That with which we are most familiar in history is the warrior ideal,
the personification of military glory and martial success. It is present
among the rudest tribes, and that it is active to-day, events in recent
European history prove only too clearly; and among ourselves, little
would be needed to awaken it to vivid life.
We are less acquainted with religious ideals, as they have weakened
under the conditions of higher culture. They belong in European history
more to the medieval than to the modern period. Among Mohammedans and
Brahmins we can still see them in their full vigor. In these lower
faiths we can still find that intense fanaticism which can best be
described by the expression of Novalis, "intoxicated with God," drunk
with the divine;[20-1] and this it is which preserves to these nations
what power they still retain.
Would that I could claim for our own people a grander conception of the
purpose of life than either of these. But alas! their ideal is too
evident to be mistaken. I call it the "divitial" ideal, that of the rich
man, that which makes the acquisition of material wealth the one
standard of success in life, the only justifiable aim of effort. To most
American citizens the assertion that there is any more important, more
sensible purpose than this, is simply incomprehensible or incredible.
In place of any of these, the man who loves his kind would substitute
others; and as these touch closely on the business of the ethnologist
and the historian when either would apply the knowledge he has gained to
the present condition of society, I will briefly refer to some advanced
by various writers.
The first and most favorite is that of _moral perfection_. It has been
formulated in the expression: "In the progress of ethical conceptions
lies the progress of history itself." (Schaefer.) To such writers the
ideal of duty performed transcends all others, and is complete in
itself. The chief end of man, they say, is to lead the moral life,
diligently to cultivate the ethical perception, the notion of "the
ought," and to seek in this the finality of his existence.[21-1]
Keener thinkers have, however, recognized that virtue, morality, the
ethical evolution, cannot be an end in itself, but must be a means to
some other end. Effort directed toward other, altruism in any form, must
have its final measurement of value in terms of self; otherwise the
immutable principles of justice are attacked. I cannot enlarge upon this
point, and will content myself with a reference to Prof. Steinthal's
admirable essay on "The Idea of ethical Perfection," published some
years ago.[21-2] He shows that in its last analysis the Good has its
value solely in the freedom which it confers. Were all men truly
ethical, all would be perfectly free. Therefore Freedom, in its highest
sense, according to him and several other accomplished reasoners, is the
aim of morality, and is that which gives it worth.
This argument seems to me a step ahead, but yet to remain incomplete.
For after all, what is freedom? It means only opportunity, not action;
and opportunity alone is a negative quantity, a zero. Opportunity for
what, I ask?
For an answer, I turn with satisfaction to an older writer on the
philosophy of history, one whose genial sympathy with the human heart
glows on every page of his volumes, to Johann Gottfried von
Herder.[21-3] The one final aim, he tells us, of all institutions, laws,
governments and religions, of all efforts and events, is that each
person, undisturbed by others, may employ his own powers to their
fullest extent, and thus gain for himself a completer existence, a more
beautiful enjoyment of his faculties.
Thus, to the enriching of the individual life, its worth, its happiness
and its fullness, does all endeavor of humanity tend; in it, lies the
end of all exertion, the reward of all toil; to define it, should be the
object of ethnology; and to teach it, the purpose of history.
Let me recapitulate.
The ethnologist regards each social group as an entity or individual,
and endeavors to place clearly before his mind its similarities and
differences with other groups. Taking objective facts as his guides,
such as laws, arts, institutions and language, he seeks from these to
understand the mental life, the psychical welfare of the people, and
beyond this to reach the ideals which they cherished and the ideas which
were the impulses of their activities. Events and incidents, such as are
recorded in national annals, have for him their main, if not only value,
as indications of the inner or soul life of the people.
By the comparison of several social groups he reaches wider
generalizations; and finally to those which characterize the common
consciousness of Humanity, the psychical universals of the species. By
such comparison he also ascertains under what conditions and in what
directions men have progressed most rapidly toward the cultivation and
the enjoyment of the noblest elements of their nature; and this strictly
inductive knowledge is that alone which he would apply to furthering the
present needs and aspirations of social life.
This is the method which he would suggest for history in the broad
meaning of the term. It should be neither a mere record of events, nor
the demonstration of a thesis, but a study, through occurrences and
institutions, of the mental states of peoples at different epochs,
explanatory of their success or failure, and practically applicable to
the present needs of human society.
Such explanation should be strictly limited in two directions. First, by
the principle that man can be explained only by man, and can be so
explained completely. That is, no super-human agencies need be invoked
to interpret any of the incidents of history: and, on the other hand, no
merely material or mechanical conditions, such as climate, food and
environment, are sufficient for a full interpretation. Beyond these lie
the inexhaustible sources of impulse in the essence of Mind itself.
Secondly, the past can teach us nothing of the future beyond a vague
surmise. All theories which proceed on an assumption of knowledge
concerning finalities, whether in science or dogma, are cobwebs of the
brain, not the fruit of knowledge, and obscure the faculty of
intellectual perception. It is wasteful of one's time to frame them, and
fatal to one's work to adopt them.
These are also two personal traits which, it seems to me, are requisite
to the comprehension of ethnic psychology, and therefore are desirable
to both the ethnologist and the historian. The one of these is the
poetic instinct.
I fear this does not sound well from the scientific rostrum, for the
prevailing notion among scientists is that the poet is a fabulist, and
is therefore as far off as possible from the platform they occupy. No
one, however, can really understand a people who remains outside the
pale of the world of imagination in which it finds its deepest joys; and
nowhere is this depicted so clearly as in its songs and by its bards.
The ethnologist who has no taste for poetry may gather much that is
good, but will miss the best; the historian who neglects the poetic
literature of a nation turns away his eyes from the vista which would
give him the farthest insight into national character.
The other trait is more difficult to define. To apprehend what is
noblest in a nation one must oneself be noble. Knowledge of facts and an
unbiased judgment need to be accompanied by a certain development of
personal character which enables one to be in sympathy with the finest
tissue of human nature, from the fibre of which are formed heroes and
martyrs, patriots and saints, enthusiasts and devotees. To appreciate
these something of the same stuff must be in the mental constitution of
the observer.
Such is the ethnologist's view of history. He does not pretend to be
either a priest or a prophet. He claims neither to possess the final
truth nor to foresee it. He is, therefore equally unwelcome to the
dogmatist, the optimistic naturalist and the speculative philosopher. He
refuses any explanations which either contradict or transcend human
reason; but he insists that human reason is one of the causal facts
which he has to consider; and this brings him into conflict with both
the mystic and the materialist.
Though he exalts the power of ideas, he is no idealist, but practical to
the last degree; for he denies the worth of any art, science, event or
institution which does not directly or indirectly contribute to the
elevation of the individual man or woman, the common average person, the
human being.
To this one end, understanding it as we best can, he claims all effort
should tend; and any other view than this of the philosophy of history,
any other standard of value applied to the records of the past, he looks
upon as delusive and deceptive, no matter under what heraldry of title
or seal of sanctity it is offered.