社会过程（英文版）(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：(美)库利

出版社：中国传媒大学出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

社会过程（英文版）试读：

出版说明

随着中国高等教育的教学改革，广大师生已不满足于仅仅阅读国外图书的翻译版，他们迫切希望能读到原版图书，希望能采用国外英文原版图书进行教学，从而保证所讲授的知识体系的完整性、系统性、科学性和文字描绘的准确性。此套丛书的出版便是满足了这种需求，同时可使学生在专业技术方面尽快掌握本学科相应的外语词汇，并了解先进国家的学术发展方向。

本系列在引进英文原版图书的同时，将目录译为中文，作为对原版的一种导读，供读者阅读时参考。

从事经典著作的出版，需要出版人付出不懈的努力，好在有本丛书的主编展江教授和何道宽教授的大力扶持，我们得以在学术出版的道路上走的更远。我们自知本套丛书也许会有很多缺陷，虚心接受读者提出的批评和建议。中国传媒大学出版社

Part Ⅰ THE ORGANIC VIEW OF THE PROCESS OF HUMAN LIFE

Chapter 1 The Tentative Method

WE see around us in the world of men an onward movement of life.

There seems to be a vital impulse，of unknown origin，that tends to work ahead in innumerable directions and manners，each continuous with something of the same sort in the past.

The whole thing appears to be a kind of growth，and we might add that it is an adaptive growth，meaning by this that the forms of life we see-men，associations of men，traditions，institutions，conventions，theories，ideals-are not separate or independent，but that the growth of each takes place in contact and interaction with that of others.

Thus any one phase of the movement may be regarded as a series of adaptations to other phases.

That the growth of persons is adaptive is apparent to every one.Each of us has energy and character，but not for an hour do these develop except by communication and adjustment with the persons and conditions about us.And the case is not different with a social group，or with the ideas which live in the common medium of communicative thought.Human life is thus all one growing whole，unified by ceaseless currents of interaction，but at the same time differentiated into those diverse forms of energy which we see as men，factions，tendencies，doctrines，and institutions.

The most evident distinction among these growing forms is that between the personal and the impersonal.A man is a personal form of life；a fashion or a myth is impersonal.

This seems obvious enough，but there are cases in which the line is not so plain，and it may be well to consider more precisely what we mean by “ personal” in this connection，or rather in just what sense a form of human life can be impersonal.

An impersonal form，I should say，is one whose life history is not identified with that of particular persons.A myth，for example，has a history of its own which you would never discover in the biography of individuals，and although it exists in the minds of men it cannot be seen intelligibly except by regarding it as a distinct whole for which human thought is only a medium.When an American Indian，let us say，repeated with unconscious variations the story of Hiawatha，he did not know he was participating in the growth of a myth；that was taking place in and through him but quite apart from his personal consciousness.

The same is true of the growth of language.We know that the speech of any people has a vital unity，offering to the philologist a world of interesting structures and relations of which those who use the language and contribute to its growth are as unaware as they are of the physiology of their bodies.

The difference between personal and impersonal organisms，then，is above all practical，resting upon the fact that many forms of life are not identified with personality and cannot be understood，can hardly be seen at all，by one who will interest himself only in persons.

They exist in the human mind，but to perceive them you must study this from an impersonal standpoint.

Observe the practical value，if we hope to do away with war，of perceiving that the chief opponent of peace is something far more than any one group of men，like the Prussian aristocracy，namely militarism，an international organism existing everywhere in the form of aggressive ideals，traditions，and anticipations.

If we can learn to see this，and see how we ourselves，perhaps，are contributing to it by our ignorance of foreign nations and our lack of generous ideals for our own，we are in a position to oppose it effectually.

We live，in fact，in the very midst of a rank growth of social structures of which，since they are impersonal and do not appeal to our interest in personality，we are mainly unaware.We can see that such a growth has taken place in the past，and there is no reason to suppose that it has ceased.

The development of religious institutions during the past thirty years has involved gradual changes in belief about such matters as immortality，salvation，and the relation of God to man，of which we have not been aware because they have not been the work of definite thought and discussion，for the most part，but have been borne in upon us by the mental currents of the time.We do not even now know precisely what they are；but they are real and momentous，and it is of such changes that the development of institutions chiefly consists.

It is noteworthy that however impersonal a phase of social growth may be it appeals to our interest as soon as we see that it has a life history，as one may find amusement in following the history of a word in one of the books of etymology.

There is something in the course of any sort of life that holds our attention when we once get our eye upon it.How willingly do we pursue the histories of arts，sciences，religions，and philosophies if some one will only show us how one thing grows out of another.

To say that a social form is impersonal does not mean that it is dead.A language or a myth is verily alive；its life is human life；it has the same flesh and blood and nerves that you and I have，only the development of these is organized along lines other than those of personal consciousness.When I speak，or even when I think，language lives in me，and the part that lives in me is acting upon other parts living in other persons，influencing the life of the whole of which I am unconscious.And the same may be said of tradition，of the earlier and less conscious history of institutions，and of many obscure movements of contemporary life which may prove important notwithstanding their obscurity.

It is evident that the personal and the impersonal forms must overlap，since the same life enters into both.

If you took away all the persons there would be nothing left，the other systems would be gone too，because their constituents are the same.What we may not so readily admit （because of our special interest in personality） is that persons are equally without a separate existence，and that if you take away from a man’s mind all the unconscious and impersonal wholes there would be nothing left-certainly no personality.

The withdrawal of language alone would leave him without a human self.

Between persons，on the one hand，and those forms of life that are wholly impersonal，on the other，there are many intermediate forms that have something of both characteristics.A family is perhaps as personal as any group can be，because its members so commonly identify their persona-lity with it，but it may easily have an organic growth of its own to which its members contribute without knowing.Every family has in greater or less degree a moral continuity from generation to generation through which we inherit the influence of our great grandfathers，and there is none of which a history might not be written，as well as of the Stuarts or Hohenzollerns，if we thought it worth while.

A small，closely knit community，like a primitive clan，or like a Jewish colony in a Russian village，has a corporate life of much the same personal character as the family；that is，the group comprehends almost the whole personality of the individuals，and is not too large or too complex for the individual to comprehend the group.Larger communities and even nations are also thought of as aggregates of persons，but they have a life history that must be seen as a whole and can never be embraced in any study of persons as such.

Most of the voluntary associations of our modern life are of a character chiefly impersonal；that is they tend to a specialization by which one interest of the individual is allied with the similar interests of others，leaving his personality as a whole outside the group.

The ordinary active citizen of our day joins a dozen or more organizations，for profit，for culture，for philanthropy，or whatnot，into each of which he puts only a fragment of himself，and for which he feels no serious responsibility.

It is very commonly the case，however，that one or a few individuals—zealous employees or unpaid enthusiasts for the cause—do identify themselves with the life of the association and put personality into it.And this may happen with those social growths which we have noticed as peculiarly impersonal—even with language，as when an enthusiast sets out to revive Irish or promote Volapük.

May we not say，indeed，that whenever two persons associate we have a new whole whose life cannot altogether be understood by regarding it merely as the sum of the two？ This is clearly the case with husband and wife，and no doubt，in measure，with other relations.

If we inquire more closely into the interaction and growth of these forms of life we come upon what I will call the tentative process.

This is no other than what is vaguely known to popular thought as the process of evolutionary“selection，”or the survival of the fittest，and is also described as the method of trial and error，the pragmatic method，the growth of that which“works”or functions，and by other terms similar to these.Perhaps as simple a description as any is to say that it is a process of experiment which is not necessarily conscious.

That is，the trial of various activities and the guidance of behavior by the result of the trial may require no understanding of what is taking place.

The growth of social forms is for the most part roughly analogous to that of the wild-grape vine which has extended itself over trellises and fences and into trees in my back yard.

This vine has received from its ancestry a certain system of tendencies.

There is，for example，the vital impulse itself，the general bent to grow.

Then there is its habit of sending out straight，rapidly growing shoots with two-branched tendrils at the end.

These tendrils revolve slowly through the air，and when one touches an obstacle，as a wire or branch，it books itself about it and draws up in the form of a spiral spring，pulling the shoot up after it.A shoot which thus gets a hold grows rapidly and sends out more tendrils；if it fails to get a hold it by and by sags down and ceases to grow.

Thus it feels its way and has a system of behavior which insures its growth along the line of successful experiment.

So in the human world we find that forms of life tending to act in certain ways come into contact with situations which stimulate some of their activities and repress others.

Those that are stimulated increase，this increase acts upon the structures involved in it—usually to augment their growth—and so a“selective”development is set in motion.

Intelligence may have a part in this or it may not；nothing is essential but active tendencies and conditions which guide their operation.

You may sometimes see one vine growing upon another，involving the mutual adaptation of two living forms.

In human life this is the usual condition，the environment being not something fixed but another plastic organism，interacting in turn with still other organisms，giving rise to an endless system of reciprocal growth.One form of life feels about among the various openings or stimuli offered by another，and responds to those which are most congruous with its own tendencies.

The two experiment with each other and discover and develop some way，more or less congenial，of getting along.

This is evidently true of persons，and the principle applies equally to groups，ideas，and institutions.

We have，at any given moment，a complex of personal and impersonal wholes each of which is charged with energy and tendency in the form of heredity and habit coming from its past.

If we fix our attention upon any particular whole—a person，a party，a state，a doctrine，a programme of reform，a myth，a language—we shall find it in the act of making its way，of growing if it can，in the direction of its tendencies.As we have seen，it is alive，however impersonal，and has human flesh，blood，and nerves to urge it on.

It already has adapted structure—hands and feet as Luther said of the Word of God —because if it had not developed something of the sort，some fitness to live in the general stream of human life，we should not in fact find it there.As its means of further growth it has a repertory of available activities；and these，consciously or otherwise，are tried upon the situation.

If not guided by something in the nature of intelligence they act blindly，and may nevertheless act effectively.

In general some one or some combination of these activities will work better in the situation than others，finding more scope or stimulus of some sort，and will grow accordingly；the energies of the whole，so far as they are available，tending to find an outlet at this point.

Thus the more a thing works the more it is enabled to work，since the fact that it functions draws more and more energy to it.And the whole to which it belongs，in thus continuing and enhancing the successful activity，behaves very much as if it were conducting a deliberate experiment.

The enhanced activity also involves changes in the whole and in the situation at large；and thus we move on to new situations and new operations of the same principle.

Take，for illustration，the growth of a man at any point of his career；let us say a youth starting out to make his living.He has energies and capacities of which he is for the most part but vaguely aware.Young people wave their instincts and habits about for something to catch on very much as a vine does its tendrils.Suggestions as to possible lines of work，drawn from what he sees about him，are presented to his mind and，considering these with such light as he may have，he seeks a job.He selects as among his opportunities，and at the same time his opportunities，in the form of possible employers，select as between him and other seekers.Having undertaken a job he may find that he cannot do the work，or that it is too repugnant to his inclinations，in which case he presently drops it and tries another.But if he succeeds and likes it his energy more and more flows into it，his whole mind is directed toward it，he grows in that sense.And his success usually secures to him a larger and larger part to play in his chosen field，thus opening new opportunities for growth in the same direction.Life is constantly revealing openings which we could not have anticipated.

It is like paddling toward the outlet of a lake，which you cannot locate until you are almost in it.We think that our course must extend in one of two directions；but further advance shows that there is a third more practicable than either.A little idea that we have overlooked or deemed insignificant often grows until it renders obsolete those we thought great.

In the case of a group under personal leadership the process is not greatly different.A political party，a business enterprise，a social settlement，a church，a nation，develops by means of a mixture of foresight and unforeseen experience.

It feels its way，more or less intelligently，until it finds an opening，in the form of policies that prove popular，unexploited markets，neglected wrongs，more timely doctrines，or the like；and then，through increased activity at the point of success，develops in the propitious direction.

Fashion well illustrates the tentative growth of an impersonal form.

Thus fashions in women’s dress are initiated，it appears，at Paris，this city having a great prestige in the matter which it has achieved by some centuries of successful leadership.

In Paris there are a large number of professional designers of dress who are constantly endeavoring to foresee the course of change，and to Produce designs that will“take.”They compete with one another in this，and those who succeed gain wealth and reputation for themselves and the commercial establishments with which they are connected.Although they initiate they by no means have the power to do this arbitrarily，but have to adapt themselves to vague but potent tendencies in the mind of their public.

It is their business to divine these and to produce something which will fit the psychological situation.At the seasons when new styles are looked for the rival artists are ready with their designs，which they try upon the public by causing professional models，actresses，or other notabilities to appear in them.Of the many so presented only a few come into vogue，and no designer can be certain of success： no one can surely foresee what will work and what will not.But the designs that win in Paris spread almost without opposition over the rest of the fashionable earth.

In the sphere of ideas“working”is to be understood as the enhanced thought which the introduction of an idea into the mental situation may stimulate.An idea that makes us think，especially if we think fruitfully，is a working idea.

In order to do this it must be different from the ideas we have，and yet cognate enough to suggest and stimulate a synthesis.When this is the case the human mind，individual or collective，is impelled to exert itself in order to clear the matter up and find an open way of thinking and acting.

Thus it strives on to a fresh synthesis，which is a step in the mental growth of mankind.

Consider，for example，the working of the idea of evolution，of the belief that the higher forms of life，including man，are descended from lower.A pregnant，widely related idea of this sort has a complex growth which is ever extending itself by selection and adaptation.We know that various lines of study had united，during the earlier half of the nineteenth century，to make it appear to bold thinkers that evolution from lower forms was not improbable.

This idea found a point of fruitful growth when，in the thought of Darwin especially，it was brought into contact with the geological evidence of change and with the knowledge of heredity and variation accumulated by breeders of domestic species.Here it worked so vigorously that it drew the attention and investigation first of a small group and later of a great part of the scientific thought of the time.Other ideas，like that of Malthus regarding the excess of life and the struggle for existence，were co-ordinated with it，new researches were undertaken；in short，the public mind began to function largely about this doctrine and has continued to do so ever since.

Just what is it that“works”？ The idea implies that there is already in operation an active tendency of some sort which encounters the situation and whose character determines whether it will work there，and if so，how.

In the case of the vine it is the pre-existing tendency of the tendrils to revolve in the air，to bend themselves about any object they may meet，and then to draw together like a spiral spring，which causes the vine to work as it does when it meets the wire.

Indeed，to explain fully its working many other tendencies would have to be taken into account，such as that to grow more rapidly at the highest point attained，or where the light is greatest，and so on.

In fact the vine has an organism of correlated tendencies whose operation under the stimulus of the particular situation is the working in question.

When we speak of human life we are apt to assume that the existing tendency is some conscious purpose，and that whatever goes to realize this is“working，”and everything else is failure to work.

In other words，we make the whole matter voluntary and utilitarian.

This is an inadequate and for the most part a wrong conception of the case.

The working of a man，or of any other human whole，in a given situation is much more nearly analogous to that of the vine than we perceive.Although conscious purpose may play a central part in it，there is also a whole organism of tendencies that feel their way about in the situation，reacting in a complex and mainly unconscious way.

To put it shortly，it is a man’s character that works，and of this definite purpose may or may not be a part.

In a similar way any form of human life，a group，institution，or idea，has a character，a correlation of complex tendencies，a Motiv ，genius，soul or whatever you may choose to call it，which is the outcome of its past history and works on to new issues in the present situation.

These things are very little understood.How a language will behave when it has new forms of life to interpret will depend，we understand，upon its“genius，”its historical organism of tendencies，but I presume the operation of this is seldom known in advance.And likewise with our country as it lives in the minds of the people，with our system of ideas about God and the church，or about plants and animals.

These are real forms of life，intricate，fascinating，momentous，sure to behave in remarkable ways，but our understanding of this branch of natural history is very limited.

The popular impression that nothing important can take place in human life without the human will being at the bottom of it is an illusion as complete as the old view that the universe revolved about our planet.

Here is an example from Ruskin of the working of two styles of architecture in contact with each other.He says that the history of the early Venetian Gothic is“the history of the struggle of the Byzantine manner with a contemporary style ［Gothic］ quite as perfectly organized as itself，and far more energetic.And this struggle is exhibited partly in the gradual change of the Byzantine architecture into other forms，and partly by isolated examples of genuine Gothic taken prisoner，as it were，in the contest；or rather entangled among the enemy’s forces，and maintaining their ground till their friends came up to sustain them.”The reality of such struggles and adaptations cannot be gainsaid by any one acquainted with the history of art，nor the fact that they are the outworking of complex antecedent tendencies.But I suppose that all the individual builder perceived of this conflict was that men from the north were making window—mouldings and other details in new forms which he could use，if they pleased him，instead of other forms to which he had been accustomed.Of either style as an organic whole with more or less energy he probably knew nothing.But they were there，just as real and active as two contending armies.

One may sometimes discover in his own mind the working of complex tendencies which he has not willed or understood.When one first plans a book he feels but vaguely what material he wants，and collects notes somewhat at random.But as he goes on，if his mind has some synthetic energy，his thought gradually takes on a system，complex yet unified，having a growth of its own，so that every suggestion in this department comes to have a definite bearing upon some one of the many points at which his mind is striving to develop.Every one who has been through anything of this sort knows that the process is largely unintentional and unconscious，and that，as many authors have testified，the growing organism frequently develops with greatest vigor in unforeseen directions.

If this can happen right in our own mind，with matters in which we have a special interest，so much the more can it with lines of development to which we are indifferent.

As a matter of psychology the evident fact underlying this“working”is that mental development requires the constant stimulus of fresh suggestions，some of which have immensely more stimulating power than others.We know how a word or a glance from a congenial person，the quality of a voice，a poetic or heroic passage in a book，a glimpse of strange life through an open door，a trait of biography，a metaphor，can start a tumult of thought and feeling within us where a moment before there was only apathy.

This is“working，”and it seems that something like it runs all through life.

It is thus that Greek literature and art have so often awakened the minds of later peoples.

The human spirit cannot advance far in any separate channel： there must be a group，a fresh influence.，a kindred excitement and reciprocation.

These psychical reactions are more like the kindling of a flame，as when you touch a match to fine wood，than they are like the composition of mechanical forces.You might also call it，by analogy，a kind of sexuality or mating of impulses，which unites in a procreative whole forces that are barren in separation.

This kindling or mating springs from the depths of life and is not likely to be reduced to formulas.We can see，in a general way，that it grows naturally out of the past.Our primary need is to live and grow，and we are kindled by something that taps the energies of the spirit where they are already pressing for an outlet.We are easily kindled in the direction of our instincts，as an adolescent youth by the sight of a pretty girl，or of our habits，as an archaeologist by the discovery of a new kind of burial urn.’

It is in this way，apparently，that all initiation or variation takes place.

It is never produced out of nothing；there is always an antecedent system of tendencies，some of which expand and fructify under fresh suggestions.

Initiation is nothing other than an especially productive kind of working，one that proves to be the starting-point for a significant development.A man of genius is one in whom，owing to some happy combination of character and situation，old ideas are kindled into new meaning and power.All inventions occur through the mating of traditional knowledge with fecundating conditions.A new type of institution such as our modern democracy，is but the expansion，in a propitious epoch，of impulses that have been awaiting such an epoch for thousands of years.’

But let us confess that we have no wisdom to explain these motions in detail or to predict just when and how they will take place.

They are deep-rooted，organic，obscure，and can be anticipated only by an imagination that shares their impulse.

There is no prospect，in my opinion，of reducing them to computation.

The statement，“that grows which works，”is true and illuminating，but reveals more questions than it solves.Perhaps this is the main use of it，that it leads us on to inquire more searchingly what the social process actually is.

It has，I think，an advantage over“adaptation，”“selection，”or“survival of the fittest”in that it gives a little more penetrating statement of what immediately takes place，and also in that it is not so likely to let us rest in mechanical or biological conceptions.

Chapter 2 Organization

A PROCESS of adaptive“working”such as I have described is a process also of organization，because it tends to bring about a system of co-ordinated activities fitted to the conditions，and that is what organization is.

If a theory，for example，is making its way into the minds of men，and at each point where it is questioned or tested arguments and experiments are being devised to support it，then it is in course of organization.

It is becoming an intricate whole of related parts which work in the general mind and extend its influence.

The theory of evolution has its organs in every department of thought，the doctrine of eugenics，for example，being one form in which it functions.

The same is true of any living whole.Whenever a person enters upon a new course of life his mind begins to organize with reference to it；he develops ways of thinking and acting that are necessary or convenient in order that he may meet the new conditions.

In this way each of us grows to fit his job，acquiring habits that are in some way congruous with it.A farmer，a teacher，a factory worker，a banker，is certain to have in some respects，an occupational system of thinking.So a group，if it is lasting and important，like a state，or a church，or a political party，develops an organization every part of which has arisen by adaptive growth.A university，if we look at it from this point of view，appears as a theatre of multiform selective organization.

The students，already sifted by preparatory schools and entrance examinations，are subject to further selection for membership in the various academic groups.

They must pass certain preliminary courses，or attain a certain standing before they can take advanced courses or be admitted to honor societies.

The athletic，dramatic，and debating groups have also selective methods whose function is to maintain their organized activities.And the university as a whole，and especially its various technical departments，acts as an agent of selection for society at large，determining in great part who are fit for the different professions.

It is also a centre for the organization of ideas.

Intellectual suggestions relating to every branch of knowledge，brought from every part of the world by books and periodicals as well as by the cosmopolitan body of teachers and students，are compared，discussed，augmented，worked over，and thus organized，presumably for the service of mankind.

This organization，of which we are a part，like the process that creates it，is more largely unconscious than we are apt to perceive.We see human activities co-operating ingeniously to achieve a common object，and it is natural to suppose that this co-operation must be the result of a plan： it is the kind of thing that may be done by prevision，and it does not readily occur to us that it can be done in any other way.But of course organization is something far more extended than consciousness，since plants，for example，exhibit it in great intricacy.

Indeed one of the main tasks of Darwin was to overcome by a great array of facts the idea，accepted by his contemporaries，that the curious and subtle adaptations of animal and vegetable life must be due to the action of a planning intelligence.He showed that although even more curious and subtle than had been perceived，they might probably be explained by the slow working of unconscious adaptation，without any plan at all.No one deliberately set out to color the small birds like the ground so that the hawk would not see them，but by the production of birds of varying colors，and the survival and propagation of those that had in some degree a protective resemblance，the latter was gradually perfected and established.

The same principle of unintentional adaptation is at work in human life，and we need to be reminded of it because the place of the will at the centre of our personal consciousness leads us to exaggerate the sphere of its activity.

The social processes，though they result in a structure which seems rational，perhaps，when it is perceived，are for the most part not planned at all.Consciousness is at work in them，but seldom consciousness of anything more than some immediate object，some detail that contributes to the whole without the actor being aware of the fact.Generally speaking，social organisms feel their way without explicit consciousness of where they want to go or how they are to get there，even though to the eye of an observer after the fact their proceedings may have an appearance of rational prevision.

This is true in a large measure even of persons，though less true of them than of the more impersonal wholes.We are seldom conscious of our personal growth in any large way；we meet details and decide as best we can，but the general flow of our time，our country，our class，our temperament，carries us along without our being definitely aware of it.

It is hardly possible for us to know what is taking place in us until it is already accomplished： contemporary history，in an individual as in a nation，eludes our comprehension.A country girl finds work in a city office，and presently discovers that she has taken on the hurry and excitement of the town and cannot do without it；a student enters college and at the end of the year finds himself a different man，without having intended it，or knowing how it came about.We take one rather than another of the paths opening before us： they do not seem to diverge much，but one leads around to the west and another to the east.We do not know what choices are important and what are not.

In only a few matters do we think out a policy，and in much fewer do we carry it out.As Emerson said，there is less purpose in the careers of successful men than we ascribe to them；and one could soon fill a note-book with testimony that the man and his work often find each other by mere chance.A man is hungry and plans how to get a dinner，in love and schemes to get a wife，desires power and racks his brain for ways to get it；but it can hardly be said that our intelligence is often directed to the rational organization of our character as a whole.With some men it is，certainly，but even they often find that they have failed to understand their own tendency.Martin Luther declared that“No good work comes about by our own wisdom；it begins in dire necessity.

I was forced into mine；but had I known then what I know now，ten wild horses would not have drawn me into it.”

Although we are a part of the growth of impersonal forms of life we seldom know anything about it until it is well in the past.We do not know when—for obscure reasons that even the psychologist can hardly detect—we use one word rather than another，or use an old word in a new sense，that we are participating in the growth of the language organism.And yet this organism is vast，complex，logical，a marvel，apparently，of constructive ingenuity.

It is the same with tradition and custom.We never tell a story or repeat an act precisely as we heard or saw it；everything is unconsciously modified by passing through us and the social medium of which we are a part，and these modifications build logical structures which human intelligence，in the course of time，may or may not discover.

The students of folk-lore and primitive culture deal chiefly with such material.

The working or vitality of one element of a tradition over another consists in some power to stimulate impulses in the human mind，which is，therefore，a selective agent in the process，but we are no more aware of what is going on，usually，than we are of the selective action of our digestive organs.

The folkways and moreswhich Professor Sumner has so amply discussed are almost wholly of this nature.

The commercialism of our time offers a modern instance.Nobody，I suppose，has intended it： it has come upon us through the mechanical inventions，the opening of new countries and other conditions which have stimulated industry and commerce，these in turn imposing themselves upon the minds and habits of men at the expense of other interests.An epoch，like an individual，has its somewhat special functions，and a mind somewhat subdued to what it works in.Such a development as that of the Italian painting of the Renaissance，or of a particular school，like the Venetian，is a real organism，fascinating to study in the interactions and sequences of its activity，waxing and waning under the spur of immediate influences without thought of the living whole which history now discovers.

A city is a different sort of organism whose development is，for the most part，equally unconscious.A frontier settlement，we will say，is fortunately situated with reference to the growth of the country，its water-power，its port facilities，or something of the sort making it a functional point.

The settlers may or may not perceive and co-operate with this advantage，but in any case the town grows；trade and manufactures increase，railroads seek it，immigration pours in，street-railways are laid，the different elements segregate in different localities，and we presently have a complex，co-ordinated structure and life which，however faulty from the point of view of the civic reformer，is a real organism，full of individuality and interest.

Think of Chicago or New Orleans，not to speak of the riper development of London，Venice，or Rome.Here are social organisms with only gleams of general consciousness，growing by tentative selection and synthesis.

The case is much the same with nations，with the Roman Empire，Spain，and Britain.

Any one who follows the large movements of history must perceive，I think，that he is dealing mainly with unconscious systems and processes.At a given time there is a social situation that is also a mental situation，an intricate organization of thought.

The growth of this involves problems which the mind of the time is bound to work out，but which it can know or meet only as details.

Thus the history of the Christian Church in the Middle Ages presents itself to the student as the progressive struggle，interaction，and organization not only of specifically Christian ideas and traditions，but of all the ideas and traditions of the time working upon each other in this central institution.Whatever beliefs men came to were the outcome of the whole previous history of thought.Vast forces were contending and combining in an organic movement which we can even now but dimly understand，and which the men involved in it could no more see than a fish can see the course of the river.

Feeling has an organic social growth which is，perhaps，still less likely than that of thought to be conscious.

The human mind is capable of innumerable types and degrees of sentiment，and the question what type shall be developed or how far it shall be carried depends upon social incitement.

If certain ways of feeling become traditional and are fostered by customs，symbols，and the cult of examples，they may rise to a high level in many individuals.

In this way sentiment，even passion，may have an institutional character.Of this too the various phases of mediaeval Christianity afford examples.

Its emotions were slowly evolved out of Roman，oriental，and barbarian，as well as Christian，sources.

It is notable that not only may the growth of a movement be unintended by the persons involved in it，but it may even be opposed to their wills.

The oncoming of a commercial panic，with the growing apprehension and mistrust which almost every one would arrest if he could，is a familiar example.

The mental or nervous epidemics which sometimes run through orphan asylums and similar institutions are of somewhat the same nature.

They propagate themselves by their power to stimulate a certain kind of nerve action and live in the human organism without its consent.

Indeed，are not all kinds of social degeneration—vice，crime，misery，sensualism，pessimism—organic growths which we do not intend or desire，and which are usually combated by at least a part of those afflicted？

There has been much discussion regarding the use of such words as“organic，”“organization，”and“organism”with reference to society，the last appearing specially objectionable to some persons，who feel that it suggests a closer resemblance to animal or plant life than does in fact exist.On the other hand，“organism”seems in many cases a fitter word than“organization，”which is usually understood to imply conscious purpose.

It matters little，however，what term we use if only we have a clear perception of the facts we are trying to describe.Let us，then，consider shortly what we mean by such expressions.

If we take society to include the whole of human life，this may truly be said to be organic，in the sense that influences may be and are transmitted from one part to any other part，so that all parts are bound together into an interdependent whole.We are all one life，and its various phases—Asia，Europe，and America；democracy，militarism，and socialism；state，church，and commerce；cities，villages，and families；and so on to the particular persons，Tom，Dick，and Harry—may all be regarded，without the slightest strain upon the facts，as organs of this whole，growing and functioning under particular conditions，according to the adaptive process already discussed.

The total life being unified by interaction，each phase of it must be and is，in some degree，an expression of the whole system.My thought and action，for example，is by no means uninfluenced by what is going on in Russia，and may truly be said to be a special expression of the general thought of the time.

But within this great whole，and part of it，are innumerable special systems of interaction，more or less distinct，more or less enduring，more or less conscious and intelligent.Nations，institutions，doctrines，parties，persons，are examples；but the whole number of systems，especially of those that are transient or indefinite，is beyond calculation.Every time I exchange glances with a man on the street a little process of special interaction and growth is set up，which may cease when we part or may be indefinitely continued in our thought.

The more distinct and permanent wholes，like nations，institutions，and ruling ideas，attract peculiar study，but the less conspicuous forms are equally vital in their way.As to persons，they interest us more than all the rest，mainly because our consciousness has a bias in their favor.

That is，having for its main function the guidance of persons，it is more vivid and choosing with reference to the personal phase of life than to any other.We know life primarily as persons，and extend our knowledge to other forms with some difficulty.

Another notable thing about this strange complex is the overlapping and interpenetration of the various forms，so that each part of the whole belongs to more than one organic system-somewhat as in one of those picture-puzzles where the same lines form part of several faces，which you must discover if you can.

Thus one’s own personality is one organic system；the persons he knows are others，and from one point of view all human life is made up of such personal systems，which，however，will be found on close inspection not to be separate but to interpenetrate one another.

I mean that each personality includes ideas and feelings reflected from others.From another point of view the whole thing breaks up into groups rather than persons—into families，communities，parties，races，states.Each has a history and life of its own，and they also overlap one another.A third standpoint shows us the same whole as a complex of thoughts or thought-systems，whose locus，certainly，is the human mind，but which have a life and growth of their own that cannot be understood except by studying them as distinct phenomena.All are equally real and all are aspects of a common whole.

Perhaps the first requisite in the making of a sociologist is that he learn to see things habitually in this way.

If，then，we say that society is an organism，we mean，I suppose，that it is a complex of forms or processes each of which is living and growing by interaction with the others，the whole being so unified that what takes place in one part affects all the rest.

It is a vast tissue of reciprocal activity，differentiated into innumerable systems，some of them quite distinct，others not readily traceable，and all interwoven to such a degree that you see different systems according to the point of view you take.

It is not the case，as many suppose，that there is anything in the idea of organism necessarily opposed to the idea of freedom.

The question of freedom or unfreedom is rather one of the kind of organism or of organic process，whether it is mechanical and predetermined，or creative and inscrutable.

There may be an organic freedom，which exists in the whole as well as in the parts，is a total as well as a particular phenomenon.

It may be of the very nature of life and found in all the forms of life.Darwin seems to have believed in something of this kind，as indicated by his unwillingness to regard the dinosaur as lacking in free will.

The organic view of freedom agrees with experience and common sense in teaching that liberty can exist in the individual only as he is part of a whole which is also free，that it is false to regard him as separate from or antithetical to the larger unity.

In other words the notion of an opposition between organism and freedom is a phase of the“individualistic”philosophy which regarded social unity as artificial and restrictive.

Chapter 3 Cycles

IT is a familiar observation that there is a cyclical character in all the movements of history.Every form of organization has its growth，its vicissitudes，and sooner or later，probably，its decline and disappearance.

The mob assembles and disperses，fashions come in and go out，business prosperity rises，flourishes，and gives way to depression，the Roman Empire，after centuries of greatness，declines and falls.

This is a trait of life in general，and the explanation does not pertain especially to sociology.Still，if we assume that social process is made up of functional forms or organisms working onward by a tentative method，we can see that their history is naturally cyclical.Any particular form represents an experiment，conscious or otherwise，and is never absolutely successful but has constantly to be modified in order to meet better the conditions under which it functions.

If it does this successfully it grows，but even in the growing it usually becomes more complex and systematic and hence more difficult to change as regards its general type.

In the course of time the type itself is likely to lose its fitness to the conditions，and so the whole structure crumbles and is resolved into elements from which new structures are nourished.

The parties，the doctrines，the institutions of the past are for the most part as dead as the men.

Where institutions，like Christianity，have survived for a millennium or two，it is commonly not their organization that has endured，but a very general idea or sentiment which has vitalized successive systems，each of which has had its cycle of prosperity and decay.

It does not follow that a social cycle is in any way mechanical or predetermined，any more than it follows that the individual life is so because each of us sooner or later declines and dies.

The word“rhythm”which has been used in this connection by Herbert Spencer and others is questionable as implying a mechanical character that does not exist.When we are told that a movement is rhythmical we generally infer，I think，that certain phases recur at stated times，and can he predicted on this basis，like the ebb and flow of tides.

But if this is what the word means then the idea of rhythm in the social process appears to he a fiction.

I doubt if any examples of it can be given，except such as are immediately dependent upon some external phenomenon，like our going to bed at night，or else are artificially established，such as the cessation of work every seventh day，or the celebration of the Fourth of July.

The course of the fashions，or of the periods of prosperity and depression in business，are fair examples of the kind of phenomena supposed to be rhythmical；but it does not appear，upon examination，that these movements are mechanical or can be predicted by simple rules of any sort.Can any one foretell the fashions more than two or three months ahead，or by any method save that of inquiring what has already got a start in London or Paris？ Studies of their genesis show that even the most expert are unable to tell in advance what designs will“take.”

Many have the impression that business cycles follow a regular course，which can be plotted beforehand on curves，and some，I believe，put sufficient faith in such curves to invest their money accordingly，but I doubt if they are especially successful.My impression is that the few men who succeed in speculation do not trust to any law of rhythm，but make an intensive study of the actual state of the market，guiding themselves somewhat by past records，but not forgetting that the present condition is，after all，unique，and must be understood by a special intellectual synthesis.

I take it that those who trust to mechanical formulas are much in the same class as those who expect to get rich at Monte Carlo by the use of an arithmetical“system.”

A scientific study of business cycles，such as that carried out with large scope and exhaustive detail by Professor Wesley C.Mitchell，shows that they are complex organic movements，belonging to a common general type—as indicated by successive periods of confidence and depression，of high and low prices，and so on—but differing greatly from one another，altering fundamentally with the development of business methods，and showing no such pendulum-like regularity in time as is often supposed.“The notion that crises have a regular period of recurrence，”it seems，“is plainly mistaken.”“These cycles differ widely in duration，in intensity，In the relative prominence of their various phenomena，and in the sequence of their phases.”Professor Mitchell’s work is an excellent example of what a scientific study of social process，in the economic sphere，should be，and of the uses and limits of the statistical method.

The same sort of objection holds good against the idea that social organisms of any sort，and more especially nations，are subject to a definite law of growth and decay，which enables us to predict their fate in advance.No doubt they must all“have their closes”sooner or later，but the process is complex and in part within the sphere of will，so that there is no exact way of predicting how it will work out.So far as nations have decayed in the past it has been because their systems became too rigid for change，or took on a form which demoralized the people，or proved unable to resist conquest，or in some other way failed to work effectually.

These dangers are difficult to avoid，and it is not surprising that most nations have succumbed to them，but sound institutions intelligently adapted to change might avert them indefinitely.

It may even be said that there are nations which have lived throughout historical time.

The Jews，for example，have kept their national consciousness and their fundamental ideas.Some modern nations，as France and England，have endured many centuries and show no lack of vigor.

Predictions based on a supposed law of this nature are constantly proving false.At almost any time during the last three centuries English writers could be found likening the condition of their country to that of imperial Rome，and predicting a similar downfall；and recently America has been threatened with a like fate.Many have judged France and Spain to be hopelessly on the downward path，and have elaborated theories of the causes of their decay，which have proved somewhat supererogatory.

My own impression is that the freer and more intelligent forms of national life arising under modern conditions are likely，when well established，to have a much longer life than older forms，the reason being that they are plastic and capable of rational adaptation.

There will be ups and downs，but the actual dissolution of a self-conscious modern nation is hard to conceive.

The idea that history repeats itself is similar to that of social rhythm.Certain principles of human nature and social process operate throughout history，and their working may be traced in one age as in another.

Thus when one nation is believed to be trying to dominate others it is human nature that the latter should combine against it；and in this sense it may be said that the Entente of 1914 was a repetition of the league against Napoleon.But such resemblances are accompanied by essential differences，so that the situation as a whole is new，and you cannot predict the course of events except on the basis of a fresh synthesis.

It is easy to discover resemblances，and to overestimate their importance.

I take it that life as a whole is not a series of futile repetitions，but an eternal growth，an onward and upward development，if you please，involving the continual transformation or elimination of details.Just as humanity lives on while individuals perish，so the social organization endures while particular forms of it pass away.

Chapter 4 Conflict and Co-operation

FROM the perennial discussion regarding the meaning of conflict in life two facts clearly emerge： first，that conflict is inevitable，and，second，that it is capable of a progress under which more humane，rational，and co-operative forms supplant those which are less so.We are born to struggle as the sparks fly upward，but not necessarily to brutality and waste.

Vivere militare est；even the gentlest spirits have felt that life is an eternal strife.Jesus came to bring not peace but a sword，and the Christian life has always been likened to that of a soldier.

“Sure I must fight if I would reign，Increase my courage，Lord ！ ”

The thing is to fight a goodfight，one that leaves life better than it found it.

In the individual and in the race as a whole there is an onward spirit that from birth to the grave is ever working against opposition.A cloud of disease germs surrounds us which we beat off only by the superior vigor of our own blood-corpuscles，and to which as our organism weakens in age we inevitably succumb.

It is much the same in the psychological sphere.Every meeting with men is，in one way or another，a demand on our energy，a form of conflict，and when we are weakened and nervous we cannot withstand the eyes of mankind but seek to avoid them by seclusion.

The love that pervades life，if it is affirmative and productive，works itself out through struggle，and the best marriage is a kind of strife.

The sexes are as naturally antagonistic as they are complementary，and it is precisely in their conflict that a passionate intimacy is found.We require opposition to awaken and direct our faculties，and can hardly exert ourselves without it.“What we agree with leaves us inactive，”said Goethe，“but contradiction makes us productive.”Stanley，the explorer of Africa，writes：“When a man returns home and finds for the moment nothing to struggle against，the vast resolve which has sustained him through a long and difficult enterprise dies away，burning as it sinks in the heart；and thus the greatest successes are often accompanied by a peculiar melancholy.”

It is apparent that both conflict and co-operation have their places in our process of organic growth.As forces become organized they co-operate，but it is through a selective method，involving conflict，that this is brought about.Such a method compares the available forces，develops the ones most fitted to the situation，and compels others to seek functions where，presumably，they can serve the organism better.

There seems to be no other way for life to move ahead.And a good kind of co-operation is never static，but a modus vivendi under which we go on to new sorts of opposition and growth.People may be said to agree in order that their conflict may be more intimate and fruitful，otherwise there is no life in the relation.

The two are easily seen to be inseparable in every-day practice.When，for example，people have come together to promote social improvement，the first thing to do is to elect officers.

This may not involve a conflict，but the principle is there，and the more earnestness there is，the more likelihood of opposition.

Then there must be a discussion of principles and programme，with occasional ballots to see which view has won.

I remember reading of several rather serious conflicts within societies for the promotion of peace，and churches and philanthropic movements are not at all lacking in such incidents.

Co-operation within a whole is usually brought about by some conflict of the whole with outside forces.Just as the individual is compelled to self-control by the fact that he cannot win his way in life unless he can make his energies work harmoniously，so in a group of any sort，from a football-team to an empire，success demands co-ordination.

The boys on the playground learn not only that they must strive vigorously with their fellows for their places on the team，but also that as soon as their team meets another this kind of conflict must yield to a common service of the whole.

In no way do working people get more discipline in fellowship and co-operation than in carrying through a strike.

The more intelligent students recognize some measure of conflict between capital and labor as functional and probably lasting.Like the struggle of political parties it is a normal process，through which issues are defined and institutions developed.

And likewise with nations.

Their enlargement and consolidation，throughout history，including the remarkable development of internal organization and external co-operation due to the great war，have almost invariably been occasioned by the requirements of conflict.And if we are to have a lasting world-federation it must preserve.While controlling，the principle of national struggle.

A factor of co-operation，of organization，always presides over conflict and fixes its conditions.

There is never a state of utter chaos but always a situation which is the outcome of the organic development of the past，and to this the contestants of the hour must adjust themselves in order to succeed.

That this is the case when the situation includes definite rules，as in athletic contests，is manifest.But the control of the social organization over conflict goes far beyond such rules，operating even more through a general situation in which certain modes of conflict are conducive to success and others are not.

In business the customary practices and opinions must be observed as carefully as the laws，if one would not find every man’s hand against him，and the same is true in sports，in professional careers，in manual trades，in every sphere whatsoever.

Even in war，which is the nearest approach to anarchy that we have on any large scale，it is not the case that a presiding order is wholly absent.Any nation which defies the rooted sentiment of mankind as to what is fair in this form of conflict，regarding no law but that of force，sets in operation against itself currents of distrust and resentment that in the long run will overbear any temporary gain.

The most truculent states so far understand this that they try to give their aggressions the appearance of justice.

The more one thinks of it the more he will see that conflict and co-operation are not separable things，but phases of one process which always involves something of both.Life，seen largely，is an onward struggle in which now one of these phases and now another may be more conspicuous，but from which neither can be absent.

You can resolve the social order into a great number of co-operative wholes of various sorts，each of which includes conflicting elements within itself upon which it is imposing some sort of harmony with a view to conflict with other wholes.

Thus the mind of a man is full of wrangling impulses，but his struggle with the world requires that he act as a unit.A labor-union is made up of competing and disputing members；but they must manage to agree when it comes to a struggle with the employer.And employer and employees，whatever their struggles，must and do combine into a whole for the competition of their plant against others.

The competing plants，however，unite through boards of trade or similar bodies to further the interests of their city against those of other cities.And so the political factions of a nation may be at the height of conflict，but if they are loyal they unite at once when war breaks out with another country.

And war itself is not all conflict，but often generates a mutual interest and respect，a“sympathy of concussion.”A scholar who perished in the trenches of the German army in France wrote：“Precisely when one has to face suffering as I do，it is then a bond of union enlaces me with those who are over there—on the other side...

If I get out of this—but I have little hope—my dearest duty will be to plunge into the study of what those who have been our enemies think.”It is not impossible to think of the battling nations as struggling onward toward some common end which they cannot see.

They slay one another，but they put a common faith and loyalty into the conflict；and out of the latter may come a clearer view of the common right.

It is a moral experiment to which each contributes and defends its own hypothesis，and if the righteous cause wins，or the righteous elements in each cause，all will profit by the result.So it was with the American Civil War，as we all feel now.North and South say：“ We differed as to what was right.

It had to be fought out.

There might have been another way if our minds had been otherwise，but as it was the way to unity lay through blood，”

Much has been said，from time to time，about our age being one of combination，in the economic world at least，and of the decline of competition.

It would be more exact to say that both combination and competition have been taking on new forms，but without any general change in the relation between them.What happens，for example，when a trust is formed to unite heretofore competing plants，is that unification takes place along a new line for the purpose of aiding certain interests in their conflict for aggrandizement.

It is merely a new alignment of forces，and has no tendency toward a general decline of competition.

Indeed every such trust not only fights outside competitors，but deliberately fosters manifold competition within its system，for the sake of exciting exertion and efficiency.

The different plants are still played off one against the other，as are also the different departments，the different foremen in each department，and the different workmen.By an elaborate system of accounting，every man and every group is led to measure its work against that of other men and other groups，and to struggle for superiority.And the great combinations themselves have not been and will not be left at peace.

If they absorb all their competitors they will have to deal with the state，which can never permit any form of power to go unchecked.

It is evident that the vigor of the struggle is proportionate to the human energy that goes into it，and that we cannot expect tranquillity.

It does not follow，however，that the amount of conflict is a measure of progress.

The function of struggle is to work out new forms of co-operation，and if it does not achieve this but goes on in a blind and aimless way after the time for readjustment has arrived，it becomes mere waste.Synthesis also takes energy，and very commonly a higher or more rational form of energy than conflict.Critics of the present state of things are wrong when they condemn competition altogether，but they are right in condemning many present forms of it.Extravagant and fallacious advertising，price-cutting conflicts，the exploitation of children and squandering of natural resources，not to mention wars，indicate a failure of the higher constructive functions.

Indeed the irrational continuance of such methods exhausts the energies that should put an end to them，just as dissipation exhausts a man’s power of resistance，so that the more he indulges himself the less able he is to stop.

Evidently progress is to be looked for not in the suppression of conflict but in bringing it under rational control.

To do this calls for some sort of a social constitution，formal or informal，covering the sphere of struggle，a whole that is greater than the conflicting elements and capable of imposing regulation upon them.

This regulation must be based on principles broad enough to provide for pacific change and adaptation，to meet new conditions.So far as we can achieve this we may expect that struggle will rise to higher forms，war giving place to judicial procedure，a selfish struggle for existence to emulation in service，a wasteful and disorderly competition to one that is rational and efficient.Our past development has been in this direction，and we may hope to continue it.

But the current of events is ever bringing to pass unforeseen changes，and if these are great and sudden they may again throw us into a disorderly struggle，just as a panic in a theatre may convert an assemblage of polite and considerate people into a ruthless mob.Something of this kind has taken place in connection with the industrial revolution，bringing on a confusion and demoralization from which we have only partly emerged.Another case is where a conflict，for whose orderly conduct the organization does not provide，having long developed beneath the surface in the shape of antagonistic ideals and institutions，breaks out disastrously at last，as did the Civil War in the United States，or the great war in Europe.We can provide against this only in the measure that we foresee and control the process in which we live.

If we can do this we may look for an era of deliberate and assured progress in which conflict is confined and utilized like fire under the boiler.

Chapter 5 Particularism versus the Organic View

WE meet in social discussion a way of thinking opposed to the conception of organic process as I have tried to expound it，which I will call intellectual particularism.It consists in holding some one phase of the process to be the source of all the others，so that they may be treated as subsidiary to it.

A form of particularism that until recently was quite general is one that regards the personal wills of individual men，supplemented，perhaps，by the similar will of a personal God，as the originative factor in life from which all else comes.Everything took place，it was assumed，because some one willed it so，and for the will there was no explanation or antecedent history： it was the beginning，the creative act.When this view prevailed there could be no science of human affairs，because there was no notion of system or continuity in them；life was kept going by a series of arbitrary impulses.As opposed to this we have the organic idea that will is as much effect as cause，that it always has a history，and is no more than one phase of a great whole.

In contrast to particularistic views of this sort we have others which find the originative impulse in external conditions of life，such as climate，soil，flora，and fauna；and regard intellectual and social activities merely as the result of the physiological needs of men seeking gratification under these conditions.

A doctrine of the latter character having wide acceptance at the present time is“economic determinism，”which looks upon the production of wealth and the competition for it as the process of which everything else is the result.

The teaching of Marxian socialism upon this point is well known，and some economists who are not socialists nevertheless hold that all important social questions grow out of the economic struggle，and that all social institutions，including those of education，art，and religion，should be judged according as they contribute to success in this struggle.

This is，indeed，a view natural to economists，who are accustomed to look at life from this window，though most of them have enough larger philosophy to avoid any extreme form of it.

The fallacy of all such ideas lies in supposing that life is built up from some one point，instead of being an organic whole which is developing as a whole now and，so far as we know，always has done so in the past.Nothing is fixed or independent，everything is plastic and takes influence as well as gives it.No factor of life can exist for men except as it is merged in the organic system and becomes an effect as much as a cause of the total development.

If you insist that there is a centre from which the influence comes，all flowing in one direction，you fly in the face of fact.What observation shows is a universal interaction，in which no factor appears antecedent to the rest.

Any particularistic explanation of things，I should say，must be based on the idea that most institutions，most phases of life，are passive，receive force but do not impart it，are mere constructions and not transitive processes.But where will you find such passive institutions or phases？ Are not all alive，all factors in the course of history as we know it？ It seems to me that if you think concretely，in terms of experience，such an explanation cannot be definitely conceived.

I hold that the organic view is not a merely abstract theory about the nature of life and of society，but is concrete and verifiable，giving a more adequate general description than other theories of what we actually see，and appealing to fact as the test of its value.

It does not attempt to say how things began，but claims that their actual working，in the present and in the historical past，corresponds to the organic conception.

Let any one fix his mind upon some one factor or group of factors which may appear at first to be original，and see if，upon reflection，it does not prove to be an outgrowth of the organic whole of history.

Thus many start their explanation of modern life with the industrial revolution in England.But what made the industrial revolution？ Was it brought into the world by an act of special creation，or was it a natural sequence of the preceding political，social，intellectual，and industrial development？ Evidently the latter： it is a historical fact，like another，to be explained as the outcome of a total process，just as much an effect of the mental and social conditions of the past as it came to be a cause of those of the future.

I think this will always prove to be the case when we inquire into the antecedents of any factor in life.

There is no beginning；we know nothing about beginnings；there is always continuity with the past，and not with any one element only of the past，but with the whole interacting organism of man.

If universal interaction is a fact，it follows that social life is a whole which can be understood only by studying its total working，not by fixing attention upon one activity and attempting to infer the rest.

The latter method implies an idea similar to that of special creation，an idea that there is a starting-place，a break of continuity，a cause that is not also an effect.

Such visible and tangible things as climate，fuel，soils，fruits，grains，wild or domestic animals，and the like have for many a more substantial appearance than ideas or institutions，and they are disposed to lean upon these，or upon some human activity immediately connected with them，as a solid support for their philosophy of life.But after all such things exist for usonly as they have interacted with our traditional organism of life and become a part of it.Climate，as it actually touches us，may be said to be a social institution，of which clothes，shelter，artificial heat，and irrigation are obvious aspects.And so with our economic“environment.”What are deposits of iron and coal，or fertility of soil，or navigable waters，or plants and animals capable of domestication，except in conjunction with the traditional arts and customs through which these are utilized？ To a people with one inheritance of ideas a coal-field means nothing at all，to a people with another it means a special development of industry.Such conditions owe their importance，like anything else，to the way they work in with the process already going on.

Another reason for the popularity of material or economic determinism is the industrial character of our time and of many of our more urgent problems，which has caused our minds to be preoccupied with this class of ideas.A society like ours produces such theories just as a militarist society produces theories that make war the dominating process.

It is easy to show that the“moresof maintenance.”the way a people gets its living，exercise an immense influence upon all their ideas and institutions.But what are the“moresof maintenance”？ Surely not something external to their history and imposed upon them by their material surroundings，as seems often to he assumed in this connection，but simply their whole mental and social organism，functioning for self-support through its interaction with these surroundings.

They are as much the effect as they can possibly be the cause of psychical phenomena，and to argue economic determinism from their importance begs the whole question.Material factors are essential in the organic whole of life，but certainly no more so than the spiritual factors，the ideas，and institutions of the group.

Professor W.G.Sumner，probably by way of protest against a merely ideal view of history，said：“We have not made America；America has made us.”Evidently we might turn this around，and it would be just as plausible.“We”have made of America something very different from what the American Indians made of it，or from what the Spaniards would probably have made of it if it had fallen to them.“America”（the United States） is the total outcome of all the complex spiritual and material factors—the former chiefly derived from European sources—which have gone into its development.

To treat the human mind as the primary factor in life，gradually unfolding its innate tendencies under the moulding power of conditions，is no less and no more plausible than to begin with the material.Why should originative impulse be ascribed to things rather than to mind？ I see no warrant in observed fact for giving preference to either.

It is the aim of the organic view to“ see life whole，”or at least as largely as our limitations permit.However，it by no means discredits the study of society from particular standpoints，such as the economic，the political，the military，the religious.

This is profitable because the whole is so vast that to get any grasp of it we need to approach it now from one point of view，now from another，fixing our attention upon each phase in turn，and then synthetizing it all as best we can.

Moreover，every phenomenon stands in more immediate relation to some parts of the process than to others，making it necessary that these parts should be especially studied in order to understand this phenomenon.Hence it may be quite legitimate，with reference to a given problem，to regard certain factors as of peculiar importance.

I would not deny that poverty，for example，is to be considered chiefly in connection with the economic system；while I regard the attempt to explain literature，art，or religion mainly from this standpoint as fantastic.But when we are seeking a large view we should endeavor to embrace the whole process.No study of a special chain of causes is more than an incident in that perception of a reciprocating whole which I take to be our great aim.

If we think in this way we shall approach the comprehension of a period of history，or of any social situation，very much as we approach a work of organic art，like a Gothic cathedral.We view the cathedral from many points，and at our leisure，now the front and now the apse，now taking in the whole from a distance，now lingering near at hand over the details，living with it，if we can，for months，until gradually there arises a conception of it which is confined to no one aspect，but is，so far as the limits of our mind permit，the image of the whole in all its unity and richness.

We must distinguish between the real particularist，who will not allow that any other view but his own is tenable，and the specialist，who merely develops a distinctive line of thought without imagining that it is all-sufficing.

The latter is a man you can work with，while the former tries to rule the rest of us off the field.Of course he does not succeed，and the invariable outcome is that men tire of him and retain only such special illumination as his ardor may have cast；so that he contributes his bit much like the specialist.Still，it would diminish the chagrin that awaits him，and the confusion of his disciples，if he would recognize that the life-process is an evolving whole of mutually interacting parts，any one of which is effect as well as cause.

It should be the outcome of the organic view that we embrace specialty with ardor，and yet recognize that it is partial and tentative，needing from time to time to be reabsorbed and reborn of the whole.

The Babel of conflicting particularisms resembles the condition of religious doctrine a century ago，when every one took it for granted that there could be but one true form of belief，and there were dozens of antagonistic systems claiming to be this form.

The organic conception，in any sphere，requires that we pursue our differences in the sense of a larger unity.

I take it that what the particularist mainly needs is a philosophy and general culture which shall enable him to see his own point of view in something like its true relation to the whole of thought.

It is hard to believe，for example，that an economist who also reads Plato or Emerson comprehendingly could adhere to economic determinism.

There are several rather evident reasons for the prevalence of particularism.One is the convenience of a fixed starting-point for thinking.Our minds find it much easier to move by a lineal method，in one-two-three order，than to take in action and reaction，operating at many points，in a single view.

In fact，it is necessary to begin somewhere，and when we have begun somewhere we soon come to feel that that is the beginning，for everybody，and not merely an arbitrary selection of our own.

Very like this is what I may call the illusion of centrality ，the fact that if you are familiar with any one factor of life it presents itself to you as a centre from which influence radiates in all directions，somewhat in the same way that the trees in an orchard will appear to radiate from any point where you happen to stand.

Indeed it really is such a centre；the illusion arises from not seeing that every other factor is a centre also.

The individual is a very real and active thing，but so is the group or general tendency；it is true that you can see life from the standpoint of imitation （several writers have centred upon this） but so you can from the standpoint of competition or organization.

The economic process is as vital as anything can be，and there is nothing in life that does not change when it changes；but the same is true of the ideal processes；geography is important，but not more so than the technical institutions through which we react upon it；and so on.

Another root of particularism is the impulse of self-assertion.After we have worked over an idea a while we identify ourselves with it，and are impelled to make it as big as possible —to ourselves as well as to others.

There are few books on sociology，or any other subject，in which this influence does not appear at least as clearly as anything which the author intended to express.

It is not possible or desirable to avoid these ambitions，but they ought to be disciplined by a total view.

I have little hope of converting hardened particularists by argument；but it would seem that the spectacle of other particularists maintaining by similar reasoning views quite opposite to their own must，in time，have some effect upon them.

Part Ⅱ PERSONAL ASPECTS OF SOCIAL PROCESS

Chapter 6 Opportunity

THE most evident differentiation in the process of human life is that into persons，each of whom strives forward in a direction related to but never quite parallel with that of his neighbor.And this onward striving，when we regard it largely，is seen to be an experimental and selective process which is maintaining and developing the social organization.

Its general direction is continuous with the past，our will to live and to express ourselves being moulded from infancy by the system which is the outcome of ages of development.We feel our way into this system，and in so doing become candidates for some one of the functions of society.

There are generally other candidates，and we have to struggle，to adapt ourselves，to renounce and compromise，until we reach some kind of a working adjustment with our fellows.

The whole may be regarded as a vast game，the aim of which is to arouse and direct endeavor along lines of growth continuous with the past.

The rules of the game，its scale，and the spirit in which it is played，change from year to year and from age to age；but its underlying function remains.

Society requires，in its very nature，a continuous reorganization of persons： any statical condition，any fixed and lasting adjustment，is out of the question.One reason for this is that with every period of about fifty years there is a complete change in the active personnel of the system；man by man one crew withdraws and a new one has to be chosen and fitted to take its place.When we reflect upon the number of social functions，the special training required for each，and the need that this training should be allied with natural aptitude，it is apparent that the task is a vast one and the time short.

It is not merely the death of persons or the decay of their faculties that calls for reorganization，but also the changes in the social system itself，to which persons must adapt themselves—the new industrial methods，the migrations，the transformation of ideas and practices in every sphere of life.

These do not conform to the decay of individuals but often strike a man in the midst of his career，compelling him to begin again and make a new place for himself in the game—if he can.

All this comparison and selection cannot be managed without a large measure of competition，however it may be mitigated.

It would seem that there must always be an element of conflict in our relation with others，as well as one of mutual aid；the whole plan of life calls for it；our very physiognomy reflects it，and love and strife sit side by side upon the brow of man.

The forms of opposition change，but the amount of it，if not constant，is at any rate subject to no general law of diminution.

If we are，to make the process of life rational there is nothing which more requires our attention than the adaptive organization of persons.At present it is，for the most part，a matter of rather blind experimentation，unequal，from the point of view of individuals，and inefficient from that of society.

The child does not know what his part in life is，or how to find it out： he looks to us to show him.But neither do we know： we say he must work it out for himself.Meanwhile the problem is solved badly，in great part，and to the detriment of all of us.Moreover，since it becomes daily more difficult with the growing complexity and specialization of life，the unconscious methods upon which we have hitherto relied are less and less adequate to meet it.

The method，however we may improve it，must remain experimental，involving comparison and selection as well as co-operation.

The only possible alternative，and that only a partial one，would be a system of caste under which the function of the son would be determined by that of his father.

If the social system were stationary，so that the functions themselves did not change，this method would insure order without conflict，after a fashion；but I need not say that it would be an inefficient fashion and an order contrary to the spirit of modern life.For us the way plainly lies through the acceptance of the selective method，and its scientific study and reconstruction.

What the individual demands with reference to this reorganizing process is opportunity；that is，such freedom of conditions that he may find his natural place，that he may serve society in the way for which his native capacity and inclination，properly trained and measured with those of others in fair competition，will fit him.

In so far as he can have this be can realize himself best，and do most for the general good.

It is the desirable condition from both the personal and the public points of view.

But if we ask just how this freedom is to be had，we find that there is no simple answer.

It differs for every person and for every phase of his growth，and is always the outcome not of one or two circumstances，but of the whole system in which he lives.We cannot fix upon any particular point in a man’s history as the one at which he is，once for all，given or denied opportunity.He needs it all his life，and we may well demand that he have it during his prenatal development as well as after birth；or，going back still further，we may try，by controlling propagation，to see that he has a good hereditary capacity to start with.

Supposing that we begin at birth，we may regard new-born children as undeveloped organisms，each of which has aptitudes more or less different from those of any other.

These differences of aptitude are the basis of the future social differentiation，but we have no means of knowing what they are.Opportunity，if it is to be at all complete，must begin right away；it should consist，apparently，in a continuous process，lasting from birth to death，which shall awaken，encourage，and nourish the individual in such a way as to enable his highest personal and social development.

The study of it means that our whole society must be considered with a view to the manner in which it aids or hinders this process.

The trend of social development is such as to make opportunity more and more a matter of intelligent provision，less and less one which can take care of itself.Recent history presents the growth of a complex，specialized system，offering，as time goes on，more functions and requiring more selection and preparation to perform them rightly.

I say“rightly”because many of them may be and are performed，after a fashion，with very little selection or preparation；but the full human and social function of the individual normally requires a personal development proportionate to the development of the whole.

Formerly a boy growing up on a farm，let us say，had his social possibilities in plain sight： he could either continue on the farm or apprentice himself to one of several trades and professions in the neighboring town.Nowadays a thousand careers are theoretically open to him，but these are mostly out of sight，and there is no easy way of finding out just what they are，whether they are suitable to him，or how he may hope to attain them.

The whole situation calls for a knowledge and preparation far beyond what can be expected of unaided intelligence.

If we are really to have opportunity we must evidently make a science of it，and apply this science to the actual interworking of the individual with the social whole.

It is a well-known principle of evolution that the higher the animal in the scale of life the longer must be the period of infancy.

That is，the higher the mental and social organism the longer it takes for the new individual to grow to full membership in it.

The human infant has the longest period of helplessness because he has most to learn.

Following out this principle，the higher our form of society becomes the more intelligence and responsibility it requires of its members，and hence the longer must be the formative period during which they are getting ready to meet these requirements.A civil engineer，for example，must master a far greater body of knowledge now than fifty years ago.

It is true that specialized industry offers many occupations which，though they contribute to a complex whole，are in themselves very simple，such as tending the automatic machinery by which screws are made.But it cannot be regarded as a permanent condition that intelligent labor should be employed at work of this kind.

Intelligence is greatly needed；there is never enough of it；and to leave it unused is bad management.“A man is worth most in the highest position he can fill.”Mechanical work should be done by machines，and will be so done more and more as men are trained for something higher.

The lack of such training I take to be one of the main reasons why men are kept at tasks which do not use their intelligence.And even at such tasks they are rarely efficient unless they understand the meaning of what they are doing，so that they can fit it into the process as a whole.

The man who lacks comprehension and adaptability is of little use；and it is precisely to gain these that preparation is required.

Moreover，beyond the technical requirements，we have the need that a man should be prepared for social function of a larger sort，to make his way in the vast and open field of modern life，to find his job，to care for his family，to perform his duties as a citizen.

That many are plunged into the stress and confusion of life without such a preparation is an evil of the same nature as when recruits are sent into battle without previous instruction and discipline.

The process of learning in action will be destructive.

In early childhood，opportunity means all kinds of healthy growth-physical，mental，moral，social.

This，no doubt，is best secured through a good family.But we cannot have good families without a good community，and so it calls for general measures to create and maintain standards of life.it seems a simple truth，but is one which we disregard in practice，that“equality of opportunity”cannot exist，or begin to exist，except as it extends to little children，and that it cannot extend to them except through a somewhat paternal，or maternal，vigilance on the part of society.

Our principal institution having opportunity for its object is education，and accordingly this has an increasing function arising from the increasing requirements that life makes upon it.Where it does not perform this function adequately we see the result in social failure and degeneration—armies of stunted children，privilege thriving upon the lack of freedom，the poor tending to become a misery caste，the prevalence of apathy and inefficiency.

Since opportunity is a different thing for every individual，and requires that each have the right development for him ，it is clear that education should aim at a study and unfolding of individuality，and that，in so far as we have uniform and wholesale methods，not dealing understandingly with the individual as such，we are going wrong.

I recall that an able woman who had been a teacher in a state institution for delinquent girls said to me that every such girl had a desire，perhaps latent，to be something，to express an individuality，and that the recognition of this was the basis of a better system of dealing with them.

This is only human nature，and one way of stating nearly all our social troubles is to say that individuality has not been properly understood and evoked，has not had the right sort of opportunity.

To find a response in life，to discover that what is most inwardly you ，is wanted also in the world without，that you can serve others in realizing yourself；this is what makes resolute and self-respecting men and women of us，and what the school ought unfailingly to afford.

The people who drift and sag are those who have never“found themselves.”

When，after hearing and reading many discussions about the conduct of schools，I ask myself what I should feel was really essential if I were intrusting a child of my own to a school，it seems to me that there are two indispensable things： first，an intimate relation with a teacher who can arouse and guide the child’s mental life，and，second，a good group spirit among the children themselves，in which he may share.

The first meets the need we all have in our formative years for a friend and confidant in whom we also feel wisdom and authority；and I assume that we are not to rely upon the child’s finding such at home.

The second，equal membership in a group of our fellows，develops the democratic spirit of loyalty，service，emulation，and discussion.

These are the primary conditions which the child as a human being requires for the growth of his human nature；and if I could be sure of them I should not be exacting about the curriculum，conceiving the harm done by mistakes in this to be small compared with that resulting from defect in the social basis of the child’s life.And it is the latter，it seems to me，which，because of its inward and spiritual character，not to be ascertained or tested in any definite way，we are most likely to overlook.

It is apparent that our present methods are far too uniform and impersonal，that we too commonly press the child into a mould and know little about him except how nearly he conforms to it.And no doubt a tendency to this will always exist，because it can be avoided only by a liberal expenditure of attention，sympathy，and other costly resources，to save which there is always a pressure to fall back upon the mould.Opportunity cannot be realized without the ungrudging expenditure of money and spirit in the shape of devoted and well-equipped teachers，working without strain.

The study and evolution of the individual should be both sympathetic and systematic.

There is a movement，which seems to be in the right direction，not only to have more and better teachers but to continue longer the relation between the teacher and the particular child，so that it may have a chance to ripen into friendship，instead of being merely perfunctory.And，on the side of system，a continuous record should be kept which should accompany the child through the schools，preserving not only marks but judgments of his character and ability，and so helping both others and himself to understand him；for I see no reason why the subject of such documents should not have access to them.

At present the school does not commonly act upon the child as a whole dealing with a whole，but makes a series of somewhat disconnected attempts upon those phases of him which come into contact with the curriculum，the latter，rather than the individual，being the heart of the organization.

In this respect education is hardly so advanced as the best practice in charity，which keeps a sympathetic history of each person，and of his family and surroundings，making this the base of all efforts to help him.

One who gives some study to current theories and practice in education might well conclude that we were in a state of confusion，with little prospect of the emergence of order.He may discover，however，one thread which all good teachers are trying to keep hold of，namely，that of adapting the school more understandingly to the mind and heart of the child.

Indeed our way of escape from the distraction of counsels probably lies in focussing more sympathy and common sense upon the individual boy or girl.

This calls for more good teachers and more confidence in them as against mechanism of any sort.

The later years of school life need a gradual preparation for definite social function，the aim being to discover what line of service is most probably suited to one’s capacities and inclinations，and to train him for it.

This preparation is itself a social process，and one into which we cannot put too much intelligence，sympathy，and patience.Parents and teachers can aid in it by interesting the child in the choice of a career，offering suggestions and helping him to learn about his own abilities and the opportunities open to them.He must feel that the problem is his and that no one else can work it out for him.Psychological tests should be of considerable help，and will no doubt become more and more penetrating and reliable.

I think，however，that methods of this sort can never be more than ancillary to the process of“trying out，”of gradual，progressive experimentation as to what one can actually do.We must still feel our way into life，but by doing this largely before we leave school，and in a more intelligent way，we can prevent the rift between the school and the world from being the alarming and often fatal chasm it now is.

Unless we can have real opportunity in the schools—through study of the individual，training，culture，and vocational guidance，we cannot well have it anywhere else.

That is，if education does not solve at least half the problem of selective adaptation there is little hope of rightly solving the other half in later years.

The absence of suitable preparation makes competition unfair and disorderly.A boy leaving school at sixteen，without having learned his own capacities or received the training they require，is in no case to compete intelligently.

It is a rare chance if he finds his right place in the immense and complex system.For the most part he takes up whatever work offers itself，too commonly a blind-alley occupation which leads nowhere.

It is even worse with girls，who，regarding their work as temporary，commonly take little interest in it.Anna Garlin Spencer，in her Woman’s Share in Social Culture，describes the usual state of the working girl as untrained，unambitious，shirking，and careless，and speaks of“the positive injury to the work sense，the demoralization of the faculty of true service，that her shallow and transitory connection with outside trade occupation so often gives.”

Competition means freedom and opportunity only on condition that the individual is rightly prepared to compete.Otherwise it may mean waste，exploitation and degeneracy，and this is what it does mean to a large part of young men，and a larger part of girls and women.

Rational adaptation should be in operation everywhere，and not merely in the schools.Employment bureaus，public and private，should afford trained and sympathetic study of individuals and an honest effort to place them where they belong.Vocational guidance bureaus will without doubt be greatly extended in scope and efficiency，and private industries will give more attention not only to the expert choice，placing，and promotion of their employees，but also to affording them recreation，technical instruction，and culture.As we come to see better what opportunity means，public opinion and private conscience will demand it in many forms now unthought of.

Chapter 7 Some Phases of Culture

THE idea of life as an organic whole affords an illuminating view of the old question of practical training versusculture，letting us see that these are departments，or rather aspects，of the process by which the individual grows to full membership in the social order.

They correspond to two aspects，of differentiation and of unity，in that order itself.

In one of these society presents itself as an assemblage of special functions，such as teaching，engineering，farming，and carpentry，for each of which a special preparation is required.But in another it appears a continuous and unified organism，with rich and varied traditions，intricate co-operation，and a wide interplay of thought and sentiment.Full participation in this calls for a general and human，as well as a special and technical，adaptation；a development of personality，of the socius ，to the measure of the general life.

Under this view culture is growth to fuller membership in the human organism；not a decoration or a refuge or a mystical superiority，but the very blood of life，so practical that its vigor is quite as good a measure as technical efficiency of the power of the social whole.

Indeed the practice of regarding the technical and the cultural as separate and opposite is unintelligent.

They are complements of each other，and either must share in the other’s defect.A society of training without culture would be a blind mechanism which could be created and maintained only by an external force；while one of culture without training would lack organs by which to live.

The real thing in education is the organic whole of personal development，corresponding to the organic whole of social life；and of this culture and training are aspects which，far from being set against each other as hostile principles，should be kept in close union.

The process of culture，then，is one of enlarging membership in life through the growth of personality and social comprehension.

This includes the academic idea of culture as the fruit of liberal studies，such as literature，art，and history，because we get our initiation into the greater life largely through these studies.

The tradition which so long identified culture with classical studies rested upon this foundation.From the revival of learning until quite recent years it was felt that the literatures and monuments of Greece and Rome were the chief vehicles of the best the human spirit had attained （except，perhaps，in religion，which was held to be a somewhat separate province），and accordingly the study of the ancients was an apprenticeship to the larger life，an initiation into the spiritual organism.And whatever change has come as regards the classics，it is still true that studies which，like literature，history，philosophy，and the appreciation of the arts，aim directly at opening to us our spiritual heritage，have a central place in real culture.

Culture must always mean，in part，that we rise above the special atmosphere of our time and place to breathe the large air of great traditions that move tranquilly on the upper levels.One should not study contemporaries and competitors，said Goethe，but the great men of antiquity，whose works have for centuries received equal homage and consideration.

So far as schools are concerned culture depends at least as much upon the teacher as upon what purports to be taught.

That is，it profits more by the kindling of a spirit than by the acquirement of formal knowledge.“Instruction does much，but inspiration does everything.”Any subject is a culture subject when it is imparted through one who is living ardently in the great life and knows how to pass the spark on.And on the other hand it is too plain how technical and narrowing is the routine teaching of literature，which widely operates to disgust the student with books he might otherwise have enjoyed.

Indeed culture，in one view，is nothing other than the power to enter into sympathy with enlarging personalities.We get our start in this from face-to-face intercourse，and are fortunate if we have companions who can open out a wider vision of life.But if we are to carry it far we need the more select and various society that is accessible only through books，and it often happens that for an eager mind leisure and a library are the essential things.

It seems to me a serious question whether the present trend of our colleges to suppress idling by requiring from the student a large quantity of tangible work is not injurious to culture by crowding out spontaneity and a browsing curiosity.Disciplinarians scoff at this，as they always will at anything irregular，but some of us know that to us the chief benefit of a college course was not anything we learned from the curriculum，but the mere leisure and opportunity and delay，and we cannot doubt that there are still students of the same kind.How can a man vacare Deo if he does conscientiously the“required reading”that his instructors try to force upon him？ I am inclined to think that the ingenuity of the collegian is often well spent in thwarting these endeavors and securing time to loaf in spite of the conspiracy against it.We require too much and inspire too little.

If we view culture as a phase of the healthy growth of the mind，we may expect that it will be most real when it is allied with serious occupation and endeavor，provided these are spontaneous，rather than when remaining apart.We travel to see the world；but one who stays at home with a spirit-building task will see more of it than one who travels without one.

The reason is that hearty human life and work bring us into intelligence of those realities that are everywhere if we live deep enough to find them.

The surest way to know men is to have simple and necessary relations with them—as of buyer and seller，employer and workm an，teacher and scholar.

It is not easy to know them when you have no real business with them.Culture must be won by active participation of some sort，by putting oneself into something—as Goethe won his by taking up a dozen arts and sciences in succession，and working at each as if he meant to make a profession of it.Any specialty，if one takes it largely enough，may be a gate to wide provinces of culture.

Thus the study of law，which is merely a technical discipline to most students，Burke found to be“one of the first and noblest of human sciences，a science which does more to quicken and invigorate the understanding than all the other kinds of learning put together.”

Technical training in the schools would not prove hostile to a real culture if it were associated with leisure and liberal studies，and if the training itself were given in a large spirit which leads the mind out to embrace the whole of which the specialty is a member.And certainly manual arts are not deficient in this respect.

I imagine that I have derived considerable culture from the practice of amateur carpentry and wood-carving；and I have no doubt that any one who has cared for an occupation of this kind will have a similar feeling.

There is a whole department of life，full of delight and venerable associations，to which handicraft is the key.

Indeed，nothing is more surely culture than any work in the spirit of art.Since one is doing it for self-expression he puts himself into it；he must also undergo discipline in the mastery of technic，and he has the social zest of imparting joy to others and being appreciated by them.

It is real and vital as mere learning under instruction rarely is.And one who has practised an art，though with small success，will have a sense of what art is that the mere looker-on can never have.

It is quite true，in my opinion，that household training could be given to girls in such a way that they would get more culture out of it than nine-tenths of them now do from the perfunctory study of history，languages，and music.

It would only require teachers who could impart a spirit of craftsmanship and a sense of human significance.An almost universal trouble with both boys and girls in the present state of society is that they are not given，in connection with their work，enough of the general plan and movement of life to get interested in that and in their part in it.

The general movement is too much for them；they do not see any plan in it，and merely catch on to it where they can，work with it when they have to，and put their real interest into crude amusement.We do not make it natural for the individual to identify himself and his task with the whole.

To do that would be culture.

Possibly the view that culture is not opposed to technical studies may，under the present ascendancy of the latter，tend practically to confirm the subordination of culture；but I aim to state underlying principles，and it seems to me that the right relation between the two is not much forwarded by partisanship for either，but rather by showing that they are complementary and suggesting a line of co-operation.

The actual hostility of technical and professional schools to culture arises from their usually exacting and narrow character，which crowds everything liberal out.

I may add in this connection that it is a great part of culture to learn how to do something well，no matter what it is，to have the discipline and insight that we get by persistent endeavor，undergoing alternate success and failure，observing how，with time，the unconscious processes come to our aid，and so gaining at last some degree of mastery；in short，by experiencing how things are really done.Unfortunately many students slip through a supposed liberal education without getting this experience；and no wonder the colleges are discredited by their subsequent performance.

In these times when home life has widely ceased to afford practical discipline it is peculiarly important that schools should do so.

But the enlargement of the spirit，which is culture，calls for something more than studies，of any kind.

It needs also a hearty participation in some sort of a common life.

The merging of himself in the willing service of a greater whole raises man to the higher function of human nature.

We need to aim at this in all phases of our life，but nowhere is it easier to attain or more fruitful of results than in connection with the schools.Since the school environment is comparatively easy to control，here is the place to create an ideal formative group，or system of groups，which shall envelop the individual and mould his growth，a model society by assimilation to which he may become fit to leaven the rest of life.Here if anywhere we can insure his learning loyalty，discipline，service，personal address，and democratic co-operation，all by willing practice in the fellowship of his contemporaries.As a good family is an ideal world in miniature，in respect of love and brotherhood，so the school and playground should supply such a world in respect of self-discipline and social organization.

There is nothing now taking place，it would seem，more promising of great results than the development of groups which appeal to the young on the social and active side of their natures and evoke a community spirit.

They take eagerly to such groups，under sympathetic leadership，finding self-expression in them，and there seems to be no great obstacle to their becoming universal and embracing all the youth of the land in a wholesome esprit de corps which would be a hundred times more real and potent with them than any kind of moral instruction.

The motive force is already there，in the natural idealism of boyhood and adolescence；all we need to do，apparently，is to provide the right channels for it.

This is a field where the harvest is plenteous，and which the laborers are only beginning to discover.

All of us who have been at college know something of the spiritual value of an alma mater，of memories，associations，and symbols to which we can recur for the revival of fellowship and the ideals of youth.

If we ever have noble ideals it is when we are young，and if we keep them it is apt to be by continuing early influences.

It seems，then，that every one ought to have an alma mater ，that whatever kind of school one leaves to enter the confusion and conflict of the world，it should be enshrined within him by friendship，beauty，ceremony，and high aims，and that these should be renewed by revisiting the academic scene at occasional festivals.Our common schools，in town and country，might thus play the part in the life of the mass of the people that colleges do in that of a privileged class，providing continuous groups charged with a high social spirit，and capable of extending this spirit indefinitely.

There is nothing we need more than continuity and organization of higher influence，and hardly any way of achieving this so practicable as through the schools.

Each community should have a centre of social culture connected with the public schools，and the character of this would vary with that of the community.

There is especial need for building up in the country a type of culture which is distinctively rural in character，and yet not inferior to urban culture in its power to enlarge life.Country life attracts the imagination by its comparative repose，by the stability and dignity that one associates with living on the land，and by its wholesome familiarity with plant and animal life.But these attractions are offset at present by social and spiritual limitations which lead most of those who have a choice to prefer the towns.

If each district had a culture centre where the finer needs of life might be gratified in as great a measure as anywhere，and yet with a rural flavor and individuality，the country would be more a place to live in and less one to flee from as soon as you can afford to do so.

These centres，we may hope，will grow up about the centralized and enlarged schools that are now beginning to replace the scattered one-room buildings，bringing better and more various instruction，including studies especially appropriate to rural life.Around the school might be grouped the rural church；also consolidated，socialized，and made a real centre of fellowship and co-operation；the public library，art gallery，and hall for political and social gatherings.

In a community enjoying such institutions，with a spirit and traditions of its own，life ought to be at least as livable as in town.

It will turn out，I believe，that the higher social culture is of a kindred spirit with religion.

The essence of religion，I suppose，is the expansion of the soul into the sense of a Greater Life；and the way to this is through that social expansion which，however less in extent，is of the same nature.One who has developed a spirit of loyalty，service，and sacrifice toward a social group，has only to transform this to a larger conception in order to have a religious spirit.

Indeed it is clear that the more ardent kind of social devotion，like that of the patriot for his country in extreme times，is hardly distinguishable from devotion to God.His country，for the time being，is the incarnation of God，and in some measure this is true of any group which embodies his actual sense of a greater life than that of his own more confined spirit.

I think，then，that social culture through devotion to the service and ideals of an inspiring group is in the direction of religious culture，and probably，for most minds，the natural and healthy road to the latter.

I do not mean to suggest that school and community groups should supplant the churches；but it seems to me that they may supply a broad foundation upon which churches and other organizations may set their more special structures.

Shall we not come to teaching every one，by concrete social experience，a community spirit that shall be the basis at once of citizenship，of morals，and of religion？ Why should not the simple principles of democracy and righteousness and worship be so humanized and popularized in the life of the community and the school that the children shall almost unconsciously learn and practise them？ Do we not need，in these matters，an alphabet of a few letters to replace the Chinese writing of the past？

I may add that if every man had a suitable task of his own，for which he was properly trained，and could see the relation of that task first to larger work of the same sort and then to the general human life，it would build up religious faith in a way not otherwise possible.Our work is the most vital part of us，or should be，and if we can see it as one with the ordered life of humanity，and divine a connection with the Greater Life，we shall hardly lack religion.Religion is，for one thing，the sense of a man’s self as member of a worthy whole，and his sense of self is formed by his striving.On the other hand，anarchy of endeavor breaks up faith.

It is perhaps unnecessary that we should agree upon definitions and programmes of culture.Although it is always some kind of enlargement of the spirit，it must vary with individuals and communities.

The higher literary culture，calling for mastery of languages and long immersion in the great traditions，is only for a few，and yet it is essential for some kinds of leadership and should always be open to those who show an aptitude for it.

The group culture in connection with the schools is of great promise as affording a simple and genial way of spiritual growth in which the least intellectual may share.

The study and practice of specialties is capable of indefinite development on the culture side.

In short，culture is itself a complex organic process which ought to permeate life，but can never be reduced to rules.

Chapter 8 Opportunity and Class

ALL societies are more or less stratified into classes，based on differences in wealth，occupation，and enlightenment，which tend to be passed on from parents to children；and this stratification creates and perpetuates difference in opportunity.No one needs to be told that extreme poverty may mean ill-nurture in childhood—resulting perhaps in permanent enfeeblement—impaired school work，premature leaving of school，practical exclusion from higher education，stunting labor in early years followed by incapacity later，a restrictive and perhaps degrading environment at all ages，and a hundred other conditions destructive of free development.A somewhat better economic situation may still involve disadvantages which，though not so crushing，are sufficiently serious as bars to higher function.

Professor H.R.Seager，a careful economist，has suggested that the population of the United States may be roughly divided into five classes or strata，which are largely non-competing，in the sense that individuals are in great part shut off from opportunities in classes above their own.

The highest class，enjoying family incomes of more than three thousand dollars a year，has the fullest opportunity.

In the second class，with incomes of from one thousand five hundred dollars to three thousand dollars，the boys begin work at sixteen or seventeen years，and are handicapped in starting by lack of resources and outlook.

They are too apt to choose work which pays well at once，but does not lead to advancement，and only a very small per cent rise above the condition of their parents.A third class，with incomes of from six hundred dollars to one thousand five hundred dollars，is marked by early marriages，large families，early withdrawal from school，and lack of outlook.

Its members are rarely able to compete for the better positions with classes one and two.A fourth class，of wage-earners at from one to two dollars a day （at the time the book was published），shows the same conditions accentuated.

Their necessarily low standard of living and its mental and social implications bar a rise in the world，and they compete，as a rule，only for that grade of work to which they axe born.

The fifth is a misery class，in which the most destructive and degrading conditions prevail.

I am not sure that this analysis is not somewhat one-sided，especially in allowing too little influence to the relaxing effects of ease upon those born in the upper class，but it is certainly nearer the truth than the optimistic dogma that in this free country every one has an equal chance.

And lack of pecuniary resource is by no means the only thing that restricts opportunity and confines one within a class.

To grow up where the schools are poor and the neighborhood associations degrading，to Wong to a despised race，to come of an immigrant group not yet assimilated to the language and customs of the country，or simply to have vicious or unwise parents，may prevent healthy development irrespective of economic resources.

The existence of inherited stratification is due to the fact that the child is involved in the situation of the family.As long as the latter surrounds him，determining his economic support and social environment，there must be a strong tendency for the condition of the parents to be transmitted.And this merging of the child in the family is in itself no evil，but arises naturally out of the functions of the family as the group charged with the nurture of the coming generation.

In other words，there is a certain opposition between the ideal of equal opportunity and that of family responsibility.Responsibility involves autonomy，which will produce divergence among families，which，in turn，will mean divergent conditions for the children；that is，unequal opportunities.We all recognize that individuals will not remain equal if they are allowed any freedom；and the same is true of families；even if they started with the same opportunities they would make different uses of them，and so create inequalities for the children.And we might go further back，and say that so long as communities and occupation-groups have any freedom and responsibility there will be inequalities among them also，in which families and children will be involved.A state of absolute equality of opportunity is incompatible with social freedom and differentiation.

As society is now constituted，it recognizes the responsibility of the family，in an economic sense at least，and makes the desire to provide well for one’s children a chief inducement to industry，thrift，and virtue in general.Unless we are prepared to change all this we must allow a man to retain for his children any reasonable advantages he may be able to win.

It is only a question of what advantages are reasonable.

No one who thinks in full view of the facts will imagine that anything like identity of opportunity is possible.

There must be diversities of environment，whether due to family or to other conditions，and these will diversify the opportunities of the children.Equality is only one among several phases of a sound social ideal，and must constantly submit to compromise.

There is much to be said for the view that we need to work toward more definitely organized special environments and traditions，because of the higher and finer achievement which these make possible；and if we do，these can hardly fail to impress a greater diversity upon those born into them.

It is on this ground of the need of special environments and traditions to foster the finer kind of achievement that inherited privilege has been most plausibly defended.

Thus it is argued that the people who gain wealth and power have，as a rule，ability above the average，and that the inheritance of their wealth and position，and often of their ability，makes possible the growth of a really superior class，with high traditions and ideals，suitable for leadership in politics，art，science，philanthropy，and other high functions which do not offer a pecuniary reward.Certainly we need such a class，and if this is the way to get it no petty jealousy ought to hinder us.

There is no doubt that the upper classes of Europe have grown up in this way，and have largely performed these higher functions；and even in American democracy we owe much of our finer leadership to inherited privilege.

This will probably continue to be the case，and yet there is no good reason why we should relax our endeavors to make opportunity more equal.

If，through these endeavors，one kind of upper class becomes obsolete，we may expect the rise of another，based on a freer principle.

The finer kinds of training and ideals may be secured otherwise than through inherited privilege；namely by having them organized in continuing groups and institutions to which individuals are admitted not through privilege，but freely，on the basis of proved capacity，the institutions providing them with whatever income they need for their function.

In this way，for example，talented men and women，without inherited advantage，work their way to careers in art，science，and education，supported by fellowships and salaries.

The fact that an occupation-group is not hereditary does not at all prevent it from having an effective class spirit and tradition，as we may see in the medical or engineering professions.

This is the method of open classes，the ideal one for a modern society，and ought to be developed with the aim of making all the higher kinds of service sufficiently paid，and so capable of drawing the talent they need from wherever it may be found.

If the environment of a specially cultured family is at present essential to the finest culture development，this is perhaps because the general conditions of culture and early opportunity are not at all what they might be.When the misery class is abolished and a more discerning education fosters talent in children from all classes，the value of special privilege will be reduced.

If opportunity were made as nearly equal as possible，consistently with preserving the family，we might reasonably expect that the higher functions of society would be better performed，because there would be a wider selection of persons to perform them，and also that they would be cheaper，because of the broader competition.

Indeed many hold that we might come to get the services of the best lawyers，doctors，business men，and others whose，work requires elaborate training，at prices not much above what are now paid for skilled manual labor.

I think，however，that the latter expectation would be disappointed，and that no conceivable equalization of opportunity would prevent great differences in salaries and other gains.Such differences would arise not only from unlikeness in ability，but also from the incalculable nature of the social process，which is sure to act differently upon different persons and result in diverse fortunes.

As regards the professions，even if the requisite education were made accessible to all，successful practitioners would still，probably，command large pay.A long technical preparation，such as is necessary for law or surgery or metallurgy，would still be a difficult and speculative enterprise，involving foresight，resolution，and risk of failure，and this barrier would make competent practitioners comparatively scarce.One cannot be sure that his abilities are of the right sort，and while many make the venture who are not qualified to succeed，so，without doubt，many who are qualified do not make it.

It is often a matter of mere luck whether a man discovers what he is fit for or not，and it is not likely that vocational guidance can altogether obviate this.

The result is that only a part of the potential competitors actually enter the field，and in the case of the less settled professions this is apt to be a very small part.

And then such matters as the place where a man begins to practise，and the connections he makes early in his career，are largely fortuitous and have results beyond his foresight.One course of circumstances may lead him into a position where his services are indispensable to a group of wealthy clients，while another may result very differently.Men with an ill-paying practice are not necessarily men of less ability than those who are getting rich.

Still less can we expect that exorbitant gains in business could be obviated by any possible equality of opportunity.

In general such gains imply not only ability but a fortunate conjunction of circumstances which could not have been foreseen with any certainty when the man was making his start.

There is an element of luck and speculation in the matter，the result of which is that of a thousand who started with equal abilities and opportunities，perhaps only one or two will be on hand at the right place and time，and with the right equipment to make the most of an opening.When it appears there is commonly a small group of men in range of it who are there rather by good fortune than foresight.Of these the ablest，by endowment and training，will grasp it.

So long as the movements of life are free and unanticipated in anything like the present measure，the individual will be like a swimmer upon the surface of a torrent，able to make headway in this direction or that according to his strength，but still very much at the mercy of the stream.

If he finds himself near a boat he may reach it and climb aboard，but ninety-nine others who can swim just as well may have all they can do to keep their heads above water.

This is fairly obvious in common observation.At a gathering，which I was privileged to attend，of the principal men of a neighboring commercial city，it seemed that the prevailing type was quite commonplace.

They appeared kindly and of a good business intelligence，but hardly in such a degree as one might expect in the leading men of a leading community.Apparently the city had grown and these men attached，as it were，to the growing branches，had been lifted up accordingly.

I take it that large gains，and even gains that are unjust，so far as individual merit is concerned，are inevitable，though some of the more flagrant inequalities might be reduced by social reform.We must，then，deal with them after they are made，and this points to a policy of drastic taxation，the revenue to be used for the common welfare，and also to moral control of the use of wealth through public opinion and social ideals.

It is probably true that the poor，of a scattered and sporadic sort，will always be with us；but organized poverty might be abolished.

I mean that the misery class，now existing at the bottom of the economic scale and perpetuating itself through lack of opportunity for the children，might be eliminated through minimum standards of family life and cognate social reforms.For those who，for whatever reason，fall below the standards there should be a special care designed to prevent their condition becoming established in misery environments，and so passed on to another generation.As it is now，lack of opportunity perpetuates misery，which in turn prevents opportunity，and so on in a vicious circle.

The general result is a state of social degeneracy through which ignorance，vice，inefficiency，squalor，and lack of ambition are reproduced in the children.Families not far above the misery line also need special care to prevent their being crowded over it.While it seems likely that，in spite of all our precautions，misery will continue to be generated，we ought to he able to prevent its organization in a continuous class.

To do this we shall certainly have to proceed with the delicate task of supplementing family responsibility without essentially impairing it.We have already come far in this direction，with our compulsory education，restrictions on child labor，removal from parents of abused or neglected children，probation officers，mothers’pensions，visiting nurses，medical inspection in the schools，and so on.We need to do much more of the same sort，and the question just how far we can go in a given direction without doing more harm than good must be decided by experience.

I think that equal opportunity，though not wholly practicable，is one of our best working ideals.We are not likely to go too far in this direction.

There is a natural current of privilege，arising from the tendency of advantages to flow in the family line，and any feasible diversion into broader channels will probably be beneficial.

The unfailing tendency of possessors to hold on to their possessions and pass them to their children is guaranty against excessive equalization.

Although dead-level equality is neither possible nor desirable，we may hope for equality in the sense that every child may have the conditions of healthy development，and a wide range of choice，including，if he has the ability，some of the more intellectual occupations.

There is such a thing as a human equality—as distinguished from one that is mechanical—which would consist in everyone having，in one way or another，a suitable field of growth and self-expression.

This would be reconcilable with great differences of environment and of wealth，but not with ignorance or extreme poverty.

Chapter 9 The Theory of Success

THE question of success is a sociological question，in one phase at least，because it concerns the relation of the individual to the group，of the personal process to that of society at large.

It should be somewhat illuminating to regard it from this point of view.

What is success？ To answer this rightly we must unite the idea of personal self-realization with a just conception of the relation of this to the larger human life.Perhaps we shall not be far wrong if we say that success is self-development in social service.

It must be the former，certainly，and if it is true that the higher forms of the personal life are found only in social function，it must be the latter also.

This view well stands the test of ordinary experience.

It is self-development in social service that most surely gives the feeling of success，the fullest consciousness of personal existence and efficacy.No matter what a man’s external fortunes may be，how slender his purse or how humble his position，if he feels that he is living his real life，playing his full part in the general movement of the human spirit，he will be conscious of success.

The martyrs who died rejoicing at the stake had this consciousness，and so，at the present time，may soldiers have it who perish in battle，and thousands of others，whose work，if not so perilous，offers no prospect of material reward—missionaries，social agitators，investigators，and artists.

It is not confined to any exceptional class but is found throughout humanity.

If a man is working zealously at a task worthy in itself and not unsuited to his capacity，he has commonly the feeling of success.

Success of this sort meets another common-sense test in that it usually gives the maximum influence over others of which one is capable.People do not influence us in proportion to their external power，but in proportion to what we feel to be their intrinsic significance for life；their ideals，their fidelity to them，their love，courage，and hope.And one who gives himself heartily to the highest service he feels competent to，will attain his maximum significance.

Success，then，is a matter of effective participation in the social process；and to get a clearer idea of it we may well consider further what the latter calls for.

The organization of society has two main aspects，that of unity and that of differentiation，the aspect of specialized functions and the aspect of a total life for which these functions，co-operate.

The life of the individual，if it is to be one with that of society，must share in these aspects，must have a specialized development and at the same time a unifying wholeness.He must he able，by endowment and training，to do well some one kind of service，as carpentry，let us say，or farming，or banking；and must also have a breadth of personality which participates largely in the general life and makes him a good citizen.

The social process is like a play in that no actor can do his own part well except as he enters into the spirit of the whole： he must be a true member，the organization needs to be alive in every part.A nation is a poor thing unless the citizen is a patriot，entering intelligently into its spirit and aims，and the principle applies in various manners and degrees to a community，a shop，a school-any whole in which one may share.

If one thinks of the human process at large，with its onward striving，its experimentation，its conflicts and cooperations，its need for foresight and for unity of spirit；and then asks what kind of an individual it takes to do his full part in such a process，he will be on the track of the secret of personal success.

It calls for energy and initiative，because these are the springs of the process；self-reliance and tenacity，because these are required to discover and develop one’s special function；sympathy and adaptability，because they enable one to work his function in with the movement as a whole.And intelligence is needed everywhere，in order that his mind may reflect and anticipate the process，and so share effectively in it.

Whatever we are trying to do，we need a sound imagination and judgment，and lack of these enters into nearly all cases of inefficacy and failure.

If a machinist，let us say，understands as a whole the piece of work upon which he is engaged，he can do his part intelligently，adaptively，and with a sense of power；and in so far is a successful man.He serves well and develops himself.

If，beyond this，he has the mind to grasp as a whole the work of some department of the shop，so as to see how it ought to go，if he has also the understanding of men，based on imagination，which enables him to select and guide them；he is fit to become a foreman.Similar powers of a larger range make a competent superintendent.And so with social functions in general，large or small.A good President of the United States is，first of all，one who has the constructive social imagination to grasp，in its main features，the real situation of the country，the vital problems，the significant ideas and men，the deep currents of sentiment.Without this there can he no real leader of the people.Likewise each of us has an ever-changing social situation to deal with，and will succeed as he can understand and co-operate with it.

A good administrative mind is a place where the organization of the world goes on.

It is the centre of the social process，where choices are made and men and things assigned to their functions.

I have found it a main difference among men，and one not easy to discern until you have observed them for some time，that some have a constructive mind and some have not.One whom I think of has a remarkably keen and independent intellect，and is not at all lacking in ambition and self-assertion.

Those who know him well have expected that he would do remarkable things，and the only reason why he has not，that I can see，is that his ideas do not seem to undergo the unconscious gestation and organization required to make them work.

There is something obscurely sterile about him.On the other hand，I have known a good many young men，not particularly promising，who have gradually forged ahead just because their conceptions，though not brilliant，seemed to have a certain native power of growth，like that of a sound grain of corn.All life is an inscrutable and mainly unconscious growth，and it is thus with that share of it that belongs to each of us.

Among the more aggressive traits that enter into success I might specify courage，initiative，resolution，faith，and composure.

These are required in undertaking and carrying through the hazardous enterprises of which every significant life must consist.

Success will always depend much upon that explorative energy which brings one into practical knowledge and into contact with opportunity.

The man of courage and initiative is ever learning things about life that the passive man never finds out.He learns，for example，that it is almost as easy to do things on a great scale as on a small one，that there are usually fewer competitors for big positions than little ones，that few tasks are very difficult after you have broken your way into them，that bold and resolute spirits rule the world without unusual intellect，and that the ablest men commonly depend upon the quality rather than the quantity of their exertions.Practical wisdom of this sort is gained mainly by audacious experimentation.

In general，life is an exploring expedition，a struggle through the wilderness，in which each of us，if he is to get anywhere，needs the qualities of Columbus or Henry M.Stanley.He must make bold and shrewd plans，he must throw himself confidently into the execution of them，he must hang on doggedly in times of discouragement，and yet he must learn by failure.We need all the opportunity that society can give us，but it will do us little good without our own personal force，intelligence，and persistence.

In our Anglo-Saxon tradition doggedness is a kind of institution.

There is a tacit understanding that the right thing to do is to undertake something difficult and venturesome，and then to hang on to it，with or without encouragement，until the last breath of power is spent.“So long as I live，”said Stanley，about to start on one of his journeys across Africa，“something will be done；and if I live long enough all will be done.”

Traits like courage and initiative begin in a certain overflow of energy，but they easily become habitual，like everything else.

If in one or two instances you overcome the inertia and apprehension that keeps men stuck in their tracks，and discover that God helps those who help themselves，you soon learn to continue on the same principle.Boldness is as easy as timidity，indeed much easier，as it is easier for an army to attack，than successfully to retreat.

The militant attitude gives a habitual advantage.

The higher kind of self-reliance is the same as faith；faith in one’s intuitions，in life and the general trend of things，in God.

I am impressed by observation with the fact that success depends much upon a living belief that the world does move，with or without our help，and that the one thing for us to do is to move with it and，if possible，help it on.

If one has this belief it is easy and exhilarating to go ahead with the procession，while dull and timid spirits think that life is stationary and that there is no use trying to make it budge.

In 1856 Lincoln，who was endeavoring to arouse sentiment against the extension of slavery，called a mass meeting at Springfield，Illinois，to further his views；but only three persons attended，himself，his partner Herndon，and one John Pain.When it was evident that no more were coming，Lincoln arose and after some jocose remarks on the size of his audience，went on to say：“While all seems dead，the age itself is not.

It liveth as sure as our Maker liveth.Under all this seeming want of life the world does move，nevertheless.Be hopeful，and now let us adjourn and appeal to the people.”

Life is constantly developing and carrying us on in its growth.We do not need to impel it so much as we sometimes think.A main thing for us is to hang on to our higher hopes and standards and have faith that the larger life will supply our deficiencies.God is a builder；to be something we must build with him；understanding the plan if we can，but building in any case.

Composure is partly a natural gift，but partly also an acquired habit，enabling a man to exert himself to his full capacity without worry and waste；to sleep soundly by night after doing his utmost by day，like the Duke of Wellington，who declared，“I don’t like lying awake；it does no good，I make it a point never to lie awake，”and who，if I remember correctly，took a nap while waiting for the battle of Waterloo to begin.

The commanding positions of life are held by men of fighting capacity，and this demands the ability to bear hard knocks，reverses and uncertainty without too much disturbance.Richelieu said that if a man had not more lead than quicksilver in his composition he was of no use to the state.

There is a certain antagonism between composure and imagination，both of which are prime factors in success.

The latter tends to make one sensitive and apprehensive，while the former requires that he take things easily and cast out worry.

The ideal would be to have a sensitive imagination which could be turned off or on at will；but this is hardly possible，though discipline and habit will do wonders in toughening the spirit.

“For well the soul if stout within Can arm impregnably the skin，”we are assured by Emerson；but in fact there are many who cannot learn to endure with equanimity the roughand-tumble of ordinary competition，and need，if possible，to seclude themselves from it.

This was apparently the case with Darwin—who fell far short of Wellington’s standard as to lying awake—and with a large part of the men who have done creative work of a finer sort.

Indeed such work，if pursued incontinently，involves a mental and nervous strain and a morbid sensibility which has brought many choice spirits to ruin.

The self-reliant and pathmaking traits are more and more necessary as society increases in freedom and complexity，because this increase means an enlargement of the field of choice and exploration within which the individual has to find his way.

Instead of restricting individuality，as many imagine，civilization，so far as it is a free civilization，works quite the other way.We may apply to the modern citizen a good part of what Bernhardi says of the individual soldier in modern war：“Almost all the time he is in action he is left to himself.He himself must estimate the distances，he himself must judge the ground and use it，select his target and adjust his sights；he must know whither to advance；what point in the enemy’s position he is to reach；with unswerving determination he himself must strive to get there.”

The sympathetic traits supplement the more aggressive by enabling one to move easily among his fellows and gain their co-operation.Modern conditions are more and more requiring that every man be a man of the world；because they demand that be make himself at home in an ever-enlarging social organism，

I suppose that if one were coaching a young man for success，no counsel would be more useful than this：“Approach every man in a friendly and cheerful spirit，trying to understand his point of view.Such a spirit is contagious，and if you have it people will commonly meet you in the same vein.Do not forget your own aims，but cultivate a belief that others are disposed to do them justice.”We are too apt to waste energy in apprehensive and resentful imaginations，which tend to create what they depict.

It is notable that the principle of Christian conduct，namely，that of imagining yourself in the other person’s place，is also a principle of practical success.

The spirit of a man is the most practical thing in the world.You cannot touch or define it；it is an intimate mystery；yet it makes careers，builds up enterprises，and draws salaries.

Retiring people who work conscientiously at their task but lack social enterprise and facility，often feel a certain sense of injustice，I think，at the more rapid advancement of those who have these traits but are，perhaps，not so conscientious and well-grounded.A man of decidedly good address and not wholly deficient in other respects can secure profitable employment almost on sight，and be rapidly promoted over men，otherwise fully equal to him，who lack this trait.And there may，after all，be no injustice in this，because the selection is based on a real superiority in any work calling for influence over other people.Perhaps the best refuge for the retiring man is to reflect that character is a main factor in such influence，and that if he has this and plucks up a little more courage in asserting it，he may find that he has as much address as others.

I believe that the more external and obvious handicaps to success are much less serious than is ordinarily supposed.Such traits as deafness，lameness，bad eyesight，ugliness，stammering，extreme shyness，and the like，are often detrimental only in so far as they are allowed to confine or intimidate the spirit，and will seldom prevent a courageous person from accomplishing what is otherwise within his ability.

They are by no means such fatal obstacles to intercourse as they may appear.

The very fact that one has the heart to face the world on the open road regardless of an obvious handicap may make him interesting，so that while he may have to suffer an occasional rebuff from the vulgar，the men of real significance will be all the more apt to respect and attend to him.’

And the effect on his own character may well be to define and concentrate it，and give it an energy and discipline it would otherwise have lacked.

Those apparently fortunate people who have many facilities，to whom every road seems open，are hardly to be envied；they seldom go far in any direction.Except in some such way as this，how can we explain the cases in which the totally blind，for example，have succeeded in careers like medicine，natural science，or statesmanship？ I judge that they do it not because of superhuman abilities，but because they have the hardihood to act on the view that the spirit of a man and not his organs is the essential thing.

The most harmful thing about handicaps，especially in the children of well-to-do parents，is often the injudicious commiseration and sheltering they are apt to induce.

This may well go so far as to deprive such children of natural contact with reality and prevent their learning betimes just what they have to contend with and how to overcome it.

The natural test of a man’s ability is to give him a novel task and observe how he goes about it.

If he is able he will commonly begin by getting all the information within reach，reflecting upon it and making a plan.

It should be a bold plan，and yet not rash or impracticable，though it may seem so；based in fact upon a just view of the conditions，and especially of the personalities，with which he has to deal.

It will be，emphatically，his own plan，and an able man will generally prefer to keep it to himself，because he knows that he may have to change it，and that discussion may raise obstacles.

In carrying it out he will show a mixture of resolution and adaptability；learning by experience，modifying his plan in details，but in the main sticking to it even when he does not clearly see his way，because be believes that courage and persistence find good luck.He“plays the game”to the end，and if he fails he has too strong a sense of the experimental character of life to be much discouraged.

Chapter 10 Success and Morality

APPARENTLY the minds of men have always been troubled by the question whether it really does pay to be righteous.One gets the impression from certain of the Psalms and other passages in the Old Testament that the Jews were constantly asking themselves and one another this question，and that the psalmists and prophets strove to reassure them by declaring that，though the wicked might seem to prosper，they would certainly be come up with in the long run.“Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him： fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way，because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.”“I have seen the wicked in great power，and spreading himself like a green bay tree，yet he passed away，and，lo，he was not；yea I sought him but he could not be found.”“I have been young and now am old；yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging bread.”The question is also mooted by Plato，in the Republic and elsewhere，While Shakespeare，in his 66th Sonnet，mentions“captive good attending captain ill”among the things which make him cry for restful death.Even the Preacher says： “Be（100） not righteous overmuch，why shouldst thou destroy thyself ？”Is honesty the best policy，and，if so，in just what sense？

I would answer that there is never a conflict between a real or inner righteousness and a real or inner success；they are much the same thing；but there may easily be a conflict between either of them and an apparent or conventional success.Conscious wrong-doing must always be detrimental to a success measured by self-development and social service.

Its effect upon the wrong-doer himself is to impair self-respect and force of character.He divides and disintegrates himself，setting up a rebellion in his own camp，whereas success calls for unity and discipline.A man who is bad，in this inner sense，is in so far a weak and distracted man.As Emerson remarks，one who“stands united with his thought”has a large opinion of himself，no matter what the world may think.

It is also true that the sense of righteousness and integrity gives him the maximum influence over others of which he is capable，and so the greatest power to serve society.

If we are weak and false to our own conscience，this cannot be hidden，and causes us to lose the trust and co-operation of others.

It is not at all necessary to this that we should be found out in any specific misdeed；our face and bearing sufficiently reveal what we are，and induce a certain moral isolation，or at least impair our significance and force.Character is judged by little things，of which we ourselves are unaware，and rightly，because it is in these that our habitual tendency is revealed.

They register our true spirit and mode of thinking，which cannot be concealed though we are the best actors in the world.

If there is anything disingenuous about us，anything which will not bear the light，those who consider us will feel its presence，even though they do not know what it is.

In so far as a man consciously does wrong he tears himself from that social whole in which alone he can live and thrive.

In this way it is true that“The face of the Lord is against them that do evil.”

I suppose that so long as it is kept on this high ground few would deny the truth of the principle.Men generally admit that spiritual significance is enhanced by moral integrity.Some，however，would question whether it has much application to success in a more ordinary and perhaps superficial sense of the word，to the attainment of wealth，position，and the like.

But even here it is in great part sound.

If we take the ordinary man，whose moral conceptions do not differ much from those of his associates，and place him in an ordinary environment，where there is a fairly well-developed moral sense according to the standards of the group，it will be true that righteousness tends，on the whole，to prosperity.

The lack of it puts one at odds with himself and his group in the manner already noted.

The unrighteous man is swimming against the current，and though he may make headway for a while it is pretty sure to overcome him in time.Men of experience almost always assert，sincerely and truthfully，I believe，that honesty and morality are favorable to success.

The sceptic，however，is apt to say that though the principle may be plausible in itself and edifying for the graduating class of the high school，common experience shows that it does not work in real life；and he has no difficulty in pointing to cases where success seems to be gained in defiance of morality.

It may be worth while，therefore，to discuss some of these.

I think they may be brought under three classes： those in which success is only apparent or temporary；those in which a wrongdoer succeeds by uncommon ability，in spite of his wrongdoing；and those which involve a lack or divergence of group standards.

It is always possible to gain an immediate advantage by disregarding the rules that limit other people，but in so doing one defies the deeper forces of life and sets the mills of the gods at work grinding out his downfall.He may cheat in fulfilling a contract or in a college examination，but he does this at the expense of his own character and standing.“Look at things as they are，”we read in the Republic of Plato，“and you will see that the clever unjust are in the case of runners，who run well from the starting-place to the goal，but not back again from the goal；they go off at a great pace，but in the end only look foolish，slinking away with their ears down on their shoulders，and without a crown；but the true runner comes to the finish and receives the prize and is crowned.”Montaigne held with Plato，and said：“I have seen in my time a thousand men of supple and ambiguous natures，and that no one doubted but they were more worldly-wise than I，ruined where I have saved myself： Risi successu carere dolos.”I recall being told by a man of business experience that“sharpness”in a young man was not a trait that promised substantial success，because he was apt to rely upon it and fail to cultivate more substantial qualities.

Saint Louis，who was the exemplar of all the virtues of his age，enlarged his dominions，withstood aggression and built up his administration all the more successfully for his saintly character.“He was as good a king as he was a man，”and his unique position as the first prince in Europe“ was due not so much to his authority and resources as to the ascendancy won by his personal character and virtues.”

Apparently the world is full of injustice；men often get and keep places to which they have no moral right，as judged by the way they function；but the unconscious forces inevitably set to work to correct the wrong，and as a rule，and in due time，the apparent success is revealed as failure.

It is a wound against which the moral organism gradually asserts its recuperative energy.

Again，wrong-doing is often associated with uncommon ability，which is the real cause of a success that would probably be greater，certainly of a higher kind，if the man were righteous.We cannot expect that a merely passive morality—not to cheat，swear，steal，or the like—should suffice for an active success.

That requires positive qualities，like energy，enterprise and tenacity，which are indeed moral forces of the highest order，but may be associated with dishonesty or licentiousness.We might easily offset Saint Louis with a list of great men，more in the style of Napoleon，whose personal behavior was not at all edifying.Since life is a process，and the great thing is to help it along，it is only just that active qualities should succeed.

Those cases of successful wrong-doing where a lack of group standards is involved can be understood if we take account of the network of relations in which the man lives.

The view that success and morality go together supposes that he is surrounded by fairly definite and uniform standards of right kept alive by the interplay of minds in a well-knit group.

This is the only guarantee that the individual will have a conscience or a self-respect which will be hurt if he transgresses these standards，or that the group will in any way punish him.

But the state of things may be so anarchical that there is no well-knit，standard-making group，either to form the individual’s conscience or to punish his transgressions.

This will be more or less the case in any condition of social transition and confusion，and is widely applicable to our own time.

If the economic system is disintegrated by rapid changes，there will be a lack of clear sense of right and wrong relating to it，and a lack of mechanism for enforcing what sense there is： so that we need not be surprised if piratical methods in business go unpunished，and are practised by men otherwise of decent character.Beyond this an enormous amount of immorality of all kinds，in our time，may be ascribed to the unsettled condition in which people live.

They become moral stragglers，not kept in line by the discipline of any intimate group.

This applies not only to those whose economic life shifts from place to place，but also to those who have a stable economic function，but，like many“travelling men，”lead a shifting，irresponsible social life.

It is often much the same with men of genius.

The very fact that they have original impulses which they must assert against the indifference or hostility of the world about them，compels them to a certain moral isolation，and in hardening themselves against conformity they lose also the wholesome sense of customary right and wrong.So they live in a kind of anarchy which may be inseparable from their genius，but is detrimental to their character，and more or less impairs their work.

You may，if you please，pursue the same principle into international relations and the political philosophy of Machiavelli.Among nations bad faith and other conduct regarded as immoral for individuals has flourished because international public opinion has been faint and without hands.

This is more true of some epochs than others，and was particularly the case among the small，despotic and transitory states of Italy in the time of the Renaissance.Machiavelli，I suppose，desiring above all things the rise of a Prince who，by gaining supreme power，should unite and pacify the country，laid down for his guidance such rules of success—immoral if applied to personal relations—as he believed were likely to work in the midst of the moral anarchy which prevailed.

There is，however，no sound reason for erecting this opportunism into a general principle and holding that international relations are outside the moral sphere.

They come within that sphere so fast as single nations develop continuity and depth of life，and nations as a group become more intimate.

Then moral sentiment becomes a force which no nation can safely disregard.

In many cases of what we judge to be bad conduct the man belongs to a group whose standards are not the same as those of our own group by which we judge him.

If his own group is with him his conscience and self-respect will not suffer，nor will lie，so far as this group is concerned，undergo any blame or moral isolation.Practically all historical judgments are subject to this principle.

I may believe that slaveholding was wrong；but it would be very naive of me to suppose that slaveholders suffered from a bad conscience，or found this practice any bar to their success.On the contrary，as it is conventional morality that makes for conventional success，it would be the abolitionist who would suffer in a slaveholding society.

It is simply a question of the mores，which，as Sumner so clearly showed，may make anything right or anything wrong，so far as a particular group is concerned.

The conflict of group standards within a larger society is also a common example.

The political grafter，the unscrupulous man of business，the burglar，or the bad boy，seldom stands alone in his delinquency，but is usually associated with a group whose degenerate standards more or less uphold him，and in which he may be so completely immersed as not to feel the more general standards at all.

If so，we cannot expect his conscience will trouble or his group restrain him.

That must be done by the larger society，inflicting blame or punishment，and especially，if possible，breaking up the degenerate group.

In many，perhaps most，of such cases the mind of the individual is divided；he is conscious of the degenerate standards and also of those of the larger group；they contend for his allegiance.

There is no question of this kind more interesting than that of the effect upon success of a higher or non-conforming morality.What may one expect when he breaks convention and strives to do better than the group that surrounds him？ Evidently his situation will in many respects be like that of the wrong-doer；in fact he will usually be a wrong-doer in the eyes of those about him，who have no means of distinguishing a higher transgression from a lower.

In general this higher righteousness will contribute to an intrinsic success，measured by character，self-respect，and influence，but may be expected to involve some sacrifice of conventional objects like wealth and position.

These generally imply conformity to the group that has the power to grant them.

The rewards of the first sort，if only a man has the resolution to put his idea through，are beyond estimate—a worthy kind of pride，a high sense of the reality and significance of his life，the respect and appreciation of congenial spirits，the conviction that he is serving man and God.

The bold and constant innovators—whatever their external fortunes may be—are surely as happy a set of men as there is，and we need waste no pity upon them because they are now and then burned at the stake.

The ability to put his idea through，however，depends on his maintaining his faith and self-reliance in spite of the immediate environment，which pours upon him a constant stream of undermining suggestions，tending to make him doubt the reality of his ideas or the practicability of carrying them out.

The danger is not so much from assault，which often arouses a wholesome counteraction，as from the indifference that is apt to benumb him.Against these influences he may make head by forming a more sympathetic environment through the aid of friends，of books，of imaginary companions，of anything which may help him to cherish the right kind of thoughts.From the mass of people he may expect only disfavor.

The trouble with many of us is that，though we reject the customary，we have not the resolution and the clearness of mind to carry out our own ideals and accept the consequences.We try to serve two masters.Conscious that we have deserved well of the world in striving for the higher right，we are not quite content with the higher sort of success appropriate to such a striving，but vaguely feel that we ought to have external rewards too—which is quite unreasonable.

This falling between two stools is a much more common cause of failure than excessive boldness.

To gain wealth or popularity is success for some，and for them it is a proper aim；but the man of a finer strain must be true to his finer ideal.For him to“ decline upon ”these things is ruin.

Sir Thomas Browne remarks that“It is a most unjust ambition to desire to engross the mercies of the Almighty”by demanding the goods of body and fortune when we already have those of mind，and goes on to say that God often deals with us like those parents who give most of their material support to their weak or defective children，and leave those that are strong to look out for themselves.Ordinary success—wealth，power，or standing coming as the prompt reward of endeavor—is，after all，for second-rate men，those who do a little better than others the jobs offered by the ruling institutions.

The notably wise，good，or original are in some measure protestants against these institutions，and must expect their antagonism.

The higher success always has been and always must be attained at more or less sacrifice of the lower.

The blood of the martyrs is still the seed of the church.

We ought to be prepared for sacrifice；and yet in these more tolerant times there may be less need for it than we anticipate，and many a young man who has set out prepared to renounce the world for an ideal has found that he was not so much ahead of his time as he thought.Sometimes he has gained more honor and salary than was good for him，and has ended in a moral relaxation and decline.

I think that even if one were advising a young man with a view to worldly success alone，and it were a question between conformity and a bold pursuit of ideals，the latter would usually be the course to recommend，since the gain in character and intrinsic power in following it would more than offset，in most cases，the advantage of conventional approval.Ministers who offend churches by modern views，politicians who refuse to propitiate the corrupt element，business men who will not make the usual compromises with honesty，are as likely as not to profit by their course，though they should be prepared for the opposite.

That which appeals to the individual as a higher right seldom appeals to him alone，but is likely to be obscurely working in others also，and on the line of growth for the group as a whole，which may therefore respond to his initiative and make him a leader.

Perhaps this same principle may illuminate the general question of Might versus Right in the social process.We mean by might，I suppose，some established and tangible form of power，like military force，wealth，office，or the like；while right is that which is approved by conscience，perhaps in defiance of all these things.

It would seem at first as if these two ought to coincide，that the good should also be the strong.

But if we accept the idea that life is progress，it is easy to see that no such coincidence is to be expected.

If we are moving onward and upward by the formation of higher ideals and the struggle to attain them，then our conscience will always be going out from and discrediting the actual forms of power.Whatever is will be wrong，at least to the aspiring moral sense.We have，then，between might and right，a relation like that between the mature man and the child，one strong in present force and achievement，the other in promise.Right appeals to our conscience somewhat as the child does，precisely because it is not might，but needs our championship and protection in order that it may live and grow.As time goes on it acquires might and gradually becomes established and institutional，by which time it has ceased to be right in the most vital sense，and something else has taken its place.

In this way right is might in the making，while might is right in its old age.Unless we felt the established as wrong，we could not improve it.

The tendency of every form of settled power—ruling classes，the creeds of the church，the formulas of the law，the dogmas of the lectureroom，business customs—is bound to be at variance with our ideal.

The conflict between might and right is permanent，and is the very process by which we get on.

This way of stating the case would seem to indicate that it is right that precedes and makes might，that a thing comes to power because it appeals to conscience.But it is equally true that might makes right，because ruling conditions help to form our conscience.As our moral ideals develop and we strive to carry them out，we are driven to compromise and to accept as right，principles which will work；and what will work depends in great part on the existing organization，that is，on might.

If an idea proves wholly and hopelessly impracticable，it will presently cease to be looked upon as right，The belief in Christian principles of conduct as right would never have persisted if they were as impracticable as is often alleged；they are，on the contrary，widely practised in simple relations，and so appeal to most of us as pointing the way to reasonable improvement in life at large.

Might and right，then，are stages in the social process，the former having more maturity of organization.

They both spring from the general organism of life，and interact upon each other.

That which proves hopelessly weak can hardly hold its place as right，but no more can anything remain strong if it is irreconcilably opposed to conscience.A heresy in religion is at first assailed by the powers that be as wrong，but if it proves in the conflict to have an intrinsic might，based on its fitness to meet the mental situation，it comes to be acknowledged as right.On the other hand，a system，like militarism，may seem to be the very incarnation of might，and yet if it is essentially at variance with the trend of human life，it will prove to be weak.Behind both might and right is something greater than either，to which both are responsible，namely，the organic whole of onward life.

Chapter 11 Fame

FAME I suppose，is a more extended leadership，the man’s name acting as a symbol through which a personality，or rather the idea we form of it，is kept alive and operative for indefinite time.As ideas about persons are the most active part of our individual thought，so personal fames are the most active part of the social tradition.

They float on the current of history not dissolved into impersonality but individual and appealing，and often become more alive the longer the flesh is dead.Biography，real or imaginary，is what we care for most in the past，because it has the fullest message of life.

Evidently fame must arise by a process of survival；if one name has it and another does not，it is because the former has in some way appealed more effectively to a state of the human mind，and this not to one person or one time only，but again and again，and to many persons，until it has become a tradition.

There must be something about it perennially life-giving，something that has power to awaken latent possibility and enable us to be what we could not be without it.

The real fames，then，as distinguished from the transitory reputations of the day，must have a value for human nature itself，for those conditions of the mind that are not created by passing fashions or institutions，but outlive these and give rise to a permanent demand.

Or，if the appeal is to an institution，it must be to one of a lasting sort，like a nation or the Christian Church.As Americans we cherish the names of Washington and Lincoln because they symbolize and animate the national history；but even these are felt to belong in the front rank only in so far as they were great men and not merely great Americans.

The one great reason why men are famous is that in one way or another they have come to symbolize traits of an ideal life.

Their names are charged with daring，hope，love，power，devotion，beauty，or truth，and we cherish them because human nature is ever striving after these things.

It will be hard to find any kind of fame that is wholly lacking in this ideal element.All the known crimes and vices can be found attached to famous names，but there is always something else，some splendid self-confidence，some grandiose project，some faith，passion，or vision，to give them power.

It may not be quite true to say，

“One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost”；but it is certain that there is nothing to which the car of the world is so sensitive as to such accents，or which，having heard，it is less willing to forget.Every scrap of real inspiration，whether in art or conduct，is treasured up，when once it has been recorded，and is fairly certain to prove are perennius.

A great vitality belongs，however，to anything which can bring the ideal down out of its abstractness and make it active and dramatic.A dramatic appeal is an appeal to human nature as a whole，instead of to a specialized intellectual faculty，to plain men as well as educated，and to educated men through that plainer part of them which is，after all，the most fully alive.So men of action have always a first lien on fame，other things being equal—Garibaldi，for example，with his picturesque campaigns，red shirt and childlike personality，over the other heroes of Italian liberation.And next to this comes the advantage of being preserved for us in some form of art which makes the most of any dramatic possibilities a man may have，and often adds to them by invention.Gibbon，Macaulay，Scott，not to speak of Shakespeare，have done much to guide the course of fame for English readers.

Perhaps it was this survival of salient personal traits，often trivial or fictitious，that Bacon had in mind when he remarked“for the truth is，that time seemeth to be of the nature of a river or stream，which carrieth down to us that which is light and blown up，and drowneth that which is weighty and solid.”But，after all，traits of personality may be as weighty and solid as anything else；and where they are inspiring it is right that they should be immortal.

The merely trivial，of this kind，seldom endures except by association with something of real significance.

It is noteworthy that what a man did for humanity in the past is not the chief cause of fame，and not sufficient to insure it unless he can keep on doing something in the present.

The world has little or no gratitude.

If the past contribution is the only thing and there is nothing presently animating in the living idea of a man，it will use the former，without caring where it came from，and forget the latter.

The inventors who made possible the prodigious mechanical progress of the past century are，for the most part，forgotten；only a few names，such as those of Watt，Stephenson，Fulton，Whitney，and Morse being known，and those dimly，to the public.Some，like Palissy the potter，are remembered for the fascination of their biography，their heroic persistence，strokes of good fortune or the like；and probably it is safe to conclude that few men of this class would be famous for their inventions alone.

As Doctor Johnson remarks in The Rambler，the very fact that an idea is wholly successful may cause its originator to be forgotten.“It often happens that the general reception of a doctrine obscures the books in which it was delivered.When any tenet is generally received and adopted as an incontrovertible principle，we seldom look back to the arguments upon which it was first established，or can bear that tediousness of deduction and multiplicity of evidence by which its author was forced to reconcile it to prejudice and fortify it in the weakness of novelty against obstinacy and envy.”He instances“Boyle’s discovery of the qualities of the air”；and I suppose that if Darwin’s views could have been easily accepted，instead of meeting the bitter and enduring opposition of theological and other traditions，his popular fame would have been comparatively small.He is known to the many chiefly as the.symbol of a militant cause.

It is，then，present function，not past，which is the cause of fame，and any change which diminishes or enhances this has a parallel effect upon reputation.

Thus the fame of Roger Bacon was renewed after an obscurity of six centuries，because it came to be seen that he was a significant forerunner of contemporary scientific thought；and Mendel，whose discovery of a formula of heredity was at first ignored，became famous when biology advanced to a point where it could appreciate his value.

There are many cases in the annals of art of men，like Tintoretto or Rembrandt，whose greatest fame was not attained until the coming of a later generation more in harmony with them than were their contemporaries.

It is because fame exists for our present use and not to perpetuate a dead past that myth enters so largely into it.What we need is a good symbol to help us think and feel；and so，starting with an actual personality which more or less meets this need，we gradually improve upon it by a process of unconscious adaptation that omits the inessential and adds whatever is necessary to round out the ideal.

Thus the human mind working through tradition is an artist，and creates types which go beyond nature.

In this way，no doubt，were built up such legendary characters as Orpheus，Hercules，or King Arthur，while the same factor enters into the fame of historical persons like Joan of Are，Richard I，Napoleon，and even Washington and Lincoln.

It is merely an extension of that idealization which we apply to all the objects of our hero-worship，whether dead or living.

And where a historical character becomes the symbol of a perennial ideal，as in the case of Jesus，his fame becomes a developing institution，changing its forms with successive generations and modes of thought，according to the needs of the human spirit.

This，apparently，is the genesis of all life-giving conceptions of divine personality.

There are aspects of fame that cannot be understood without considering the special influence upon it of the literary class.

This class has control of the medium of communication through which fame chiefly works，and so exerts a power over it somewhat analogous to the power of the financial class over trade；in both cases the forces of demand and supply are transformed by the interests of the mediating agent.

One result of this is that literary fame is，of all kinds，the most justly assigned.Candidates for it，of any merit，are rarely overlooked，because there is always a small society of inquiring experts eager and able to rescue from oblivion any trait of kindred genius.

They are not exempt from conventionalism and party spirit，which may make them unjust to contemporaries，but a second or third generation is sure to search out anything that deserves to survive，and reject the unworthy.“There is no luck in literary reputation.

They who make up the final verdict upon every book are not the partial and noisy readers of the hour when it appears；but a court as of angels，a public not to be bribed，not to be entreated，and not to be overawed，decides upon every man’s title to fame.Only those books come down which deserve to last.”In this way，by the reiterated selection of an expert class with power to hand on their judgments，there is a sure evolution of substantial fame.

“Was glaenzt ist fürden Augenblick geboren，Das Echte bleibt der Nachwelt unverloren.”

The popular judgment of the hour has little to do with the matter，one way or the other.An author may be a“best seller，”like Walter Scott，or almost unread，like Wordsworth，and fare equally well with the higher court；though in this as in all departments of life most contemporary reputations prove transitory，because their“fitness”is to a special and passing phase of the human mind，and not to its enduring needs.

However，literary reputation also has its symbolism，and a name may come to be remembered as the type of a school or a tendency rather than strictly on its own merits.Sainte-Beuve，an authority on such a matter，remarks in his essay on Villon：“But the essential thing，I see clearly，even in literature，is to become one of those names convenient to posterity，which uses them constantly，which employs them as the résumé of many others，and which，as it becomes more remote，not being able to reach the whole extent of the chain，measures the distance from one point to another only by some shining link.”

Democracy does not in the least alter the fact that literary fame is assigned by a small but Perpetual group of experts.

In one sense the process is always democratic；in another it is never so： there is democracy in that all may share in the making of fame who have discrimination enough to make their opinion count，but the number of these is always small，and they constitute，in this field，a kind of self-made aristocracy，not of professed critics alone，but of select readers intelligently seeking and enjoying the best.

The fame of men of letters，philosophers，；artists，indeed of nearly all sorts of great men，reaches the majority only as the people outside the grounds hear the names of the players shouted by those within.We know who it was that was great，but just why he was so we should，if put to it，be quite unable to tell.

This certainty and justice of literary fame，which distinguish it sharply from other kinds，depend not only upon the literary class but upon the precision of the record—the fact that the deed upon which the fame rests is imperishable and unalterable—and also upon the extremely personal and intimate character of the achievement itself，which makes it comparatively independent of external events，and capable of being valued for its own sake at any time and by anybody competent to appreciate it.

It is more fortunate in this respect than political achievement，which is involved with transient institutional conditions.

For similar reasons the other and non-literary sorts of fame are certain and enduring very much in proportion as they interest the literary class.

The latter，being artists or critics of art，have a natural predilection for other arts as well as their own，and cherish the fame of painters，sculptors，actors，and musicians.Actors，especially，whose art leaves no record of its own，would scarcely be remembered were it not for the enthusiasm of literary admirers，like Lamb and Hazlitt and Boswell.As to painting or sculpture，thousands of us who have little direct knowledge or appreciation of the great names have learned to cherish them at second band through the fascination of what has been written by admiring men of letters.On the other band，the comparative neglect of inventors，engineers，and the captains of industry and commerce is due in great part to their not appealing strongly to the literary type of mind.

If one’s work has no universal appeal to human nature，nor any special attraction for the literary class，it may yet survive in memory if there is a continuing technical group，with a recorded tradition，to which it is significant.Professions，like law，surgery，and engineering；the branches of scientific research，as astronomy，geology，and bacteriology；long-lived practical interests，like horticulture and breeding；even traditional sports and pastimes，like golf，yachting，pugilism，and football，have their special records in which are enshrined the names of heroes who will not be forgotten so long as the group endures.A tradition of this kind has far more power over time than the acclaim of all the newspapers of the day，which indeed，without the support of a more considerate judgment，is vox et proeterea nihil.

I can see no reason to expect that the men of our day who are notable for vast riches，or even for substantial economic leadership in addition to riches，will be remembered long after their deaths.

This class of people have been soon forgotten in the past，and the case is not now essentially different.

They have no lasting spiritual value to preserve their names，nor yet do they appeal to the admiration and loyalty of a continuous technical group.

Their services，though possibly greater than those of statesmen and soldiers who will be remembered，are of the sort that the world appropriates without much commemoration.

A group which is important as a whole，and holds the eye of posterity for that reason，preserves the names of many individual members of no great importance in themselves.

They help each other to bum，like sticks in a heap，when each one by itself might go out.English statesmen and men of letters have a great advantage over American in this respect，because they belong to a more centralized and interrelated society.

To know Burke and Goldsmith and Johnson is also to know Garrick and Boswell，and Mrs.

Thrale，Fox，North，Pitt，Sheridan，Walpole，and many others，who，like characters in a play，are far more taken together than the mere sum of the individuals.

Indeed a culture group and epoch of this kind is a sort of play，appealing to a complex historical and dramatic interest，and animating personalities by their membership in the whole.We love to domesticate ourselves in it，when we might not care greatly for the individuals in separation.

So every“great epoch”—the Age of Pericles in Athens，of Augustus in Rome，of the Medici in Florence，of Elizabeth in England，gives us a group of names which shine by the general light of their time.And in the same way a whole nation or civilization which has a unique value for mankind may give immortality to a thousand persons and events which might otherwise be insignificant.Of this the best illustration is，no doubt，the Hebrew nation and history，as we have it in the Bible，which unites patriarchs，kings，prophets，apostles and minor characters in one vast symbol.

Another influence of similar character is the knowledge and feeling that the fame in question is accepted and social，so that we are part of a fellowship to be moved by it.

I take it that much of the delight that people have in reading Horace comes from the sense of being in the company not only of Horace but of hundreds of Horace-spirited readers.We love things more genially when we know that others have loved them before us.

The question whether fame is just，considered as a reward to the individual，must on the whole be answered： No，especially if，for the reasons already given，we except the literary class.Justice in this sense has little to do with the function of fame as a symbol for impressing certain ideas and sentiments and arousing emulation.What name best meets this purpose is determined partly by real service，but largely by opportuneness，by publicity，by dramatic accessories，and by other circumstances which，so far as the individual is concerned，may be called luck.“So to order it that actions may be known and seen is purely the work of fortune，”says Montaigne，“this chance that helps us to glory....A great many brave actions must be expected to be performed without witness，and so lost，before one turns to account；a man is not always on the top of a breach or at the head of an army...a man is often surprised betwixt the hedge and the ditch；he must run the hazard of his life against a hen-roost，he must dislodge four rascally musketeers from a barn...and whoever will observe will，I believe，find it experimentally true that occasions of the least lustre are ever the most dangerous.”It is no less true，I suppose，in the wars of our day，and of a hundred soldiers equally brave and resourceful，only one gets the cross of honor.

In a high sense this is not only for the man who happens to receive it，but for a company of nameless heroes of whom he is the symbol.

And so in all history；it is partly a matter of chance which name the myth crystallizes about，especially in those earlier times when the critical study of biography was unknown.We are not certain that Solomon was really the wisest man，or Orpheus the sweetest singer，or Sir Philip Sidney the most perfect gentleman，but it is convenient to have names to stand for these.traits，In general，history is no doubt far more individual，more a matter of a few great names，than is accomplishment.Mankind does things and a few names get the credit.Sir Thomas Browne expressed the truth very moderately when be said that there have been more remarkable persons forgotten than remembered.

We hear rumors of the decay of fame： it is said that modern life favors less and less the growth and preservation of great personalities"；but I see no proof of it and doubt whether such a decay is conformable to human nature.Other epochs far enough past to give time for selection and idealization have left Symbolic names，and the burden of proof is upon those who hold that ours will not.

I do not doubt there is a change；we are coming to see life more in wholes than formerly；but I conceive that our need to see it as persons is not diminished.

Has there not come to be a feeling，especially during the Great War，that the desire for fame is selfish and a little outgrown，that the good soldier of humanity does not care for it？ I think so；but it seems to me that we must distinguish，as to this，between one who is borne up on a great human whole that lives in the looks and voices of those about him，like a soldier in a patriotic war，or a workm an in the labor movement，and one who is more or less isolated，as are nearly all men of unique originality.

The latter，I imagine，will always feel the need to believe in the appreciation of posterity；they will appeal from the present to the future and，like Dante，meditate come l’uom s’eterna.

The desire for fame is simply a larger form of personal ambition，and in one respect，at least，nobler than other forms，in that it reflects the need to associate ourselves with some enduring reality，raised above the accidents of time.“Nay，I am persuaded that all men do all things，and the better they are the more they do them，in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue；for they desire the immortal.”

It is the“last infirmity of noble minds，”if it be an infirmity at all，and few of the greatest of the earth have been without it.All of us would regard it as the mark of a superior mind to wish to be something of imperishable worth，but，social beings as we are，we can hardly separate this wish from that for social recognition of the worth.

The alleged“vanity”of the desire for fame is vanity only in the sense that all idealism is empty for those who can see the real only in the tangible.

And yet it would be a finer thing to “desire the immortal”without requiring it to be stained with the color of our own mortality.

Chapter 12 The Competitive Spirit

THERE used to be much condemnation of our present state of society based on the idea that competition is a bad thing in itself，a state of war where we want a state of peace，generating hostile passions where we need sympathy and love.

It seems，however，that we are coming to recognize that all life is struggle，that any system which is alive and progressive must be，in some sense，competitive，and that the real question at issue is that of the kind of competition，whether it is free，just，kindly，governed by good rules and worthy objects，or the reverse.

The diffusion of personal opportunity，and of the competition through which alone it can be realized，has a remarkable effect in awakening energy and inciting ambition.

In so far as a man can and does live without any exacting test of himself he fails to achieve significant character and self-reliant manhood.

It is by permitting this and so relaxing the tissue of personal character that static societies and classes have decayed in the past.On the contrary，one who has made his way in a competitive society has learned to choose his course，to select and develop one class of influences and reject others，to measure the result in practice，and so to gain self-knowledge and an effective will.

The simplest workm an，accustomed to make his way，becomes something of a diplomatist，a student of character，a man of the world.

It has been thought rather a mystery that modern civilization does not enervate men as the ancient is believed to have done.

In the case of the Roman and earlier empires the natural course of things，apparently，was for a vigorous nation，after a career of conquest，to become rich，luxurious，degenerate，and finally to be conquered by tribes emerging from savagery and hardihood to follow a similar course.

In our days it seems that a people may remain civilized for centuries without loss of their militant energy，and，roughly speaking，the nations who have advanced most in the arts of peace display also the most prowess in war.

The main reason for this I take to be that modern civilization preserves within itself that element of conflict which gives the training in courage and hardihood that was formerly possible only in a savage state.

The ancient civilizations were in their nature repressive；they could achieve order and industry over wide areas only by imposing a mechanical and coercive discipline，which left little room for individual development and accustomed the mass of men to routine and servility.

Thus we read，regarding Rome，that“The despotic imperial administration upheld for a long while the Roman Empire，and not without renown；but it corrupted，enervated，and impoverished the Roman populations，and left them，after five centuries，as incapable of defending themselves as they were of governing.”

Much has been said of the need of a moral equivalent for war，in order that we may dispense with the latter without losing our virile traits；but it may well be thought that as a sphere for individual combativeness，for daring，resolution，self-reliance and pertinacity，our civil life is，on the whole，far superior to war，which requires a strict and somewhat mechanical type of discipline，putting only a limited responsibility on the soldier.

Indeed the attractiveness to the imagination of military service lies largely in this very fact，that it is non-competitive，that it promises to take one out of the turmoil of individualistic struggle and give him a moral rest.

It offers the repose of subordination，the“peace of the yoke，”and many have enlisted，very much as many others have sought the cloister，to escape from harassing responsibilities and live under rule.

The idea that competition is always destructive of sympathy will not bear examination.

It may be destructive or it may not，depending，among other things，on whether it is fair，whether the rules are well understood and enforced，whether the objects striven for are ennobling or otherwise，and whether the competitor has been properly trained to run his course.

Injustice，lack of standards，low aims and unfitness generate bad feeling，because the individual has not the sense of doing his part in a worthy whole.A good kind of competition will be felt to be also a kind of co-operation，a working out，through selection，of one’s special function in the common enterprise.

Indeed it is chiefly through competition that we come to know the world，to get a various insight into peoples’minds，and so to achieve a large kind of sympathy；while those who lead a protected life generally lack a robust breadth of view and sense of justice.A man，like Abraham Lincoln，who has worked his way from bottom to top of a society everywhere competitive，may still be，as he was，a man of notable tenderness，as well as of a reach of sympathy which only this experience could develop.

I take it，then，that real progress in this regard consists not in abolishing the competitive spirit but in raising it to higher levels，and that the questions just what this means，and whether it is practicable，and how，are the ones we need to discuss.

Suppose that we make a rough division between the lower self-seeking and emulation in service.

The distinction is based mainly on whether the self-assertion，present in both cases，is or is not suffused and dominated by devotion to the common good.

The lower spirit would include all merely sensual impulses，as hunger，cold，and the like，and also more imaginative motives，such as the fear of want，the greed of acquisition，the love of power，the passion for display，the excitement of rivalry，even the love of honor and renown，so long as these are merely personal，and include no conscious loyalty and service to a common ideal.

It is lower，of course，not in the sense that it is always morally wrong，but from the point of view of a higher or lower appeal to human nature.

In this respect we must regard as lower even the struggles of a man to provide for his family，so long as he，with his family，form a mere self-asserting unit with no sense of co-operation with other units.

Emulation in service does not displace other impulses，but suffuses them with a sense of devotion to a larger whole，so that they are modified，elevated，controlled，or even suppressed by the immanence of this greater idea.Rivalry and the pursuit of honor will

试读结束[说明：试读内容隐藏了图片]

下载完整电子书