IV

There is a delicate question in newspaper ethics which is sometimes widely

discussed, namely, whether "journalism" may be regarded as a distinct

profession which has a moral standard of its own. The question arises when

an editorial writer transfers his services from one journal to another of

different political opinions. Is a man justified in arguing strenuously for

free trade to-day and for protection to-morrow? Are political questions and

measures of public policy merely points of law upon which an editor is an

advocate to be retained indifferently and with equal morality upon either

side?

This question may be illuminated by another. Would John Bright be a man of

equal renown, character, and weight of influence if, being an adherent of

peace principles, he had remained in an administration whose policy was

war? This question will be thought to beg the whole question. But does

it? Must it not be assumed that a man of adequate ability for the proper

discussion of political questions must have positive political convictions,

and can a man who has such convictions honorably devote himself to

discrediting them, and to defeating the policy which they demand, under the

plea that he has professionally accepted a retainer or a salary to do so?

Would his arguments have any moral weight if they were known to be those of

a man who was not himself convinced by them? And is not the concealment of

the fact indispensable to the value of his services?

To continue this interrogation: is not the parallel sought to be

established between the editorial writer and the lawyer vitiated by

the fact that it is universally understood that a lawyer's service is

perfunctory and official; that he takes one side rather than another

because he is paid for it, and because that is the condition of his

profession, and that that condition springs from the nature of legal

procedure, society not choosing to take life or to inflict punishment

of any kind until the whole case has been stated according to certain

stipulated forms? For this reason the advocate who defends a criminal

is not supposed necessarily to believe him to be innocent. But no such

reason existing in the case of the editor, is it not an equally universal

understanding that an editor does honestly and personally hold the view

that he presents and defends? For instance, the _Times_ in New York

is a Republican and free-trade journal. If it should suddenly appear some

morning as a Democratic and protectionist paper, would not the general

conclusion be that it had changed hands? But if it should be announced that

it was in the same hands, and had changed its views because of a pecuniary

arrangement, could the _Times_ continue to have the same standing and

influence which it has now?

A distinction may be attempted between the owner of a paper and the editor.

But for the public are they not practically the same? It is not, in fact,

the owner or the editor, it is the paper, which is known to the public. If

the public considers at all the probable relation of the owner and editor,

it necessarily assumes their harmony, because it does not suppose that an

owner would employ an editor who is injuring the property, and if the paper

flourishes under the editor, it is because the owner yields his private

opinion to the editor's, if they happen to differ, so that there is no

discord. On the other hand, if the paper flags and fails, and the owner,

to rescue his property, employs another editor, who holds other views,

and changes the tone of the paper, the result is the same so far as the

public is concerned. The profit of the paper may increase, but its power

and influence surely decline. In the illustration that we have supposed,

the proprietorship of the _Times_ might decide that a Democratic and

protection paper would have a larger sale and greatly increase the profit.

But could the change be made without a terrible blow to the character and

influence of the paper? Now why is not an editor in the same position? He

has a certain standing, and he holds certain views, like the paper. The

paper changes its tone for a price. He does the same thing. The paper loses

character and influence. Why does not he?

Journalism is not a profession in the sense claimed. It does not demand a

certain course of study, which is finally tested by an examination and

certified by a degree. It is a pursuit rather than a profession. Of course

special knowledge in particular branches of information is of the highest

value, and indeed essential to satisfactory editorial writing, as to all

other public exposition. There are also certain details of the collection

of news, the organization of correspondence, and the "make up" of the

paper, the successful management of which depends upon an energetic

executive faculty, which is desirable in every pursuit. It is sometimes

said that an editor, like the late Mr. Delane of the London _Times_,

should not write himself, but select the topics and procure the writing

upon them by others. And so long as a man is merely an anonymous writer for

a paper, so long as he writes to sustain the views of the paper, his actual

opinions, being unknown to the reader, do not affect the power of the

paper. Such a man, indeed, may write at the same time upon both sides of

the same question for different papers. But if he have any convictions or

opinions upon the subject, he is with one hand consciously injuring what he

believes to be the truth, and a man cannot do that without serious harm to

himself. If he have no convictions, his influence will vanish the moment

that the fact is known.

Such strictures do not apply to papers which expressly renounce

convictions, and blow hot or cold as the chances of probable profit and

the apparent tenor of public opinion at the moment invite. Such papers,

properly speaking, have no legitimate influence whatever. They produce

a certain effect by mere publicity, and reiteration, and ridicule, and

distortion and suppression of facts, and appeals to prejudice. There is a

legitimate and an illegitimate power of the press. A lion and a skunk both

inspire terror.

But a paper which represents convictions, and promotes a public policy

in accordance with them, necessarily implies sincerity in its editorial

writing. The public assumes that among papers of all opinions the writer

attaches himself to one with which he agrees. The nature of the pursuit

is such that he cannot make himself a free lance without running the risk

of being thought an adventurer, a soldier without patriotism, a citizen

without convictions. If the best American press did not represent real

convictions, but only the clever ingenuity of paid advocates, it would be

worthless as an exponent of public opinion, and could not be the beneficent

power that it is.

(_October_, 1882)

V

One public man in a recent angry altercation with another taunted him with

elaborately preparing his invective, and some notoriously vituperative

speeches are known to have been written out and printed before they were

spoken. Such cold venom is undoubtedly as effective in reading as the hot

outbreak of the moment, and it may be even more effective in the delivery,

since self-command is as useful to the orator as to the actor. But if a

man be guilty of a gross offence who upon a dignified scene violates the

self-restraint and respect for the company which are not only becoming, but

so much assumed that whoever violates the requirement is felt to insult his

associates and the public, why do we not consider whether every scene is

not too dignified for mature and intelligent men to attempt to rival in

blackguardism the traditional fishwives of Billingsgate?

If an orator or a newspaper conducts a discussion without discharging the

fiercest and foulest epithets at the opponent, it is often declared to be

tame and feeble and indifferent. But to whom and to what does vituperation

appeal? When an advocate upon the platform shouts until he is very hot and

very red that the supporter of protection is a thief, a robber, a pampered

pet of an atrociously diabolical system, he inflames passion and prejudice,

indeed, to the highest fury, and he produces a state of mind which is

inaccessible to reason, but he does not show in any degree whatever either

that protection is inexpedient or how it is unjust. In the same way,

to assail an opponent who favors revision of the tariff and incidental

protection as a rascally scoundrel who is trying to ruin American

industry--as if he could have any purpose of injuring himself materially

and fatally--is absurd. The tirade merely injures the cause which the

blackguard intends to help. But the man who carried on discussion in this

style is described by other professors of the same art as manly and virile

and hitting from the shoulder, and he comes perhaps to think himself a

doughty champion of the right.

The weapon that demolishes an antagonist and an argument is not rhetoric,

but truth. This accumulation of "bad names" and ingenious combination of

scurrility is merely rhetoric. It serves the rhetorical purpose, but it

does not convince. It does not show the hearer or reader that one course

is more expedient than another, nor give him any reason whatever for

any opinion upon the subject. Virility, vigor, masculinity of mind, and

essential force in debate are revealed in quite another way. If an American

were asked to mention the most powerful speech ever made in the debates

of Congress, he would probably mention Mr. Webster's reply to Hayne. It

contained the great statement of nationality and the argument for the

national interpretation of the Constitution, and it was spoken in the

course of a famous controversy. Let any man read it, and ask himself

whether it would have gained in power, in effect, in weight, dignity, or

character, by personal invective and elaborate vituperation of any kind and

any degree whatever.

The truth is that the fury which is supposed to imply force is the

conclusive proof of weakness. The familiar advice, "If you have no

evidence, abuse the plaintiff's attorney," contains by implication

the whole philosophy of what is called the manliness and force of the

blackguard. He has no reason, therefore he sneers. He has no argument,

therefore he swears. He will get the laugh upon his adversary if he can,

forgetting that those who laugh at the clown may also despise him.

Of wit, humor, satire, sarcasm, we are not speaking. The ordinary

blackguardism of the political platform and press does not belong to that

category. Caricature, however, easily may. There are certain pictures in

American caricature which are wit made visible. They are the satire of

instructive truth. Indeed, they tell to the eye the indisputable truth

as words cannot easily tell it to the ear. In this way caricature is one

of the most powerful agents in public discussion. But, like speech or

writing, it may be merely blackguard. The incisive wit, the rich humor, the

withering satire of speech, gain all their point and effect from the truth.

They have no power when they are seen to be false.

So it is with caricature. Nobody can enjoy it more than its subject when it

is merely humorous; nobody perceive so surely its pungent touch of truth;

nobody disregard more completely its mere malice and falsehood. True

wit and humor, whether in controversial letters or art, whether in the

newspaper article or the "cartoon," as we now call it, often reveal to the

subject in himself what otherwise he might not have suspected. It is very

conceivable that an actor, seeing a really clever burlesque of himself, may

become aware of tendencies or peculiarities or faults which otherwise he

would not have known, and quietly address himself to their correction.

This sanitary service of humor in every form, as well as that of the honest

wrath which shakes many a noble sentence of sinewy English as a mighty

man-of-war is shaken by her own broadside, is something wholly apart from

the billingsgate and blackguardism which are treated as if they were real

forces. Publicity itself, as the Easy Chair has often said, has a certain

power, and to call a man a rascal to a hundred thousand persons at once

produces an undeniable effect. But we must not mistake it for what it is

not. Being false, it is not an effect which endures, nor does it vex the

equal mind.

It is the fact that the public often seems to demand that kind of

titillation, to enjoy fury instead of force, and ridicule instead of

reason, which suggests the inquiry whether, if self-restraint and wise

discipline are desirable for every faculty of the mind and body, the

tongue and hand alone should be allowed to riot in wanton excess. If even

the legitimate superlative must be handled, like dynamite, with extreme

caution, blackguardism of every degree is a nuisance to be summarily

discountenanced and abated by those who know the difference between

grandeur and bigness, between Mercutio and Tony Lumpkin, between fair-play

and foul.

(_September_, 1888)