MODERN COMMUNICATION: ENLARGEMENT AND ANIMATION
CHARACTER OF RECENT CHANGES—THEIR GENERAL EFFECT—THE CHANGE IN
THE UNITED STATES—ORGANIZED GOSSIP—PUBLIC OPINION, DEMOCRACY,
INTERNATIONALISM—THE VALUE OF DIFFUSION—ENLARGEMENT OF
FEELING—CONCLUSION.
The changes that have taken place since the beginning of the nineteenth
century are such as to constitute a new epoch in communication, and
in the whole system of society. They deserve, therefore, careful
consideration, not so much in their mechanical aspect, which is
familiar to every one, as in their operation upon the larger mind.
If one were to analyze the mechanism of intercourse, he might, perhaps,
distinguish four factors that mainly contribute to its efficiency,
namely:
Expressiveness, or the range of ideas and feelings it is competent to
carry.
Permanence of record, or the overcoming of time.
Swiftness, or the overcoming of space.
Diffusion, or access to all classes of men.
Now while gains have no doubt been made in expressiveness, as in the
enlargement of our vocabulary to embrace the ideas of modern science;
and even in permanence of record, for scientific and other special
purposes; yet certainly the long steps of recent times have been made
in the direction of swiftness and diffusion. For most purposes our
speech is no better than in the age of Elizabeth, if so good; but
what facility we have gained in the application of it! The cheapening
of printing, permitting an inundation of popular books, magazines
and newspapers, has been supplemented by the rise of the modern
postal system and the conquest of distance by railroads, telegraphs
and telephones. And along with these extensions of the spoken or
written word have come new arts of reproduction, such as photography,
photo-engraving, phonography and the like—of greater social import than
we realize—by which new kinds of impression from the visible or audible
world may be fixed and disseminated.
It is not too much to say that these changes are the basis, from a
mechanical standpoint, of nearly everything that is characteristic in
the psychology of modern life. In a general way they mean the expansion
of human nature, that is to say, of its power to express itself in
social wholes. They make it possible for society to be organized more
and more on the higher faculties of man, on intelligence and sympathy,
rather than on authority, caste, and routine. They mean freedom,
outlook, indefinite possibility. The public consciousness, instead
of being confined as regards its more active phases to local groups,
extends by even steps with that give-and-take of suggestions that the
new intercourse makes possible, until wide nations, and finally the
world itself, may be included in one lively mental whole.
The general character of this change is well expressed by the two
words _enlargement_ and _animation_. Social contacts are extended in
space and quickened in time, and in the same degree the mental unity
they imply becomes wider and more alert. The individual is broadened
by coming into relation with a larger and more various life, and he
is kept stirred up, sometimes to excess, by the multitude of changing
suggestions which this life brings to him.
From whatever point of view we study modern society to compare it
with the past or to forecast the future, we ought to keep at least a
subconsciousness of this radical change in mechanism, without allowing
for which nothing else can be understood.
In the United States, for instance, at the close of the eighteenth
century, public consciousness of any active kind was confined to small
localities. Travel was slow, uncomfortable and costly, and people
undertaking a considerable journey often made their wills beforehand.
The newspapers, appearing weekly in the larger towns, were entirely
lacking in what we should call news; and the number of letters sent
during a year in all the thirteen states was much less than that now
handled by the New York office in a single day. People are far more
alive to-day to what is going on in China, if it happens to interest
them, than they were then to events a hundred miles away. The isolation
of even large towns from the rest of the world, and the consequent
introversion of men’s minds upon local concerns, was something we can
hardly conceive. In the country “the environment of the farm was the
neighborhood; the environment of the village was the encircling farms
and the local tradition; ... few conventions assembled for discussion
and common action; educational centres did not radiate the shock of
a new intellectual life to every hamlet; federations and unions did
not bind men, near and remote, into that fellowship that makes one
composite type of many human sorts. It was an age of sects, intolerant
from lack of acquaintance.”[30]
The change to the present régime of railroads, telegraphs, daily
papers, telephones and the rest has involved a revolution in every
phase of life; in commerce, in politics, in education, even in mere
sociability and gossip—this revolution always consisting in an
enlargement and quickening of the kind of life in question.
Probably there is nothing in this new mechanism quite so pervasive and
characteristic as the daily newspaper, which is as vehemently praised
as it is abused, and in both cases with good reason. What a strange
practice it is, when you think of it, that a man should sit down to
his breakfast table and, instead of conversing with his wife, and
children, hold before his face a sort of screen on which is inscribed a
world-wide gossip!
The essential function of the newspaper is, of course, to serve as a
bulletin of important news and a medium for the interchange of ideas,
through the printing of interviews, letters, speeches and editorial
comment. In this way it is indispensable to the organization of the
public mind.
The bulk of its matter, however, is best described by the phrase
organized gossip. The sort of intercourse that people formerly carried
on at cross-road stores or over the back fence, has now attained the
dignity of print and an imposing system. That we absorb a flood of this
does not necessarily mean that our minds are degenerate, but merely
that we are gratifying an old appetite in a new way. Henry James speaks
with a severity natural to literary sensibility of “the ubiquitous
newspaper face, with its mere monstrosity and deformity of feature, and
the vast open mouth, adjusted as to the chatter of Bedlam, that flings
the flood-gates of vulgarity farther back [in America] than anywhere
else on earth.”[31] But after all is it any more vulgar than the older
kind of gossip? No doubt it seems worse for venturing to share with
literature the use of the printed word.
That the bulk of the contents of the newspaper is of the nature of
gossip may be seen by noting three traits which together seem to make
a fair definition of that word. It is copious, designed to occupy,
without exerting, the mind. It consists mostly of personalities and
appeals to superficial emotion. It is untrustworthy—except upon a few
matters of moment which the public are likely to follow up and verify.
These traits any one who is curious may substantiate by a study of his
own morning journal.
There is a better and a worse side to this enlargement of gossip.
On the former we may reckon the fact that it promotes a widespread
sociability and sense of community; we know that people all over the
country are laughing at the same jokes or thrilling with the same mild
excitement over the foot-ball game, and we absorb a conviction that
they are good fellows much like ourselves. It also tends powerfully,
through the fear of publicity, to enforce a popular, somewhat vulgar,
but sound and human standard of morality. On the other hand it fosters
superficiality and commonplace in every sphere of thought and feeling,
and is, of course, the antithesis of literature and of all high or
fine spiritual achievement. It stands for diffusion as opposed to
distinction.
In politics communication makes possible public opinion, which, when
organized, is democracy. The whole growth of this, and of the popular
education and enlightenment that go with it, is immediately dependent
upon the telegraph, the newspaper and the fast mail, for there can be
no popular mind upon questions of the day, over wide areas, except as
the people are promptly informed of such questions and are enabled to
exchange views regarding them.
Our government, under the Constitution, was not originally a democracy,
and was not intended to be so by the men that framed it. It was
expected to be a representative republic, the people choosing men
of character and wisdom, who would proceed to the capital, inform
themselves there upon current questions, and deliberate and decide
regarding them. That the people might think and act more directly was
not foreseen. The Constitution is not democratic in spirit, and, as Mr.
Bryce has noted,[32] might under different conditions have become the
basis of an aristocratic system.
That any system could have held even the original thirteen states in
firm union without the advent of modern communication is very doubtful.
Political philosophy, from Plato to Montesquieu, had taught that free
states must be small, and Frederick the Great is said to have ridiculed
the idea of one extending from Maine to Georgia. “A large empire,” says
Montesquieu, “supposes a despotic authority in the person who governs.
It is necessary that the quickness of the prince’s resolutions should
supply the distance of the places they are sent to.”[33]
Democracy has arisen here, as it seems to be arising everywhere in
the civilized world, not, chiefly, because of changes in the formal
constitution, but as the outcome of conditions which make it natural
for the people to have and to express a consciousness regarding
questions of the day. It is said by those who know China that while
that country was at war with Japan the majority of the Chinese were
unaware that a war was in progress. Such ignorance makes the sway of
public opinion impossible; and, conversely, it seems likely that no
state, having a vigorous people, can long escape that sway except by
repressing the interchange of thought. When the people have information
and discussion they will have a will, and this must sooner or later get
hold of the institutions of society.
One is often impressed with the thought that there ought to be some
wider name for the modern movement than democracy, some name which
should more distinctly suggest the enlargement and quickening of the
general mind, of which the formal rule of the people is only one among
many manifestations. The current of new life that is sweeping with
augmenting force through the older structures of society, now carrying
them away, now leaving them outwardly undisturbed, has no adequate name.
Popular education is an inseparable part of all this: the individual
must have at least those arts of reading and writing without which he
can hardly be a vital member of the new organism. And that further
development of education, rapidly becoming a conscious aim of modern
society, which strives to give to every person a special training in
preparation for whatever function he may have aptitude for, is also a
phase of the freer and more flexible organization of mental energy.
The same enlargement runs through all life, including fashion and
other trivial or fugitive kinds of intercourse. And the widest phase
of all, upon whose momentousness I need not dwell, is that rise of an
international consciousness, in literature, in science and, finally,
in politics, which holds out a trustworthy promise of the indefinite
enlargement of justice and amity.
This unification of life by a freer course of thought is not only
contemporaneous, overcoming space, but also historical, bringing the
past into the present, and making every notable achievement of the race
a possible factor in its current life—as when, by skilful reproduction
the work of a mediæval painter is brought home to people dwelling five
hundred years later on the other side of the globe. Our time is one of
“large discourse, looking before and after.”
There are remarkable possibilities in this diffusive vigor. Never,
certainly, were great masses of men so rapidly rising to higher levels
as now. There are the same facilities for disseminating improvement
in mind and manners as in material devices; and the new communication
has spread like morning light over the world, awakening, enlightening,
enlarging, and filling with expectation. Human nature desires the good,
when it once perceives it, and in all that is easily understood and
imitated great headway is making.
Nor is there, as I shall try to show later, any good reason to think
that the conditions are permanently unfavorable to the rise of special
and select types of excellence. The same facility of communication
which animates millions with the emulation of common models, also makes
it easy for more discriminating minds to unite in small groups. The
general fact is that human nature is set free; in time it will no doubt
justify its freedom.
The enlargement affects not only thought but feeling, favoring the
growth of a sense of common humanity, of moral unity, between nations,
races and classes. Among members of a communicating whole feeling
may not always be friendly, but it must be, in a sense, sympathetic,
involving some consciousness of the other’s point of view. Even the
animosities of modern nations are of a human and imaginative sort,
not the blind animal hostility of a more primitive age. They are
resentments, and resentment, as Charles Lamb says, is of the family of
love.
The relations between persons or communities that are without
mutual understanding are necessarily on a low plane. There may be
indifference, or a blind anger due to interference, or there may be
a good-natured tolerance; but there is no consciousness of a common
nature to warm up the kindly sentiments. A really human fellow-feeling
was anciently confined within the tribe, men outside not being felt as
members of a common whole. The alien was commonly treated as a more or
less useful or dangerous animal—destroyed, despoiled or enslaved. Even
in these days we care little about people whose life is not brought
home to us by some kind of sympathetic contact. We may read statistics
of the miserable life of the Italians and Jews in New York and Chicago;
of bad housing, sweatshops and tuberculosis; but we care little more
about them than we do about the sufferers from the Black Death, unless
their life is realized to us in some human way, either by personal
contact, or by pictures and imaginative description.
And we are getting this at the present time. The resources of modern
communication are used in stimulating and gratifying our interest in
every phase of human life. Russians, Japanese, Filipinos, fishermen,
miners, millionaires, criminals, tramps and opium-eaters are brought
home to us. The press well understands that nothing human is alien to
us if it is only made comprehensible.
With a mind enlarged and suppled by such training, the man of to-day
inclines to look for a common nature everywhere, and to demand that the
whole world shall be brought under the sway of common principles of
kindness and justice. He wants to see international strife allayed—in
such a way, however, as not to prevent the expansion of capable
races and the survival of better types; he wishes the friction of
classes reduced and each interest fairly treated—but without checking
individuality and enterprise. There was never so general an eagerness
that righteousness should prevail; the chief matter of dispute is upon
the principles under which it may be established.
The work of communication in enlarging human nature is partly
immediate, through facilitating contact, but even more it is indirect,
through favoring the increase of intelligence, the decline of
mechanical and arbitrary forms of organization, and the rise of a
more humane type of society. History may be regarded as a record of
the struggle of man to realize his aspirations through organization;
and the new communication is an efficient tool for this purpose.
Assuming that the human heart and conscience, restricted only by the
difficulties of organization, is the arbiter of what institutions
are to become, we may expect the facility of intercourse to be the
starting-point of an era of moral progress.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] W. L. Anderson, The Country Town, 209, 210.
[31] The Manners of American Women, Harper’s Bazar, May, 1907.
[32] The American Commonwealth, chap. 26.
[33] The Spirit of Laws, book viii, chap. 19.