, and of the theological 181, were women.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_Science_
One who surveys, without prejudice, the academic life of the country in
reference to scientific work will receive a deep impression of the
energy and carefulness with which this enormous national machinery of
education furthers the higher intellectual life. And the continuous
gradation of institutions by which the higher academy is able to adapt
itself to every local need, so that no least remnant of free initiative
can be lost and unlimited development is made possible at every point,
must be recognized by every one as the best conceivable system for the
country.
It is not to be denied that it brings with it certain difficulties and
disadvantages. The administrative difficulties which proceed from the
apparent incomparability of the institutions are really not serious,
although the foreigner who is accustomed to uniformity in his
universities, Gymnasia, certificates and doctorial diplomas, is inclined
to overemphasize these difficulties in America. The real disadvantages
of the system of continuous gradations is found, not in the outer
administration, but in its inner methods. The German undergraduate takes
the attitude of one who learns; his teacher must be thoroughly well
informed, but no one expects a school-teacher himself to advance
science. The graduate student, on the other hand, is supposed to take a
critical attitude, and therefore his teacher has to be a teacher of
methods—that is, he must be a productive investigator. Wherever, as in
Germany, there lies a sharp distinction between these two provinces, it
is easy to keep the spirit of investigation pure; but where, as in
America, one merges into the other, the principles at stake are far too
likely to be confused. Men who fundamentally are nothing but able
school-teachers are then able to work up and stand beside the best
investigators in the university faculties, because the principle of
promotion on the ground of scientific production solely cannot be so
clearly separated from the methods of selection which are adapted to the
lower grades of instruction. To be sure, this has its advantages in
other directions; because, in so far as there is no sharp demarcation,
the spirit of investigation can also grow from above down, and therefore
in many a smaller college there will be more productive scientists
teaching than would be found, perhaps, in a German school; but yet the
influences of the lower on the higher departments of instruction are the
predominant ones. Investigation thrives best when the young scholar
knows that his advancement depends ultimately on strictly scientific
achievements, and not on work of a popular sort, nor on success in the
teaching of second-hand knowledge. This fact has often been brought home
to the public mind in recent years, and the leading universities have
already more and more recognized the principle of considering scientific
achievements to be the main ground for preferment.
But productive scholarship is interfered with in still other ways.
Professors are often too much busied with administrative concerns; and
although this sort of administrative influence may be attractive for
many professors, its exercise requires much sacrifice of time. More
particularly, the professors of most institutions, although there are
many exceptions among the leading universities, are overloaded with
lectures, and herein the graded transition from low to high works
unfavourably. Especially in Western institutions, the administrative
bodies do not see why the university professor should not lecture as
many hours in the week as a school teacher; and most dangerous of all,
as we have already mentioned in speaking of popular education, is the
fact that the scholar is tempted, by high social and financial rewards,
to give scientifically unproductive popular lectures and to write
popular essays.
And the list of factors which have worked against scientific
productiveness can be still further increased. To be sure, it would be
false here to repeat the old tale that the American professor is
threatened in his freedom by the whimsical demands of rich patrons, who
have founded or handsomely endowed many of the universities. That is
merely newspaper gossip; and the three or four cases which have busied
public opinion in the last ten years and have been ridiculously
overestimated, are found, on closer inspection, to have been cases which
could have come up as well in any non-partisan institution in the world.
There may have been mistakes on both sides; perhaps the university
councils have acted with unnecessary rigour or lack of tact, but it has
yet to be proved that there has been actual injustice anywhere. Even in
small colleges purely scientific activity never interferes with the
welfare of a professor. A blatant disrespect for religion would hurt his
further prospects there, to be sure, just as in the Western state
institutions the committees appointed by the legislature would dislike a
hostile political attitude. Yet not even in the smallest college has any
professor ever suffered the least prejudice by reason of his scientific
labours. Science in America is not hampered by any lack of academic
freedom.
On the other hand, the American university lacks one of the most
important forces of German universities—the Privatdocent, who lives only
for science, and without compensation places his teaching abilities in
the service of his own scientific development. The young American
scholar is welcome only where a paid position is vacant; but if he finds
no empty instructorship in a large university, he is obliged to be
content with a position in a small college, where the entire
intellectual atmosphere, as regards the studies, apparatus, and amount
of work exacted, all work against his desire to be scientifically
productive, and finally perhaps kill it entirely. The large universities
are just beginning to institute the system of voluntary docents—which,
to be sure, encounters administrative difficulties. There is also a
dangerous tendency toward academic in-breeding. The former students of
an institution are always noticeably preferred for any vacant position,
and the claims of capable scholars are often disregarded for the sake of
quite insignificant men. Scientific productiveness meets further with
the material obstacle of the high cost of printing in America, which
makes it often more difficult for the young student here than in Germany
to find a publisher for his works.
Against all this there are some external advantages: first, the
lavishness of the accessories of investigation. The equipment of
laboratories, libraries, museums, observatories, special institutes, and
the fitting out of expeditions yield their due benefits. Then there are
various sorts of free assistance—fellowships, travelling scholarships,
and other foundations—which make every year many young scholars free for
scientific work. There is also the admirable “sabbatical year.” The
large universities give every professor leave of absence every seventh
year, with the express purpose of allowing him time for his own
scholarly labours. Another favourable circumstance is the excellent
habit of work which every American acquires during his student years;
and here it is not to be doubted that the American is on the average,
and in consequence of his system has to be, more industrious than the
German average student. From the beginning of his course, he is credited
with only such lecture courses as he has passed examinations on, and
these are so arranged as to necessitate not only presence at the
lectures, but also the study of prescribed treatises; the student is
obliged to apply himself with considerable diligence. A student who
should give himself entirely to idling, as may happen in Germany, would
not finish his first college year. If the local foot-ball gossip is no
more sensible than the talk at duelling clubs, at least the practice of
drinking beer in the morning and playing skat have no evil counterpart
of comparable importance in America. The American student recreates
himself on the athletic field rather than in the ale-house. Germany is
exceedingly sparing of time and strength during school years, but lets
both be wasted in the universities to the great advantage of a strong
personality here and there, but to the injury of the average man.
America wastes a good deal of time during school years, but is more
sparing during the college and university courses, and there accustoms
each student to good, hard work.
And most of all, the intellectual make-up of the American is especially
adapted to scientific achievements. This temperament, owing to the
historical development of the nation, has so far addressed itself to
political, industrial, and judicial problems, but a return to
theoretical science has set in; and there, most of all, the happy
combination of inventiveness, enthusiasm, and persistence in pursuit of
a goal, of intellectual freedom and elasticity, of feeling for form and
of idealistic instinct for self-perfection will yield, perhaps soon,
remarkable triumphs.
We have hitherto spoken only of the furtherance of science by the higher
institutions of learning, but we must look at least hastily on what is
being done outside of academic circles. We see, then, first of all, the
magnificent government institutions at Washington which, without doing
any teaching, are in the sole service of science. The cultivation of the
sciences by twenty-eight special institutions and an army of 6,000
persons, conducted at an annual expense of more than $8,000,000, is
certainly a unique feature of American government. There is no other
government in the world which is organized for such a many-sided
scientific work; and nevertheless, everything which is done there is
closely related to the true interests of government—that is, not to the
interests of the dominant political party, but to those of the great
self-governing nation. All the institutes, as different as they are in
their special work, have this in common—that they work on problems which
relate to the country, population, products, and the general conditions
of America, so that they meet first of all the national needs of an
economical, social, intellectual, political, and hygienic sort, and only
in a secondary way contribute to abstract science.
The work of these government institutes is peculiar, moreover, in that
the results are published in many handsomely gotten-up volumes, and sent
free of cost to hundreds of thousands of applicants. The institutions
are devoted partly to science and partly to political economy. Among the
scientific institutes are the admirable Bureau of Geological Survey,
which has six hundred officials, and undertakes not only geological but
also palæontological and hydrographic investigations, and carries on
mineralogical and lithological laboratories; then the Geodetic Survey,
which studies the coasts, rivers, lakes, and mountains of the country;
the Marine Observatory, for taking astronomical observations; the
Weather Bureau, which conducts more than one hundred and fifty
meteorological stations; the Bureau of Biology, which makes a special
study of the geographical distribution of plants and animals; the Bureau
of Botany, which studies especially all problems connected with seeds;
the Bureau of Forestry, which scientifically works on questions of the
national timber supply; the important Bureau of Entomology, which has
studied with great success the relations of insects to agriculture; the
Bureau of Agriculture, which statistically works out experiments on
planting, and which directs government experiment stations situated
throughout the country; the Department of Fisheries, which conducts
stations for marine biology; and many others. Among the political
economic institutes in the broad sense of the word are the Bureau of
Labour, which undertakes purely sociological investigations into labour
conditions; the Corporation Bureau, which studies the conditions of
organized business; the Bureau of General Statistics; the Census Bureau,
which every ten years takes a census more complete than that of any
other country. The Census of 1890 consisted of 39 large folio volumes,
and the collecting of information alone cost $10,000,000. The Census of
1900 is still in course of publication. The Bureau of Education also
belongs here, which studies purely theoretically the statistics of
education. Then there are the Bureau of Immigration and several others.
All these bureaus are really designed to impart instruction and advice;
they have no authority to enforce any measures. But the extraordinary
publicity which is given to their printed reports gives them a very
considerable influence; and the thoroughness with which the
investigations are carried on, thanks to the liberal appropriations of
Congress, makes of these bureaus scientific and economic institutions of
the highest order.