Our acknowledgments as visitors having now been made by the highest
authority among us, it is not for the purpose of merely enlarging
them that I am assigned a place upon the program. It is rather, I
understand, with the view to an expression in behalf of the community
of interest represented by this gathering as a whole; and some
definition as to what we are, what we aim at, and wherein, if at all,
we differ from our predecessors.
Our aim is in terms a simple one. It is to bring a book to a reader, to
lead a reader to a book. The task may indeed vary in proportion as the
book is obvious or obscure, the reader expert or a novice, so that our
service may be as the shortest distance between two simple points; or
as the readiest point between two distances. But its main and ultimate
end is the same.
And it remains so in spite of organization grown elaborate, apparatus
and mechanism grown complex. For the organization is merely to respond
to a larger and more varied demand, and with a view to a more ample and
diversified response.
What then is the difference between the library of today and the
library of a few centuries--a single century--ago?--Is it merely
in the development of this organization, the introduction of this
apparatus and mechanism?--Is it to such matters that our efforts are
directed?--Is it they which require incessant gatherings such as this
for explanation, exploitation and discussion, and the innumerable
reams of written contribution in our professional journals? They are
indeed accountable for a large percentage of it: but back of them,
beneath them, is a change which is fundamental, a change in attitude
which is essential as no mere form or method can be. It consists in the
birth and development--not indeed of a new characteristic in either
book or reader, or the discovery of new potencies in the one or new
sensibilities in the other--but of a new sense of responsibility on the
part of the library in the utilization of the one for the benefit of
the other. It is an incident of democracy.
Now, so far as democracy means the participation of the community as a
whole in the conduct of its affairs the _form_ of it has existed with
us in the United States for generations; and the substance of it has
existed throughout the Anglo-Saxon world. But democracy ought to mean
something more: it ought to mean the participation of every individual
in its opportunities. And a constitution of society which still left
the resources for power and intellectual direction in the hands of the
few was in effect an aristocracy, and no complete democracy. Among
these resources a chief is education. And the practical monopoly of
education--and of books as an element in it--meant a monopoly of
influence also,--a monopoly which survived after limitations of caste
were removed and the opportunities for wealth became widely diffused.
Against it the free public school, the easily available college, the
cheaply procurable newspaper and magazine, and the free public library
fought and are fighting their fight in the interest of the prerogative
of the individual, in the endeavor to equip him as an independent and
co-equal unit, so that the actual constitution of society shall accord
with its political form, and indeed assure the efficiency and the
permanence of the form.
So, having provided for the mass the interest has of late centred upon
the individual.
Meantime, with the evolution from homogeneity to heterogeneity the
individual himself has become more and more diversified in trait,
aptitude and need; so that the treatment of him by the agencies acting
for the community as a whole has also had to become varied. Not merely
that, but pursuing its responsibilities, to become affirmative, where
before, so far as it existed, it was merely responsive.
Now the service of school and college furnishing definite instruction
and perhaps training, to an organized body of youth, within a
limited age, and under control, can be reasonably systematized and
standardized. But the library is to furnish not merely education but
enlightenment, and even culture, to the community at large--without
respect to age, and without subordination to control. It cannot impose,
it does not control. It may recommend, but it cannot direct. It must
still respond to a need voluntarily expressed; but its duty is held to
go further: it must remind that the need exists,--it must even inspire
the need,--that is to say, the consciousness of it. In this way it is
engaged in creating the very demand which later it seeks to satisfy.
Now this duty upon it accounts for the prodigious energy in the
effort itself, and the activity and range of the discussion, which
are the characteristics of the modern library movement, particularly
in English speaking America. It accounts for the incessant repetition
of explanation, of exhortation, of recited experience, which give to
a present-day library conference something of the aspect of a revival
meeting.
To librarians of the older school these are somewhat distasteful;
to librarians of the more modern school already convinced and
experienced, they may be tedious; but they seem necessary still for
the enlightenment and encouragement of others newly entering upon the
problem, of a public not yet fully familiar with the relations of it to
their own welfare, and to the helpful solution of local problems where
the idea meets conditions still impeding: for the field is vast and
conditions are still very unequal.
The efforts, still inchoate, include also many devices which are crude
and of doubtful expediency: especially many designed chiefly to
attract--in which the library seems to compete with other enterprises
courting popularity in a way scarcely dignified for a public
institution maintained by government. They shock the conservative in
somewhat the same way as an advertisement by a lawyer or physician
shocks the traditions of those reticent professions: and they include
not merely schemes of advertising--which might seem to impair the
dignity of the book, but auxiliaries for attracting attention such as
savor of the devices of a business house in exploiting its goods. The
ultimate aim is, of course, the commendation of the book itself,--and
the justification lies--or is sought--in this. But the means,--well,
the means often afflict the conservatives in the profession, and even
cause uneasiness to certain of us among the progressives.
The compensating assurance is that they are the promptings of an
enthusiasm in itself meritorious; that they are experiments; that they
may prove to be expedients merely temporary, and that later they may
be dispensed with after they have served their purpose. They are to
rouse the dormant, stir the stagnant: but there are also other agencies
at work to rouse and to stir; and the time may well come when the
operation of these in combination will have achieved the creation of a
spirit in the community safe to act upon its own initiative.
Apart from the portions of our programs devoted to the discussion
of such methods and devices--which concern the direct action of a
particular library upon its own constituents, is the portion--a
large one--devoted to schemes of co-operation among our institutions
as such in the interest of economy and therefore of efficiency--in
their administration. These are necessarily technical, and their
immediate interest is to the librarian rather than to the reader.
But their ultimate benefit is to reach the reader,--particularly in
freeing to his use a larger measure of the direct personal service of
the administration, in interpreting the collections to his need. In
proportion as they succeed in this they will achieve a reversion to
that service held precious in the library of the older type,--which,
lacking the modern apparatus, and with an imperfect collection, at
least put the reader into direct contact with what it had, and gave him
also the inspiring personal touch with an enthusiast already saturated
with its contents: and which accordingly sent him forth with a grateful
glow, too little, alas! evident in one relegated to the mere mechanism
of modern library practice.
The mechanism became inevitable: the increase of the collections,
the increase of the constituency, the greater diversity of the need,
and the demand that this should be met promptly, have required it.
This isn't so apparent to the public, who think of the problem--of
getting the right book to the individual reader--in only its simplest
terms. But to us librarians it is not merely apparent but urgent. And
accordingly we expend upon it a length and a zest of discussion that
quite mystify the portions of our audiences outside of the craft.
What impels us is that the mechanism is not merely elaborate: it
is expensive. It is the more so in proportion as it is variant in
form and involves a multiplication of expense by each library acting
independently in its own behalf. Our effort, and the purpose of our
discussions, is therefore to promote a standardization of the form
and a co-operative centralization of the work itself, in which our
libraries as a whole may secure a participating benefit.
Now the mechanism consists of certain apparatus necessarily independent
with each library--administrative records, charging systems, etc.; but
also of classification, catalog and bibliography. All of these may be
standardized,--but the opportunity for a co-operation which may save
expense occurs chiefly in the three last named. The extravagance, the
needless extravagance, of an absence of it represented by the old
conditions was little apparent to the general public or to boards
of control. It becomes obvious when one considers that thousands of
libraries receiving hundreds of identical books,--and hundreds of
libraries receiving thousands of identical books--were each undertaking
independently the expense of cataloging and classifying these: thus
multiplying by exactly their number the total cost of the community.
As against this, the economy of a system under which a particular
book shall be cataloged--and perhaps classified--at some central
point once for all, and the result made available in multiple form
to all libraries receiving copies of it--needs only to be stated to
be convincing. A condition of it is, in the case of classification,
identity in the basic scheme and notation, in the case of catalog
identity in the form, and uniformity in the practice. The general
availability of bibliographic lists does not depend upon either, though
convenienced by both.
Identity in classification seems still remote, nor does the undoubted
vogue of the Decimal scheme assure it: for this is chiefly among the
smaller libraries. In the larger, the Decimal scheme, where adopted,
is apt to be accompanied by variations of detail, which mean a
variation in the place and symbol assigned to a particular book, and
thus bar the general adoption of a decision in the classification of
it made at any central bureau. So far as this variance affects the
direct administration of a particular library it may be unimportant:
for the arrangement of its own books upon its own shelves--provided
this is based on a subject scheme, consistently carried out--may
be sufficiently effective for its own purposes, even though purely
individual with itself. What it implies, however, in multiplication
of an expense that might be avoided by the adoption of an identical
scheme, is of an import very serious. The construction of a scheme
which should suit equally all libraries and all librarians is not to
be expected. The best that can be hoped for is a scheme sound in its
fundaments and upon which the concessions of individual preference
necessary will be only as to detail. The reluctance--of librarians--to
make such concessions is due, I think, to an exaggerated estimate
of the importance of classification as such--that is to say, of
the precise location of a particular book in a given collection; a
failure to realize--what experience should have taught--that in many
groups no location can be absolutely permanent, owing to changes in
the literary output and in the subject relation of that group to the
rest. This reluctance is, I fear, one of the conservatisms least
creditable to the profession. It induces tenacity in adhesion to
systems adopted, and it leads to the adoption of new systems devised
to accord with supposed idiosyncrasies of a particular collection--or
pursuant to the ingenious inventiveness of a particular librarian. I
can express myself the more frankly because in this latter respect the
Library of Congress has itself been a sinner;--and one not yet come
to repentance. For at the outset of its problem it found the Decimal
classification in considerable vogue, the Expansive in considerable
favor. And it adopted neither, but proceeded to devise a scheme of
its own. It did this out of declared necessity, with regard to its
supposed interests; and considering those interests alone the results
have seemed a justification. They are even being utilized in certain
other institutions, and though not proffered as a model for general
adoption, they render even now a general service in proving the economy
of centralizing the process of classification, as well as that of
cataloging, at some central point or points from which the decisions
may radiate.
The general availability of a catalog entry depends of course upon
uniformity in cataloging practice as well as identity in size and form
of the card itself,--if the result takes the form of a card. Agreement
in this has fortunately been rapid, and we have now in English speaking
American a set of decisions, embodied in a code of rules--substantially
accepted among our own libraries and even substantially acceptable to
the libraries of Great Britain. Between continental practice and our
own variances still exist, and bar the complete interchange of results.
One cannot doubt, however, that time will eradicate, or adjust these
also.
Between bibliography as distinguished from classification and
cataloging, there exist, however, no such impediments; and the
centralization of bibliographic work--co-operation in it--is
progressing apace.
The prospect is, therefore, fairly cheerful that librarians will be
able in the near future to free themselves and their funds from undue
attention to the mere mechanism of their craft, and more completely to
devote their resources and personal service to the book as literature,
and the reader as a human being.
The spirit for this is ardent. It is manifest in our two countries
as nowhere else in like degree. As regards the reader it calls
itself proudly "the missionary spirit"; it seeks him, appraises him,
sympathizes with him, counsels him. It does not doubt its duty in
this to be an affirmative one. But as regards the book itself it is
not yet so decisive. For in the selection of what it is to offer it
still concedes much to what is called the "popular taste"--which
means the popular fancy of the moment, ignoring in doing so its
prerogative as an "educational" institution to assert standards, and
to abide by them. Its hope is to improve the taste itself; and the
need of this--its appropriateness as a function of the library, and
the means of effecting it--are to be a main feature of the program of
this conference. They are justly so,--even though they are matters
of concern chiefly for that type of library which is engaged in
serving the public at large. It is, however, precisely that type
of library with which also the duty should lie of representing the
standards established by time, and the taste represented by the more
refined rather than by the average instincts of the community. And as
the temptation--to make concessions is also peculiarly theirs--the
responsibility is particularly upon them, their librarians, their
trustees, and the conservative in public opinion--to assert this duty
and to conform to it. The assertion of it may cause resentment; but
this will prove merely individual; it is not likely to organize into
formidable resistance. And in time it will become merely sporadic. It
will tend to diminish in proportion as associations such as this, in
conferences such as this, declare solidly for the authority of the
library in such decisions--while clearly distinguishing it from any
censorship of literature as such.
The temptation to court "popularity"--natural in institutions
maintained at the public expense and therefore dependent upon the
favor of city councils--has another phase which I hope may prove but
transitory. It is in the exploitation of the service done by the books
which are the "tools of trade" as against those making for general
information, or general culture. The supposition is that the service of
the first named is one which will convince certain important opinion as
a "practical" service, and particularly that it will appeal to those
who are just now insistent upon vocational studies as the studies to
be given right of way in the education of youth. The temptation is the
greater because the service of a book of this sort is a service whose
results are readily demonstrable, it is concrete and objective;--while
that of general literature is but subjective.
Its importance cannot be questioned, nor the duty of the library to
perform it, nor the success of our public libraries in the actual
performance of it. The only criticism might be lest in the emphasis
upon it, our libraries may seem to underestimate, if not to disparage,
that other service which in its ulterior benefit to the community may
prove of even greater importance; that service which reminds the public
that livelihood is not the main purpose of life, nor the present,
the local and the particular, the only era, the only place, the only
thing worthy of consideration and regard. The books which achieve
this may have their greatest value in offsetting the tendencies of
mere industry. This is not to say, however, that they may not advance
industry itself; for though they may not improve the mere dexterity
of a particular individual in a profession, art or trade, they may aid
to that sense of proportion, that larger view of a worldwide relation
which will advance the art itself; and they cultivate the imagination
which is the essential of modern industry in its larger relations.
As, therefore, our colleges still stand for the utility of the general
studies even in a career looking to vocation, so our libraries may well
stand for the utility of the general literature. Particularly is this
duty upon them since the opportunity--in its relation to the community
at large--is uniquely theirs: for no other agency--not even the museum,
or the art gallery, or the theatre, the opera house, or the concert
hall--potent as may be the influence of these--matches the book in
power and availability in this service of quickening the sensibilities,
refining the taste, enlarging the understanding, diversifying the
experience, warming the heart and clarifying the soul.
And this service--understood everywhere--is nowhere--save perhaps
in England--quite so completely followed into its consequences as
in Canada and the United States. The conviction of it grounds our
libraries upon a public opinion assuring permanent support; and
inspires among individuals enthusiasm for gift and endowment. The
greater, therefore, the responsibility of librarians and trustees to
see to it that this conviction, this enthusiasm and the resources which
they provide shall be so utilized as to effect not merely the most
showy but the most substantial results.
And the responsibility should include not merely a zeal for the general
reader, but a regard for the scholar: since a benefit to the general
reader may end with himself, but a benefit to the scholar becomes
amplified and diffused through him. He is not, be it understood,
a class by himself. He includes the specialist whose vocation is
research in a particular field; but he includes also the reader for
whom research is but an avocation. He is the unusual man, but he is
also the usual man in his unusual moments. What is the conscious aim
of the one may be the incidental achievement of the other--to advance
knowledge. And the aid rendered by the library to either may be of a
consequence to the community more far reaching than the mere diffusion
of ascertained knowledge among a multitude of individuals.
If the effort of our libraries in this direction has not kept pace with
their efforts in the others, the explanation is obvious in the emphasis
necessary upon the others during the past fifty years. But the time has
come when the obligation to the scholar should resume its due place--in
our programs, as well as in our practice.
And with the resumption of that interest may we not hope for a
recognition--a recognition--in our organizations also of that type
which gave personality to the libraries of old?--I mean the type
represented by the Panizzis, the Garnetts, the Winsors, Pooles, Cutters
and Spoffords. For however indifferent such men may have been, or might
be today, to the mere mechanism which of late we have been exalting,
and which we must hold to be necessary under modern conditions, they
succeeded in producing an atmosphere which had a potency of its own,
which no mere mechanism can reproduce, and for which the zeal of
routine personal service, however "missionary" in spirit, cannot be
a substitute. For the mechanism gives the impression of intervening
between the reader and the book; and the routine personal service
fails from the very nature of its effort. The reader reached out to
may be pleased and aided: but he loses the lesson and the penetrating
suggestion afforded by the mere absorption of the old-time librarian
in the book itself. It was that which once took the visitor out of
himself, away from affairs, and gave him touch with a different world,
a sense of different values. Does he not miss it now? I think he does;
and that, however he may respect the mere efficiency of the modern
librarian, as administrator, his really affectionate admiration turns
back to the librarian of the old school whose soul was lifted above
mere administration, or the method of the moment, or the manner of
insistent service, and whose passionate regard was rather for the
inside of a book than for the outside of a reader,--even the librarian
to whom a reader seemed indeed but an interruption to an abstraction
that was privileged.
I for one, should be sorry to think that this type has passed finally.
There is need for it; there should be a place. I trust that it will be
restored to us; and I deplore the influence upon the younger generation
in our profession of referring to it with condescension if not with
contempt.
"Our profession." I use the term because it is current. We have
assumed it, and no one has challenged it. There are grounds on which
it might, I suppose, be challenged. "The word implies," according to
the Century Dictionary, "professed attainments in special knowledge,
as distinguished from mere skill; a practical dealing with affairs,
as distinguished from mere study or investigation; and an application
of such knowledge to uses for others as a vocation, as distinguished
from its pursuit for one's own purposes." The latter two requirements
are certainly met: we are engaged in practical affairs, and to the
use of others. But the "professed attainments in special knowledge,
as distinguished from mere skill," while certainly represented in
individuals among us, are not with us conditions of librarianship as
a vocation or as an office, nor have we in America, as they have in
Germany, the conventional preparation, the preliminary examination
as to qualifications, and the license which by law or usage are
requirements in the professions strictly so-called. A profession should
imply uniform standards in such qualifications: but the qualifications
of persons accepted among us for library posts of importance,--even
among persons who have made notable successes in such posts, vary
extraordinarily in both kind and degree. A profession should imply a
certain homogeneity in ideals, methods and relations; while among us
there is still a notable diversity. The modern library with its large
establishment and organization, and the responsibility of large funds,
has, like the modern university, created a demand in its administrators
for the traits necessary in business rather than characteristic of the
professions or expected of them. (This demand, and the vogue of woman
in our work--a vogue which finds its completest recognition at this
meeting--are indeed the most notable of recent phenomena affecting
our personnel.) As yet the conventional training has not attracted a
sufficiency of men and women with such traits to meet the need; nor
has it, on the other hand, attracted a sufficient number of men and
women grounded in special branches of the sciences and the arts to
fill the positions in our research libraries which administer, and
should interpret, the literature of these. The actual personnel of our
association includes therefore the utmost diversity in trait, education
and experience.
A considerable such diversity exists among teachers, and does not
disentitle them to the claim of constituting a profession; and we are
sometimes called educators. But we cannot claim to be, for we lack the
didactic authority, purpose and method.
The final characteristic of a profession is its influence upon the
community as such. Now, our lack of such an influence as a body is
in part due to the lack of that homogeneity in ideal method and
personnel--but in part also to the necessary limitations of our
office. We are necessarily non-partisan. We are to furnish impartially
the ammunition for both sides of every issue. The moment we become
identified with a single side merely, we lose our influence and our
authority. And it matters not whether the issue be political, or
theological or economic or social. If it be scientific, or merely
literary, we have more freedom, since the subject matter is more nearly
academic and less emotional. But even here we must avoid the charge of
faddism. In a contest of morality we may indeed take side against the
baser, because with this we have no influence and no need to court one.
But there are today few moral issues clearly distinguishable as such in
which there is need or temptation for us to engage.
The result of this neutrality is an attitude which to the world at
large must seem somewhat colourless; but also a habit of mind which
insensibly in itself becomes neutral. We are content to be observers.
We avoid becoming contestants. Such characteristics do not go to the
solidification of opinion in a profession, nor to the assertion of it
in an aggressive way.
The sum total of all of which (observations upon us) is that in
spite of our numbers, in spite of the momentous aggregate that our
"establishment" represents, in spite of the assured place which it
occupies in the community and the social system, we are at present,
and in many ways must continue to be, an aggregate of individuals
rather than a body politic. But even as the Devil's advocate I would
not so conclude in a deprecatory sense, for we may find and show many
reasons for complacency--and special opportunities for service--in the
relations which this situation implies.
* * * * *
My original invitation was a large one: no less than to estimate the
place of the library in English-speaking America. I have not attempted
to comply with it: for it seemed too large for my fraction of this
program. But as a theme it was enticing. And so would have been the
reverse of it,--that is, the place of English-speaking America in
the development of the library. That also will perhaps be worthy of
treatment at some large opportunity. One particular aspect of it is
suggested by a letter of Francis Lieber to General Halleck, fifty-seven
years ago. It runs--
"... Have you laid the foundation of a great public library in
California? Your state, above all others, ought largely to provide
public funds for a library,--say $20,000 a year for the first
five years, and then, permanently so much a year. We cannot do in
our days without large public libraries, and libraries are quite
as necessary as hospitals or armies. Libraries are the bridges
over which Civilization travels from generation to generation
and from country to country, bridges that span over the widest
oceans; and California will yet be the buttress of the bridge over
which encircling civilization will pass to Asia, whence it first
came...."[1]
[1] From "Life and letters of Francis Lieber." Edited by Thomas
Sergeant Perry. Boston. 1882.
If California may be such a buttress, what may we not propound
of English-speaking America as a whole--from which through its
universities and colleges occidental ideals and methods are already
being transmitted to the Orient through the effective medium of
students sent here for their education?
* * * * *
Such are some of the thoughts with which some of us at least approach
this conference. They are thoughts, even if, as yet, only in part
satisfactions. There is a satisfaction, however, which is dominant with
those of us who come from over the border. It is that this conference
is to be held on Canadian soil; and that here, with the broad welcome
extended to us, with a common subject matter, and with purposes in
connection with it that can awaken neither cavil nor suspicion, we are
free to indulge in reciprocities that will be complete, mutual, and
enduring.
Mr. Lawrence J. Burpee read the following telegram from the private
secretary of the Duke of Connaught, which was received with hearty
applause:
The Governor-General wishes meeting of American Library
Association every success and His Royal Highness regrets
exceedingly that it is impossible for him to be present at your
annual meeting tomorrow.
Mr. BURPEE: Similar letters of regret have been received from the Right
Honorable Prime Minister and several members of the cabinet and from
Sir Wilfrid Laurier, and we are yet in hopes that Sir Wilfrid will be
able to be with us on Dominion Day.
I have been asked by the Dominion Archivist and by the Director of the
Victoria museum and the Custodian of the National gallery to extend to
you a most hearty welcome to visit those institutions, and I have also
been asked by the president of the Ottawa Electric Railway to say that
the railway would like you to consider yourselves guests of the company
while here, and that the A. L. A. button will identify us sufficiently.
The CHAIRMAN: The work of the local committee has been done largely by
two men,--Dr. Otto Klotz and Mr. Lawrence J. Burpee,--and perhaps at a
later session we will have occasion to give thanks to Mr. Burpee, who
behind the scenes has made our official tasks come so lightly and so
easily.
The secretary read a cablegram bearing greetings from the New Zealand
Libraries Association, through the secretary, Mr. Herbert Baillie,
librarian of the Wellington (N. Z.) public library.
Adjourned.