that our wisdom has enabled us to discover that which for so many ages
has remained hidden from men, were simply egotistical bombast; for it
were to assert that with us human nature had lost its fallibility and
human judgment become unerring. Yet we may safely assert that no system
exists at the present day which so clearly tends toward the attainment
of such a mean, and which contains within itself so many elements of
reform, as our own. For ours is a system of extreme elasticity, a sort
of compensation balance, constructed with a view to the changing climate
of the political world, and capable of accommodating itself to the
shifting condition of men and things. And this not by forcing or leading
public sentiment, but by yielding to it. Thus while it is founded upon,
and in its workings evolves, so many lofty and ennobling truths, keeping
constantly before the eyes of the people lessons of purity and moral
dignity, acting as a check upon the visionary and a safeguard to our
liberties, it nevertheless yields quietly to the requirements of the
times, and changes according to the necessities of the governed, thus
being far from proving a hamper upon our intellectual advancement, but,
on the contrary, leaving free and unimpeded the paths of national
progress. And it is one of the most distinctive features of our
institutions that, while few foreign Governments admit of much change
without danger of revolution, with us the most thorough reforms may be
consummated and the greatest changes effected without danger of ruffling
the waves of our society. For with us change is effected so gradually
and in such exact consonance with the necessities of the people as to be
almost imperceptible, and to afford no handle to the turbulent and
designing revolutionist. The gratification of legitimate ambition is
guaranteed, but our system utterly revolts against the sacrifice of the
public good to the inordinate cravings of personal ambition or
aggrandizement. It is in recognition of this principle of gradual change
that the politician of to-day hesitates not to avow and to advocate
principles which twenty years ago he deemed the height of political
absurdity. It is not abstract truth that has altered, but the necessary
modification of theories resulting from the altered condition and
exigencies of society. Were this truth not recognized, no statesman
could for many years retain his hold upon the popular appreciation, for
he would at once be branded with inconsistency and incontinently thrown
aside as an unsafe counsellor. Hence the hackneyed phrase, 'ahead of the
times,' contains within itself a deep and important meaning, since it is
but a recognition of the fact that relative right and wrong may change
with the condition of society, and that theories may be beneficial in a
more advanced stage, which at present would be noxious in the extreme,
and that, in consequence, he is an unsafe leader who grasps at some
exalted good without making sure of the preliminary steps which alone
can make such blessings durable--who would, at a single leap, place the
nation far ahead in the race of improvement, without first subjecting it
to that trial and discipline which are absolutely necessary to fit it
for a new sphere. And the extreme disfavor with which such agitators are
regarded by society is an evidence of the safeguard which our
institutions contain within themselves, which, by moulding the minds of
the people to a proper appreciation of the blessings of limited reform
and of the inevitable and necessary stages and degrees of progress, as
well as of the danger of too sudden and radical change, effectually
counteract the evil influence of the unmethodical and empirical
reformer.
Our Government, in its form, can in no sense of the word be called a
democracy, however much its workings may tend toward such a result in
some far-distant future. It is founded in a recognition of the fact that
however equal all men may be in their civil and political
rights--however the humblest and most ignorant member of the community
may be entitled to 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,' all
men are not equal either in intellectual endowments or personal
acquirements, and consequently in their influence upon society, or
equally fitted either to govern or to choose their rulers. Our ancestors
recognized the fact that the people are not, in the democratic sense of
the term, fitted to govern themselves. Hence they threw around their
system a network of safeguards, and adopted and firmly established
restraints to counteract this principle of democratic rule, without
which our infant republic would soon have fallen to pieces by the force
of its own internal convulsions. And time has proven the wisdom of their
course, and we shall do well if we shall reflect long and deeply before
we essay to remove the least of those restraints, remembering that when
once the floodgate is opened to change, the eternal tide is set in
motion, and a precedent established which will prove dangerous if it be
not carefully restrained within the limits of the necessities of the
times.
To draw an illustration from the constitution of our body politic: we
find that the people meet in their primary elections, and choose a
representative to their State legislature, which representative is,
_theoretically_, considerably advanced above his constituents in
intellect, and in knowledge and experience of governmental affairs, and
of the necessities of the nation; by whom, in conjunction with his
colleagues--and not by the people themselves--a Senator is chosen to
represent the State in the national Congress,--which Senator, in his
turn, _theoretically_, is elevated above his constituents, not by the
fortuitous circumstance of birth or of worldly possessions, but in point
of intellect and acquirements, and consequent capacity to govern. Again,
the people do not directly choose their President, but select certain
electors, to whose superior wisdom and judgment is intrusted the task of
determining who is most fitted to rule the nation for the coming
presidential term. In the single instance of the representative to
Congress do the people choose directly from among themselves. And this
was adopted as a wise precaution that he, springing directly from their
midst, owing both his present and future position to their suffrages,
more closely identified with them in interest, and partaking more nearly
of their modes of thought, and who from the shortness of his term might
easily be displaced if he should prove recreant to his trust, thus
having every inducement to correctly represent the sentiments and
protect the rights of his constituents, might act as a check upon that
other house, which, further removed in every respect from the people,
elected more in accordance with, the aristocratic institutions of the
mother country, and from this exalted and exclusive position, and long
term of office, more liable to aristocratic influences, might be tempted
to combine for the consolidation of power and the gratification of
personal ambition, even at the expense of the liberties of the people.
Such is the _theory_ of our form of Government; the practical working of
it has altered with the times. While the form of the Constitution is
still observed to the letter, the spirit is, in a great measure,
abrogated. The people now choose only those representatives whose
sentiments are well known and whose future course can safely be
predicated--only those electors who stand pledged to cast their votes
for a designated candidate. Yet even now there is nothing to prevent
those representatives from pursuing a course entirely opposed
to all previous professions, and the known wishes of their
constituents--nothing to hinder those electors from casting their votes
for some third party, or combining to place in the executive chair some
unknown person whom the people have not chosen or desired; nothing, if
only we except the eternal odium and political damnation of public
opinion. Yet it may well be questioned if this same public opinion be
not after all the safest custodian of the public interest, the most
powerful restraint which could be imposed upon these representatives of
the people to compel them to a strict performance of their trust.
Yet while, as we have said, a pure democracy is but another term for the
highest type of civilization, the fact that our form of Government is
not in any sense of the word a democracy, is no argument against our
civilization, but rather in its favor. For it is but a recognition of
the fact that no people on earth is yet fitted for a pure democracy as a
basis of their institutions: it is an adapting of ourselves to that
state of things for which we are most fitted, instead of grasping at
some Utopian scheme of perfection, which the common sense of the nation
tells us is beyond our present capacity. On the other hand, it is a
frank acknowledgment of our own defects and frailties. As the '[Greek:
gnôthi seauton]' of the heathen philosophers contained within itself the
germ of all individual philosophy and moral progress, so does it
comprehend the whole problem of national growth and progress. It is only
the rudest, most ignorant and barbarous nation that arrogates to itself
perfection: it is that nation only which, conscious of no defects, sees
no necessity for reform, and has no incentive thereto. The consciousness
of defects, both physical and moral, is the life of all reform, and
hence of all progress; while the capacity to detect error in our system
implies the ability for thorough reform, and the cultivation which
underlies such knowledge implies the inclination to effect it. The
establishment of a pure democracy in our midst, in the present state of
human advancement, were evidence of a lack of that civilization which
depends upon earnest thought and a proper appreciation of the present
capabilities as well as the frailties and imperfections of our humanity.
We have seen that while, in the matter of choosing our rulers and
legislators, our institutions are, in their practical workings,
democratic, in form they are by no means so. This cannot long remain so.
An empty form is of little value, and ere many years the country will
either return to the principles of the olden time--which in the present
advanced state of public sentiment is not likely--or else sweep away the
form and simplify the whole system. Already the question has begun to be
agitated of submitting the presidential vote directly to the people
without intervention of electors. But it may well be doubted whether, in
the light of the political corruption of to-day, even this be not too
great an advance upon the democratic principle for the moral condition
of our people. For many years our country has been the victim of a
demagoguism, resulting from the working of this very principle, and the
question admits of serious discussion whether, instead of abrogating the
form, a return to the _spirit_ of the Constitution, while, at the same
time, holding strictly amenable those to whom this important choice is
intrusted, would not result in a pure and more statesmanlike
administration of public affairs. For the elector, being held
politically responsible for the conduct of the candidate for whom his
vote was cast, and for all the evils resulting from mal-administration,
would soon learn that to be faithful is not less important than to be
wise, and that his political interest was identified with the well-being
of the country. But it is one of the evils of our rapid progress that
the past is looked upon with such disfavor as to effectually prevent a
return even upon the path of error. In the pride of our civilization the
simpler theories of the olden time are despised as unworthy of, if not
wholly unfitted for, our present exalted intellectuality. The principle
is ignored that reform may sometimes be effected by retracing the steps
of years. Hence reform in this particular must either adopt the
dangerous experiment of establishing the pure democratic principle, or
else devise some third plan which shall charm by its novelty at the same
time that it is founded upon some evident and abiding truth.
And in this connection another great evil becomes evident which is in
itself a fault of our civilization, and not a defect arising from any
fundamental error in our system; an evil which, although always
predominant, has been more active in its workings, more injurious in its
effects during the present war than ever before. It is the spirit of
bitter, uncharitable, and even malicious opposition of the minority to
the acts and theories of the party in power, forgetting that no great
evil was ever yet effectually counteracted by opposition, which only
fans the flame and makes the fire burn hotter. And while no good can be
effected by such opposition, its direful effect is to divide the
councils of the nation, to paralyze the executive arm in all times of
great emergency, to render but half effectual every great national
enterprise, to make wavering the national policy, to exasperate
political parties more and more against each other, thereby dividing the
people and weakening the national life and progress, preventing all
concentration of effort and unanimity of purpose, and--worst of
all--subjecting the country periodically to the violent shock of
opposing systems, according as parties alternate in power, tossing the
ship of state in the brief period of a four years' term from one wave of
theory to another, and opposing one, only to be hurled back as violently
as before. Can it be doubted that such a state of affairs is injurious
to prosperity and either political or social advancement? Were the
results of every Administration for _good_, there would be less danger;
but radical evils cannot but result from the bitter partisanship of the
party in power, and when the scale is reversed and the opposite party
gains the ascendency, the new Administration has scarcely time to
correct the errors of its predecessors and to establish its own theory,
ere the popular tide ebbs and flows again in the opposite direction, the
ins are out and the outs are in, and again the alternation begins.
Certainly party divisions are the life of a republic, from their
tendency to counterbalance each other, and periodically reform abuses,
thus keeping the vessel in the straight course; yet when those divisions
reach the point which we see in our midst to-day, when the avowal of any
principle or theory by the one party, however just or beneficial it may
seem, is but the signal for the uncompromising hostility and bitter
denunciation of the opposition, who seek to make of it a handle to move
the giant lever of political power, unmindful of the wants and the
urgent necessities of the land--a hostility having for its basis the
single fact that the new measures are unfortunately advocated by the
opposite party--then such divisions become not only injurious to the
body politic, but a foul blot upon the civilization of our day and
nation. This is perhaps putting the question in a strong light; but,
admitting that we have not yet reached that point, are we not swiftly
drifting in that direction? Let every candid thinker put the question to
himself and ponder it deeply, remembering, while looking for the
ultimate result, that it was the bitter hostility of opposing factions
which ruined the republics of old, and which to-day convulse many that
might otherwise take rank among the most powerful and progressive
nations of the earth, neutralizing their progress, and holding them
constantly suspended above the gulf of anarchy and desolation.
Ask the oppositionist of to-day what he proposes or expects to
accomplish by his hostility to the powers that be, and he will answer
to little purpose. A vague idea is floating in his brain of some 'good
time coming' for his party, yet he knows very little what or when this
good time shall be, living on in the hope of some unknown event which
shall reverse the political chessboard. The opposition of to-day is that
of ultra conservatism to radicalism, of which the tendency of the one is
toward the stationary, that of the other to the rapidly progressive. The
so-called conservative, apparently blind to the result, and looking to a
return of the nation to the worn-out theories of the past as the result
of the efforts of his clique, is straining every nerve to paralyze the
arm of the Government, and to neutralize the effect of every great
achievement, doing everything in his power to exasperate the large
majority who are endeavoring to sustain the country in her hour of
peril, seemingly unconscious that in so doing he is not only working
steadily to defeat his own purpose, but also paving the way for the
destruction of his faction. For he is endeavoring to drag the country
backward along the track of years--an object which, as all history
proves, can never be effected with any progressive race; on the
contrary, such nations have ever owed their ruin to the inevitable
tendency to too rapid advancement. Again, by embittering the feelings of
his opponents toward himself and his coadjutors, he is effectually
preventing any future reconciliation and coöperation of the divided
factions, in which only could he hope for success, and raising up a
powerful opposition which will counteract all his future efforts.
A purer civilization would look at this question of party divisions in a
different light, recognizing it as an institution of Providence, whereby
great good may be effected when its benefits are properly appreciated,
and at the same time as a terrible engine of destruction when misused or
not properly controlled. A purer civilization would recognize and
candidly acknowledge every element of good in the theories of even the
fiercest opponents, and heartily coöperate in every enterprise whose
tendency was to the national good, working steadily and cheerfully side
by side with rivals and political opposers, and confining its own
opposition strictly to those measures of which the effect is, judged by
its own standard, obviously evil. The _rôle_ of the true reformer is to
glide quietly along with the tide of events, becoming reconciled to
those measures which, though contrary to his own convictions, are
nevertheless too firmly established to admit of being shaken by his most
powerful efforts; and so while carefully avoiding all unnecessary
antagonisms, all useless stirring up of old bitternesses, to seek so to
identify himself with the current of events, and so to become part and
parcel of the nation's political life and progress, as to be enabled to
guide into the channel of future good the movement which at first
started awry. Even where the vessel has widely diverged from the path of
good, and follows that which leads to inevitable destruction, it is his
part, instead of wasting his powers in useless struggles to stay her
course, to continue on as part and parcel of the precious freight,
seeking opportunity so to guide the erring prow that she shall be
gradually diverted from the evil course toward some distant and advanced
point of the forsaken track, without being violently dragged back along
her wake. So reaching at last the accustomed course, the good ship will
still be far advanced upon her way with all the benefits of past
experience of evil to act as a warning against future digressions from
the established path of progress. It will be time enough then to point
out the dangers she has escaped, and to argue the absurdity of the olden
theories which have so seriously interfered with her navigation. By such
a course alone will he secure the respect of his opponents, and the
love and admiration of those who never fail to appreciate sterling
integrity of purpose, uprightness of motives, and persevering effort in
the cause of the public good, which is that of the right and the true;
and so only will he quiet and disarm that factious spirit which would
otherwise be ever ready to start into a violent opposition at his first
effort in the public cause. Nor must such a course imply time-serving or
sycophancy, or the least concealment of any of the loftiest and noblest
sentiments. In any matter of wrong, where the voice and the concentrated
effort of the true philanthropist can avail to check the nation's
career, the voice of the reformer should not fail to be raised in its
most powerful tones, and all his energy exerted to form such political
and social combinations as shall effect his purpose. But in those stages
which are prominent in every nation's progress, when the tide of public
opinion sets full and irresistibly in one direction, sweeping along all
thought and energy in its course, against which it were madness to
contend until the tempest shall have worn itself out by its own
violence--more especially when the great questions involve a mere
difference of opinion as to the results of important measures or the
general tendency of the public policy--then, when opposition would only
serve to arouse a factious or disputatious spirit, his part is to glide
quietly along with the popular movement, acquiescing in and reconciling
himself to the condition of affairs till such time as the public
sentiment is ripe, and the circumstances fitting for the advocacy and
the triumph of his own views; meanwhile letting no opportunity escape to
guide the national mind and direct the nation's strivings to such a
consummation.
By such a course only can he effect great results and make durable the
establishment of his own cherished principles.
CHURCH MUSIC.
From the earliest Christian period of which we have any knowledge, music
has been employed in the public worship of Christian communities. Its
purposes are, to afford to the devotion of the worshippers a means of
expression more subtile than even human speech, to increase that
devotion, and to add additional lustre and solemnity to the outward
service offered to God. Music has a wonderful power in stirring the
souls of men, in (so to speak) moving the soil of the heart, that the
good seed sown by prayer and instruction may find ready entrance, and a
wholesome stimulus to facilitate growth. Now, it is the duty of all
concerned in the ordering of public worship to see that the music
employed tends to effect these ends.
In the year 1565, the composers of church music were in the habit of
employing so many and well-known secular melodies, and of rearing upon
them and upon their own inventions such complicated and unintelligible
contrapuntal structures, that the church authorities took the matter
seriously in hand, and there is no knowing what might have been the
final sentence, had not Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina brought his
genius to the rescue, and, in sundry compositions, especially in a
six-part mass, dedicated to Pope Marcellus II., shown that science need
not exclude clearness, and the possibility of hearing the words sung,
and that the truly inventive artist has no need to seek his themes in
inappropriate spheres.
In this day we run little risk of ship-wreck through too great an amount
of science. Scarlatti and Bach would laugh at the efforts styled 'canon'
and 'fugue,' by the aspiring tyros of the present age. Our difficulties
arise, not from musical complexity, but from want of suitableness,
adaptation, and characterization, together with the ever-increasing feud
between choir and congregational singing. In some churches on the
Continent of Europe, these two latter modes are happily blended, certain
services or portions of services being left to the choir, and the
remainder being entrusted to the entire congregation. Of course this
arrangement is only practicable where there is a certain variety in the
musical portion of the service. Where the singing of hymns (in the
ordinary sense of the phrase) is the only musical form used in the
worship, such differences would be difficult to establish, and a variety
of circumstances must determine which of the two modes, or what
combination of them, be selected by the congregation. Even where
splendor is studiously avoided, all desire order and decency in the
conduct of public worship, and such order is painfully violated where
discordant sounds or unsuitable selections of music are permitted to
distract attention and disturb devotion. A ragged carpet, faded fringes,
or dingy window panes, would speedily find a reformer; and surely the
sensitive, defenceless ear has as good a claim to exact order as the
more voluntary sense of seeing. Better, indeed, no music, than such as
binds the wings of the soul to earth instead of aiding them to fly
heavenward.
The above remarks apply as well to choir as to congregational singing.
Let us suppose now that the mere primal foundation--the mechanical
execution--be respectably good; that the congregation or choir have been
taught to sing in tune; that all be harmonious and properly balanced; in
short, that the auditory nerves be spared any very severe shock--and
what then will we ordinarily find? A few good old church melodies,
almost lost amid a dreary maze of the most recent droning platitudes, or
a multitude of worldly acquaintances, negro minstrelsy, ancient love
ditties, bar room roundelays, passionate scenes from favorite operas,
with snatches from instrumental symphonies, concertos, or what not!
Music, as I have said, is even more subtile in its power of expression
than speech, and the _new words_, which we may perhaps not even hear,
can never banish from our minds the _old impressions_ associated with
the melody. The ears may even be cognizant of the holy sentiments
intended to be conveyed, but the mind's eye will see Sambo, 'First upon
the heel top, then upon the toe;' the love-lorn dame weeping her false
lover, 'Ah, no, she never blamed him, never;' a roystering set of good
fellows clinking glasses, 'We won't go home till morning;' Lucia
imploring mercy from her hard-hearted brother and selfish suitor; Norma
confiding her little ones to the keeping of her rival; or perhaps the
full orchestra at the last 'philharmonic,' supplying the missing notes,
the beginning and the end of some noble idea, now vainly struggling with
the difficulties and incongruities of its new position, its maimed
members mourning their incompleteness, its tortured spirit longing for
the body given by the original creator.
Are we Christians then so poor that we must go begging and stealing
shreds and patches from our more fortunate secular brethren? Has music
deserted us to dwell solely in the camps of the gypsying world? If so,
there must be some fault among ourselves, for music is a pure gift from
God, the only _earthly_ pleasure _promised_ us in heaven. Such
imputation would indeed be a libel upon the almost infinite variety in
the character of music, and its power of consecration to the very
loftiest ends. Ah! there we fear is the rub. _The character of music!_
_That_ seems to have been forgotten. If all these melodies be adapted to
their original aims, can they be suited to new ones so different? Is
there really in musical form, rhythm, melody, and harmony, no capacity
for any real expression? Will the same tune do as well for a dance as
for a prayer, for a moonlight serenade as for an imploration of Divine
mercy?