Hoosier poet, are saying to themselves, “Was Riley also among the
Realists?” And I ask in turn, why has Realism come to connote a
proportion of things that do not enter at all into the lives of most of
us? We have all known and loved the old swimmin’ hole; how many of us
are familiar with the man who commits suicide, not to end an intolerable
situation, not in a frenzy of grief or remorse, but just to see what
will happen? Yet when a Russian writes about such anomalies as this our
critics say, “What wonderful realism!” If realism is anything, it must
surely be real. There is morbidity in life; we cannot avoid it or
overlook it. But is there anything in life that corresponds to
ninety-nine per cent of morbidity? Not in my life, nor in yours. For you
and for me, Riley is a realist. God forbid that he may ever be anything
else.
There is something in the situation of this city in which we are
assembled, that encourages men to look life straight in the face. Those
who dwell amid rocky heights and caverns may be excused for looking
behind them when they walk and for trembling at shadows. The sailor
between whom and eternity there stands only a two-inch plank may live
largely among unrealities. But the man of the open prairie, with God’s
solid earth stretching away north, south, east and west, and God’s free
air above and about him, stands firmly and sees clearly. What interests
him is the present and its necessary relationships with the future, with
only so much of the past as is able to consolidate these relationships
and illumine them. Here, as one would expect, is growing up a school of
representative artists, working some with the pen and others with the
brush, whose aim and whose high privilege it is to record those
relationships on canvas and on the printed page, each in his own
fashion, of course, for a love for the outer realities can never do away
with that supreme inner reality, a man’s own self that which looks out
upon the world and sees that world through its own spectacles. It is the
triumph of all art that faithfully as it may represent what it sees, its
representations will still be, in large part, functions of the artist’s
own mood, so that the same scene, the same event, portrayed by different
writers or different painters, may arouse in us emotions as varied as
joy, grief or mere restfulness. And of course, although we may praise
James Whitcomb Riley portraying what he saw about him there would be
little to praise if he were not at the same time portraying James
Whitcomb Riley and if that portrayal were not worth while.
I like to think that what we librarians are doing is in some measure
akin to the work of the artists of pen or brush, though perhaps in a
secondary way. The writer interprets reality; we interpret the writers
themselves. Here is a case where we cannot have too many middlemen, for
each, instead of piling up cost to the consumer, piles up the value of
the product. How many men could sit in a country churchyard at evening
and see unaided what Gray saw? Gray in his Elegy records that churchyard
and himself as well. But how many men does Gray fail to reach? How many,
whom he would rejoice or comfort, never heard him? And to Gray, in this
query, let us add the names of all the good and great in literature.
Here is where the librarian steps in. He presents Gray and Gray’s fellow
artists in words, to his public.
Years ago the library was merely a storehouse and the librarian the
custodian thereof. Today the library is a magazine of dynamic force and
the librarian is the man who exerts and directs it--who persuades the
community that it needs books and then satisfies that need, instead of
waiting for the self-realization which too often will never come. Does
not the librarian in some fashion interpret life and nature to his
public, through books in general, even as the writer interprets them
through one particular book?
This may seem fantastic, but I like to think that it is true. The
October air in these autumn days is full of megaphonic voices, each
insisting on its right to be heard above all the others. We are urged to
enlist in the British army, to buy Liberty bonds, to build huts for the
Y.M.C.A. and the Knights of Columbus, to work for the Red Cross, to buy
tobacco for the soldiers, and at the same time to support all our local
charities and pay our club dues as usual, not neglecting to respond to
the calls of the tax collector. We librarians have ourselves used the
megaphone to some purpose, having as you know, raised a million dollars
to establish and maintain camp libraries, giving our soldiers the same
public library facilities that they enjoy at home.
But in the midst of all this distracting chorus let us not forget that
our normal lives must function as usual, despite the abnormalities that
surround and interpenetrate them. The opening of this noble library
building and the character of this assembly are proofs that we intend to
live as usual, even amid so much that is unusual.
I see no limit to the usefulness of this building and of the
institution whose home it is to be. The house is new but its occupant
has been long and favorably known to your citizens. Indianapolis has
library traditions, and is what we librarians call a “good library
town.” Your library has had good leadership and it is to continue,
adding the force and freshness of the new to the strength and experience
of the old. The memory of your dearly loved poet will be brought to the
mind of each library user--by the children’s room that bears his name,
by the land that he gave to enlarge its site, by this enduring
portraiture--by a thousand and one things, none the less cogent for
being intangible. I look to see this library, in the home city of James
Whitcomb Riley, grow into a place in the public heart comparable with
that which was attained by Riley himself. It should be loved for its
broad minded humanity, for its sympathy with mankind, especially with
little children, for its readiness to “rejoice with those that do
rejoice and weep with those that weep,” for its quick response to the
personal and spiritual needs of every reader, and above all for its firm
hold on the realities of life and its appreciation of life as something
that is lived on the farm, in the city street, in the office, the school
and the club, not in the clouds, not in fog and mist, not with the
improbable or the impossible. That it will do and be all these things we
may be confident. Riley the well beloved is gone. His memory lives on;
let it live with peculiar force and vividness in this library, in its
attitude toward those whom it serves--in the affection which they in
turn feel toward an institution that has long been, and will long
continue to be a center of literary, civic and intellectual force in the
city where Riley lived and wrote.
THE CHURCH AND THE PUBLIC LIBRARY
The years immediately succeeding the great war are to witness great
progress in team-work. The war is teaching us to get together, and it is
impossible to believe that the lessons we are now learning will be
suddenly and totally forgotten with the advent of peace. The world is
full of institutions, associations, corporate bodies of all kinds,
founded on a knowledge of what may be accomplished by the cooperation of
individuals; but the cooperation of these bodies themselves, one with
another, has been faulty until recently.
The public library is cooperative in its very essence. Its business is
to help others. Were there no public for it to serve, its very necessity
for existence would go. In the older days it merely sat with folded
hands, ready to serve. Of later years it has become a compelling force,
reaching out into the community by a thousand tendrils and attaching
them to whatever individual, or body of individuals, seems to be in
need--often without knowing it--of library service. The public library’s
relations with the schools, with the business man, with the industries,
with the military service--you will find these all discust over and over
again, not only in the technical magazines devoted to library work, but
in the public press.
And yet we look in vain for a discussion of the public library’s
relations with the Church. Why is this? The Church itself is in the
cooperative class with the library. It exists to help mankind. Without
a humanity to help, and a humanity weak and fallible enough to need
help, its mission would be over. In studying this question I find an
unaccountable timidity on both sides. On the one hand, librarians and
libraries seem to be shy of religion. They rarely purchase religious
books in any systematic way. They are afraid of denominational
literature, both books and periodicals, apparently on the ground that
those presenting the view of one religious body might be objected to by
other bodies. Some libraries refuse to subscribe for any denominational
papers, but will accept them as gifts. Many libraries refuse to allow
the holding of religious meetings in their buildings, probably for a
similar reason.
On the other hand, the churches, as churches, seem often to ignore the
existence of the public library, even when their members use it
constantly. They maintain libraries of their own in their
Sunday-schools, for their young people, and these libraries, I am sorry
to say, are often far below standard! They rarely show interest in the
public library’s collection of books, not seeming to care whether the
library does or does not contain their own denominational literature.
There are some noteworthy exceptions. The Roman Catholics are aware of
the library and seem to appreciate its value as a publicity agent and an
educator. They are concerned when it contains books of which they
disapprove, and are anxious to put on its shelves works that will
interest their own people. Of late they have published in several of our
large cities lists of books in the public library written by their
coreligionists, or, for some reason of special interest to them. These
lists have usually been prepared with the assistance of the library
staff and paid for and distributed either by a special committee or by
some denominational body such as the Knights of Columbus. That they
have a sympathetic attitude toward the library is shown not only by
these facts, but by the fact that libraries in several cities, organized
specifically as church libraries, have been turned over to the local
public library as branches.
Another religious body that appreciates the aid of the public library is
that of the Christian Scientists. This Church has committees specially
charged with seeing that public libraries are supplied, free of charge,
with its literature.
During the present Luther anniversary there has been some activity on
the part of the Lutheran churches to see that libraries are supplied
with material bearing on their organization and doctrines. With these
exceptions I have not met, during my library experience of a quarter of
a century with the slightest interest on the part of religious bodies
regarding the book-collection of a public library--either about what it
contained or what it did not contain. Occasionally, however, a church
library has been transformed into a public library branch. In New York
there are three branches that began their existence as parish libraries
of Protestant Episcopal churches. Doubtless there are instances in other
cities of which I have no knowledge.
I am sure that more active cooperation between the public library and
the various religious bodies would benefit both and, through them, the
public. In the first place, the library should devote more attention to
its collection of religious books, and it would do so if those
interested showed their interest actively. There is much material of
great value to teachers in Sunday-schools that should find a
resting-place in the library. In a town where there are, say, a dozen
Sunday-schools, it may be quite impossible for each to buy several sets
of commentaries, concordances, works of travel and description, &c., but
they might well club together for the purchase of this material and give
it to the library or deposit it there, where it would be at the service
of all. In larger towns, where the library fund is greater, united
effort on the part of the churches would doubtless result in the
expenditure of part of the book-money for this purpose. Librarians are
anxious to serve the public. If they can be shown that the public wants
books of one kind rather than another they are only too glad to respond.
They do not like to buy books in the dark, but the apparent indifference
of the public often forces them to do so.
Such works as these are of common interest to all Christians. But in
addition every library ought to contain a certain amount of
denominational material. The library is not, except possibly for some
occasional reason, interested in propaganda, but facts about the
Methodists or the Baptists are surely of as much value, and should be
preserved with as much care, as facts about a constitutional convention
in Nebraska or the proceedings of a plumbers’ association in Salem,
Mass. Every good library should have one standard work on the history of
each of the prominent religious denominations, especially those that are
strong in its home town. It should include the biographies of its
principal divines and laymen. There should be also its year-book,
renewed annually, its official confession of faith and statement of
organization, its liturgy, if it has one, its official collection of
hymns. Its chief periodical should be on file.
I do not know of any library that makes a specialty of obtaining this
material and seeing that it is all up-to-date. Most librarians would
exclaim that their meager funds would not stand the strain, and that,
besides, there has never been the slightest demand for such material.
There is a demand for all the latest novels by Harold Bell Wright,
Robert W. Chambers, and Marie Corelli, and so these are purchased. Here
is where the indifference of most of our religious bodies toward what
the library does or does not contain is bearing legitimate fruit.
Does your public library contain reference-material that is of interest,
or ought to be of interest, to your co-religionists? If not, whose fault
is it? Extending our inquiry beyond reference-material, we may next
assert that there are many semipopular books of a denominational
character, sermons by a favorite divine, advice to young people, words
of comfort to those in trouble, which it is to the interest of Christian
people to see more widely read. The libraries will never waste their
money in the purchase of these if they are to remain idly on the
shelves. They will buy freely in response to a demand. Whose fault is it
that the demand does not materialize?
I have said that such a demand might easily divert part of the library’s
book-fund now devoted to other purchases. But the churches could afford
to buy these books and present them to the library if they would cease
to duplicate the library’s work in directions where such duplication is
useless. Why should a Sunday-school library buy stories, for old or
young? There was good reason for it in the day, now far distant, when
the public library was non-existent and the Sunday-school was the only
general source of decent books. Even in that day the Sunday-school
library largely bought trash--the kind of wishy-washy, mock-pious stuff
turned out by hack-writers at the rate of several volumes per day.
The rapid rise of the public library is doubtless due, in part, to the
neglect of its early opportunities by the Sunday-school library. But no
one can say that the public library has not risen to the occasion. The
very best part of its collection, the most carefully selected, the most
conscientiously distributed, is that which contains its books for
children. We have schools for the training of children’s librarians, and
we give their graduates special charge of rooms for children in our
library buildings. There is no reason now why any church should maintain
a library of general literature for any purpose whatever.
I have alluded above to the library’s value as a publicity agent. As a
matter of fact, both the Church and the library are the greatest and
most valuable means of publicity that we have. Both are unpurchasable.
Both reach selected elements of the community, partly the same, partly
different. To have an event announced from the pulpit, especially with
commendation, gives it a prestige that it could attain in no other way.
Similarly, to have something published on the library’s bulletin-boards,
or on slips inserted in each circulated book, or in any one of a dozen
ways that have been practised by libraries gives publicity of high
value. Both the pulpit and the library utilize these methods for
themselves and often for outside bodies, but not often for each other.
It is rare for a clergyman to mention the public library from his
pulpit, altho it is occasionally done. It is also rare, tho not totally
unknown, for a library to give publicity to a church in any of the ways
that are proper for this to be done.
In particular, every library, especially in a small city where there is
no local guide-book, should be a repository of local religious
information. Any one should be able, not only to ascertain there the
location of any particular church, but to consult its literature, if it
issues any; if not, to find on file authentic information about it
corresponding to that usually put into print--the names of officers, a
list of parish organizations, &c. Such things can be had for the asking,
and there is usually no one place in a town where they are all
assembled. There should be such a place, and that place may well be the
public library. Large libraries quite generally collect this material;
the smaller ones should follow suit. They will be apt to do so if the
church people manifest an interest. If the collection and continual
“following up” of the material involve more work than the smaller staff
of the library can do, it ought to be easy to divide it among volunteers
from the different congregations, this being the church’s part of this
particular item of cooperation.
It is safe to say that the Church and the public library may help each
other in at least six ways:
1. The substitution of the library’s children’s room for the
Sunday-school library in the purveying of general literature.
2. The more careful and more generous provision of religious books in
the library, with increased interest on the part of the church in the
character of this part of the collection.
3. The offer by the library of facilities for religious meetings.
4. Utilization of religious gatherings in the church to call attention
to the library and its willingness to aid and advise.
5. Publicity given in and by the library to the churches and their work.
6. Publicity given in and by the Church to the library and its work.
As a basis on which cooperation of these and other kinds is to rest
there must be personal acquaintance and confidence between the clergy
and the librarian. This is something of which increase will bring
further increase, as in the accretions to a rolling snowball. For
instance, the pastor of a church must have a certain degree of
confidence in the librarian’s good-will and ability to venture to
recommend the purchase of a book; the librarian must have the same to be
willing to entertain and act upon such a recommendation. But the contact
once made, the book once bought, there is ground for increased
confidence and acquaintance and for additional advice, and so it goes.
It will be noted that this counsel lays a greater burden on the
librarian than on the clergy. It is no great task for any clergyman to
make the acquaintance of the librarian; it is quite another thing for
the librarian to do the same by each and every clergyman in his city. If
the city is large and the clergy of various denominations are numbered
by thousands, it is practically impossible. Recognizing this fact, the
clergy should take some steps toward making collective take the place of
individual acquaintance. They should invite the librarian to their
meetings and he on his part should be ready to attend and to address
them if requested to do so.
It should hardly be necessary to warn both parties to such cooperation
as this, that the obtrusion of considerations of personal advantage,
where this conflicts with public service, will be fatal to its success.
For instance, a clergyman who is preparing an address on some rather
unusual subject must not expect the librarian of a small city to expend
public money for books which will aid him, and him alone, in his work.
Fortunately, this particular issue can generally be avoided, owing to
the growth of facilities for inter-library loans. Altho the librarian
might properly refuse to buy these particular books, he would doubtless
offer to attempt to borrow them from some larger library, and this
attempt would have a good chance of success. Interlibrary service of
this kind is bound to increase largely in the future and offers a most
promising field for the rendering of aid by the smaller libraries to the
scholar, literary worker, and investigator, including, of course, the
clergyman.
The getting-together of public library and church has possibly been
hampered in the past by an idea, common to both librarian and clergyman,
that religious bodies and their work ought to be ignored by all public
bodies, and that this is in some way a part of our American system of
government and public administration. It is, of course, a feature of
that administration to treat all religious bodies with absolute
impartiality; but that does not involve ignoring their existence any
more than treating all citizens with impartiality involves the ignoring
of the individual. One way of being impartial, of course, is to turn
one’s back equally upon all, but that is not the only way. One may treat
one’s children alike by starving all of them equally, but our idea of
impartial treatment would be better satisfied by an equality of adequate
supplies.
It is time that the public library and the Church stopt the starvation
treatment and began to mete out to each other a supply of the aid and
good-will that each has at its disposal. Each has its fight to make
against the forces of darkness; neither is in a position to neglect an
ally.
THE FUTURE OF LIBRARY WORK
When a railroad train is on its way, its future history depends on which
way it is heading, on its speed, and on whether its direction and its
speed will remain unchanged. With these premises, one may confidently
predict that a train which left Chicago at a given hour on one day will
reach New York at a given hour on the next. Of course, something may
happen to slow the train, or to wreck it, or even to send it back to
Chicago, in which cases our predictions will come to naught. This is
what the weather man finds. His predictions are based on very similar
data. Our weather conditions travel usually across the continent from
west to east at a fairly uniform rate. If that rate is maintained, and
the direction does not change, and nothing happens to dissipate or alter
the conditions, we can predict their arrival at a given place with a
fair degree of accuracy. Those who rail at the weather man’s mistakes
are simply finding fault with our present inability to ascertain the
causes that slow up storm centers, or swerve them in their course, or
dissipate them. When we know these things, and know in addition what
starts them, we can give up making forecasts and write out a pretty
definite weather time-table--as definite and as little subject to
change, at any rate, as those issued by the railroads.
My business at this moment is that of a forecaster. We know just where
and what the library situation is at present, and some of us think we
know where it is headed. If it should keep on in the same direction and
at the same rate, we ought to be able to describe it as it will be,
say, in 1950. Of course, it may get headed in some other direction. It
may slow down or speed up; it may melt away or strike a rock and be
irrecoverably wrecked. If I see any chances of any of these things, it
is my business to mention them. If my forecast should turn out a failure
no one can prove it until 1950 arrives, and then I shall not care.