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THE CONTEMPORARY REVIEW
VOLUME XLIII. JANUARY-JUNE, 1883
ISBISTER AND COMPANY
LIMITED
56, LUDGATE HILL, LONDON
1883
Ballantyne Press
BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO., EDINBURGH
CHANDOS STREET, LONDON
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XLIII.
JANUARY, 1883.
PAGE
The Americans. By Herbert Spencer 1
University Elections. By Edward A. Freeman, D.C.L. 16
Hamlet: A New Reading. By Franklin Leifchild 31
Panislamism and the Caliphate 57
The Bollandists. By the Rev. G. T. Stokes 69
England, France, and Madagascar. By the Rev. James Sibree 85
The Religious Future of the World. I. By W. S. Lilly 100
Syrian Colonization. By the Rev. W. Wright, D.D 122
The Conservative Dilemma. By Henry Dunckley 141
FEBRUARY, 1883.
Contemporary Life and Thought in France. By Gabriel Monod 157
Gambetta. By A German 179
The Art of Rossetti. By Harry Quilter 190
The Religious Future of the World. II. By W. S. Lilly 204
The "Silver Streak" and the Channel Tunnel. By Professor
Boyd Dawkins 240
The Prospect of Reform. By Arthur Arnold, M.P. 250
Ancient International Law. By Professor Brougham Leech 260
A Russian Prison. By Henry Lansdell, D.D. 275
Canonical Obedience. By the Rev. Edwin Hatch 289
Democratic Toryism. By Arthur B. Forwood 294
MARCH, 1883.
County Government. By the Rt. Hon. Sir R. A. Cross, G.C.B., M.P. 305
Léon Gambetta: A Positivist Discourse. By Frederic Harrison 311
Discharged Prisoners: How to Aid Them. By C. E. Howard
Vincent, Director of Criminal Investigations 325
Miss Burney's Own Story. By Mary Elizabeth Christie 332
The Highland Crofters. By John Rae 357
Local Self-Government in India: The New Departure. By Sir
Richard Temple, Bart., G.C.S.I. 373
Siena. By Samuel James Capper 383
The Limits of Science. By the Rev. George Edmundson 404
Land Tenure and Taxation in Egypt. By Henry C. Kay 411
The Enchanted Lake: An Episode from the Mahábhárata.
By Edwin Arnold, C.S.I. 428
The Municipal Organization of Paris. By Yves Guyot, Member
of the Municipal Council of Paris 439
APRIL, 1883.
PAGE
The English Military Power, and the Egyptian Campaign of 1882.
By A German Field-Officer 457
M. Gambetta: Positivism and Christianity. By R. W. Dale, M.A. 476
The Anti-Vivisectionist Agitation:
1. By Dr. E. De Cyon 498
2. By R. H. Hutton 510
The Gospel According to Rembrandt. By Richard Heath 517
Conseils de Prud'hommes. By W. H. S. Aubrey 538
The Manchester Ship Canal. By Major-General Hamley 549
The Progress of Socialism. By Emile de Laveleye 561
Irish Murder-Societies. By Richard Pigott 583
Contemporary Life and Thought: Italian Politics. By Professor
Villari 592
MAY, 1883.
Mrs. Carlyle. By Mrs. Oliphant 609
The Business of the House o£ Commons. By the Right
Ho. W. E. Baxter, M.P. 629
The Oxford Movement of 1833. By William Palmer 636
Radiation. By Professor Tyndall 660
Cairo: The Old in the New. I. By Dr. Georg Ebers 674
Responsibilities of Unbelief. By Vernon Lee 685
Fiji. By the Hon Sir Arthur H. Gordon, G.C.M.G. 711
John Richard Green. By the Rev. H. R. Haweis, M A. 732
Fenianism. By F. H. O'Donnell, M.P. 747
JUNE, 1883.
The Congo Neutralized. By Emile de Laveleye 767
Agnostic Morality. By Frances Power Cobbe 783
Native Indian Judges: Mr. Ilbert's Bill. By the Right Hon.
Sir Arthur Hobhouse, K.C.S.I. 795
The Philosophy of the Beautiful. By Professor John Stuart Blackie 812
Nature and Thought. By G. J. Romanes, F.R.S. 831
Cairo: The Old in the New. II. By Dr. Georg Ebers 842
De Mortuis. By C. F. Gordon Cumming 858
Wanted, an Elisha. By H. D. Traill, D.C.L. 870
Two Aspects of Shakspeare's Art. By T. Hall Came 883
Insanity, Suicide and Civilization. By M. G. Mulhall 901
The New Egyptian Constitution. By Sheldon Amos 909
THE AMERICANS:
A CONVERSATION AND A SPEECH, WITH AN ADDITION.
BY HERBERT SPENCER.
I.--A CONVERSATION: _October 20, 1882_.
[The state of Mr. Spencer's health unfortunately not permitting him
to give in the form of articles the results of his observations on
American society, it is thought useful to reproduce, under his own
revision and with some additional remarks, what he has said on the
subject; especially as the accounts of it which have appeared in
this country are imperfect: reports of the conversation having been
abridged, and the speech being known only by telegraphic summary.
The earlier paragraphs of the conversation, which refer to Mr.
Spencer's persistent exclusion of reporters and his objections to
the interviewing system, are omitted, as not here concerning the
reader. There was no eventual yielding, as has been supposed. It
was not to a newspaper-reporter that the opinions which follow were
expressed, but to an intimate American friend: the primary purpose
being to correct the many misstatements to which the excluded
interviewers had given currency; and the occasion being taken for
giving utterance to impressions of American affairs.--ED.]
Has what you have seen answered your expectations?
It has far exceeded them. Such books about America as I had looked into
had given me no adequate idea of the immense developments of material
civilization which I have everywhere found. The extent, wealth, and
magnificence of your cities, and especially the splendour of New York,
have altogether astonished me. Though I have not visited the wonder of
the West, Chicago, yet some of your minor modern places, such as
Cleveland, have sufficiently amazed me by the results of one
generation's activity. Occasionally, when I have been in places of some
ten thousand inhabitants where the telephone is in general use, I have
felt somewhat ashamed of our own unenterprising towns, many of which, of
fifty thousand inhabitants and more, make no use of it.
I suppose you recognize in these results the great benefits of free
institutions?
Ah! Now comes one of the inconveniences of interviewing. I have been in
the country less than two months, have seen but a relatively small part
of it, and but comparatively few people, and yet you wish from me a
definite opinion on a difficult question.
Perhaps you will answer, subject to the qualification that you are but
giving your first impressions?
Well, with that understanding, I may reply that though the free
institutions have been partly the cause, I think they have not been the
chief cause. In the first place, the American people have come into
possession of an unparalleled fortune--the mineral wealth and the vast
tracts of virgin soil producing abundantly with small cost of culture.
Manifestly, that alone goes a long way towards producing this enormous
prosperity. Then they have profited by inheriting all the arts,
appliances, and methods, developed by older societies, while leaving
behind the obstructions existing in them. They have been able to pick
and choose from the products of all past experience, appropriating the
good and rejecting the bad. Then, besides these favours of fortune,
there are factors proper to themselves. I perceive in American faces
generally a great amount of determination--a kind of "do or die"
expression; and this trait of character, joined with a power of work
exceeding that of any other people, of course produces an unparalleled
rapidity of progress. Once more, there is the inventiveness which,
stimulated by the need for economizing labour, has been so wisely
fostered. Among us in England, there are many foolish people who, while
thinking that a man who toils with his hands has an equitable claim to
the product, and if he has special skill may rightly have the advantage
of it, also hold that if a man toils with his brain, perhaps for years,
and, uniting genius with perseverance, evolves some valuable invention,
the public may rightly claim the benefit. The Americans have been more
far-seeing. The enormous museum of patents which I saw at Washington is
significant of the attention paid to inventors' claims; and the nation
profits immensely from having in this direction (though not in all
others) recognized property in mental products. Beyond question, in
respect of mechanical appliances the Americans are ahead of all nations.
If along with your material progress there went equal progress of a
higher kind, there would remain nothing to be wished.
That is an ambiguous qualification. What do you mean by it?
You will understand me when I tell you what I was thinking the other
day. After pondering over what I have seen of your vast manufacturing
and trading establishments, the rush of traffic in your street-cars and
elevated railways, your gigantic hotels and Fifth Avenue palaces, I was
suddenly reminded of the Italian Republics of the Middle Ages; and
recalled the fact that while there was growing up in them great
commercial activity, a development of the arts which made them the envy
of Europe, and a building of princely mansions which continue to be the
admiration of travellers, their people were gradually losing their
freedom.
Do you mean this as a suggestion that we are doing the like?
It seems to me that you are. You retain the forms of freedom; but, so
far as I can gather, there has been a considerable loss of the
substance. It is true that those who rule you do not do it by means of
retainers armed with swords; but they do it through regiments of men
armed with voting papers, who obey the word of command as loyally as did
the dependants of the old feudal nobles, and who thus enable their
leaders to override the general will, and make the community submit to
their exactions as effectually as their prototypes of old. It is
doubtless true that each of your citizens votes for the candidate he
chooses for this or that office, from President downwards; but his hand
is guided by an agency behind which leaves him scarcely any choice. "Use
your political power as we tell you, or else throw it away," is the
alternative offered to the citizen. The political machinery as it is now
worked, has little resemblance to that contemplated at the outset of
your political life. Manifestly, those who framed your Constitution
never dreamed that twenty thousand citizens would go to the poll led by
a "boss." America exemplifies at the other end of the social scale, a
change analogous to that which has taken place under sundry despotisms.
You know that in Japan, before the recent Revolution, the divine ruler,
the Mikado, nominally supreme, was practically a puppet in the hands of
his chief minister, the Shogun. Here it seems to me that "the sovereign
people" is fast becoming a puppet which moves and speaks as wire-pullers
determine.
Then you think that Republican institutions are a failure?
By no means: I imply no such conclusion. Thirty years ago, when often
discussing politics with an English friend, and defending Republican
institutions, as I always have done and do still, and when he urged
against me the ill-working of such institutions over here, I habitually
replied that the Americans got their form of government by a happy
accident, not by normal progress, and that they would have to go back
before they could go forward. What has since happened seems to me to
have justified that view; and what I see now, confirms me in it. America
is showing, on a larger scale than ever before, that "paper
Constitutions" will not work as they are intended to work. The truth,
first recognized by Mackintosh, that Constitutions are not made but
grow, which is part of the larger truth that societies, throughout their
whole organizations, are not made but grow, at once, when accepted,
disposes of the notion that you can work as you hope any
artificially-devised system of government. It becomes an inference that
if your political structure has been manufactured and not grown, it
will forthwith begin to grow into something different from that
intended--something in harmony with the natures of the citizens, and the
conditions under which the society exists. And it evidently has been so
with you. Within the forms of your Constitution there has grown up this
organization of professional politicians altogether uncontemplated at
the outset, which has become in large measure the ruling power.
But will not education and the diffusion of political knowledge fit men
for free institutions?
No. It is essentially a question of character, and only in a secondary
degree a question of knowledge. But for the universal delusion about
education as a panacea for political evils, this would have been made
sufficiently clear by the evidence daily disclosed in your papers. Are
not the men who officer and control your Federal, your State, and your
Municipal organizations--who manipulate your caucuses and conventions,
and run your partisan campaigns--all educated men? And has their
education prevented them from engaging in, or permitting, or condoning,
the briberies, lobbyings, and other corrupt methods which vitiate the
actions of your administrations? Perhaps party newspapers exaggerate
these things; but what am I to make of the testimony of your civil
service reformers--men of all parties? If I understand the matter
aright, they are attacking, as vicious and dangerous, a system which has
grown up under the natural spontaneous working of your free
institutions--are exposing vices which education has proved powerless to
prevent?
Of course, ambitious and unscrupulous men will secure the offices, and
education will aid them in their selfish purposes. But would not those
purposes be thwarted, and better Government secured, by raising the
standard of knowledge among the people at large?
Very little. The current theory is that if the young are taught what is
right, and the reasons why it is right, they will do what is right when
they grow up. But considering what religious teachers have been doing
these two thousand years, it seems to me that all history is against the
conclusion, as much as is the conduct of these well-educated citizens I
have referred to; and I do not see why you expect better results among
the masses. Personal interests will sway the men in the ranks, as they
sway the men above them; and the education which fails to make the last
consult public good rather than private good, will fail to make the
first do it. The benefits of political purity are so general and remote,
and the profit to each individual is so inconspicuous, that the common
citizen, educate him as you like, will habitually occupy himself with
his personal affairs, and hold it not worth his while to fight against
each abuse as soon as it appears. Not lack of information, but lack of
certain moral sentiment, is the root of the evil.
You mean that people have not a sufficient sense of public duty?
Well, that is one way of putting it; but there is a more specific way.
Probably it will surprise you if I say the American has not, I think, a
sufficiently quick sense of his own claims, and, at the same time, as a
necessary consequence, not a sufficiently quick sense of the claims of
others--for the two traits are organically related. I observe that they
tolerate various small interferences and dictations which Englishmen are
prone to resist. I am told that the English are remarked on for their
tendency to grumble in such cases; and I have no doubt it is true.
Do you think it worth while for people to make themselves disagreeable
by resenting every trifling aggression? We Americans think it involves
too much loss of time and temper, and doesn't pay.
Exactly; that is what I mean by character. It is this easy-going
readiness to permit small trespasses, because it would be troublesome or
profitless or unpopular to oppose them, which leads to the habit of
acquiescence in wrong, and the decay of free institutions. Free
institutions can be maintained only by citizens, each of whom is instant
to oppose every illegitimate act, every assumption of supremacy, every
official excess of power, however trivial it may seem. As Hamlet says,
there is such a thing as "greatly to find quarrel in a straw," when the
straw implies a principle. If, as you say of the American, he pauses to
consider whether he can afford the time and trouble--whether it will
pay, corruption is sure to creep in. All these lapses from higher to
lower forms begin in trifling ways, and it is only by incessant
watchfulness that they can be prevented. As one of your early statesmen
said--"The price of liberty is eternal vigilance." But it is far less
against foreign aggressions upon national liberty that this vigilance is
required, than against the insidious growth of domestic interferences
with personal liberty. In some private administrations which I have been
concerned with, I have often insisted that instead of assuming, as
people usually do, that things are going right until it is proved that
they are going wrong, the proper course is to assume that they are going
wrong until it is proved that they are going right. You will find
continually that private corporations, such as joint-stock banking
companies, come to grief from not acting on this principle; and what
holds of these small and simple private administrations holds still more
of the great and complex public administrations. People are taught, and
I suppose believe, that the "heart of man is deceitful above all things,
and desperately wicked;" and yet, strangely enough, believing this, they
place implicit trust in those they appoint to this or that function. I
do not think so ill of human nature; but, on the other hand, I do not
think so well of human nature as to believe it will go straight without
being watched.
You hinted that while Americans do not assert their own individualities
sufficiently in small matters, they, reciprocally, do not sufficiently
respect the individualities of others.
Did I? Here, then, comes another of the inconveniences of interviewing.
I should have kept this opinion to myself if you had asked me no
questions; and now I must either say what I do not think, which I
cannot, or I must refuse to answer, which, perhaps, will be taken to
mean more than I intend, or I must specify, at the risk of giving
offence. As the least evil, I suppose I must do the last. The trait I
refer to comes out in various ways, small and great. It is shown by the
disrespectful manner in which individuals are dealt with in your
journals--the placarding of public men in sensational headings, the
dragging of private people and their affairs into print. There seems to
be a notion that the public have a right to intrude on private life as
far as they like; and this I take to be a kind of moral trespassing.
Then, in a larger way, the trait is seen in this damaging of private
property by your elevated railways without making compensation; and it
is again seen in the doings of railway autocrats, not only when
overriding the rights of shareholders, but in dominating over courts of
justice and State governments. The fact is that free institutions can be
properly worked only by men, each of whom is jealous of his own rights,
and also sympathetically jealous of the rights of others--who will
neither himself aggress on his neighbours in small things or great, nor
tolerate aggression on them by others. The Republican form of government
is the highest form of government; but because of this it requires the
highest type of human nature--a type nowhere at present existing. We
have not grown up to it; nor have you.
But we thought, Mr. Spencer, you were in favour of free government in
the sense of relaxed restraints, and letting men and things very much
alone, or what is called _laissez faire_?
That is a persistent misunderstanding of my opponents. Everywhere, along
with the reprobation of Government intrusion into various spheres where
private activities should be left to themselves, I have contended that
in its special sphere, the maintenance of equitable relations among
citizens, governmental action should be extended and elaborated.
To return to your various criticisms, must I then understand that you
think unfavourably of our future?
No one can form anything more than vague and general conclusions
respecting your future. The factors are too numerous, too vast, too far
beyond measure in their quantities and intensities. The world has never
before seen social phenomena at all comparable with those presented in
the United States. A society spreading over enormous tracts, while still
preserving its political continuity, is a new thing. This progressive
incorporation of vast bodies of immigrants of various bloods, has never
occurred on such a scale before. Large empires, composed of different
peoples, have, in previous cases, been formed by conquest and
annexation. Then your immense _plexus_ of railways and telegraphs tends
to consolidate this vast aggregate of States in a way that no such
aggregate has ever before been consolidated. And there are many minor
co-operating causes, unlike those hitherto known. No one can say how it
is all going to work out. That there will come hereafter troubles of
various kinds, and very grave ones, seems highly probable; but all
nations have had, and will have, their troubles. Already you have
triumphed over one great trouble, and may reasonably hope to triumph
over others. It may, I think, be concluded that, both because of its
size and the heterogeneity of its components, the American nation will
be a long time in evolving its ultimate form, but that its ultimate form
will be high. One great result is, I think, tolerably clear. From
biological truths it is to be inferred that the eventual mixture of the
allied varieties of the Aryan race forming the population, will produce
a finer type of man than has hitherto existed; and a type of man more
plastic, more adaptable, more capable of undergoing the modifications
needful for complete social life. I think that whatever difficulties
they may have to surmount, and whatever tribulations they may have to
pass through, the Americans may reasonably look forward to a time when
they will have produced a civilization grander than any the world has
known.
II.--A SPEECH:
_Delivered on the occasion of a Complimentary Dinner in New York, on
November 9, 1882._
Mr. President and Gentlemen:--Along with your kindness there comes to me
a great unkindness from Fate; for, now that, above all times in my life,
I need full command of what powers of speech I possess, disturbed health
so threatens to interfere with them that I fear I shall very
inadequately express myself. Any failure in my response you must please
ascribe, in part at least, to a greatly disordered nervous system.
Regarding you as representing Americans at large, I feel that the
occasion is one on which arrears of thanks are due. I ought to begin
with the time, some two-and-twenty years ago, when my highly valued
friend Professor Youmans, making efforts to diffuse my books here,
interested on their behalf the Messrs. Appleton, who have ever treated
me so honourably and so handsomely; and I ought to detail from that time
onward the various marks and acts of sympathy by which I have been
encouraged in a struggle which was for many years disheartening. But,
intimating thus briefly my general indebtedness to my numerous friends,
most of them unknown, on this side of the Atlantic, I must name more
especially the many attentions and proffered hospitalities met with
during my late tour, as well as, lastly and chiefly, this marked
expression of the sympathies and good wishes which many of you have
travelled so far to give, at great cost of that time which is so
precious to the American. I believe I may truly say, that the better
health which you have so cordially wished me, will be in a measure
furthered by the wish; since all pleasurable emotion is conducive to
health, and, as you will fully believe, the remembrance of this event
will ever continue to be a source of pleasurable emotion, exceeded by
few, if any, of my remembrances.
And now that I have thanked you, sincerely though too briefly, I am
going to find fault with you. Already, in some remarks drawn from me
respecting American affairs and American character, I have passed
criticisms, which have been accepted far more good-humouredly than I
could have reasonably expected; and it seems strange that I should now
propose again to transgress. However, the fault I have to comment upon
is one which most will scarcely regard as a fault. It seems to me that
in one respect Americans have diverged too widely from savages, I do not
mean to say that they are in general unduly civilized. Throughout large
parts of the population, even in long-settled regions, there is no
excess of those virtues needed for the maintenance of social harmony.
Especially out in the West, men's dealings do not yet betray too much of
the "sweetness and light" which we are told distinguish the cultured man
from the barbarian. Nevertheless, there is a sense in which my assertion
is true. You know that the primitive man lacks power of application.
Spurred by hunger, by danger, by revenge, he can exert himself
energetically for a time; but his energy is spasmodic. Monotonous daily
toil is impossible to him. It is otherwise with the more developed man.
The stern discipline of social life has gradually increased the aptitude
for persistent industry; until, among us, and still more among you, work
has become with many a passion. This contrast of nature has another
aspect. The savage thinks only of present satisfactions, and leaves
future satisfactions uncared for. Contrariwise, the American, eagerly
pursuing a future good, almost ignores what good the passing day offers
him; and when the future good is gained, he neglects that while striving
for some still remoter good.
What I have seen and heard during my stay among you has forced on me the
belief that this slow change from habitual inertness to persistent
activity has reached an extreme from which there must begin a
counterchange--a reaction. Everywhere I have been struck with the
number of faces which told in strong lines of the burdens that had to be
borne. I have been struck, too, with the large proportion of gray-haired
men; and inquiries have brought out the fact, that with you the hair
commonly begins to turn some ten years earlier than with us. Moreover,
in every circle I have met men who had themselves suffered from nervous
collapse due to stress of business, or named friends who had either
killed themselves by overwork, or had been permanently incapacitated, or
had wasted long periods in endeavours to recover health. I do but echo
the opinion of all the observant persons I have spoken to, that immense
injury is being done by this high-pressure life--the physique is being
undermined. That subtle thinker and poet whom you have lately had to
mourn, Emerson, says, in his essay on the Gentleman, that the first
requisite is that he shall be a good animal. The requisite is a general
one--it extends to the man, to the father, to the citizen. We hear a
great deal about "the vile body;" and many are encouraged by the phrase
to transgress the laws of health. But Nature quietly suppresses those
who treat thus disrespectfully one of her highest products, and leaves
the world to be peopled by the descendants of those who are not so
foolish.
Beyond these immediate mischiefs there are remoter mischiefs. Exclusive
devotion to work has the result that amusements cease to please; and,
when relaxation becomes imperative, life becomes dreary from lack of its
sole interest--the interest in business. The remark current in England
that, when the American travels, his aim is to do the greatest amount of
sight-seeing in the shortest time, I find current here also: it is
recognized that the satisfaction of getting on devours nearly all other
satisfactions. When recently at Niagara, which gave us a whole week's
pleasure, I learned from the landlord of the hotel that most Americans
come one day and go away the next. Old Froissart, who said of the
English of his day that "they take their pleasures sadly after their
fashion," would doubtless, if he lived now, say of the Americans that
they take their pleasures hurriedly after their fashion. In large
measure with us, and still more with you, there is not that abandonment
to the moment which is requisite for full enjoyment; and this
abandonment is prevented by the ever-present sense of multitudinous
responsibilities. So that, beyond the serious physical mischief caused
by overwork, there is the further mischief that it destroys what value
there would otherwise be in the leisure part of life.
Nor do the evils end here. There is the injury to posterity. Damaged
constitutions reappear in children, and entail on them far more of ill
than great fortunes yield them of good. When life has been duly
rationalized by science, it will be seen that among a man's duties, care
of the body is imperative; not only out of regard for personal welfare,
but also out of regard for descendants. His constitution will be
considered as an entailed estate, which he ought to pass on uninjured,
if not improved, to those who follow; and it will be held that millions
bequeathed by him will not compensate for feeble health and decreased
ability to enjoy life. Once more, there is the injury to
fellow-citizens, taking the shape of undue disregard of competitors. I
hear that a great trader among you deliberately endeavoured to crush out
every one whose business competed with his own; and manifestly the man
who, making himself a slave to accumulation, absorbs an inordinate share
of the trade or profession he is engaged in, makes life harder for all
others engaged in it, and excludes from it many who might otherwise gain
competencies. Thus, besides the egoistic motive, there are two
altruistic motives which should deter from this excess in work.
The truth is, there needs a revised ideal of life. Look back through the
past, or look abroad through the present, and we find that the ideal of
life is variable, and depends on social conditions. Every one knows that
to be a successful warrior was the highest aim among all ancient peoples
of note, as it is still among many barbarous peoples. When we remember
that in the Norseman's heaven the time was to be passed in daily
battles, with magical healing of wounds, we see how deeply rooted may
become the conception that fighting is man's proper business, and that
industry is fit only for slaves and people of low degree. That is to
say, when the chronic struggles of races necessitate perpetual wars,
there is evolved an ideal of life adapted to the requirements. We have
changed all that in modern civilized societies; especially in England,
and still more in America. With the decline of militant activity, and
the growth of industrial activity, the occupations once disgraceful have
become honourable. The duty to work has taken the place of the duty to
fight; and in the one case, as in the other, the ideal of life has
become so well established that scarcely any dream of questioning it.
Practically, business has been substituted for war as the purpose of
existence.
Is this modern ideal to survive throughout the future? I think not.
While all other things undergo continuous change, it is impossible that
ideals should remain fixed. The ancient ideal was appropriate to the
ages of conquest by man over man, and spread of the strongest races. The
modern ideal is appropriate to ages in which conquest of the earth and
subjection of the powers of Nature to human use, is the predominant
need. But hereafter, when both these ends have in the main been
achieved, the ideal formed will probably differ considerably from the
present one. May we not foresee the nature of the difference? I think we
may. Some twenty years ago, a good friend of mine, and a good friend of
yours too, though you never saw him, John Stuart Mill, delivered at St.
Andrews an inaugural address on the occasion of his appointment to the
Lord Rectorship. It contained much to be admired, as did all he wrote.
There ran through it, however, the tacit assumption that life is for
learning and working. I felt at the time that I should have liked to
take up the opposite thesis. I should have liked to contend that life is
not for learning, nor is life for working, but learning and working are
for life. The primary use of knowledge is for such guidance of conduct
under all circumstances as shall make living complete. All other uses of
knowledge are secondary. It scarcely needs saying that the primary use
of work is that of supplying the materials and aids to living
completely; and that any other uses of work are secondary. But in men's
conceptions the secondary has in great measure usurped the place of the
primary. The apostle of culture as it is commonly conceived, Mr. Matthew
Arnold, makes little or no reference to the fact that the first use of
knowledge is the right ordering of all actions; and Mr. Carlyle, who is
a good exponent of current ideas about work, insists on its virtues for
quite other reasons than that it achieves sustentation. We may trace
everywhere in human affairs a tendency to transform the means into the
end. All see that the miser does this when, making the accumulation of
money his sole satisfaction, he forgets that money is of value only to
purchase satisfactions. But it is less commonly seen that the like is
true of the work by which the money is accumulated--that industry too,
bodily or mental, is but a means; and that it is as irrational to pursue
it to the exclusion of that complete living it subserves, as it is for
the miser to accumulate money and make no use of it. Hereafter, when
this age of active material progress has yielded mankind its benefits,
there will, I think, come a better adjustment of labour and enjoyment.
Among reasons for thinking this, there is the reason that the process of
evolution throughout the organic world at large, brings an increasing
surplus of energies that are not absorbed in fulfilling material needs,
and points to a still larger surplus for the humanity of the future. And
there are other reasons, which I must pass over. In brief, I may say
that we have had somewhat too much of "the gospel of work." It is time
to preach the gospel of relaxation.
This is a very unconventional after-dinner speech. Especially it will be
thought strange that in returning thanks I should deliver something very
much like a homily. But I have thought I could not better convey my
thanks than by the expression of a sympathy which issues in a fear. If,
as I gather, this intemperance in work affects more especially the
Anglo-American part of the population--if there results an undermining
of the physique, not only in adults, but also in the young, who, as I
learn from your daily journals, are also being injured by overwork--if
the ultimate consequence should be a dwindling away of those among you
who are the inheritors of free institutions and best adapted to them;
then there will come a further difficulty in the working out of that
great future which lies before the American nation. To my anxiety on
this account you must please ascribe the unusual character of my
remarks.
And now I must bid you farewell. When I sail by the _Germanic_ on
Saturday, I shall bear with me pleasant remembrances of my intercourse
with many Americans, joined with regrets that my state of health has
prevented me from seeing a larger number.
* * * * *
[A few words may fitly be added respecting the causes of this
over-activity in American life--causes which may be identified as having
in recent times partially operated among ourselves, and as having
wrought kindred, though less marked, effects. It is the more worth while
to trace the genesis of this undue absorption of the energies in work,
since it well serves to illustrate the general truth which should be
ever present to all legislators and politicians, that the indirect and
unforeseen results of any cause affecting a society are frequently, if
not habitually, greater and more important than the direct and foreseen
results.
This high pressure under which Americans exist, and which is most
intense in places like Chicago, where the prosperity and rate of growth
are greatest, is seen by many intelligent Americans themselves to be an
indirect result of their free institutions and the absence of those
class-distinctions and restraints existing in older communities. A
society in which the man who dies a millionaire is so often one who
commenced life in poverty, and in which (to paraphrase a French saying
concerning the soldier) every news-boy carries a president's seal in his
bag, is, by consequence, a society in which all are subject to a stress
of competition for wealth and honour, greater than can exist in a
society whose members are nearly all prevented from rising out of the
ranks in which they were born, and have but remote possibilities of
acquiring fortunes. In those European societies which have in great
measure preserved their old types of structure (as in our own society up
to the time when the great development of industrialism began to open
ever-multiplying careers for the producing and distributing classes)
there is so little chance of overcoming the obstacles to any great rise
in position or possessions, that nearly all have to be content with
their places: entertaining little or no thought of bettering themselves.
A manifest concomitant is that, fulfilling, with such efficiency as a
moderate competition requires, the daily tasks of their respective
situations, the majority become habituated to making the best of such
pleasures as their lot affords, during whatever leisure they get. But
it is otherwise where an immense growth of trade multiplies greatly the
chances of success to the enterprising; and still more is it otherwise
where class-restrictions are partially removed or wholly absent. Not
only are more energy and thought put into the time daily occupied in
work, but the leisure comes to be trenched upon, either literally by
abridgment, or else by anxieties concerning business. Clearly, the
larger the number who, under such conditions, acquire property, or
achieve higher positions, or both, the sharper is the spur to the rest.
A raised standard of activity establishes itself and goes on rising.
Public applause given to the successful, becoming in communities thus
circumstanced the most familiar kind of public applause, increases
continually the stimulus to action. The struggle grows more and more
strenuous, and there comes an increasing dread of failure--a dread of
being "left," as the Americans say: a significant word, since it is
suggestive of a race in which the harder any one runs, the harder others
have to run to keep up with him--a word suggestive of that breathless
haste with which each passes from a success gained to the pursuit of a
further success. And on contrasting the English of to-day with the
English of a century ago, we may see how, in a considerable measure, the
like causes have entailed here kindred results.
Even those who are not directly spurred on by this intensified struggle
for wealth and honour, are indirectly spurred on by it. For one of its
effects is to raise the standard of living, and eventually to increase
the average rate of expenditure for all. Partly for personal enjoyment,
but much more for the display which brings admiration, those who acquire
fortunes distinguish themselves by luxurious habits. The more numerous
they become, the keener becomes the competition for that kind of public
attention given to those who make themselves conspicuous by great
expenditure. The competition spreads downwards step by step; until, to
be "respectable," those having relatively small means feel obliged to
spend more on houses, furniture, dress, and food; and are obliged to
work the harder to get the requisite larger income. This process of
causation is manifest enough among ourselves; and it is still more
manifest in America, where the extravagance in style of living is
greater than here.
Thus, though it seems beyond doubt that the removal of all political and
social barriers, and the giving to each man an unimpeded career, must be
purely beneficial; yet there is (at first) a considerable set-off from
the benefits. Among those who in older communities have by laborious
lives gained distinction, some may be heard privately to confess that
"the game is not worth the candle;" and when they hear of others who
wish to tread in their steps, shake their heads and say--"If they only
knew!" Without accepting in full so pessimistic an estimate of success,
we must still say that very generally the cost of the candle deducts
largely from the gain of the game. That which in these exceptional cases
holds among ourselves, holds more generally in America. An intensified
life, which may be summed up as--great labour, great profit, great
expenditure--has for its concomitant a wear and tear which considerably
diminishes in one direction the good gained in another. Added together,
the daily strain through many hours and the anxieties occupying many
other hours--the occupation of consciousness by feelings that are either
indifferent or painful, leaving relatively little time for occupation of
it by pleasurable feelings--tend to lower its level more than its level
is raised by the gratifications of achievement and the accompanying
benefits. So that it may, and in many cases does, result that diminished
happiness goes along with increased prosperity. Unquestionably, as long
as order is fairly maintained, that absence of political and social
restraints which gives free scope to the struggles for profit and
honour, conduces greatly to material advance of the society--develops
the industrial arts, extends and improves the business organizations,
augments the wealth; but that it raises the value of individual life, as
measured by the average state of its feeling, by no means follows. That
it will do so eventually, is certain; but that it does so now seems, to
say the least, very doubtful.
The truth is that a society and its members act and react in such wise
that while, on the one hand, the nature of the society is determined by
the natures of its members; on the other hand, the activities of its
members (and presently their natures) are redetermined by the needs of
the society, as these alter: change in either entails change in the
other. It is an obvious implication that, to a great extent, the life of
a society so sways the wills of its members as to turn them to its ends.
That which is manifest during the militant stage, when the social
aggregate coerces its units into co-operation for defence, and
sacrifices many of their lives for its corporate preservation, holds
under another form during the industrial stage, as we at present know
it. Though the co-operation of citizens is now voluntary instead of
compulsory; yet the social forces impel them to achieve social ends
while apparently achieving only their own ends. The man who, carrying
out an invention, thinks only of private welfare to be thereby secured,
is in far larger measure working for public welfare: instance the
contrast between the fortune made by Watt and the wealth which the
steam-engine has given to mankind. He who utilizes a new material,
improves a method of production, or introduces a better way of carrying
on business, and does this for the purpose of distancing competitors,
gains for himself little compared with that which he gains for the
community by facilitating the lives of all. Either unknowingly or in
spite of themselves, Nature leads men by purely personal motives to
fulfil her ends: Nature being one of our expressions for the Ultimate
Cause of things, and the end, remote when not proximate, being the
highest form of human life.
Hence no argument, however cogent, can be expected to produce much
effect: only here and there one may be influenced. As in an actively
militant stage of society it is impossible to make many believe that
there is any glory preferable to that of killing enemies; so, where
rapid material growth is going on, and affords unlimited scope for the
energies of all, little can be done by insisting that life has higher
uses than work and accumulation. While among the most powerful of
feelings continue to be the desire for public applause and dread of
public censure--while the anxiety to achieve distinction, now by
conquering enemies, now by beating competitors, continues
predominant--while the fear of public reprobation affects men more than
the fear of divine vengeance (as witness the long survival of duelling
in Christian societies); this excess of work which ambition prompts,
seems likely to continue with but small qualification. The eagerness for
the honour accorded to success, first in war and then in commerce, has
been indispensable as a means to peopling the Earth with the higher
types of man, and the subjugation of its surface and its forces to human
use. Ambition may fitly come to bear a smaller ratio to other motives,
when the working out of these needs is approaching completeness; and
when also, by consequence, the scope for satisfying ambition is
diminishing. Those who draw the obvious corollaries from the doctrine of
Evolution--those who believe that the process of modification upon
modification which has brought life to its present height must raise it
still higher, will anticipate that "the last infirmity of noble minds"
will in the distant future slowly decrease. As the sphere for
achievement becomes smaller, the desire for applause will lose that
predominance which it now has. A better ideal of life may simultaneously
come to prevail. When there is fully recognized the truth that moral
beauty is higher than intellectual power--when the wish to be admired is
in large measure replaced by the wish to be loved; that strife for
distinction which the present phase of civilization shows us will be
greatly moderated. Along with other benefits may then come a rational
proportioning of work and relaxation; and the relative claims of to-day
and to-morrow may be properly balanced.--H. S.]
UNIVERSITY ELECTIONS.