College Professors and Big Business Men: A Study of American Ideologies, 1880–1915

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QQLLEGE PROFESSORS AND BIG BUSINESS MER'S ir S T M OF AMERICA IDEOLOGIES 1880-1915

by Walter pf Metzger

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of History, in the Graduate College of the State University of Iowa June, 1950

ProQuest Number: 10902177

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ramai Tills study has not been completed.

A study of

the Ideologies! reactions of eoonomlsts, historians and philosophers in this period would be necessary to do justice to the theme. X am Indebted to Professor George

Mowry of

the State University of Iowa History Department for his advice and encouragement.

X also wish to thank

Professor William 0. Aydelotte of the History Department for his many suggestions and kindnesses.

ill

TABLE Of COHTI1TO Chapter One

page Introduction ........

1

1* Tii® Sociology of tii© Mon of Knowledge . 2 . Stratum and Class • » » * « . . 3* Strattfloetioh of tlas Man of Knowledge ♦ . ♦ • • • ........ 4* H©action of the Man of Knowledge to Ideologies # * * * • * - * • • 5. The American College Profeasor . FAIT GUI: Two

The

THE IDEOLOGY Of BIG BUSINESS* Inherited Business Ideology

7 12 10 23

1065-1900 » . . .

1. The Elements of Ideology . . . . 2. The Business Elite and Its Ideological Problems 3. The lew lilt© and the Inherited Ideology » * ................. . 4* Conclusions Three

2

The Big Business Ideology* Andrew Carnegie 1, The Use of Carnegie as a Model . 2. Carnegie on Poverty « • « « * • 3* Carnegie on the Accumulation of Wealth 4* Carnegie on Monopoly ........ 5. Carnegie and the College Pro­ fessor $ Joint Leadership • . • » .

39 40 43 49 85 88 88 93 104 123 128

P A W TWO: COLLEGE FROFEBGGBS AND BIO BUSINESS MBK II TH1IB IHSTITUTIOML CONTACTS Pour

The Institutional Background: 1865-1915 » 1. The Hew Elite Eaters Academic Life ......... 2* The Propagation of the Big Business' Ideology . • • • • • * « 3# Joint Leadership: A Concrete Test

135 137 152 168

iv TABLE OF OommSB (cent.) Chapter Five

Pag© Th© professors^ Response to Joint Leader­ ship •• I > « . i................. .......... X* Method of Analysis r .. 2* The Boa a Case: TheProfessors -Sus­ pect the Intentions of the lew lilt# 1900 * . * * • *. . * . . . . 3, Two Sexologists t Alfcton W, Smell and Weatherly, 1899 f 1 9 1 3 .......... .. . ............ 4* Two College Proaidants: Eliot and Hyde, 1901, 190? . . . . . . . . . . 5. The General Report of the American Association/of Ghivarsity Professors, 1915 . . . . . . . . . . ..........

Six

The Professor*1'Response to Joint Leader­ ship - I I . . 1. Two educatorss Brown and Dewey. 196®, 1902, 1911 . . . . . . . . . . 2. Four Psychologists* Gettell, Ladd, Jsstrew and Meeklia* 1900*1916 . * 3. Conclusion .......... ...........

P A W TEEEIi Seven

Bight

194 194 208 225 237 247 263 264 277 299

B1ACTX0MS TO TE1 TOTAL BUSII5BSS.IDEOLOGY

306

William Graham Sumner . . . . • • • . ... . j1. Sumner and Joint Leadership . . , . 2. Sumner on Poverty . . . . . . . . . 3. Sumner on Concentration of Wealth , 4. Sumner on Monopoly • • « • • • • • . 5. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . .

311 328 345 354 356

Franklin H. GMdings . • .

362

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Biddings on Biddings on Biddings on Gfddinga on Conclusions

............. .

Joint Leadership . . . . Poverty . . . . . . . . Accumulation of wealth . Monopolies • • • ................

368 383 395 404 400

TABLE Of 0QHTEHT8 (float.)

Conclusions

1

Chapter One Introduction The purpose of this paper is to describe and analyze the reactions of American college professors toward the Ideology of big business from around 1380 to 1915. fhls study grows out of a special, and, in some respects, unusual approach to the sociology of knowledge.

Inasmuch

as acceptance of the conclusions of this paper is not dependent upon aceeptance of the validity of the approach, a very elaborate discussion of the underlying theory is not necessary.

But it will add clarity and give significance

to the data to make a concise statement of the theoretical frame of reference.

*The leading concepts, very briefly

considered, fall under the following headings: sociology of the men of knowledge;

2) stratum and class;

3} stratification of the men of knowledge; the men of knowledge to ideologies.

1) the

4) reaction of

Following this

analysis of the leading concepts an attempt will be made 5) to show how the American college professor fits into these wider categories and how his ideological reactions may illustrate these broader concepts*

1* The Sociology of the Men of Knowledge Ivery sociological study of knowledge proceeds on the assumption that existing and past social and historical factors condition the content of each society's fund of knowledge: imperatives*^

the accepted "truths”, values,

However, different specifications of what

the significant social and historical factors are have put an end to agreement in this field beyond the initial heuristic assumption, We have, on the most abstract level, 2 3 4 attempts by Mannheim , Sorokin , Spengler , and Thomas and 5 Znanieeki to rework the data of intellectual history so 1. *£h© distinction is sometimes made between communication of truths on the one hand, and the communication of feelings and imperatives on the other, the former being considered the only true province of the sociology of knowledge, and the latter two being considered respect­ ively, the province of the sociology of art, poetry and music, and the province of the sociology of law and morals. (Gf. De Ore, G., Society and Ideology (N. Y. 1943) P* 3?)* Because of the inclusive approach taken in this paper to the men of knowledge, such a division is not made here. 2. Mannheim, Karl, Ideology and Utopia (English ed., N.Y. 1936). His styles are "ideology* and utopia.” 3* Sorokin, P., Social and Cultural Dynamics (N.Y. 1937) 4 Yols. His styles 'are "ideational” , "sensate” and "idealistic” mentalities. (Vol. II, Chap. 1) 4. Spengler, Oswald, Decline of the West, (N.Y. 1932. Eng­ lish translation, Trans., HTTP'." A tkins on) 2 Vols. His styles are "Faustian”, "Magian” and "Classical” world views. 5* Thomas, W., and Znanifeckl.F.,The Polish Peasant (M.Y.191B20} fE Y^ls.Their 'StylSS are "Thilishine* , "Bohemian” and "Creative”. (Vol. |l, p. 273).

3

as to discover styles or modes of thought which occur and recur throughout history. We have, from the pens of such i n g Q writers as Montesquieu , Buckle', Lowie and Huntington , attempts to trace the influential factors back to pertinent variables in the physical environment.

We have, from

writers like Llppmann*^, Dewey'*'* and Chafee*^, who are 6. Montesquieu, Spirit of the Laws {trans. ?. Nugent) ed. by Franz Neumann Haefner Library of Classics N.J., 1946). 2 Vols. The important environmental factors to Montesquieu were climate, soil, the state of arts, trad© and mode of producing goods. 7. Buckle, H.T., History of Civilization in England. 3 Vols. Hearst's International Library (N,t. ~iMu) Buckles lists climate, food, soil, and the general aspects of nature, the last category including natural phenomena like mountains, earthquakes, tempests, hurricanes, pestilences etc., Vol. I, pp. 36, 37, 86, 37, 88 * 8. Lowie, Robert H., Culture and Ethnology (Washington. 1917). Lowie combines geographicaifactors like food, soil, and possibilities for navigation, with the selective and syn­ thetic force of ’’culture” to explain knowledge, pp. 62-5. 9. Huntington, Ellsworth, Civilization and Climate {Hew Haven, 1915). Huntington is best known for hisextreme emphasis on the factor of climate, pp. 1-11. 10. Lippmaan, Walter, Public Opinion (N.Y. 1922) Lippmann emphasizes public censorship, the psychological mechanism he calls ’’stereotypes” and the manufacture of "news" passim. 11. Dewey, £ohn, The Public and Its Problems (N.Y. 1927). Dewey emphasizes tiie difficulties in the way of an ©light­ ened public opinion in industrial societies. Particularly pp. 143-5$ and passim. 12. Chafee, &echariah, Jr., Government and Mass Communica­ tions. 2 Vols, A Report of the Commission on Freedom of ' the feess (Chicago 1947); Also Chafee, Sechariah, Free

4

particularly concerned with the relation of knowledge to public opinion, attempts to locate the social and historical factors in the agencies and media of communication and 13 education. We have, from the Marxist school and from non-Marxists who also regard knowledge as an epi-phenomenal 14 outgrowth of group struggle , attempts to explain know­ ledge as the rationalization of the power-drives of interest groups.

The approach underlying the research in this paper

is different still*

It attempts to find the existential

factors of knowledge in the social and historical conditions wnlch affect and hare affected those individuals specif­ ically devoted to deal with knowledge:

to compile,

Speech in the United States (Cambridge 1941). The chief interest of Chafee Is in governmental and insti­ tutional repressions of the free and frank dispersal of knowledge in American society. 13. The classic statement in Marx's writings on the relation of social structure to knowledge is in A Contribution Critique of Political Economy (H.Y. 1964/ p. I. References to the ep1-phenomenal nature of literature generally, can be found in a compilation of the writings of Marx and Engels entitled Literature and ..Art. ../(N.Y. 1947). Among the followers of"Marx on this question, one of the best known is Bukharin, U., Historical Materialism (N.Y. 1925). p. 392, 14. Mon-Marxist sociologists, using the apparatus of evolu­ tion instead of dialectical materialism and elaborating a more involved set of interests than the purely economic,lacing Q-m&piowitz. Ludwig, Outlines of soci­ ology (tr by Moore, pp. 76-S2) 1S99, ppv 13o “fTT Small, Albion, General Sociology (Chicago 1905).

5

conserve, disseminate, evaluate or add to it.

This kind

Of study,may properly be called a sociology of the men of knowledge. The men of knowledge may be studied in broad or narrow focus.

Using perhaps the broadest focus, the Polish

sociologist, Florian £nanieckl, has studied the "social personality", "social circle", "qualities of self," "social status" and "social function" of men of know15 ledge. A focus which is somewhat narrower takes into account physical and biological factors controlling or conditioning the work of the men of knowledge.

An early

example of this kind of study was H. Taine’s History of English Literature, in which the factors of race, geography and milieu were singled out for attention.

16

A much narrower focus encompasses the institutions in which certain men of knowledge work:

the contractual

relations of salary and tenure; the hierarchy of controls, responsibilities and duties.

Logan Wilson*s book about the

15* Znaneieki, Florian, The Social Role of the Man of Knowledge (H.Y. 1940)” ' 16. Taine, H., History of English Literature, 2 Yols. (Loudon 189^7 .’ Of.Tntroductioh"," Yo1‘.' I .

6 American professor, Academic Man, is a study of tills 17 order. Finally, the narrowest focus settles upon tiie psychological reactions and tiie specific social attitudes of men of knowledge at a particular time and place.

Of tie

numerous studies tiiat have been of this delimited scope, one which is outstanding for the quality of its sociolog- \ ical insight is iCohn-Bramatedt* s Aristocracy and, tile Middle 18 Glasses in Germany. The interest of the present writer / Vis in this narrowest focus, and in a generalized

^

interpretation of the results. Though the focus be narrow, the results of this kind of study may be very broadly significant. (The men of knowledge have, with a prerogative that varies from culture to culture, the power to determine the quality of their societies* body of accepted knowledge.

Their

function is to acquaint the rest of society with the confusing and fearful world, connecting wild new experience with the tamed experience of the past, finding an inner core of rationality in the hit-and-miss phenomena of everyday existenc^.

Scientists or shamans, they often

17. Wilson, Logan, Academic Man: A Study in the Sociology v of ja Profession [London, 'iT.Y. 19^2). “U f . particularly P P 3 - l T S T I

18. kohn-Bramstedt, Lrnest, Aristocracy and Middle Class 4 in Germany (London 1937)» Of. particularly pp. 1-4.

7

male© the effective decision as to what shall be preserved and what shall be excluded from the communal coffer of knowledge,

?poa whether their ambitions are realised or

unfulfilled, upon whether they feel estranged from or identified with other groups, the quality of their decisions may depend.

A sense of contentment with the

status quo may make them emphasize the "compilingeoaserving-di©geminating* functions as against their "evaluating-adding to* functions.

A sense of estrange­

ment from the dominant group may cause them to flavor the knowledge they guard with an acrid and skeptical quality, fha social attitudes of the men of knowledge in any society, therefore, xaay be, to a large degree, the determinant of what that society

knows, believes, desires.

2. Stratum and Class Considering the central importance of the men of knowledge to the sociological study of knowledge, it is surprising and disconcerting to note the ambiguousness with which the men of knowledge are defined by scnolarly writers.

With writers like Znaniecki, who define the men

of knowledge in the most general terms by use of artificial concepts like "social status'1 and "social function", there is no quarrel, though the question may be raised as to

8

whether his concepts can be used to find flesh-and-blood people living at a particular time and place.

More

disservice is done to clear thinking by those writers who inveterately use the word "intellectuals” as a synonym for "men of knowledge” , and who, by doing this, define this group in terms of a certain psychology or set of social attitudes.

Max Ascoli, for example, defines the

intellectual as on© who has a predisposition to reflection 19 and pedantry ; Selig Perlman, antagonistic to the role which socialist theoreticians have played In the labor movement, defines him as (one who contends for long-term and perfected goals against immediate ones.

20

Joseph Schumpeter, with

a certain vagueness, identifies the modern intellectual as one who Is out of touch with direct responsibility for practical affairs and who takes a critical attitude toward 21 the capitalisti'society. \ Karl Mannheim, in different contexts, defines the intellectual as the recipient of a 22 debunking type of education and as the proponent of a 19* Ascoli, Max, Intelligence in Politics(N.Y.1936)pp.15-58. 20. Perlman* Selig. A theory of the Labor Movement (M.Y. 1927) p. 180. 21. Schumpeter, Joseph A., Socialism, Capitalism and Democracy (N.T. 1942) pp. 145- 55* 22. Mannheim, Karl, Ideology and Utopia, p. 138.

petit bourgeois point of view.

23

These definitions are so vague and are at such variance one with the other, that it is hard to imagine common agreement among the authors on the inclusion of any particular individual.

But far worse, to use a psycho­

metric instead of a sociometric standard for defining the men of knowledge is, conceptually, to put the cart

before

the horse. The object is to try to find the subjective correlates of an objective definition of the men of knowledge, not to try to find the men of knowledge inside a subjective category.

The first approach leads to an ¥

understanding of attitudes of the men of knowledge, the •J second to an understanding - simply - of attitudes. Richard Centers, in his Psychology of Social Classes. analyzes this as a general methodological problem and suggests a clarification that is both simple and expedient as far as it goes.

"(M)ueh confusion can be

avoided" he writes, after analyzing the multiplicity of definitions of social classes which have been proposed,"., if one always distinguishes clearly between stratum and class.

Stratification is something objective; it derives

... primarily from the economic system that happens to 23. Mannheim, Karl, Man and Society in an Age of Reconstruction (London 1^46} pp ."ToT^104.

10 prevail la a given culture.

The process of getting a

living imposes upon people certain functions, statuses and roles.•.But these strata are not necessarily classes. Classes are psycho-social groupings, something that is essentially subjective in character, dependent upon class 24 consciousness*. "(G)lass lines of cleavage may or may not conform to what seem to social scientists to be logical lines of cleavage in the objective or stratification 25 sense.” Centers does not go on to say, but he implies, a further point:

that unless objective stratification does

yield subjective correlates it is not of very much significance.

Unless there is some correspondence between

a particular stratified group and a special kind of thought or behavior, the stratification would be, however accurate in its own terms, devoid of meaning.

From this,

one may derive two clues for defining and dealing with the men of knowledge.

First, the men of knowledge must first

be defined in objective and comparative terms:

how they

produce in relation to other groups, and how they are rewarded for their production In relation to other groups. But this, in itself, is a formal procedure; it may be don© 24. Centers, Hichard, The Psychology of Social Classes. ■J The Study of G1 ass Consciousness TPrInceton W43. fEe aEtEorTs TialTcs77'PP 7?K=27. 25. Ibid.. p. 27.

11 with a greater or lesser degree of cleverness which will not, on that account alone, give it a greater or lesser significance.

The second step is to discover whether the

individuals included in this ordered group have similar and special points of view on large social issues, similar and special perspectives toward intellectual problems, and, possibly but not necessarily, consciousness of the similarity and speciality of their points of view and perspectives.

The first step places the men of knowledge

on a particular stratum; the second step discovers whether 2$ those put in this stratum also constitute a class. The 26* This procedure is in direct contrast to the muddy procedure of Marxists. Karl Marx himself obfuscated this problem. In the Communist Manifesto, for example, he used both the objective criterion of stratification and the subjective criterion of class in foretelling a proletarian victory. Objective: **{With) the develop­ ment of industry the proletariat not only increases in number; it becomes concentrated in greater masses, its strength grows.... The various interests and conditions of life within the ranks of the proletariat are more and more equalized, in proportion as machinery obliter­ ates all distinctions of labour and early everywhere reduces wages to the same low level.w But then he offered a subjective criterion of consciousness apart from economic relationship. ’Vust as, therefore, at an earlier period, a section of the nobility went over to the bourgeoisie, so now a portion of the bourgeoisie goes over to the proletariat, and in particular, a portion of the bourgeois ideologists, who have raised themselves to the level of comprehending theoretically the historical movement as a whole." (N.Y. 1932 International Publishers edition) p. 19.

12 second may not b® assumed from the first, bub the first gives rise to the expectation of th© second.

In the

following two sections of this introduction, an approach to the stratification of the men of knowledge, and a method for testing whether this stratification has attitudinal counterparts, are offered. 3. Stratification of the Men of Knowledge As suggested above, to stratify a group of individuals is to make two facts about them as a group explicit:

their method of production in relation

to that

of other groups; and their monetary and prestigal rewards in comparison with those of other groups.

The method of

production of a group can be generalized about for any particular culture.

The amount and type of reward it

receives for its production, on the other hand, can not b© abstractly considered, but must be related to the fluctuations that occur from time to time and in place to place. (in a democratic-capitalist culture, the men of \ knowledge adopt on© basic method of production. They V... .

produce a commodity - a quality of thought - which is not a material product;

they do this as the engrossing interest

of their productive life;

their production is not routine;

they represent themselves in their work rather than society

13

la some official capacity; they do their work la privacy and 27

alone.

Broadly considered, this sets the men of know­

ledge apart from other productive groups in society.

In the

productive activities of other groups, for example, the return on the value of goods produced rests on the amount, scarcity and accruing economic power of the capital invested, or on the amount, scarcity and accruing economic power of the labor expended.

In the productive activities

of the men of knowledge, the return rests essentially neither on capital investment (to buy a better typewriter does not Insure a better return from a book, nor even does the purchase of a better education necessarily insure it), nor on labor expended (the return on a painting does not depend on the number of hours given a canvass), but rather the return depends on the quality of thought or degree of skill.

Returns are also differently computed.

The men

of knowledge are compensated for an intangible commodity thought - which the time-clock cannot measure, and which the give and take of the market only in th© roughest way can determine.

Unlike capital, thought does not invest itself

27. Some of the ideas for this definition are taken from William MacDonald's The Intellectual Worker and His * Work (M.Y. 1924) WifiT 'the author rs conclusion fcKat the intellectual worker is a laborer as any other, this de­ finition of his method of production sharply disagrees.

14 and earn itself and more; unlike labor, thought does not spend itself and have to he replenished; uniquely, thought seems to follow its own (not well understood) laws of profit and loss. in privacy.

Furthermore,^th© men of knowledge work

While the owner of the factory can hire men

to work his plant, the men of knowledge can hire no substitute or attorney to work theirs; while the plant and the office are places of teeming activity and a good deal of socialization, the study secludes the man of knowledge and turns him to his own resources.

A difference is

noticeable also in reference to the spacing of rewards. While technicians can work with tangible materials that show progressive changes until the desired result is achieved, the men of knowledge, working with unsubstantial words and ideas,must take theirreward only when the work is completed.

Differentiated by their method of production,

the men of knowledge - the writers, artists, scientists, * 2$ professionals who fit this definition * occupy a stratum in society different from those of other groups. Whether this stratum is relatively high or low 2£. It is impossible to eliminate borderline oases by means of this definition (the mechanical engineer for example). All stratifications produce problems of this sort. The best stratifieationf,of course, have the fewest ambig­ uous or unassimllable cases.

15 In the social structure depends upon the multitudinous factors which condition the relative size of the return from production.

It is not within the bounds of this paper

to chart the factors which affect the returns of the men of knowledge over the course of time.

Two generalizations

about how to evaluate these factors may be ventured at this point.

The first is that impressionistic statements from

the men of knowledge about their returns must be treated with the same caution that one would treat similar statements from other productive groupsji.eonemust decide whether these statements are objective appraisals of the facts, or subjective commentaries upon them,

fudging from the

frequency with which men of knowledge have felt abused and 29 unappreciated even In objectively favorable circumstances , 29. To take one example, compare I. McKeen Catell’s under­ standing of the prestige awarded American professors with Logan Wilson’s summary of prestige-evaluation testa given to Americans of all strata. Cattell: "(T)he professor is trampled upon, his interests are of no social consequence, he is kept at menial employ­ ments and the leisure to do good work is denied him." Jjtalvcraity Control -u (N.Y. 1913) , p. 457 . Wilson; "That tiie academic profession ranks high (in prestige) Is indicated by a number of investigations of. the prestige values assigned various occupations by college students, business and professional men, and even C.C.C. workers. In no instance was the college professor given a rank lower than fourth, and the academic profession was consistently surpassed only by the'medical profession." Wilson, 0 £. oit., p. 16.

16 and fro® the not infrequent example of men of knowledge in two countries, each believing that the situation was 30 happier on the other’s soil , there is good reason to 31 question the objective worth of these expressions. Of course, as subjective materials they are of importance. They may be attitudes that reveal class* even if they are not materials that indicate the objective position of th© stratum.

The second point to bear in mind is that non­

material prestige-endowing factors are more apt to touch the men of knowledge than most other groups in society. Such factors as 1} autonomy over their own affairs; 2) consultation by men of affairs in search of the guidance 30, To take one example, compare Carlyle’s belief that the man of letters had a better social standing in England (Heff Emory, Carlyle {M.Y. 1932) p. 107) with the opinion of German intellectuals - Echendorff, Heine, Raabe - that England in the same period was the man of knowledge’s paradise (Kohn-Bramstedt, op. cit., p. 222). 31, How else to interpret Bertrand Russell's lament? "The spread of education has robbed (the intellectual) of his power. The power of the intellectual depends upon superstition; reverence for a traditional incantation or a sacred book. Of these, something survives in English-speaking countries, as is seen in the English attitude to the coronation service and the American reverenee for the Constitution... But this is only a pale ghost of the power of Egyptian priests or Chinese Confucian scholars...There is th© curious fact that though knowledge plays a larger part in civilization now than at any other time, there has not been any corresponding growth of power among those who possess the new knowledge." Power: A Mew Social Analysis (H.Y. 1933) pp. 44-43.

17 of tfae^expsrt" I 3) ability to keep their numbers low and thus preserve an aura of exclusiveness; 4) the acquisition of social title, institutional rank and other differenti­ ating designations - these may give the men of knowledge a social prestige that is entirely apart from, and out of keeping with, the size of their money incomes,

Thus, in

deciding where, in the hierarchy of 3oeial groups, the men of knowledge ought to be placed in a particular region and at a particular date, these non-material prestige-factors must be given special attention.

Though they are more

difficult to measure than income, they can be handled empirically, if not statistically.

An attempt is made

later in this introduction to evaluate the prestige factors operating upon the American college professor in 32 the post-Givil ?/ar period. How may the social attitudes of the men of knowledge, thus defined, be discovered? of the investigator would be clear.

Today, the course

He would construct a

questionnaire on social attitudes, submit it to a scientifically sampled part of the stratum, establish reliability controls, and allow for probable error. such recourse, naturally, is open to the student of 32. See pages 23-3$.

Mo

18 33 historical men of knowledge. As an alternative, therefore, an analysis of the written or spoken reactions of men of knowledge to the Ideological needs of other groups in their society is proposed. 4* Heaetlon of the Men of Knowledge to Ideologies In a democratic society, the class which bids for power usually feels compelled to have a systematic justification for it.

To help develop this justification 34 (which may simply be called at this point an ideology ) the men of knowledge are necessary.

For those who seek

power are usually practical men whose orientation to knowledge is with reference to concrete action; they need - and subtly or openly, consciously or unconsciously, they seek out - those individuals whose intimate relation­ ship to knowledge seemingly equips them to build systems of thought of general appeal and lasting value.

How

negatively, reluctantly or avidly the men of knowledge respond to these calls , how perfectly or imperfectly they do the job, and how much they agree or disagree among themselves:

these are keys to their reaction to ideologies,

33. Cf. Harper, Manley, Social Beliefs and Attitudes of ^ American Educators (M.Y. £ 9 2 7 ) Teachers' Col1ege7coXumfeia tJniversiiy Contributions to Education Mo. 294* Thi3 13 the earliest poll test of educators known to this writer. 34, For further development of the concept of ideology, see Chapter two.

19

an4( also, gauges of their social attitudes. Two questions are involved in deciding whet lier the men of knowledge, have the attributes of a class.

First,

do the men of knowledge answer the ideological needs of other groups at particular times with a certain amount of unity?

Second, do the men of knowledge answer the ideo­

logical needs of other groups in such a fashion as to preserve their own identity and further their own interests? The second question can be broken down into further questions.

Do the men of knowledge respond more readily to

the group which promises, or is able, to act on their behalf?

Do the men of knowledge, in working out rational­

izations for the other group, insert rationales for their own function?

In short,(^do the men of knowledge have their

own ideological reasons for becoming the ideologists of others?

Consistency and self-interest are, thus, the two I

general characteristics to be looked for In their ideolog­ ical reactions. There is no easy road to discovering this consistency and self-interest, if,Indeed, they exist.

It

would simplify matters if one need only consider the avowed ideologists among the men of knowledge - those who articulate their motivations or, at least, their aspirations. J.A. Wolpert, writing in the Partisan Review, presumably

20

would favor suck a narrowing of the problem.

Wolpert

considers only ike conscious fabricators of ideologies as ideologists.

He divides the men of knowledge, whom he

calls the "intelligentsia", into three:

those who are so

devoted to their calling that they do not rationalize for other groups, but live for ideas;

those who think of

their function essentially as a way of making a living, who hire themselves and their talents to the highest bidder, and who live off ideas;

and those who conceive

of ideas as instrumental in realizing group bids for power, and who, in a self-awar© and deliberate fashion, use 35 ideas. Of the three, -olpert calls only the last group "ideologists".

But this assumption that ideological

commitments are made only from conscious and deliberate choice is the assumption, it would seem, of the moralist, rather than the sociologist, psychologist or historian. To assume that rationalization is always rationally under­ taken is to assume that history can be written from the self-stylizations of the participants, or that psychology can get to the core of personality from, the confession. Though it adds to the difficulties of analysis, it seems preferable to consider all men of knowledge ideologists 35. Wolpert, J.A., "Notes on the American Intelligentsia" Partisan Review, Sept.-Oct., 1947, pp. 4?2~4&5.

j

21 if they accept certain value-judgments about groups of people* and If they also accept or elaborate "truths" in order to justify these value-judgments.

Such commitments

may be unwitting and below the conscious level. This means that analysis must be a subtle affair, rooting out the internal inconsistency, the implied assumption, the double meaning In the arguments.

This means,

also, that the analyst must take a skeptical view toward the claim of "objectivity" and "scientific detachment" and must consider it semantic reinforcement of ideological structure.^ However, everything need not be ideational and logical analysis.

The concrete interactions of men of knowledge

with the groups bidding for power may also be studied with profit,

In the text that follows, the interaction of college

professors and big businessmen within academic circles is studied

in addition to the professors * reaction to the big 36 business ideology. What of broad significance can be gained from this approach if an affirmative result is obtained - if men of

knowledge do rationalize their own interests in consistent fashion?

If the sociology of the men of knowledge may tell

us something about the quality of knowledge, finding an ideological pattern in the social attitudes of the men of 36, See chapters four and five

22

knowledge may add to our understanding of the specific content of knowledge.

Thus, social philosophy may have

to b© reviewed as,in part,the dream of improved status which men of knowledge have held.

Revolutionary movements

sparked by revolutionary ideologies may have to be re-interpreted from the point of view of the drives of the men of knowledge in those societies.^

In short, if the

sociology of the men of knowledge promises to add another dimension to the sociology of knowledge, the view of the 37. The question of how much unity is required in order to say with definiteness that the men of knowledge tend to make a particular ideological commitment is another ticklish problem. Walter Lippmann writes that "(n)othing is more certain than that all classes of men are in constant perplexity as to what their interests are" and if this is meant to refute the notion that individuals may be in error about their interests but that the class is Infallible it is certainly correct. (Public Opinion, p. 16$). On the other hand, Max Weber, who takes account of individual variation, nevertheless believes that it is possible, in a commonsense way, to find a group-average* As he puts it "That men in the same class situation regularly react in mass actions to such tangible situations as economic ones in the direction of those interests that are most adequate to their average number is an important and after all simple fact for the understanding of histor­ ical events.” (From v-irtshaft and Gesellschaft,III, chapter 4, as translated in Issays~Tn"Sociology* by ^ E.H. Garth and G. Wright Mill's"(H.T. 1946}, p. 184). Translating this into the terms of the approach of this paper, it is possible to find, without statistical sure-^ ness, that the men of knowledge react, despite individual variation, to certain groups in a certain way.

23

men of knowledge as objectively and subjectively homogeneous promises to add another dimension to the study of Intellectual and social history. So much for underlying theory,

this study of the

reactions of the American professor to the big business ideology is an attempt to study one corner of the vast area which the theory marks off, and to do this by using the analytic devices that have been suggested.

In the following

section of this introduction, it will be shown in what respects the American college professor can be subsumed by the definition of men of knowledge, and, therefore, in what respects the study of his ideological reactions illuminates the larger problem. 5. The American College Professor Generally speaking, the college professor

38

in

38. The word "professor** is a mark of distinction which the college or university confers upon its teachers, hsually with tenural rights. As an arbitrarily-applied distinc­ tion it does not, strictly speaking, include any particularly homogeneous functional group. The term is used, nevertheless, because it roughly designates the college teacher who has a definite connection with a particular institution and who, more than likely, has selected college teaching as a life-career. Instructors,^ lecturers and assistants are not necessarily or most probably in this category. Also "professor" sets off the college teacher from the college administrator who, as the organizer of contexts in which the professor does his work, are on the borderline of the definition of men of knowledge.

24

America adopts the same method of production which differentiates the men of knowledge from other groups*

As

for returns on his product, they rest in most cases on the . quality of his thought, be that thought written down or dispensed in the classroom*

Not perfectly - for exact

justice does not obtain - but roughly, thought of superior quality is rewarded by increased salary, promotion, and movement to better employment. fThe professor1s work is not primarily routine in nature, and is certainly less routinized than the work of teachers on lower levels: further, the tendency for the technical management of tests, grades, and paper-work to be taken off his hands, and for a flexible and Imaginative lecture-technique to be prized, operates to remove a good part of the routine aspects from the college teaching situation.

The products of his

intellectual labors, even when materialized in the form of books, are not material products;

and when they are put

into his teaching, they are most immaterial, being the invisible intellectual growth of the student-mind.

Bxcept

for a comparatively few cases where income is derived from other sources (and these exceptions must be noted when study­ ing the professor^), the college professor finds 39* ¥©ry few studies have been made of the proportion of professor*s salary to total income and of the proportion of that outside income which is the result of non-

25 intellectual endeavor - speaking, teaching, writing - the chief source of income. The question of whether he represents himself or the state in his work is somewhat more difficult to decide. However, whatever the legal and ethical decisions on this question are and have been, and no matter whether the professor works in a state or private institution, with respect to method of production the professor represents himself, and differs from the legislator, the judge, and the appointed and elected official.

He is not told what

to produce, as the legislator is told by his electorate. He does not turn out a product on the basis of some formal edict, as the judge does who interprets a law or passes a intellectual labor. One such study was produced by Mandell Henderson and Maurice B* Davie, Incomes and Living Costs to a University Faculty: A Report Male by a Committee on the Academic Standard of Living Appointed by Tale University Chapter of the American Association of University Professors (Mew Haven 192?), Henderson and Davie found, in the cases of 166 pro­ fessors responding to their questionnaire, that In no case was outside income larger than 30%, and of this v outside income, fees, extra teaching and royalties were the chief sources, pp, 19-35* Other studies which bear out these conclusions are Trevor Arnett Teachers Salaries in Certain Endowed ^ and State Supported College's and Universities in the United States with special "Reference to doTXeges "6? Arts, Literature and Science 1$26-S7, PuElleat ions of the General Education Soar'd", 0ccasional Papers, No, S (N.Y. 1928) and Feixotto, Jessica B. Getting and Spending at the Professional Standard of living; A study of the costs of living an academic lif e Tn.'T. 1927).

26 sentence after the ;jury &as decided.

However, He is not

by any means a free-lancer or a free agent.

Tiiere are the

rules of His profession’s making - standards of licensure and codes of behavior.

There are also the formal and

informal pressures in the institution which compel him to abide by certain norms.

Thus, while he represents himself

in his production, his production is hedged by restrictions. Fitting the definition of men of knowledge in his method of production, the college professor is differentiated within that group by the fact that he works inside professional and institutional bounds. In point of view of status, the college professor is differentiated from his brethren among the men of knowledge in several respects.

Looking at the prestige-

factors as they were operative in the period under discuss­ ion, three were mildly favorable to him, and one markedly unfavorable. factors.

First let us briefly look at the favorable

1) Income.

Income, it has been pointed out, is

generally not a vital or exclusive prestige-faetor for the men of knowledge;

according to Wilson, this Is particularly LO true of the college professor , nevertheless income must also be considered In weighing the prestige-faotors,

LO. Wilson, o£. oit.. p. 205.

27 particularly in a period when wealth-getting monopolized most of the energies of our culture and when conspicuous consumption replaced primary contacts for registering the merits of men.

Unfortunately, income figures prior to 1915

are scattered and in most cases not comparable,

An estimate

figure of |1400 a year as the average income for college professors in 1893 was offered by John J, Tigert, former Commissioner of the Bureau of Education,^*

A comparison

of this figure with the average salary of Methodist and Congregationalist Ministers (which may be taken as fairly typical for Protestant denominations as a whole) shows the

college professor’s salary to have been 75% higher than 42 theirs*for that year. Comparison with the average annual earnings of elementary and secondary school teachers shows the college professor’s salary to have been 500% higher 43 than their*3 for that year. Comparing it with nonintellectual labor, it appears that the college professor*s salary was 75% higher than clerical workers, 40% higher

41, Tigert, John «T«, "Professional Salaries,” Address before the Association of American Colleges, Jan, 14, 1922, SQhool and Society, Feb, 25, 1922, p. 208. 42, Douglas, Paul H., Real Wages in the United States 1890- ^ 1926 (N.Y. 1930), p. 386. (Percentage figure Is mine). 43, Ibid., p. 3^2.

(Percentage figure is mine).

28 than government employees (executive department), and almost 300% higher than the average earnings of all industrial labor in the United States for that year.

44

These comparisons, of course, do not reveal secular trends or cumulative earnings,

The best figures for such

comparisons have been compiled for the period after 1915. On® study of this type, even though it passes our period, is interesting,

Harold I, Clark*s study of average

earnings for a working life-time of selected occupations (1920-1929) ranks the college teacher below the doctor, the lawyer, the engineer, the architect and the dentist, but above the social worker, minister, journalist, librarian - roughly putting him at the top of the lower half of a group that might also be defined as men of 45 knowledge. Though these figures are not conclusive they 44, Ibid.» opposite p. 392. (Percentage figures are mine). These figures being in the form of percentage and also comparative, there is no need to relate them to real wages, or to make the point that the cost of living began to rise around 1900. 45. Clark, Harold F., Life Earning in Selected Occupations in the United States T .U. t . 1937T~p. 6 . Clark’s approach to earnings for a working life-time is helpful because it takes into account the number of years it takes a men to reach his maximum salary scale, something which average annual earnings figures do not show. His figures, as he points out, are not exact and are open to considerable statistical error, but it is highly probable that his comparative rankings are correct.

29 do not seem to Justify the frequent complaints by college professors in this period that as a group, even in tii© 46 larger Institutions, ; they compared badly with other groups on the American scene, particularly with semi47 skilled and skilled labor. Two other prestige factors were to the advantage of the college professor in this period. exclusiveness»

lumber and

fhe number of Ph.D. degrees conferred in

46. Of. Prlehett, Henry S., "Shall the Dnivarsity Become a Business Corporation,* Atlantic Monthly. Sept. 1905, p. 292; "The Real Weakness of American universities," Hatlon. May 3, 1883, p. 377. 47. Complaint over the professor*$ salary begins around v 1880 and rises to a crescendo by the end of the World War. Cf. Bowman, Claude C., The College Professor in ^ America: An Analysis of Articles Published" in the' General Magazines 1890-1938 (PH.D. dissertation Phila 1938) p. 10, Typical comments were that college professors were receiving the same pay as "blacksmiths and steel pourers,” •’ 'and yet nobody doubts that the higher grades of university work require quite as exceptional gifts and quite as elaborate preparation... that go up to make the highest efficiency in the front ranks of industrial life,” (Harper, W.R., "The Pay of American College Professors”, Forum 16: Sept. 1893, p. 104); w(I)t is...bad policy for the great institutions of learning to hold out the teaching f* profession to the young men as a little corner reserved in the midst of our luxurious American society for the practice of endurance and fortitude.” ("professional Salaries in America,” Mation, 36: May 31, 1883, p. 461).

30

American Schools increased from 44 in 1876 to 409 in 1910W , but this increase, compared with the increase in the student body of the colleges and universities

49

did

not swell the numbers of college professors beyond the possibility of the schools to assimilate them or to the point where a superfluity of candidates for an occupation engenders public contempt for it.

For example, Gregory

Walcott, studying the careers of the Ph.D.s of 17 ma^or universities for the years 1884-1904 (7 out of every 10 becoming college professors), concluded that more Ph.D.s achieved attention in Who1s Who than ordinary college graduates, who were in turn represented more frequently 50 than the rest of the population. Furthermore, the new members of the profession through most of this period were still recruited from the homes of clergymen, 48. John, Walton C., "Graduate Studies in Universities and Colleges,” Educational Bulletin (Department of Interior) 1934, 5b. 26, p. 19. 49. Student enrollment figures showed a 400^ increase between 1850 and 1890 in the colleges (Comey, Arthur M., "Growth of the Colleges in the United States” Educational Review Feb. 1892) and a 300^ increase In all college and univarsity departments from 1893 to 1916 (Bureau of Mucation Reports No. 22, 1919,p.4). fhis compares about evenly with the percentage increase of professors. 50. Walcott, Gregory D., "Study of Ph.D.s from American , Universities” School and Society Jan. 9th and 16th, 1915.

31 farmers, well-to-do business men, and from native American 51 or northern European stock , and so the profession did not suffer from an increase in its membership of poorlyregarded ethnic elements or from large numbers of the city 52 poor. Consultation by government officials. The reform movements that flourished toward the end of this period made use of the college professor, calling upon his expert knowledge for such projects as conservation of natural resources, railroad regulation, food inspection, tax reform, and legislation regarding industry in general. Such notable examples of the courting and the utilization of the college professor by politicians as the Wisconsin 51. Sorokin, P., "American Millionaires and MultiMillionaires," Social Forces, III, 1925, pp. 627-640. Sorokin uses J O a t t e l l 4s figures on the American Men of Science given for 1910 which show 87-3$ of American scientists, of whom most were college pro­ fessors, were born in America. {993 names). Of the remaining 12.7$ only 3$ were not born in England, Ireland, Germany or Canada. 52. Kuakelfs study of the origins of college professors was made in 1937 and does not include many professors alive in the period under discussion.One of his cate­ gories is pertinent, however, - the occupations of the fathers of college professors born before 1885 -for these individuals conceivably were the parents of professors alive In the period under consideration. He found 25$ business men, 31$ farmers, 11$ clergymen, and only 11$ workers. iCunkel, B.W., "A Survey of College Teachers,” Bulletin. Association of American Colleges, 1937,pp. 467-514* JF. McKeen Gattell concludes, of the economicJ origin ofscientists in 1910, that "(i)t is clear that

32 experiment

and the rise to political eminence of Woodrow

Wilson, were features of the latter part of this period. .Fast how far this went, and just how much weight the college professor had in the counsel rooms of Washington, B.C. or Madison, Wisconsin, it is not possible to tell with any accuracy.

But it is possible to assert that

definite inroads were made in this period toward changing the stereotyped view of the college professor as a monkish 54 personality with antiquarian interests . Paralleling and a majority of scientific men come from the so-called middle and upper middle classes, forming about onethirtieth of the population, and undoubtedly they tend to be the sons of the more successful professional men.11 ("Families of the American Men of Science" Popular Science Monthly Jan-June 1915 pp. 504-515). 53. Cf* McCarthy, Charles, The Wisconsin Idea (N.Y. 1912). In an appendix, McCarthyllsts the college professors who served the state of Wisconsin 1910-11. They were !.&. Birge, Bean of the college of letters and science, superintendent of the geological and natural history survey; 0*,F. Burgess, professor of chemical engineering, on engineering staff Railroad and Tax Commissions; R. Fisher, professor of chemistry, diary and food commiss­ ions; C. Juday, lecturer in zoology, biologist of the geological and natural history survey; J.B.D. Mack, professor of machine design, on engineering staff Rail­ road and Tax Commissions; W.D. Pence, professor of railway engineering, engineer Railway and Tax Commiss­ ions; B.G. Thwaites, Secretary Wisconsin Historical Society, lecturer in history, on Wisconsin Free Library association; and 3% other professors, pp. 313-317. 54. The popular magazines reflected this change in public sentiment toward the professors. This is particularly apparent from the magazine articles that deal with them after the war in Europe broke out and after the

33

reinforcing the college professor’s emergence as a politically important figure, were changes in the college curriculum in the direction of a decline in religious 55 interest , the development of scientific and professional courses of study

56

, and the operation of universities as

large-scale enterprises, with practical-minded 57 administrators at the head. professors spoke out mostly in favor of the Allies. (Cf. Gratten, C., Hartley, "The Historians Cut Loose" American Mercury . XI, 1927* p. 414* Bowman, op. cit., p. 145) • 55* C. Wright Mills lists as contributing factors to thev decline of religious interest in the colleges, the competition among protestant sects for control of the * colleges; the development of the state university; thev growth of the scientific curriculum; the role of the government in aiding states, by means of the Morrill Act, to set up industrial and mechanical colleges; the increase in professionalization; and the dependence of the universities upon business rather than upon church support. A Sociological Account of Some Aspects of ^ pragmatism (Ph.D. Ihesis "IJnlversify of”WisconsinT942) chapter 1. 56. The important landmarks In this development were the opening of the Lawrence Scientific School at Harvard, * the Sheffield Scientific School at Yale, and the Chandler School at Dartmouth before the Civil War; the cluster of technical schools after the Civil War such as the Stevens’ Institute of Technology, the Case School of Applied Science, and the Carnegie Institute of Technol­ ogy; and the work of Silliman at Yale and Agassiz at Harvard. 57. Some of the leading new administrators were: Angell of ^ Michigan, Sliot of Harvard, White of Cornell, Gilman of Johns Hopkins, Harper of Chicago, Jordan of Stanford, Wheeler of California, Hall of Clark, lan HIse of Wis­ consin, Maclean of Iowa, Butler of Columbia, Hyde of Bowdoin, Thom^tfttof Ohio State.

34 So far as these prestige-factors are concerned the college professor seems to have enjoyed a status not inferior to that of other men of knowledge in American at this time. One i. factor, however, touched him with degrading effect.

This was the formalization in law of the

subordination of the professor to a non-professional i

governing board of trustees, which meant a significant decline in his power to control his own affairs.

The

details of this decline are given in a later chapter, in the context of his interaction with big business men as trustees.

In some measure, the professor recouped his

loss of autonomous control in this period by establishing ^ 58 first, professional societies in his various disciplines' , and next, by launching *

very end of the period, an

organization of professors whose function it was to set standards for the profession, to investigate and publicize unjustified dismissals of professors by governing authori­ ties, and to represent the profession as a whole la questions affecting promotion, tenure and salary. But - this notwith­ standing - debasement of the professor to the position of a 5$, The growth of professional organizations took place mostly within two decades; American Association for the Advancement of Science 18BQ; American Historical assoc­ iation (outgrowth of American Social Science Associa­ tion) 1884; American Economic Association 1385; American Mathematical association 1390; American Psychological Association 1892; American Sociological Society 1905: American Political Science Association 1906.

35

hired hand in his own work was a signal blow to bis status and prestige* Aside from these qualifications which set him apart and make kirn a special case, the college professor fits the theoretical construct of the men of knowledge* Thus, there is confidence that a study of bis ideological commitments is relevant to tbe theoretical problem regarding the social attitudes of tbe men of knowledge, (Two approaches to tbe ideology of college professors which have already been made are worthy of comment*

One approach dismisses,on a priori grounds, the

possibility that college professors do respond in a special way to ideologies*

Logan Wilson writes: *(W)ithin the

middle class, to which most professors belong, approximate equality in income and social rank may be accompanied by very disparate ideals or value systems*..Because of its heterogeneous social composition, (the academic profession 59 is on the whole not a highly conscious group,” This approach appears to be faulty for the following three reasons:

first, and most important, it attacks the problem

of the college professors* social i*esponses deficitionally and not empirically: the college professors may have 59* Wilson, Q£. oft., p. 149*

36 disparate value systems, but this has first to be studied; second, it confuses, by use of tbe term "middle class”, tbe objective and subjective criteria of class, a confusion to wbicb tbat term lends itself very readily

60

; third, it

assumes tbat tbe individual is irrevocably bound to tbe perspectives of bis Initial social grouping, a crude sociological determinism of ideas, wbicb leaves out tbe conditionings of adult experience.

A second approach is

tbe one used by Merle Curti in bis Tbe Social Ideas of American Educators.

Curti studied tbe ideologies of tbe

educators among tbe professors carefully and empirically. In addition, be allowed tbat tbe early surroundings of tbese professors were not necessarily conclusive In fixing their ideological perspectives.

However, by not analyzing

tbe social groupings wbicb required tbe aid of tbe college professor, Curti was led to make assertions about tbe college professors* commitments which were undiscriminating 60. Cf. Tbe psychological description of middle class used by L. Corey Tne Crisis of tbe Middle Class {H.Y. 1935) and EEe economic definitIon applied by F.G. Palm Tbs Middle Classes Then and Mow (N.Y. 1936) Chapter 1. Tbe same disagreement adheres in empirical studies of class structure: Cf. For a subjective criterion, Lloyd Warner and Paul Lunt Tbe Social Life of a Modern Community (Mew Haven 1941), pp. 61-92 and Cf. for an objective criterion,Robert 3. and Helen M. Lynd, Middletown in Transition {N.Y. 1937).

37 and uapreoise.

He writes that "^uoators accepted, in

general, the business man’s outlook and consciously or unconsciously molded the school-system to accord with 6l the canons of a profit-making economic system*” But what Is intended by "business man":

Jihe Rockefellers, or the

small grocery-man, or the farmers?

And what ideology is

excluded by the term "canons of a profit-making system", except the ideology of the socialists?

Sharp ideological

antagonisms may be found among those who accept the canons of profit-making, and we have only to turn to William Jennings Bryan’s assertion that the Populists too spoke for" businessmen, to realize the inadequacy of that term to describe social groupings on the American scene. The form of this paper is dictated la part by the hope of providing correctives to these approaches* For example, Part One is devoted to an analysis of the big business man’s ideology, separating it from the ideology of the business class that had come before. {Chapters Two and Three)

Part Two takes up the interaction of the

college professor and the big business man at the work-aday level, relating this interaction to the utopist 61. Curti. Merle. The Social Ideas of American Educators (H.Y. 1935), jfTZW.

38 element of the big business ideology (Chapters Four, five, Six}*

Part Three analyzes the reaction of certain

American sociologists to the big business ideology as a whole (Chapters Seven and Fight).

’'hat further

methodological considerations are needed are supplied at the beginning of each chapter.

39

PA U L B U S : THE IDEOLOGY OF BIO BUSINESS: 1865-1900 Chapter Two The Inherited Business Ideology In the decades following the Civil War, America saw the promulgation, spread , and rise to popular favor of a new business ideology.

By no means did the proponents

of this ideology have to break fresh ground.

Long before

the war came, a philosophy friendly to the ways and goals of business had achieved widely popular support.

In a

country born in an age of commercial expansion; Inspired to its independence partly out of mercantilist consider­ ations; lacking - save in the South - feudalistie traditions; peopled North and West by aggregations of farmer-proprietors, independent artisans, western specu­ lators, maritime venturers, property-minded laborers, and budding industrial capitalists - a pro-business ideology of some sort was bound to take root.

Why, then was there

a call for a ”newff business ideology, and in what respects was it nnew”?

For answers we must look at the transform­

ation in the leadership of the business community after the war and at the difference between certain of its goals and some of the sanctions of the inherited ideology.

An

understanding of these differences can be facilitated if the essential elements of ideologies

can be defined.

This is our first task. 1. The ISlements of Ideology (in a democratic society, the purpose of ideology is to enable a group to acquire new power or to make acceptable the power it has already acquired.

So defined,

ideology can be analysed into three elements.

First, since

power will not be conceded unless other groups can be persuaded it is In their interest to do so, the group bidding for power must claim it acts on behalf of others as well as itself.

It must describe itself as virtuous,

altruistic, efficient, or talented (which qualities are stressed depend upon the values of that particular society) The qualities which the power-desiring group takes to itsel we may call, in a kind of verbal short-hand, the qualities of the hero-subject.

Second, since other groups may be

competing for power at the same time, It mnst also be asserted that these groups act against the social interest. These groups must be labelled as vicious, selfish, Inefficient, unintelligent (again the social situation will determine which pejorative terms are emphasized).

These

we may call the qualities of the villlan-subject. These

41 nr® the value-judgments, - the extreme , sometimes violent positives and negatives - of ideology. Ideology, however, is something more than opinion, something more than attitudes.

It contains the

apparatus of proof - propositions about man, society, nature or God - which can be asserted as incontrovertible "truths” and which can be used to objectify, and thus justify, the choice of hero- and villian- subjects.

These

propositions we may call reallty-atatements. Realityatatements are the fundamental stuff of ideology.

They

make the ideology systematic, rather than fragmentary, general rather than specific, broad In appeal rather than narrow. Reality-statements in modern ideologists seem to follow a uniform general pattern.

First of all, in

democratic societies, where popular opinion counts and where the ideology must be sold, the reality-statements seldom go outside the bounds of traditional belief, and more often they appease, rather than oppose, public opinion. On this score, however, a distinction between radical ideologies, proposed by groups rising from outside the already dominant class, and aspiring Ideologies, proposed by groups rising within the dominant class, can be drawn. The reality-statements of the latter group are generally

42 distinguishable by their tendency 'to accept ail tbe basic assumptions of tbe social order, insisting merely on a more "correct* interpretation of some of tbe theorems: tbe reality-statements of tbe former, however, often go to tbe basis assumptions themselves to correct, or, in some cases,to refute them.

Secondly, reality-statements in both radical

and aspiring ideologies tend to justify their herp-subjects by including two types of propositions: historical and utopian.

Historical propositions show up the essential

historic mission of the hero-subject.

They contain a

rationalized conception of history, of human behavior, of cosmic, social or divine process.

Often they impose a

harsh, inescapable, and inhumane determinism upon the facts of history in order to prove that what is, had to be. Utopian propositions on the other hand predict a glorious future for the hero-subject and for society JLf tbe goals of the ideology are met.

Often they neglect the determin­

istic assertions that have heen made, to emphasize an idealistic conception of the future in which historic process reaches its term, in whieh humane impulses flourish, 1 in which justice reigns. 1. Ideology, as here understood, is thus more than a party ^ program but less than the total Weltanschauung of Karl Mannheim’s definition. This analysis also differs from Mannheim in considering all reality-statements that

43 2* file Business Elite and Its Ideological Problems With the above as a guide,we can generalize the details of the alteration in the economic structure of America after the Civil War and the ideological problems it created*

Three changes occurred in the

accumulation of huge

economy: 1} the

quantities of capital in single,

usually corporative enterprises, and the monopolistic control of some of these enterprises over entire industries; 2) the growth of a small and fabulously wealthy entrepre­ neurs! class, composed mainly of nouveau arrives, with an unprecedented power that originated in businesses but over­ flowed into other areas of life; 3} the development, at the same time, of a propertyless ^poor" class, unique in its large numerical size

and in its social and economic

immobility, composed

not only of immigrant groups butalso

of native Americans, a prey to drought, discrimination and depression* Though rising from within the business group that was already dominant in American society, this new business elite needed the de jure recognition that an acceptable ideology would bring*

For the temporal concatenation of

these three events made them appear to be causally related, promise an Idealized future Mutopian”, even if these j reality-statements occur in dominant ideologies® Cf* Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia*

and this, in turn, gave rise to a swarm of critics unfriendly to this new business elite.

The rise of the

new elite has brought ”an army of paupers In its train” raged Thomas Shearman in The forum. This class ”will corrupt multitudes less favored by fortune...(t)he influence of such a class is everywhere and always 2 demoralizing.” The claim that there was a eause-effect relationship between great wealth and great poverty, and between the growth of monopolies and great wealth* was reinforced by evidence of the suddenness and simultaneous­ ness with which all three developments occurred.

As far

as monopolies were concerned, it was estimated that only two trusts existed in manufacturing, commerce or gas; by 1889, the number rose to 18; and by the next decade to 157-^

Deciding that there were a handful of millioa-

naires in 1860,^ one writer estimated in 1900 that the 2. Shearman, Thomas, "The Coming Billionaire” , The Forum, fan. 1891, p* 543. 3* Commercial Year Book 1900. figures reproduced in j 3ennTngs. Walter W ., American Sconomic History fN.Y. 1928} p. 226 ’ 4. The data on the distribution of wealth was not avail­ able to commentators in this period, and even today is unsatisfactory. for example, no complete appraisal of ail taxed property in the United States has ever been made, save by assessors for taxation purposes. The Annual Report of the Director of the Mint (1881) p.71, gave.fairly complete figuresfor the period from 1799

number bad risen to over 3,000.

5

Shearman pointed out

that whereas the top British families surpassed the top American families before the Civil War, by 18S9, onesixtieth of the top families of America had an income eight times higher than the top families received in Great Britain.&

Local surveys also pointed out the rapidity by

to 1850, but was most incomplete thereafter until 1900. hacking reliable data, commentators in this period had to use' statistically imperfect techniques. Shearman (see note 6) used reported income figures, unreliable because of loopholes in the tax law and the unpredict­ able relation of income to possessed wealth, The Massachusetts Bureau of Labor (see note 7) used pro­ bated estate data, inaccurate because of the tendency of the poor to accumulate properties slowly, and the tendency of the rich to give properties away before death. George K. Holmes (see note 5) used census data bearing upon the relative values of mortgaged homes and farms, but the assumption that these were representative of the distribution of all other forms of national physical assets may have been mistaken. Charles B. Spahr (see note 8) studied the records of the surrogate court in Hew Tork City which had been empowered by law to keep a public record of all estates brought under its jurisdiction* The weaknesses of this study were the same as those of the Massachusetts study. For further discussion of this problem, see Doan©, Robert#J The Anatomy of American Wealth (M.Y, 1940) pp. 23-40* 5* Holmes, George £., "The Concentration of Wealth* Political Science Quarterly, Dec. 1893, p. 593* 6. Shearman, Thomas, "Ownership of the nation’s Wealth," The Forum. Nov, 1899, p. 265

46 which weal til was becoming concentrated at the top.

The

Massachusetts Bureau of Labor published in 1895 figures concerning estates probated in that state.

In 1859-61,

the highest 7% of the estates probated had a total value of 15*931,000; in 1879-81, but two decades later, the 7 highest 11% had a total value of #26,144,000. Charles B. Spahr*s study of the surrogate court records of Hew York City in three months of 1892 found that the top 53 estates had an aggregate value of |12,437,511* whereas the bottom 704 estates had a value of 1590,172; further, that 75% of those dying in this period (over 25 years of age} left no property except clothing and household 8 furniture. Spahr set this concentration of wealth off against the figures of the 1850 Census which showed that of 11,911 owning reality in four free states, only 2 individuals owned reality worth #50,000 or over.

With the

same suddenness with which high concentrates of wealth appeared, a new kind of stationary poverty became visible. Some studies in this period put the story into statistical form: the growth of farm tenantry^ , the slow Increase in 7* Study of Massachusetts Labor Bureau based on 25th Annual leport, in King, W •I ., The Wealth and Income of the United States (N.Y. 191377 8. Spahr, Charles B., An Essay onthe Distribution of Property (Library o’ F"“'£conomics and Politics, edited by Richard T. Ely) (N.Y. 1896) p. 56. 9*

The 1900 Census of Agriculture reported the results of

47 the average of urban Industrial wages10, tiie development 11 of ever-deepening cyclical unemployment. Other perhaps more effective studies showed in the dramatic terms of eye-witness accounts, the dolorous effects of enduring poverty: the conditions of living in slums, the growth of crime, and the strengthening of the urban political machine. a study of the ownership of rented farms in the United States. This report had particular reference to the questions of absentee ownership and the concentration of ownership of rented farms. The 1880 and 1890 Census classified farms by tenure. The figures showed an increase in tenant farms {excluding farms operated on shares) from 25.6 of all farms in 1880 to 37.0$ in 1910. Historical Statistics of the United States 1789-1945. .£», Department oY~Coxamerce (Washington 1949). p. 96. 10* The Aldrich Report, 1893, (U.S. Congress, Senate 4 Committee on Finance, Report on Wholesale Prices, on Wages, and on Transportation,"Senate Report 1594, *52 Congress, 2n?T Session, pp. 173-180, part I) gave information on the drift of wages in the United States. This was the only significant study made of wage trends before 1890. The figures were derived from the rates in 88 establishments in business from I860 to 1891. Occupational wages in each establishment were converted to relatives; these relatives in each industry were combined by the use of employment weights. With I860 as the index year (100), wages rose to 16?.1 In 1874, dropped to 139.9 in 1879, thence rose, after dipping in the 80*s to 160.7 in 1891. Historical Statistics, p. 66. 11. Estimates of unemployment in the two major business J cycles In this period were 3,000,000 In the depression of 1873 and over 4,000,000 In the crisis of 1893-4. {Shannon, F.A., America's Economic Crowth, N.Y. 1940/ p. 392; S.E. Mori son and H .3.' bomtaageFT^'Growth of American Republic (N.Y. 1942) p. 252).

48 The idea that these three economic transform­ ations - monopoly, concentrated wealth, concentrated t--""

poverty • were causally tied together was a conclusion not only of the critics of the new elite, but of the new ^ elite Itself,

The„ "great inequality of environment”

wrote Andrew Carnegie, is the price that must be paid for "the concentration of business, industrial, and 12 commercial," "To rail against the accumulation of wealth”, wrote Russell Sage, "is to rail against the decrees of justice.

Intelligence, industry, honesty and

thrift produce wealth...;8o long as some men have more sense and more self-control than others, just so long will such men be wealthy, while others will be poor.”*^

Abram

Hewitt realized that these conditions had created a new ideological task.

”{T)he problem presented to systems of

religion and schemes of government is, to make men who are equal in liberty - that is, in political rights and there­ fore entitled to the ownership of property - content With that Inequality in its distribution which must inevitably result from tne application of the law of justice.”"^ The 12, Carnegie, Andrew, The Gospel of health and Other Timely Essays (H.r. i 9oi),'p.'T. 13, Article in Independent, reported in Ghent, W.J., Qur Benevolent Feudalism (n .Y . 1902). 14, Hevins, Allen, Editor. Selected Writings of Abram 3. Hewitt {N.Y. 1910) p. 2?7T

49 Ideological goal, of this new business group was to rationalize and justify the three transformations which * had taken place in the economic and social substructure* 3* The Hew Elite and the Inherited Ideology The significant point,

is that the new

elite, though it had risen from within the dominant business order, found the inherited business ideology not equal to the task of meeting its needs.

That there often

is a hiatus between old ideas and new social forces is a commonplace of intellectual history.

In his Folklore of

Capitalism, Thurman Arnold laid down the generalization that ”(l)aw and morals are always arrayed against new groups which are straggling to obtain a place in al institutional hierarch of prestige."

5

Frederick: Baumer

considers the inertness and inflexibility of thoughtsystems, operating so as to retard the surge to power of new, more vital interests, as one of the keys to the study of intellectual history.

16

The suddenness with which new

15* Arnold, Thurman. Folklore of Capitalism (Mew Haven 1927), p. 4* ~ 16. Baumer, franklin, "Intellectual History and Its ; Problems," Journal of Modern History, Sept. 1949, p« • 193* Sorokin, P. dTsagrees, however, in his Society, Culture and Personality (N.Y. 1947) phapter 4IT His disagreement is based on the divisions he makes in the concept of culture: to him material culture is also super-structural.

50

interests emerge to c&allenge the prevailing codes also effects the amount of Ideological lag; and in America these new interests developed with a startling speed. But there were more specific sources of friction here than a conventional lade of adjustment between old ideas and new forces.

Cochran and Miller wrote that

"traditional language had no words to describe the business activities of the new leaders after the Civil War, no words 17 to define the functions of their institutions." But the suggestion that the inherited ideology did not comprehend did not allow for - the activities of the new leaders tells only part of the story.

There were components in the

streutur© of the old ideology which implicitly and explicitly opposed the designs of the new elite.

As a

hero-subject, the new business leaders did not in every respect possess the attributes of the existent business hero-subject.

They had, in conformity with the existing

stereotype, presumably achieved their success by thrift, IB shrewdness and self-effort ; were mostly from native 17* Cochran, T., and Miller, W., Age of Enterprise: A Social History of Industrial America (N.Y. i 9L2 ) p. 60. 18. The new elite - as a specific group - has not been ^ studied as carefully as it deserves to be. Thorstein TFeblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class (N.Y. 1899) end Berner Sombart’3 Q.uiniessence of Capitalism: A History

51 and psychology of the Modern Business Man (N.Y. 1915) study it from the psychological and impressionistic v viewpoint, Gustavus Myers The History of Great American Fortunes (Chicago, l'^irj and books of this type deal withthe fortune-building activities of some of its leading representatives but not in a way that permits quantitative conclusions. The study which provides the most careful statistical data and the most' penetrating insight unfortunately concerns the business leaders of the next generation mostly. This was Frank W. Taussig and C.S. Joslyn's American Business leaders: A Study in Social Origins and "34iratifieatTon"TN.Y. 1 ^ 2 ) . The advantages of their approach over all previous attempts was that they studied business leaders (defined as persons "occupying a position as major executive, partner, or sole owner in a business of such size as to be of more than local importance in its respective field." p. 31), had a large sampling (5,000), and used the questionnaire technique to acquire data on social mobility, distribution by type of business, occupational origins, conditions of environment, occupational stratification. Their conclusion, however, that the business leaders rise because of native endowment ratner^ than exceptional opportunities, may be questioned. lacking - save for Sorokin’s small study mentioned below - statistical information about this new elite, there are many questions which cannot be answered with anything approaching definiteness. For example, we are left to surmise whether these men truly rose from the 4 bottom-most rung of the social ladder. Morrison and Commager write that "the most typical figure o£ the industrial age was undoubtedly Andrew Carnegie (Op. bit., p. 234, II). But William Miller points out that Horgan and Vanderbilt inherited family fortunes, that Jay Cooke’s father had gone to Congress, and that Harriman’s father was an Episcopal clergyman.("American Historians and the Business Elite,” Journal of Economic History. Nov. 1949). P. Sorokin attempts to give a statistical answer to this question. He divides (1925) 600 millionaires into deceased and living. Since 18? of his 288 deceased millionaires were born before 1840, and 367 out of his 3&0 living millionaires were born after 1840, we can be fairly sure that his deceased millionaire group consists mostly of the individuals we call the "new elite". He categorizes 38.8% of the deceased millionaires as poor at the start, 31.5^ as

stock, and not seldom from farmer and workingmen homes.^ But they appeared, against the existing stereotype, to be lacking in civic virtues, to have created their wealth by erecting artificial monopolies and by the U3e of sharp practices, and to have relied on favoritism and political 20 chicane. They were, in addition, altogether too rich; their luxurious mode of living, their fancy balls, their apings of European society were not in keeping with the attribute of simplicity (if never austerity) that neither rich nor poor, and 29.7f£ as rich. This would hardly justify Morison and Gommager's description of ^ Carnegie, who rose from extreme poverty, as "typical.” ("American Millionaires and Multi-Millionaires," loc. cit. (p. 629). 19. Cf. Sorokin: 36.1$ of the deceased millionaires in 1925 had been born in this country. 56/288 had been the sons of farmers, 17/288 of working-men; 119/288 were from a merchant - manufacturer - financier banker - business men background. (Ibid., p. 635). 20. The Hew York Herald Tribune thus described the origins of the wealth of American millionaires in 1893: Land and its exploitation, 325; natural and artificial monopolies, 410; agriculture, ranch and stock, often with land, 86; trade and manufacture, often with land and securities, 2,065; interest, profit and speculation, often with land, 536; inheritance, otherwise unexplained, 34; miscellaneous, 70; unknown, 21; total, 4,047. Specu­ lation, ownership of securities, monopolies, and large-scale manufacture thus were the favored means to wealth of this group. Land played a large role, too, not as directly exploited but as used or sold for unearned increments. Holmes, George K., The Con centra-*/ tion of Wealth, op. cit., p. 593.

53 distinguished the existing business hero-subject. Secondly, the v11lain-subject proposed by the new elite deviated from the pre-established one.

To be sure, in relegating the

unruly laboring man, the impoverished and unacculturated immigrant, and the economic "failure" to this category, the new elite did not add any particularly new types to the Ideological blacklist.

But considering the growth of labor

militancy represented in the swelling numbers In labor organizations, and considering also the enormously greater incidence of failure brought on by the periodic depressions, the new elite was proposing to remove a far larger number of Americans to this category than the inherited ideology allowed. But it is in the reallty-statements that the precise points of friction between the goals of the new elite and the sanctions of the business ideology are revealed.

These show up most clearly the ideological

problem of the new elite and must receive somewhat extended analysis. Taking an over-all view first, it may be said

^

that five propositions in the inherited ideology thwarted the new elite.

Against poverty as a justifiable individual

condition, there was

a) the remnant of an egalitarian

natural rights doctrine, and against poverty as a

54

desirable social condition, there was

b) a Materialistic

and egalitarlan standard of progress» Against the concen­ tration of great quantities of wealth in the hands of single Individuals, there was

c) the strain in Christian thought

which proscribed it on ethical ground a, and

d ) the concept

of the natural harmony of interest which forbade it on secular grounds*

Finally, against the establishment of

trusts and monopolies was

e) the weight of the common law

and eighteenth eentury economic theory,

Mot all of the

reality-statements of the inherited ideology were oppoaitive to the designs of the new elite.

This elite,

after all, arose from within the dominant business order. Therefore, a hedonistic and rationalistic psychology under­ pinning justification of the profit incentive; an individualistic rather than corporative approach to social and political science underpinning justification of competition, .* private property and a more or less unreg­ ulated business enterprise; a materialistic ethic which sanctioned the so-called business virtues of saving, profitmaking and hard work - these the new elite accepted, carried over, did not question.

In setting off the"new "

Ideology from the oldjbhese aspects be forgotten.

business

of continuity must not

However, discrimination is the pursuance of

differences, and the "new” ideology that finally developed

55

can only b© understood In terms of what It was reacting against.

The following, therefore, Is a cursory analysis —

of the five reality-atatements of the inherited ideology which the nev* elite had to find means to counteract. Natural rights.

The doctrine of the natural 21 right to property, it has been maintained , arose partly as a reaction against the clerical, seignorial and monopolistic rights and privileges of the dominant land­ owning class in the sixteenth century.

In opposing the

usufruct of property by inheritance, In condemning the "unearned” increment of rent, in extolling the "productive” labor that went Into simple manufacturing, the rising business class developed the ethic that all who work have the right to the fruit of their labour.

In justification

of its productive method and in its hope of security, this class thus pitted a justification of property based on labour against a justification of property based on prior 22 occupation and prerogative • Gradually this self-justifying theory was combined with the existing political and 21. Among recent economic historians, this interpretation is made by Peck, Harvey, Economic Thought and Its Institutional Background (N.Y. 19351', Chapter W . 22. Cf. Ritchie, David G . , Natural Rights: A Criticism of , Political and Ethical Conceptions Tlond'on lf$9SJ PPi r a r —

56 theological argument of "natural” righta. property became

Universalized,

a right of all men, innate and

indefeasible, independent of positive law rather than a creation of lt«

In John Locke’s formulation, further

egalitarian implications were added.

To Locke, each man

had the natural right to that with which he mixed his own labour, because It ”is labour which puts the difference 23 of value upon everything.” Those conditioned by their latter-day reading of Marx will see more egalitarianism in this juxtaposition of ethical bias and the labour theory of value than Locke, as the philosopher of the seventeenth century English bourgeoisie, intended.

Indeed, Locke himself

attempted to disown the leveling implications of his theory by asserting the duty of the law to protect property Ol arrangements as they existed , an interpretation fated to loom large in the battles of a later capitalism using the doctrine of natural rights to limit the police power of the state.

But the difference between "no one ought to be

deprived of the fruit of his labor" and "every one ought to be in possession of some fruit" was to be too subtle to be 'appreciated, particularly on the American continent where 23. Locke, John,' Of Civil Government (Everyman’s Library, N.Y. 1924) IX~P. 134. * 24. Ibid., II, p. 245.

51 a little labour might yield much fruit.

’ When Europe made

the natural rights doctrine a part of its intellectual loan to Amerioa, the egalitarian interpretation of property right went along with it. In America, the idea that men had a natural right to property had a checkered history.

Its popularity

fluctuated, as conservatives or liberals undertook to Interpret natural rights, as partisans of popular issues cheap land, state banks, abolition - found it useful.

During

the revolutionary period, when the Jeffersonian dream of a widespread diffusion of property held sway, this concept was written into the texts of constitutions and philosophical treatises.

The 'Virginia Bill of Eights, with its declara­

tion that all men had the right to the "means of acquiring 25 and possessing property" , served as the prototype for all state constitutions written in this period except those of Georgia and Louisiana.

26

Mot only Jeffersonians imbued

with agrarian democratic notions made capital of this theory. The conservative Heverend Samuel Stanhope Smith, son-in-law 25* Virginia Bill of Rights, Section 1. In Poore, B.P., The Federal and State Colonial Charters and Other

re&Ho i^wsTTihtwbt:------------

—

26. Wright, Benjamin F.r American Interpretation of Hatural Law {Cambridge 1931;» P* !$£."

58 and successor to Witherspoon, could write that natural rights include rights "to a free use of man’s powers and talents; to a participation in the common benefits of air and water; and to the entire control over the products 27 of his own labor and skill.” The concept even penetrated early American jurisprudence:

"The right of

acquiring and possessing property” is one of "natural, 28 inherent and inalienable rights of man." With the decline of revolutionary liberalism, the extreme conservative elements in the business community warred upon the egalitarian view of natural rights in various ways.

In jurisprudence, the first of

the impressive barriers to state action at the expense of private property was set up in the Marshallian decisions and in the influential Commentaries of James &ent.2^

In

27. Smith, S.S., Lectures on Moral and Political Philosophy (18121 p. 1T3&. 28. Taahorne,V. Dorrence (Dallas, p. 310). Cf. Ely, Richard T ., Property and Contract in Their Relations to the Distribution of Wealth, fN.YT 1914) 1, pp.

5X^777

29. "Liberty depends essentially upon the structure of the government, the administration of justice and the intelligence of the people, and it has little concern with equality of property...” (Commentaries Lect. xxxiv p* 300). "There have been modern theorists who have considered separate and exclusive property and inequalities of property as the cause of injustice and the unhappy result of government and artificial

59 the area of academic economic theory, a determined effort was made to divorce economic questions entirely from the metaphysics of natural rights.-^0

But if it was banished

from the courts of law and the college classrooms, the natural right to property concept did not die, but bobbed up ubiquitously in the public forum.

.Agrarian interests

desiring cheap land and a pre-emption act applied it by an interpolation;

"everyone has a natural right to the soil 31 as well as to the product of his labor." Business institutions...(Human) society would be in a most un­ natural and miserable condition if it were possible to be instituted or reorganized upon the basis of such speculations." (Lecture xxxiv,p. 319)* Cf. horton, John T., James Sent: A Study in Conservatism. American ^ Historical Association (N.Y. 1539)• Cf. Also Marshall’s decision in Dartmouth College v. Woodward (4 Wheacon, 518} where the contract clause of the Constitution was interpreted as restraining legislatures "in the future from violating the right to (existing) property." In Commager, H.8., Documents I, p. 221. .30. "As the nineteenth century progressed there developed a tendency to divorce items in political economy from discussions of a broadly philosophical type.” O ’Connor,^ Michael J.L., Origins of Academic Economics in the United States (ft.TTT9££)p. 3'6'. This author notes, for example, that Raymond’s 1820 edition contained far more discussion of natural rights than his 1840 printing {Thoughts on Political Economy); that Thomas Cooper, admired by~~Jefferson, disavowed metaphysical economics (Lectures on the Elements of Political Economy 1826); thai &amueT~P. Mewman considered it aitogether outside the province of economics to investigate the principles upon which the right of property was founded. (Elements 1835). 31*Cf. Evans, George Henry, Tote Yourself a Farm, in Dorfman Joseph The Economic Mind"Tn~American Civilization (N.Y• 1946) I, p. 684.

60 interests opposing the United States bank as a monopoly considered the bank to interfere, in the words of Jackson, with the "full enjoyment pf the gifts of heaven and the fruits of superior industry" to which every man is naturally and justly entitled.52

Finally, the abolitionists

made it part of their train of thought: "the right to enjoy liberty is inalienable, prerogatives of Jehovah.

To invade it is to usurp the Every man has the right to his

own body - to the products of his labor - to the protection of law - and to the common advantages of society."55 Lacking the systematic reformulations that would have kept it up to date in an increasingly complex society, exposed to the possibility of becoming merely an argument for the status quo and for laissez-faire, the concept of the natural right to property nevertheless persisted in the old business ideology, and constituted one ideological block to the post-war attempt of the new elite to make poverty justifiable. k) Progress.

According to J.B. Bury

modern notion of progress has four aspects:

34

, the

an optimistic

32. Jackson’s veto of the Bank Bill, 1832, in Gchlesinger, A , M., Jr., The Age of Jackson (M.Y. 1946) p, 203* 33- The Declaration of Sentiments of the Anti-Slavery Society, Dec. 18JJ, Wright, op. 34* Bury, J.B., The Idea of Progress (London, 1920).

61

regard for the future, a belief in gradual and evolutionary change, a faith that natural rather than supernatural agents effected

change, a belief that progress could be measured

by material betterment.

The connection between the flower­

ing of this idea of progress on European soil and the emergence of the bourgeoisie is apparent: optimism is a characteristic of a class on the rise; gradualism, of a class committed to private property and to its safeguards in law;

belief in natural process, of a class making

practical use of the discoveries of science; esteem for utility, of a class founded on trade and manufacturing. Hot until this class actually achieved power, and the gulf between its hopes and promises on the one hand, and its achievement on the other, became visible, did belief in progress yield to more pessimistic doctrine (e.g., the Malthusian law). But in America, an unalloyed idea of progress enjoyed singular prosperity. heard:

In the words of Charles A.

"All the factors which had contributed to the

germination of the idea of progress in Europe were even more prominent in America - respect for industry and labor, a pre-occupation with secular enterprise, and a spirit of

62 experimentation and i n v e n t i o n . C e r t a i n facta of American life in the middle period - the exploitation of the land, the extension of national boundaries, the fluidity of the social structure - gave additional support to this idea by confirming its optimistic predictions.

Panics and

depressions there were, but these did not shake, essentially, the faith of Americans in their future.

The sombre

Ifalfchusians among the political economists gave warnings that resources were limited and that retrogression was ultimate, but these warnings were generally considered 36 either not applicable to the American scene or applicable Only if the state or misguided philanthropists were seriously to interfere with the normal course of things.

37

35. Beard, Charles A., "The Idea of Progress" in A Century v of Progress, Beard, C.A., editor (N.Y, 1932} p. II. 36. Cf. Sverett, Alexander H., Hew Ideas on Population (1923). The increase of population, he wrote, does not lead to a drain on the nation’s resources but to the waxing of the economy. Dorfmsn, op. cit., p. 594. Another still optimistic approach was to admit that progress was threatened, but to assume that less drastic expedients than misery and moral restraint would preserve it. C. Simpson, Stephen, The Workingman’s Manual, who suggested good breeding and educa­ tion, and Phillips, Willard, A. Manual of Political Economy, who suggested economy and thrift” in Dorfman, op. cit.. pp. 657, 593. 37. Cf. Cardozo’s attack on Owen for seeking legislation to help the poor. Such legislations, he felt, counter­ acts the harmony of society. Borfman, op. cit., p. 557.

63 file upward progression of society was assumed to be linear, and Inevitable,

"Americans of the Middle Period were

conditioned from their cradles to think in terms of change and to fix their minds upon the future. 38 saw civilization on the march."

Inevitably they

What is of particular interest in this investi­ gation is the yardstick Americans applied to measure the rate of progress.

That gross material well-being was one

valid index there was general agreement, even among those, like the transcendentalist opponents of American 39 materialism and the southern critics of American 40 industry , who also stressed the moral and cultural 38* Gabriel, Ralph H*, The Course of American Democratic Thought (N.Y. 1940}, 39* Emerson can serve as an example. In "The Young American” (Emerson, American Writers Series, p. 167) he said: "Gentlemen, the development of our American internal resources, the extension to the utmost of the commerical system, and the appearance to new moral Causes which are to modify the state, are giving an aspect of greatness fo the Future..."His bias against "Things in the saddle" seemed to be a reaction against* applying the material criterion as the sole standard., (Cf. "Civilization", in Emerson, pp. 354-363). 40. The pamphlet-apologies for slavery before the Civil War put much stress on its economic beneficence, m the well-known pamphlet "Cotton is King", for example, the author, David Christy, devoted a chapter to "the relations of American slavery to the Industrial interests of our country.” "Slavery”, he wrote, "is not an isolated system, but is so mingled with the

64 measurements of progress.

There was also, less

unanimously to be sure, a tendency to make the diffusion of wealth an important criterion, to make how many as crucial a test as how much. religious orientation like fond

Those with a democratic ill lam Ellery Cbanning were

of applying this standard;

"...the grand doctrine,

that every human being should have the means of selfculture, of progress in knowledge and virtue, of health, comfort and happiness, of ©zeroising the powers and affections of a man, this is slowly taking its place as the highest social truth. sounded the same note;

The Roman Catholic Brownson

"...(T)he advance in civilization

of the people, the poorer and more numerous, as well as business of the world, that it derives facilities from the most innocent transactions...By the industry, skill, and enterprise employed in the manufacture of cotton, mankind are better clothed; their comfort better promoted; general industry more widely extended; and civilization more rapidly advanced than in any preceding age." In Elliott, E.M., Cotton is King and Pro-Slavery Arguments. (Augusta, l860),p.*35* On the other hand, the tendency to rate progress in terms of material accumulation was even more pornounced on the part of those who adopted the anti-slavery position; Hinton Rowan Helper1© Impending Crisis (N.T. I860) was mostly a comparison of production figures of northern and southern states In an attempt to ujaow that slavery led to economic, and hence cultural, Retrogression. Chapters 1, 8, 10. 41• Speech in Philadelphia, 1841, in Beard, C.A., and Beard, M., The American Spirit (Rise of American CivilizatIo~Y0l. fVr, M . T W " 4 2 , p. 254).

65 the richer and less numerous classes...is a good thing, and a tendency towards it is really an evidence of social progress.

But this is what the great doctors of the church

have always taught, when they have defined the end of government to be the good of the community, the public good 42 or the common good of all.* The application of this standard of progress was not only made by the religious-minded, but by those directlyv representing elements in the business community.

In the

center of Henry C. Garey*s system stood the capitalist, whose investments made possible high wages and good employ­ ment.

As one of the formers of the pre-war business

ideology, Carey attacked the Malthus-Hicardo revision of the optimistic, egalitarian view of progress.

*One looks to

pauperism, ignorance, depopulation and barbarism; the other to increasing wealth, comfort, intelligence, combination of action, and civilization...One Is the Inglish system; the other we may be proud to call the American system, for it is the only one ever devised the tendency of which is that of elevating and equalizing the condition of man throughout the world.

42. Ibid., p. 258.

Such Is the true mission of the

From "Liberalism and Progress."

66 people of these United S t a t e s . C a r e y was probably not typical of the political economists of his time, but he seemed to express the thought of the business m a n . ^

His

life was spent in the best society of the wealthy commercial elements in Philadelphia, his closest acquaintances were financiers and industrialists, and he was himself an 45 energetic capitalist entrepreneur. This egalitarian notion of progress was both a view of life and a standard for action.

It implicitly

judged all policy on the basis of how much suffering it eliminated, how generally, and with what dispatch.

It did L

not lend itself to a chain of reasoning which would allow individuals to suffer that the

race might survive, or

demand present discomfort that

the future might be made

more comfortable.

Her© then was a second point of conflicts

between the inherited ideology

andthe ideological designs

of the new elite. Ibid., p. 233 {Carey’s italics). interests (H.Y., 1836).

From Harmony of

44* Though the Beards consider his social philosophy dis­ pleasing to businessmen, his hard-money views, wagefund theory, opposition to Jackson and Yan Suren, opposition to factory acts class him with the more conservative of the business interests. If anything, he was too far to the right. Cf. Principles of Political Economy, 3 Yols, (1840). 45- Dorfman, op. cit.» pp. 739-305.

67 c. Christian ethics.

As there were elements

in the inherited ideology which refused to sanctify poverty as an Individual or social necessity or good, so were there

elements in it which opposed the

accumulation of great wealth.

Among these we must reckon

certain of the ethical values of Christianity, which were still immensely important in America in directing behavior 46 in economic affairs. It is not possible, from the welter of meanings produced by sectarian differences, textual ambiguities, and individual eccentricities in Interpretation, to reduce the social implications of Christianity in this period to a unitary pattern.

Depend­

ing on the sect, the text, and the preacher, one can find sermons rehearsing the Old Testament connection between wealth and the favor of the Lord, or sermons stressing the Old Testament prophetic animus against the rich; the quiestistic Mew Testament doctrine that a "man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth,” or the aotivistic Mew Testament warning that 46. T.Y. Smith believes that our business elite was 4 influenced to a greater degree by the Christian ethos than the European elites of this period, fAmerican Philosophy of Equality (Chicago, 1927) p. 155}r- Gabrielr. Allen Kerr Bond, in his autobiography

and history of the Hopkins Medical School also stressed the social good that had resulted from Hopkins accumulation of wealth.

"He bought up property after

property in this section, and giving employment to large

numbers of workmen, replaced the old wrecks with solid warehouses of plain architecture or with fin© modern 38 buildings when demanded.wV

In the university histories, the notion of ■i

joint leadership was often given dramatic, if indirect, 36. French,

0£. oit., p. 16.

37- Ibid., p. 17. 38. Bond, Allen K ., When the Hopkins Game to Baltimore,j (Baltimore, 192?iT¥*~§C«

156 support.

Thomas Wakefield Ooodspeed, who first had awakened

Boeksfeller1^ interest in the University of Chicago and who later became the secretary of its board of trustees,

per­

formed this task in Jais history of the University of Chicago. He went to pains to show Kockefeller as a man who admired the teacher and the cause of education and who, therefore, in giving his vast gifts, would not dictate the use of them except In the broadest terms.

"He (Boolcefeller) prefers to

rest the whole weight of the management on the shoulders of the proper officers.

Donors can be certain that their gifts

will be preserved*..only in so far as they see wisdom and skill in the management, quit© independently of themselves 39 ...” The appreciation of lockefeller issued by the Board of Trustees on the occasion of his last gift was quoted by Uoodspeed at length! ...Mr. Hockefeller has never permitted th© University to bear his name, and consented to be called its founder, only at the urgent request of the Board of Trustees. He has never suggested the appointment or th© removal of any professor. Whatever views may have been expressed by members of th© faculty, he has never Indicated either assent or dissent. He has never interfered, directly or indirectly, with that freedom of opinion and expression which is th© vital breath of a univer­ sity, but adhered without deviation to the principles that, while it is important that university professors in their conclusion be correct, it Is more important that in their teaching they be free. 40 39. Qoodspeed, ££. oit., p. 243. 40. Ibid., p. 293.

157 There was a germ of truth in this, of course {though Kevins in his favorable biography of Rockefeller shows that Rockefeller was motivated less by the principle of aoademio freedom than by a reluctance to face new responsibilities and repeated interruptions.^1)

At the

same time, this was also an affirmation of what we have com® to call the assertion of "fact” ; and this was also support of the assertion of *intention” by its constant emphasis upon Rockefeller’s largesse. Very often the new elite itself, rather than the oratorical sycophant or th© obsequious administrator, propagated the new business ideology, or segments of it. This was very often liable to happen when a member of the new elite became interested in some issue in education. Frank Vanderlip, for example, was a leading exponent of vocation-slanted higher education.

In a series of

addresses mad© on various Founder’s Days, convocations, and commencement exercises, this sometime President of the Rational City Bank (1909-1937) and trustee of the Carnegie 42 Foundation (1905-1937) managed to integrate a forth­ right defense of vocational education ylth important 41. Kevins* Allen, ffohn D. Rockefeller, pp. 228-26542. "Frank Vanderlip" in Men Who are Making America, (R.T., 1917), pp. 3 8 6 ^ 7 ^

15$ Ideological notions*

the harmony of Interests that may

exist despite wealth differentials, the necessary social function of th© entrepreneur, and the feasibility of " Joint 1©ad ©r ship.w ?anderlipf© educational philosophy was shared among many college educators.

"Many noble teachers have

held a beautiful theory that their work should be devoted to building up character and culture In youth.*.without regard to material surroundings. •.That is the ideal of those who believe we must beware of commercializing our educational system, who believe we should aim at the training of character, the giving of culture, and waste non© of the youthfs precious time with instruction in trade and occupations.

It is a noble ideal, but we must recognize

the fact that a boy set to forge such an ideal armor before he la fifteen years of age will find it an imperfect protection against the difficulties of modern industrial43 ism." However, fanderlip did not base his plea for vocational education on narrow and utilitarian grounds. Business training should not be taken merely to increase future profit-making, but for the opportunity to realize 43.

"Trade Schools", World’s Work. 1906 fn Business and; education, pp. 69-70.

159 tli© highest forms of social service,

"Will not the man

who is thoroughly well grounded in th© principles of commerce and finance be better qualified to guide th© destinies of our country than on© who has merely had a training in th© love of th© beautiful or one who has won t * prises in Greek declamation?" With this, many of th© so-called "progressives" among professional educators had no quarrel, and those who did not agree probably recognized It as a legitimate professional position. But when Vanderlip discussed who was to control the educational program he revealed th® ideologist and not the professional educator at work.

He would ©xtbnd the

beneficial influence of the new elite to education,

"It

is easily possible for men engaged in th© particular work of education to become too narrow.

Book cover® contain

much knowledge, but may also shut out from a too close student much wisdom - much of that sort of wisdom which is gained by experience in th® world.

And so, I believe that

when th® example was set to men of wealth, of giving with their money their thought, their experience, their Judgment,

"■■».....

. ,.,*,.- ,,!...

i l i

"Keqn foresight, a shrewd - .. rm.. . — .

that example was of great value.

44* "A Hew College Decree", convocation of the ^niv©rsity • of the State of Hew York, tfune 20, 1905, Business and Education, p, 37,

knowledge of humanity, a wise and well-seasoned judgment of tli® practical value of tilings, ordinarily go to make up tii® mental equipment of a man who has mad© a million dollars which n© is ready to devote to some great public good ♦.."

45

Til© specifics of iiis plan would not exclude

th© professorsj be would bav© a fund for tbe coordination of educational effort which would be administered "by a board of trustees that bad large educational experience and outlook” plus "broad experience in affairs of Importance^

46

His apologia for big businessmen developed a ; berQ-subLjec-^ $hlab gathered attributed of "imagination" and social idealisms In tbe popular mind tbe motives of tbe business men are often maligned.' X know loaders in tbe business world who have as little concern for personal reward in what they seek to accomplish as would be tbe rule with men engaged in scientific research. These men are devoted to certain commercial ideals. The making of money happens to be inseparably linked with those ideas, but the making of money is not th© gr©at moving force. They are Interested in the expansion and operation of business, in the discovery of new fields of operation, and in the introduction of improved methods...They have the same high type of imagination which usually marks men who attain eminence in any other line of activity. 47

45, "Coordination..

Business and Eduoptlon, p. 5.

46• "Coordination..." Business and Education, p. 11. 47* WA New College Degree..."Business and Muoation, p. 35.^

161 H® duplicated til® Carnegie assertion of "fact” almost exactly. Ilk© many otner business men who clamored for a vocational education, Yanderlip believed that one of its values would be tbe spread of the idea tnat a natural narmony of interests existed despite income differences. By acquiring without cost the skills to enable him to succeed at his job, the laboring man would look to self** improvement and social mobility, rather than to Institutional rearrangement, for

economic betterment.

Island Stanford had expressed his strong'opinion that the quiescence of labor would be on® of the outcomes of free 48 vocational training, and Yanderlip was thus not alone ... ; when he said: "(i)f we want men to become attached to their work and their positions, must we not give them an intellectual interest In their work?...If we drift toward a condition in which automatic workers live without intellectual interest In their labor, we must expect them to follow - without independence of thought - unwise leaders along paths that will be destructive for capital 49 and labor alike.” Thus, professional issues, however 48. Iordan, oju cit., p. 487s 49. "Trad® Schools” In Business and Education, p. 73.v

162 sincerely debated for their own sake, became for the new ©lit© oarloas on which ideological arguments could feed* An interestingi though somewhat complicated example of the introduction of th® new business ideology into Issues that had hitherto engrossed only the professional educator, was the development of the rational© of th© Carnegie pension plan*

Moved by his experience as

a trustee of Cornell University, where he learned of the small monetary rewards and basic economic insecurity of most American professors, Carnegie announced in 1905 a plan by which h© promised to finance retiring pensions for professors.

Masterfully his letter to the trustees

of th© new Carnegie foundation restated th© joiht leader­ ship idea.

nI have reached th© conclusion,* Carnegie

wrote, "that th© least rewarded of all the professions is that of the teacher in our highest institutions."

He

found that very few of the colleges were able to afford retirement pensions for their teachers. are grevious.

"Til© consequences

Able men hesitate to adopt teaching as a

career, and many old professors whose places should be occupied by younger men, cannot be retired."

Concern over

this state of affairs, therefor©, has led him to transfer

10,000,000 dollars to the addresses of the letter, in order *to provide retiring pensions for th© teachers of

163 Universities, Colleges, and Technological Softools In our 50 country, Canada and Newfoundland." In peroration, "I ftope tftat tills fund may do mucft for tft© cause of ftlgfter education and to remove a source of deep and constant anxiety to the poorest paid and yet on© of tft© highest of 51 all p r o f e s s i o n s . N o t only was tftis exquisite flattery of tft© professor and ftis metier, but It provided dollars wortft v. to prove uttered.

10,000,000

tb© sincerity witft which it was

Tfte letter was a far better argument of tft©

feasibility of joint leadership tftan ornate rhetoric.

As

a token of ftis confidence in tftese men of knowledge, Carnegie designated a board of trustees wfticft consisted of

23 presidents of universities and only two business

men.

52 Nevertheless, from tft© viewpoint of tft© big

business ideology, tftis pension plan was unwise in on© respect It was proposed to give gratuitous pensions to all professors wfto reached tfte ag© of

65 or had 25 years of

\1

service, and whose Institutions qualified for inclusion. 50. He excluded all denominational schools, and until 1909 all state-supported institutions. 51. Carnegie Kndowment for tfte Advancement of Teaching, Manual of Carnegie Benefactions, Appendix, pp. 23-24. 52. Ibid., p. 25.

164 Th© money granted was to be tbe professors* as bis right. It was a payment which society owed him.

But such a plan

obviously went counter to certain fundamental realitystatements In the new business ideology., viz., that poverty at the end of a career was always retribution for individual failure, and that the individual had no Just claims upon society save that It interpose no artificial hindrance to the getting of wealth.

Here was

conflict between the big business man in his educational role, and the big business man in his Ideological role a confliot which was undoubtedly implicit in th© concepts of the new business ideology itself. At the start, Henry S. Pritchett, th© President of the Carnegie Foundation and th© guiding hand behind Its policies from its inception until his retirement in ei 1930 , attempted to reconcile the ideological implications of this plan with the ideological requirements of big business.

"A man can be independent", h© wrote, "and

yet not insist upon paying himself for everything that he receives." ^

"In the complex organization of modern

13. flexner, Abraham, Henry S. Pritchett: A Biography< {N.T., 1943)* p. 94. ~ 54. Pritchett, Henry S."The Moral Influence of a University.; Pension System" Popular 361©no© Monthly, Nov. 1911* pp. 502. — .*

165

society no Individual In any class pays for everything he receives.«

So sash'Carnegie had admitted; bat this

to him had not been reason to distribute wealth.

Charity

so dispersed would be ineffectual; furthermore, it would undermine such important character traits as the habit of thrift*

Pritchett agreed that "thrift was a fundamental

human virtue.

Hard to build up in races and individuals,

it la easy to breah down in both.”

But he did not want it

to be thought that pensions destroyed the thrift habit. Pensions are quite different in character than doles.

"It

is just because the habit of thrift is so difficult to acquire and to retain that pensions are not antagonistic to It.

The security given by a pension system is really

the acquisition of a certain ©quality which will result in benefit to those who participate in It.

Such a consider­

ation, if rightly used, can b© made to minister to the Idea of thrift, not to brealc it down...Hope not fear is the 55 great moving power In humanity." The contradiction was not resolved, however, for this argument implied that the mechanisms of society by which wealth was rewarded to ambition were not self-regulative.

166 A practical problem arising in tbe administration of tbe pension fund obviated the need to continue tb© rationalization of pensions.

Though Carnegie claimed to

have consulted expert actuarial advice, tbe fund turned out not to be large enough for tbe purpose.

By 1917, the

original plan was discarded in favor of a contractual, contributory system, according to which one half of th© premium was to be paid by the professors, on© half by the universities, and the expenses of administration borne? by the Carnegie Foundation.

An ideological about-face

accompanied this change of plan.

In the Minth Bulletin

of th© Foundation, Fritohett discarded compromises for a more straight-forward reaffirmation of big business ideas, firstly, he denied that anyone had a right to compensation over and beyond what he earned.

"It is true that the

altruistic motive is strong among teachers..But this fact constitutes no claim for subsidizing" them.

"The world

does not owe a subsidy to any man or to any profession on the ground of altruistic i n t e n t i o n s . S e c o n d l y , poverty was again recognized as an individual, rather than as a social concern.

"If the teacher has health and ability,

56. Fritohett, Henry S., "A Comprehensive Flfn of Insur­ ance and Annuities for College Teachers", Bulletin Ho. 9, Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teachlng, 19167 pTlTI "',J',irn

167 the protection of his wife, of his children, and of himself against th© hazards of lif© is mainly a function of his own self-control# foresight, and thrift..."5^

There was even

in this report the suggestion that poverty - th© forthright, honest pvoerty that had always been th® teacher's - had beneficial effects upon character which a gratuitous pension system might impair.

"It cannot be denied also that the

possession of a pension or the prospect of its possession stops the development of men just as the possession of a moderate fortune deadens their energy.

There Is a type of

man in all professions who once at ease with respect to the future, tends to ©Ink into i n a c t i v i t y . T h © reversal from the position tafcen in 1911 was fairly complete, and now the gospel according to St. Andrew appeared in purer form. Other test-situatioms of th© new elite's assertion of intention were provided,

Th© new elite had the

power, as members of the boards of trustees, to xaahe the existing prestige and status of professors higher than their legal prestige and status.

Two movements were juxtaposed

in this period; the decline in the professor's "managerial" 57. Ibid., p. 13.

168 function ooourred at tfte same time that tfte new elite was moving in and taking control*

Tftis, as w© sftall see

below, created a rare and concrete opportunity for tfte new elite to rectify tfte professors’ losses and thus give concrete evidence of tfteir benign intentions. 3* ffolat Leadership; A Concrete Test Tfte process wftioft we may call tfte decline of tfte professor?s "managerial function" had two aspects.

Tfte

first was tfte gradual contraction of professorial power witft respect to overall institutional policy; tfte second was tfte gradual diminution of professorial control over tfte conditions of ftis job.

The first was realized by tfte

establishment, strengthening and prescribing of tfte precedent tftat governing boards be manned by non-resident daysmen*

The second was realized by tfte formalization in

law of the professors* employee relation to ftis board. It is clear that tfte first part of tftis retrograde process - tfte establishment of non-professional boards - antedated tfte influx of the new elite into academic life by many decades.

It began a3 far back as

tfte colonial period, though it did not reaqft full strength until tft© revolutionary era.

A brief look at the important

169 collages la our early period tells th© story.

59

Th©

founders of the first two American colleges * Harvard and William and Mary

60

- were moved by British precedents to

create resident governments, and to relegate only over­ seeing powers to a non-professional board. attempts were successful.

Initially these

Harvard enjoyed her resident

government until the revolutionary period, as did William and Mary.

But the disruptive conditions of revolution,

and the rise of new political and commercial forces brought the power of both resident boards into partial or total eclipse.

At Harvard, though th© overseers did not increase

their power, the faculty completely lost its representation in the corporation; at William and Mary, the board of visitors secured almost complete power over the corporation.

Except

for these long but eventually unsuccessful experiments in professorial government, th® rest of the early colleges were instituted as or quickly developed into non-resident corporations.

Tale was the first to inaugurate a strictly

lay form of government.

,fAa Act for Liberty to erect a

Collegiate School* passed in 1?01 by th© Connecticut 59. This paragraph is taken largely from Kirkpatrick, v lohn G,f Academic Organization and Control (Tellow Springs, l'93I J. tlrmpatrfoic gives o m $rthe very few historical treatments of th© professors? deseension available. 60. Kirkpatrick,

0£, olt.. p. xiv.

170 legislature, authorized ten clergymen of the province to

61

complete their plans for the organization of Yale college. Hot until 1745 was the President admitted to the closed

corporation thus formed; not until a century after that were secular persons admitted to membership; at no

time were

the professors allowed to take places on the governing 62 board. Both Kings (later Columbia) and Princeton Universities followed the lead of Yale in establishing non63 professional governments. Brown, chartered In 1764, departed from the precedent set by Yale to the extent of providing that "the Instruction and immediate Government of the institution Is to be committed forever" to the "President and Fellows or fellowship" called the "learned 64 faculty." Apparently, however, professors and tutors were not thought of as part of the "Learned Faculty", and, though there was no legal bar, no professor sat on this 65 potent board after 1834, Dartmouth, founded in 1767, 61. Dexter, Franklin B . , Documentary History of Yale University (Hew Haven, 1896) pp.' 2(5-23. 62. Kirkpatrick, o33

. cit., pp.

59-66.

^3* Ibid., pp. 74-90. 64* Bronson, W.C., The History of Brown University 17641914 (Providence, 1914], PP* 5$0-307. 65. Kirkpatrick, o£. cit., pp. 92.

171 was first organized as a self-governing college with a pro forma board of trustees.

This new attempt to establish

a resident government, however, was brought to an abrupt halt by the Supreme Court in 1819 in the Dartmouth College Case, and the trustees were confirmed in their power to determine policy and to administer i t T h e

University

of Pennsylvania, formally established in 1749, reverted to the Tale model, giving the Trustees, the most prominent laymen in the city of Philadelphia, not only financial but educational control.

These Trustees were to b© "an unpaid

body, self-perpetuating, electing their own officer®, meeting monthly or oftener, collecting and spending funds, "contracting with masters and appointing tutors, deciding wnat subjects should be taught and to a considerable extent 67 the methods of teaching." Ambng the state universities, with few exceptions, the concept of non-professional and non-resident corporations aoting through certain resident and professional agents was firmly Intrenched in the charters. The University of Michigan was an exception, being organized at the first as a faculty corporation, but later it too 66. Commager, Documents, pp. 220-223. 67# Cheyeney, Edward P., History of the University of Pennsylvania, (Philadelphia, pp. 30-51.

172 accepted tlx® principle of a lay board of control.

68

Thu©

what began as hap-hazard precedent had become, by the outbreak of war between the states, a seldom-violated principle. The principle, In turn, was encrusted into constitutional and statutory law.

In 1884, in one of the

first legal tests of this principle, the state supreme court of Pennsylvania decided that a law taxing officials of corporations chartered by the state did not apply to professors because the latter were not corporation 69 officials. Again, with this case as a precedent, the Pennsylvania supreme court decided that quo warranto proceedings

applicable to state officials

applicable to professors.^0

were not

In certain proprietary schools

a few professors were able to hold stock and hence became officers by reason of ownership.

Generally, however, the

68. Hubbard, Lucius L . , The university of Michigan (Ana Arbor, 1906) pp. 4-8. 69* Onion County v. lames, 21 Pa 52$ {1853} in Elliott, Edward C. and Chambers, M.M., The Colleges and the * Courts, Judicial Decisions regarding Institutions of iligher Education in the United States (N.Y., 1936) p. 346. 70. Phillips v. Commonwealth ex rel James, 98 Pa. St. 394 (1881) in Elliot and Chambers, Ibid.. p. 73.

173 ©barters of non-profit, private, educational corporations expressly prohibited "any professor from becoming a member 71 of the governing board or an officer thereof*" Pro­ fessors in state and private institutions were thus generally in the same boat. The second aspect of the professors1 loss of managerial power - the development of a contractual, employee relation to governing boards - did not come to pass until the end of the Civil War.

Two cases tried in

the courts before the Civil War make it plain that the issue of the proper relation of professors to the boards had not been Juridically decided before the close of the middle period.

In the Dartmouth College case Webster

argued that professors "have freeholds in their offices" though they might be removed for cause; that they had a property right to their job which the trustees could not 72 73 ignore. Though Marshall ignored the a r g u m e n t a n d there is some difference as to whether it was germaine 71. Silica and Chambers, pp. cit., p. 73. Quotation from Hartigan v. Regents 49 We ItTVirgi nia 39 In Kirkpatrick op. elt., p. 189. 72. Kirkpatrick, op. cit., p. 205. 73* Marshall of course established the inviolability of contract rather than the freehold principle as his ground for judging in the favor of Dartmouth. Loth, David, Chief, jfuatiee John Marshall (N.Y.* 1949) p. 293* "

174 to the subject

74

, it is apparent that the argument bad

enough plausability at that time to encourage Webster to use it.

More pertinently, in tn® Murdock v. Appelant

gnse, decided in 13^9, the supreme court of Massachusetts i ruled that the professor, though his tenure could be determined by a board of trustees, was entitled to many of tb® common law protections understood by the phrase ”du© process of law."

Tn© professor was not to be dismissed

without having his offense "fully and plainly, substantially ?*> and formally described to him.”" According to this preQivil War decision, the contract was not terminable merely at the trustees’ will, but certain oomiaoa law safeguards, not specified in the terms of contract, had first to be observed; In the post-civil War period, however, these preservations in law of the professors’ more-than-contraotual status, were overthrown.

The relevant cases were those

whieh involved state universities;

76 In Butler v. Regents

74* Of. Beveridge, Albert, Life of John Marshall (M.Y., 1919): Webster’s argument "was de^otel to laying th© foundation for his...reasoning on the main question” p. 240; with Loth, o&; cit., "Webster furnished the most blatant excursion Into subjects not involved.” p. 293. 75^ 24 Mass (7 Pick) 303 in Kirkpatrick,

0£, cit., p. 190.

76; 32 Wls* 124 (1371) la Elliott Chambers, op. cit., p. 190.

and la Hartlgan v. Regents

, the oontreot relation

and tn® employe© status to tn® professor were fixed.

v/ In

tn© former ease* tn© Wisconsin Supreme Court declared: "It seems to us that n© (tn© professor) stands in tne same relation to tn© board tnat a teactier in a public senool occupied with respect to tn® senool district by wnicn sucn teacber is employed; and tnat is purely a contract 78 relation." In tne latter ease, tn® supreme court of West Virginia neld in its Majority decision tnat "(a) professor*,.gives no bond, does not account for mis­ feasance nor nonfeasance in a legal sense, has no term nor duties of a determinate character fixes by law... A professor, learned and distinguished though he may be, 79 is an employee...of the board of regents, in law.” Logically, this reduction to employees might still have permitted the professors to enjoy a measure of "managerial” control in their jobs.

For example, employees

In other lines of work, discharged before the expiration of the stipulated term of service and in a manner not provided for in the contract, were entitled to remedy in a proper action at law. 77. 1*9 West Va H , 78. Ibid, 79. Ibid.

But the fact was that for the

Ibid. * p. 190.

176 professor m m

these sources of power were denied to him.

In the first Important case testing whether the contract protected the professor in the right to his job, the court did decide in hi® favor (Kansas State Agricultural College v. Mudge 1878).

Deciding against the Kansas Board of

Regents for discharging a professor without previous *

warning though the contract called for three months notice, the court said: While the Legislature unquestionably intended to confer on the board of regents extensive powers, yet it did not Intend to confer upon them the irresponsible power of trifling with other mens rights with Impunity. SO fhls line of thinking, however, soon came to an end.

In

1905» when the Regents of the same Kansas college dis­ charged a professor before the term of the contract expired, the United Court of Appeals decided that the statutory provision authorizing the board of regents to remove professors whenever the interests of the college should require became a condition of all contracts of employment, and that only fraud and bad faith warranted 81 investigation by the courts. This decision nullified the protective features of the contract, as was seen by Judge 80* 21 Kan. 223, in Klliott and Chambers, p. SI. 31. Ward v. Regents of Kansas State Agricultural College in Klllott and Chambers, p. 82.

177 Sanborn In a minority dissent.

it deprived the

professor of that security of tenure without which the assertion of an Independent viewpoint in respect to university policy would be risky indeed. cases stretching from

When In state

1894 to 1913, the viewpoint of the

United States Court of Appeals was reaffirmed,

8 ”3

the

professors were effectively denied that managerial power they might have expected from an employe© relation, debasing as that relation was. The ©ffeot of court decisions after the Civil Was was to formalize in law the status of the professor as a hired man in his own business, without positive common law or contractual protections, in a legally subordinate position to a governing board which was non**profeaaional. This situation created for the new elite an opportunity and a challenge.

The opportunity it had was to establish

in custom (since it had the power) those professorial privileges which had been impaired by law; to allow the professors the managerial function they desired but could 82. Ibid., p. 82. 83. These cases were Gillan V. Board of Regents v. Milwaukee Normal School 88 Wis 7 (1895TT3evoT V. Regents 6. Ariz 2w n s w m . v s i Q p v. Regent s of the University of Idaho 23 Idaho 341 (1913). in ITlIott and Chambers pp.

82-84

*

178 no longer claim.

Within statutory and charter boundaries,

the new elite had the opportunity to consult professors before appointing deans and presidents; to give the faculty complete control over at least educational policy; to abide by contract and rather by its spirit than its letter; to allow the faculty to participate in budget-making; to grant the professor the lehrfreihelt which he envied in his German colleagues; and so on. permissive, not mandatory.

The law, after all, was

The opportunity open to the men

fo big business was to do for the men of knowledge more than was necessary and perhaps more than was expected.

The

challenge of the situation, however, showed that there were risks as well as opportunities.

The assertion of "intention*

In joint leadership was put to an acid test.

Was large-scale

philanthropy merely an ostentatious show, an acquittal of guilt-feelings, a device for evading the tax-collector, a means of acquiring more power, or did It arise from deepseated convictions that the men of knowledge deserved to be at the highest rung of the social ladder and that intellectual pursuit was one of the worthiest?

To those professors who

Identified improved intra-oooupabional status with the well­ being of higher education, whether the new elite chose to adhere to the law's letter or whether it chose to fashion an opposing tradition might well determine theip answer to that question.

179 The new elite reacted to this opportunity and this challenge with no single pattern of behavior.

Certain

of its members worked against the legal situation of professors by refusing to take notice of it, or by working out informal but stable compensative relations.

Others, In

other contexts, made the relation established in law the on© prevailing in practice.

Whether, In total, the new

elite lost or gained ideological ground could only be ascertained by a study of the professors' point of view and can not be gathered inferentially from a study of the new elite's actions.

Here we may detail some of the

positive and negative actions to which the professors could /’ lo react. On the positive side, on© must writ© down the large amount of managerial power enjoyed by professors in certain of the new-elite founded universities, upon whose boards of trustees some of the leading members of the new ©lit© sat.

Johns Hopkins and Cornell $ave,in somewhat

different ways and at different times, excellent examples of how the professors' actual status could surpass his legal status when the trustees were of a mind to sanction it.

At Johns Hopkins, though there was no formal or

written provision made, the tradition arose of complete independence for tb© scholar, of academic freedom, of

180 faculty control of educational policy.

w® Have th© word of

President Oilman that ” {t)h© trustees widely refrained from Interference with tn© faculty* to whom

tn© government and

instruction of tn© students was entrusted.

Tn© trustees

mad© tne appointments, it is true, Put tney were always guided by

tn© counsel of tne President and professors.

tney awarded tn© degrees, tn® scholarships, and tne fellow-

snips, but only on tn® nomination and recommendation of 84 tn© academic staff.” university is not

But if tn© president of a

tn® most reliable character witness for

nis trustees, we nave confirmation in other sources. Hichard T. Sly taught at Johns Hopkins for eleven years before the century*s turn.

In his autobiography, he

praises in the highest terms the independence and security of the professor there during his tenure.

He tells, by way

of illustration* of having affronted the President of the B. and 0 Eailroad, a man who carried much weight with the Johns Hopkins trustees* and of escaping even the merest reprimand,

The spirit at Johns Hopkins, Ely writes, was V

epitomized by Oilmanfs slogan: mortar."

”Man, not bricks and

85

84. Oilman, o£. nit., p. 49. 85. Sly, Michard T., Oround Under Our Feet (N.Y., 1938) pp. 102, 100. 1

181 fills was, however, nineteenth century John®

Hopkins, Johns Hopkins hrt its hey-day.

When, as we moved

into th® twentieth century * Hopkins lost some of its appeal as a professor1s paradise,^ picked up the mantle*

Cornell University

At Cornell, the elevation of the

professors1 status was mad© explicit and formal during the presidential era of the philosopher-diplomat Jacob Gould Sohurman. 5 - *

In his report to the trustees in 1912, uchurman

delivered what became one of th© most significant documents in th© fight to." enhance

; the professor's status.

Addressing a big business-dominated board, Schurman noted that "(t)h© present government of American universities and colleges is altogether anomalous.

The president and

trustees hold the reins of power and exercise supreme control, while the professors are legally in the position of employees of the corporation,”

Schurman held that In the

best institutions "the status of the professors is in practice a good deal better than would be claimed as a mere legal rightw ana that, furthermore, ”in Cornell University

86. Possibly th© first blow cam© to Hopkins when it caught the anti-Popullsts* hysteria of the 90s. W. Stull Holt points out that even Johns Hopkins succumbed to restraint on academic freedom. In June 1894, the trustees agreed "to regard th© discussion of current political, economic, financial and social questions before tne students of th© University as of such Importance that the lessons should be given only by th© ablest and wisest persons whose

182 the supremacy of the faculty In all educational matters has been maintained for a score of years” as were other important privileges: "th© right to absolute freedom of thought and speech" and "permanent and secure...professional tenure."

Nevertheless, he believed that this was not

enough.

The professors were not content with de facto

powers and privileges merely.

"What the American professor

w a n t i s the same status as his colleague in England, In Germany and in other European countries already enjoys.” To solve this problem, Schurman suggested that Cornell revive the idea of professional representation on the governing board.

He proposed that the professors elect

one-third of the board, and he offered his belief that this was actually possible without a modification of the charter. At the end of his report he sounded the "joint leadership" note.

"This Is a plan of partnership between trustees and

professors for the government and administration of the 87 university.” services the University can command.” No instruction should be given on such subjects "unless 1't can be given by persons of experience, who are well acquaint­ ed with th© history and principles of political and social progress." Holt, strull, Historical Scholarship , In the United States 187,6-1901 reveal©d in the v . cit.. II, pp. 206-208; of. also "The Ross Case” , Science, March 8, 1901, p. 347.

320 Formed specifically to get at the facts and to evaluate them, the committee did not see fit to issue an obiter dictum upon the role of the new ©lit© in higher education.

Its conclusions however went beyond the Immediate

Issue in its implications.

In its report, the committee con­

cluded that 1} loss’s views on silver, immigration and municipal ownership mad® him persona non grata to Mrs. Stanford;

3) the issue of academic freedom was involved,

and this by Jordan’s own private admission;

3) loss did not

pass the "limits of professional propriety"^®. conclusion was far-reaching.

fhe last

Considering Boss’s unspoken

hostility to the new elite in education, the flat statement that he had not passed the "limits of professional propriety” indicated if not in agreement with Boss’s analysis, sympathy with his animus.

Indeed, the very invest­

igation itself - by professors who pointedly did not share Boss’s advanced views on economics - implied as awareness that the issue had wider ramifications than the injustice don© one of the principals, and that Mrs. Stanford’s arbitrariness was of a piece with new elite behavior else­ where •

Georg© Elliott Howard, the chairman of the History Department at Stanford and one of th© original fifteen on 3d, "fhe Boss Case", loo, cit., p. 347.

221 its faculty, had had no strong opinions on the subject of academic freedom before the dismissal of Moss occurred and inflamed him,

Onoe set afire, however, be was willing

to analyze the ©vent to Its deeper roots.

He addressed

bis ©lass on this subject, calling bis lecture, "Commercial Absolutism and tb® Place of the Teacher in tbe Discussion of Social Questions."

Tbe exact words w©r® not taken

down; presumably be said:

"I bave never done homage to

tbe god of Market Street,

I bave never bowed down to

Standard Oil; nor bave I ever doffed my bat to tbe 39 Celestial Six Companies." Directly opposing Jordan1s public statement, Howard sent a signed statement to tbe press: "Tbe summary dismissal of Dr. Hose for daring in a frank but thoroughly scientific spirit to speak tbe simple truth on social questions is an act which will cans® tbe deepest grief and profoundest indignation on tb© part of every friend of intellectual freedom In tb® United States. The ©vent has filled my heart with tb© deepest sorrow... It is a blow aimed directly at academic freedom, and it is, therefore a deep humiliation to Stanford University and to tbe cause of American education."^0 r

- i n ■

v - , - - | —

i

- - - - - - —

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . —

39. Elliott, o£. olt.. p. 361. 4 0 . Ibia., p. 361.

- - - - - - - - - - - — .. .. - - - - - - - -

.—

222 In going to the roots of th© problem, Howard saw Mrs. Stanford*© action as symptomatic of th© actions of bar social class. from tb© founder.

Ml?h© blow does not com© directly

It really proceeds from tbe sinister

spirit of social bigotry and commercial intolerance which 41 is Just now tbe deadliest foe of American democracy*M Wben Howard refused to recant bis views, be was forced to resign, and be returned to tbe University of Nebraska 42 where a further distinguished career awaited. But bis statements and intransigence made a strong impact upon others on the faculty at Stanford.

In a gesture of

solidarity not only with Howard the man, but also with Howard’s analysis, six other Stanford professors resigned;" William H. Hudson, professor of Inglisb literature; Charles H. Little, professor of mathematics; David I. Spencer, associate professor of history; frank A • Fetter,..in economics; H.3. Lathrop in rhetoric; and A. 0. Lovejoy.' in philosophy.^2 It must not be assumed that all of the above shared Howard’s view of the meaning of this cause celebre. 41. Ibid., p. 362. 42. Webster, Hutton, »#eorge milott Howard” Dictionary of Biography, IX, p. 273, 43. Boss, 0£. cit., p. 35,

223 A* 0. Love joy, for example, wee deeply affected fey ills experience at Stanford, and became one of the founder® of Tfee American Association of University Professors, and a leader in tills organization’s fight for academic freedom. But fee did not draw tfee moral that joint leadership was permanently unfeasible.

Many years later, lovejoy contrib­

uted an article entitled "Academic freedom" to tfee Encyclopedia of tfee Social Sciences in which he wrote; "The great and expanding cost of maintenance of a modern university has made private institutions - which are especially numerous and important in America - dependent upon a steady flow of large gifts from persons of wealth; and this situation, it has often been asserted, causes tfee teaching of the social sciences in such institutions to reflect unduly tfee interests and views of a single class. The interpretation has been expressed most forcibly by Tfeorstein Veblen.

The greater gifts, however, to American

higher education have usually been notably exempt from formal restrictions upon freedom of teaching; and in a number of privately endowed universities it has been better assured than in many state universities."^

The passage of time

44. "Academic freedom". Encyclopedia of Social Sciences I, (1930) p. 3t?.

224 had Sealed old aoars. I»©vej©y,a softening attitude should serve as a reminder that the Ross case was debated In an atmosphere of ©lass antagonism and suspicion.

Since th© case involved

the presumed aggression of on© member of th© new elite, it was one to which professors already suspicious of th© intentions of that elite might respond,

Jordan's

tergiversations and Mrs. Stanford's tactless stubbornness made professorial resentment burn more Intensely than it might have otherwise.

The Ross Case nevertheless represents

a landmark in the history of academic freedom and an important item in this study of professorial reaction to joint leader­ ship.

To the historian of academic freedom, "(w)hat makes

Professor Ross's case significant is that it called forth for the first time in such a situation, intervention on the 45 part of an organization of teachers and scholars," for this study, the Ross case shows, to the degree that the material is significant, the willingness of professors to scout the assertion of intention, and to attack the malignance of th© new elite as a group on the basis the single illadvised action of on© of Its members. 45. ludlum, o£. olt., p. 11.

225 3» Two, Sociologists!

I B I q h W, Small and Ulysses G .

Weatherly. I $99, 1913. At the ©nd of tii® "turbulent** nineties, Albion W. Small, head of the sociology department at the University of Chicago, wrote an article in th© Arena which excited widespread comment.

Small undertook to defend the new

©lit© from those professors who questioned its intensions,and M.tji the memory of the Bemis and Hourwich dismissals still fresh, he undertook to defend th© University of Chicago against those detractors of it who saw it as the mouthpiece of the evil genius of Standard.

Fourteen years afterwards

as the Progressive period was about to come to a close, Ulysses G. Weatherly, chairman of the Department of Sociology at the University of Indiana, delivered a paper at th© ninth meeting of th© American Sociological Society, ..arid ? sharply took the new ©lit© to task for pursuing selfish goals while posing as trustees for th© community at large.

Thus th©

same scholarly interest harbored two opposed views on th© question of the assertion of intention, and both points of view were developed by men of renown In their profession. In one respect, however, the logic of their arguments did have a common feature, as analysis will show. Small believed that enough academic freedom existed in American universities.

When occasional dismissals

226 occurred "the facts...show that academic freedom was not in question at all, or If it was threatened, it was by individuals only, and not the authoritative action of a responsible body.*

Small gave the new elite on this issue

a complete bill of health.

"There is not a privately

endowed college or university in the United States in which the teaching of economics or sociology is muzzled by the influence of wealth.*

46

Small went an important step further.

He believed

that the new elite, as trustees, should exercise its legal power to limit academic freedom more than it did.

At times

professors have not been faithful to the obligations of caution and temperance which their position imposed upon them.

Professors had the right to take open stands on

current issues, but in doing so they are under the obligation to "discipline (their) self-esteem into decent respect for previous thought"; "be above suspicion of intellectual irresponsibility"; "give only the most mature and candid sox’t of judgment."^

But who was to decide whether or not

a professor was exercising proper restraint?

Small believed

that the new elite, when its members assumed a public trust, 46. Small, Albion, "Academic freedom" Arena, October, 1399 p . /f64 * 47. Ibid., p. 465.

227 were able to rise above ideological preconceptions and self-interest,

"Boards ©f- trustees are th© authorized

representatives of all those interests to which the pro­ fessors are responsible.

They have the function of

preserving the true balance among academic influences,.

LB

"If the boards of trustees of certain Institutions that I might name should set in motion their prerogative of reasonable limitation in the case of certain irresponsible *, they would deserve well of the friends of education and of public intelligence..." TJp to this point, Small *s acceptance of the assertion of intention was without limitations.

Th©

following, however, indicated that ohis praise of the new elite had only a specific application.

"The fact is that

university professors are fore-ordained by the very nature of their training to take views of current economic and sociological questions different from those likely to be entertained by men in th© active conduct of business." Ordinarily, outside of th© university, the new elite opposed th© ideas of professors.

But in their educational capac­

ities, the new elite "want the truth to be known.

They want

228 professors to think at tlxeir level best.

All that they

ask of tbe professors is that they will devote their energies to finding out and publishing the truth as it appears from th© standpoint of universal interests, without 50 fear or favor•” Th© fact that big business men were willing to jeopardize their ideological interests did not mean that they were ready heedlessly to jettison them.

"They

are not the sort of men to surrender their own conclusions simply because a professor reaches other conclusions...They do not pledge themselves to adopt the professors’ results, but they believe it is a good thing to have men investigating problems of human affairs from the point of vantage, apart from distracting personal interests, which the professor 51 is enabled to occupy...* The new elite was not convinced by what the professor said, but he was tolerant of it. "The salient fact...is the geherosity of rich men toward all this academic work, of th© ultimate value of which they must often be very incredulous.

Yet instead of muzzling

it, or indirectly discouraging it, their tolerance might 52 b© taken as an edifying example by professors themselves?^

8mall thus did not believe that collaboration on institutional matters was grounded in, naturally lad to, 51. Ibid., p. 471. 52. Ibid.. p. 472.

229 or rightfully should lead to, ideological collaboration, In this respect, M s argument did not dovetail with Carnegie *s.

Carnegie claimed there was a total - or nearly

total - agreement of the Immediate interests of big business men and men of knowledge so that he could establish aJtt Ideological consonance of Interest.

Small, on the other

hand, saw ideological conflict between the two

, mitigated

only at th© institutional level by th© business man's selfsacrificing good will.

Where Carnegie emphasized the seam­

less and continuous quality of "jointneas" among the nation's natural leaders, Small emphasized instead a consciousness of social "leadership” held jointly only In this specifid situation. Outside Of th© university, th© new elite did not, according to Small, rise above self-interest. clear in other contents. Sociology (I905)

This ho made

In his magnum opus - The General

* he considered the great problem faoing

the social scientist as "(tjhe production of wealth in prodigious quantities, th© machine-like integration of industries, the syndicated control of capital and the syndicated organization of labor, the conjunction of interests la production and the collision of Interests in distribution, the widening chasm between luxury and poverty, the security

230 of tii® economically strong and th® insecurity of the economically weak, th© domination of politics by pecuniary 53 interests, th© growth of capitalistic world-politios. On on® occasion, he maintained that nthere is an irrepress­ ible conflict in modern society between the presuppositions of capital and th© paramount values of h u m a n i t y T h e theme of Between Eras; From Gap!taliam to Democracy was that "th© bias of the capitalistic Interest needs watching more than any other single factor in present social problems. Only inside th® institutions of higher learning was Small willing to agree that the assertion of intention was validated by the new elite’s deportment. Small, therefore, made a dichotomy between his acceptance of joint leadership at th© institutional level' and his acceptance of joint leadership in the sphere of social action and ideological commitment.

If the purpose

of this paper were to attempt to explain ideological strategy in terms of personal biography, th® fact that 53- Small, Albion, general Sociology (Chicago, 1905) p. 693. 54. Small, Albion, "Socialism in the Eight of Social Science” , American ^ouranl of Sociology, XVII, No. 6, (1912) p. 910. 55. Small, Albion, Between Iras: From Capitalism to Demo ora cy (Kansas bity, T£l3) p. 173*.

Small*© biography show© th© success pattern of academic life^, that he m joyed a generous salary and professional prestige from the beginning, that he had strong bonds of affection and loyalty for fresident Harper^, and that, withe11, he possessed a strong ethical sense which caused him to favor the reform movements of hi® day, would have to be mentioned.

From the viewpoint of this paper, it is

Important only to connect the logic of this argument with the claims of joint leadership#

On that score, Small

believed 1} that the professorial function was to seek the truth, and that professors were especially equipped for that purpose; 2) that the professor’s truth-seeking function^ was not compromised by close contact with the new elite at the institutional level; 3) that the professor did not require increased managerial rights - the privilege, for example, of having his behavior judged by his peers only in order to fulfill his function; 4) that the new elite demonstrated, by transcending its own selfish Interests, its appreciation of the professor’s truth-seeking function# 56. Of. Bag©, Charles K., Class and American Sociology. (B.T., 1940), pp. 113-114. 57* American Masters of Social Science, Harold W, Odum, eaXter 7 ^oedBary TSmiil* TSy Id ward Gary Hayes, p# 157#

232

Weatherly disagreed with Small on all except one fundamental .point*

He believed, first of all, that

friction and a working at cross purposes resulted from the intrusion of the new elite into academic affairs, "Within recent decades” he noted Ma revolutionary change has taken place in the character of (governing) boards, The el©rgymen**trust©es of th© old-style American college were generally experts in ail the learning which the college taught,

Differences of opinion were possible

over doctrine, but hardly over other matters.

Modern

university trustees are not generally educetional experts,..The characteristic board is one made of financiers and 1practical* men whose chief concern is for the material welfare of the institution,..The change of leadership,., explains much of the friction in educational 5$ administration.” With Small*© contention that academic freedom was being preserved in the universities, Weatherly took Issue,

"There has doubtless been much exaggeration as to

th© number of cases of absolute suppression of academic freedom.

Almost any academic teacher who loses his place

38. Weatherly, U,Q,# "Freedom of Teaching in the United States” . Proceeding,a. American Sociological Society, IX, 0£. clt»» P» 140.

233 Is able'to make aroma sort of showing as a martyr of freedom,”

But while clear and overt cases have not been

numerous, w{t)her© is another kind of repression,,. Appointments may be limited to men known to hold approved view®} constant pressure m y be secretly applied to limit or avoid such teaching as would offend possible donorsj official discouragement may be visited upon certain depart­ ments or courses which ere under suspicion; or men whose views are not in harmony with the desired standards m y be refused deserved advancement. The friction which has developed was not, accord­ ing to Weatherly, intrinsic to ail relationships between intellectuals and business men.

It was the result

particularly of the frequent, often conscious, maladroit behavior of th® new elite in academic situations.

"The

knowledge Interest and the wealth interest are not necessarily antagonistic.

Business methods applied to

some phases of education have done much to make it more efficient.

It is only when the attempt is made to carry

Into educational work th© theory of the entrepreneur and the hired man that confusion arises,"

By way of illus-.

tration, Weatherly pointed to the statement of 59* Ibid., p.144.

234 I. I* Baymoad (th© northwestern trustee who has been discussed above), which advised the professors to adhere t© H h e conclusions of the powers that be."

60

If Small

found that the new elite and the professors could cooperate In institutional affairs, but not further, Weatherly took a dim view of cooperation in institutional affairs, though conceding that, in general, "the knowledge interest and the wealth Interest are not necessarily antagonistic." To Weatherly, th© new elite were uniquely to blame for present-day violations of academic freedom#

Be

was aware that th© public mind very often rejected non­ conformist thinking in the era of economic© and sociology. But this insight, rather than causing him to dissipate his attack on the new elite by widening his target, led him to concentrate even more heavily on th© transgressions of big business.

For it was th© new ©lit© which has mad©

"plausible and often*..successful appeal to popular prejudice*

It has exploited that social inertia which

invariably resists change*

That such appeals are some­

times based on conscious conviction does not in the least diminish their power for evil or justify the enlistment of passion to help decide issues which can only be settled by 60* Ibid*. p. 141*

235 the whit© light of reason or the cold test of experience?

61

To Weatherly, the new ©lit© did not rise above Ideological Interest when invested with the trustee1a power, as Smell hed claimed*

Such claims were mere cant,

or worse than that, ideological strategy*

He was highly

skeptical of this group’s claim to be the "champion...of 62 general safety and welfare." To be aura, he realized that professors were not always above partisanship either, and he felt called upon to warn them to recognize that "whatever practical value scientific scholarship has to •V

society lies in its aloofness from partial end prejudiced judgments."

But violations of scientific detachment

recurred rarely among professorsj generally, th® professorial mind maintained ws theoretical indifference with respect to opposing ideas.*^4

If only on th© basis

of their abilities to surmount self-interest, the professors and th© elite were at opposite poles. Weatherly sought th© answer to th© conflict of these two groups in th© reconquest of professorial

61. Ibid.. p. 143* 62. Ibid., p. 143. 63. Ibid.. p. 147.

^4*

f

$ * 145.

privilege and status.

Particularly did he ©dvooet© trial

and dismissal by the professor’s own guild, rather than by th© lay governing board.

"In oases of enforced academic dis­

placement the right of trial is rarely or never granted. Herein academic teachers are in a less favorable situation than military men or holders of political office.

Denial of

the right, not only of trial, but of trial by one’s peers, is an anomaly in any case, and particularly where the question of competence is involved.

Members of a man’© own science-

guild alone know whether his work is s o u n d , O n point, m

this

on all of the preceding, Weatherly differed from

Small, On one point, Weatherly and Small were in agree­ ment,

Both believed that being able to rise above

ideological fixation was essential for worthy social achievement, and both thought th® professors were particu­ larly endowed with that ability.

That is, both were making

claims for their own group, were looking ©t the problem from the point of view of their own group, were asking for the extension of social function of their own group. tactical answers were different; th© strategic purpose seems to have been the same.

The

237 4* Two Qolleft© Pr©aidantas

Eliot a M Hyde, 1901. 1907.

A justification for including two college presidents in this survey is necessary.

In Charles

William Eliot ©nd in William D@ Witt Hyde, the professors of this period found admlnistrstors who bed fully identified themselves with their academic staffs.

Eliot

Inaugurated at Harvard th© sabbatical year, teachers retiring allowances, and informal but precious safeguards to academic freedom.

H© was concerned with teachers1

salaries, and raised in purpose.

1904- 5, 2,300,300 dollars for that

Hyde of Bowdoin was on© of the first of th©

post-Givil War college presidents to establish as a matter of principle faculty approval Of ell appointments ©nd 6' promotions, and faculty consultation in drawing up budgets, Th© ©xtent to which these men were accepted as spokesman for professorial interests can be gauged from the frequency with which their articles on academic freedom were quoted by professors.

The General Report of the Committee on

Academic freedom ©nd Tenure, for example, gave prominent display to Eliot’s Phi Beta Kappa address in its first 66, Perry, Balph Barton, MCharles W, Eliot”. Dictionary of Amerlcan Blography. VI, p. 73* 67. Burnett, Charles T,, Hyde of lowdoln (M.Y., 1913), pp. 143-144*

238

end most famous report

68

p end Weatherly, for another

example, thought Hyde ’s remarks on the subject worth 69 reproducing . Finally, both hliot and Byd® had been teachers, and Hyde occupied the chair of philosophy at 70 Bowdoln concurrently with th® presidency* There is good reason to give attention to the influential articles of these influential figures, yet there is also good reason to bear in mind that these are college administrators, for whom the need to b® cautious must ever mitigate th© desire to b© frank, Charles W. hliot, in his Phi Beta Kappa address at Cornell University in 1907» took cognisance of the threat to academic freedom posed by the new elite’s Intrusion into academic life,

**fh© prodigious stream of

benefactions to institutions of education in th© United States which has now been flowing in increasing volume ever since th® Oivii War, has brought upon the endowed institu­ tions a new risk in regard to academic freedom.

So far as

state institutions ar© also in a measure endowed, as is the — i—

— n r ~ " f i — linn. ftuiiiil.'ij .n.mfrni|ln nijtrii T ijth i ' n i^i n u m r n . L'ij .jiI".

r. —

•••". ' t.V.j..T|r./ ~

—

r — r ,JT -

•" -r - - r .i.f-“

^

-

^ . . . . . . . ..

general Keport, Gommitt©© on Academic Freedom end ¥©nur®7 Bull©tin, American Association of University 69..Weatherly, oo» cit,, p,

143,

70# Burnett, op. oit,, pp. 275-'317.

239 ease with, the University of California, the living benafaotor plays la these days © part even more important than that of the dead benefactor*"?^

Lacking the needed

"generalizations” of experience in governing universities, the new elite has been prone to exploit its inner position for its own ends:

”to exercise ©a arbitrary power of

dismissals”, to "exclude from the teachings of the university unpopular or dangerous subjects,*

It he©

72 everything to learn with regard to academic freedom,” Smell’s contention that the new elite disciplined its self-interest to the occasion was opposed by Eliot,

When

the new elite interfered with the professors* freedom of opinion, it was not helping to realize but was perverting th© true purpose of th© university*

"Ought the opinions

and wishes of a living benefactor to Influence th© teaching la th® institutions which he endows?

In general,

the answer must be in the negativej because teaching which is not believed to be free is well-nigh

w

o

r

t

h

l

e

s

s

,

"

^

71* Eliot, Charles W,, "Academic Freedom" Address delivered before the Hew York Theta Chapter o f■the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cornell University May 29, 190? (Ithsca 1907). The article also appeared in Science, 26: 1-12, July 3, 1907s and in Journal of Pedagogy', 2o: 9-28, Sept•—Dec, 1907 72. Ibid,, p* 10 73, Ibid..

jp.

10.

Eliot1© argument ©gainst the assertion of intention had an interesting logic, and one which cropped up again end again In th® argument© of professors at this time,

First of all, Eliot put his main emphasis on the

extreme importance of breaking through ideological shackles; this, he felt the new elite had not achieved,Secondly, Eliot believed that the new elite were not fit partners for the professor, for its ideological fixation would tarnish the professor's reputation, too;

"teaching which

is not believed to be free is well nigh.worthless,"

Joint

leadership, on the institutional level, in other words, would make professorial leadership elsewhere impossible, Thar® was a third important point in Eliot*s argument,

The big business man was not the only culprit

he believed.

Mot ail the devils were exorcised when the

new elite was kept in check.

Fighters for academic freedom

must take aocount ©a well of the "multitudinous tyrannical opinion" of the public,

"The great majority of the people

in a given community may hold passionately to some dogma In religion, some economic doctrine, or some political or social opinion dr-practice, and may resent strongly th© expression by a public school teaoher of religious, economic, political or social views unlike those held by the' majority.•,hven in colleges and universities,..© teacher

241 holding unpopular opinion® could, until very recently, hardly escape the alternative of silence or banishments.*. Th© endowed universities are by no means exempt from this 74 strong pressure of opinion.” indeed - and this comment has an important bearing on his ultimate attitudes toward *Joint leadership” - th® threat from the public was "more formidable than th© despotic will of a single tyrant or a 75 small group of tyrants,” To the plots of big business, patience would be e sufficient antidote.

"The mere lapse

of time will probably free an endowed institution from embarrassments of this nature, not chiefly because the living benefactor, will die, but because the burning questions change so frequently with the rapid progress of society*..Any slight interference with academic freedom which time will certainly our© may be endured with equanimity for a season, in consideration of great counter­ balancing advantages.”7&

Bliot seemed to hold out more

hope for reforming the geueh and calculating new elite than the benighted and intolerant public.

E© was as aware

a© Will and lioss that the new elite was remiss, but unlike 74* Ibid,, p. 5. 75. Ibid,, p. 6.,

242

them he found th® mischief to be general*

Having a choice

Of evils, and being aware of the "counterbalancing” good

of the heavy endowment, £liot opened the back door of his argument to acceptance of joint leadership in time, This was of course the practical administrator and not th© zealot speaking.

But a perusal of hliot’s

speeohes and addresses shows that his openness to future joint leadership (mixed with present hostility) was not parenthetical, but an integrated part of his thinking.

This

©merges very clearly in his essay on "Great Hiekes” (1906) and his lecture on "The Future of Capitalism in a Democracy* (1910),

In "Great Riches" lliot explored th®

social function of the "new kind of rich m u " who "has com® into existence in the United States,

He is very much

richer than anybody ever was before, and his riches are, in the main of a new kind.*.These riches carry with them of necessity no visible or tangible public or semi-public f u n c t i o n s , " F o r a conscientious, dutiful man", however, "a great sens® of responsibility accompanies the possession of power*;

while at the sera® time "the exercise of power

gives pleasure and satisfaction without the drawback to men of arbitrary temperament, or of an inconsiderate 77* Sliot, Charles W,, "Greet Riches" published in Charles tf, Hliott The M m and His Beliefs, edited by William X l i e n l e l 1 a on u O r , , 1§S$)TX’i , p, 604.

243 disposition willoh tokos no ®©count of th© needs or wishes of others,"^®

Th© rogponslbl© rich men will b© th®

pub!!©*® benefactor.

"The nineteenth century witnessed

a considerable change in th® destination of endowments. Indowments for palliating some of the evils that afflict society used to be the commonest, such as endowments for almhouses, doles, and hospitals; but now endowments for various sorts of education • such a© academies, colleges, free-leoture courses, libraries, and museums supply ** have become the commonest; and these last forms are far the wisest, because they ere much more then palliations of evil.

They are creators and diffusers of good.

Through

this change the chance of th© very rich to do perpetual good with his money has been greatly increased; end surely th©v hope of doing some perpetual good with the product of ©ne,s intelligence, skill and industry is one of th© 79 brightest of human hopes." Eliot’s approach to th© new elite, then, was one of "watchful waiting", of hop© without overconfidence.

"The very rich man is, then, not to b©

pronounced admirable and happy, or contemptible and miserable, until his account is mode up and the dominant purpose of his life is made plain...We despise and abhor 78. Ibid.. p. 61$. 79. Ibid.. p. 622.

the coarse, ostentatious, selfish, unjust multi-millionaire, while we admire and respect the refined, generous and Just rich man..,”80

In MTh© future of Capitalism in a

Democracy” Eliot made the same differentiation between the two types of rich men and restated his hope that responsi­ bility would some day conquer selfishness.

"What will the

democracy ash and expect of these rich men?...{Democratic society will expect that great fortunes, which have been made under th© protection of public law out of natural public resources end the needs and habits of the total population, shall be unselfishly used in part for th© promotion of public Interests.”

But M(t)hat realization

needs time and patience, William DeWitt Hyde did not differ from Sliot In any fundamental respect.

Eliot placed his.hope for

collaboration with the new elite on its future education; Hyd© believed the same .might be accomplished by defining and adjusting right© and responsibilities.

Both charged

th© new ©lit© with plotting ©gainst th© professors* freedom, both were skeptical of the assertion of intention, and both believed (was the wish father to the thought and th© need ao* JM1 * * PP* 629# 631. 81. Ibid, , I., p. 316,

245 father to th© wish?) that the new ©lit© might be redeemed. What were the powers which the new ©lit®, m founder© and, trustees, should forego, despite provisions in the laws?

The donor * m y or may not give; but when he

has given his money, it should b© as completely beyond his individual control ©a la © thrown atone after it has left the hand,

A donor has no more right to dictate what views

an institution shall teach than

0 stockholder of @ steam­

ship company hes a right to direct th© pilot how he shall steer the ship to which a thousand lives have been entrusted,*.the attempt of a donor to dictate the views which a professor shall teach is to arrogate to himself th© attributes of which no mortal man would care to be guilty, . This limitation of a donor1© right may seem severe and extreme, yet it is the foundation stone on which academic freedom rests.”

The founders* and benefactors* "inter­

ference becomes intolerable the moment they attempt to dictate the specific opinions which shall or shall not be taught**, and boards of trustees f,can never give the educa­ tional direction to

©11 i n s t i t u t i o n , L i k e Eliot, Hyde

82, Hyde,. William DeWitt, *Aoademle Freedom in America”, International Monthly, 4s 1-20, July, 19Qf* 83. Hyde, William DeWitt, fhe Polleg© Man and the College Woman (Hoston, 190-6} pp,' 275-^5•'

246

believed that the plotting was not ell on the new elite's Side,

The state and the "constitueney" of the university

{the portion of the public from which the, students come) might also exceed their bounds unless these bounds were properly defined, Hyde's approach to th© problem by way of Internal checks and balances implied th© optimistic belief that th© professors and the new elite could in time com© into close rapport.

The difflenities between them were not

irremediable.

Improvement in the functioning of the

administrative machinery would solve them*

It is interest­

ing to not© that this article, first titled "Academic Freedom” when it appeared in 1901, was styled "The Six Partners of College. Administration” when it appeared five years later as a chapter in his boofc.®^

To Hyde, se to

Eliot, joint leadership was a possibility, though not an actuality. The hliot-Hyde approach points up the embarrass­ ments of the academician who is hostile to the new elite but cannot find identifications with other groups.

Opposed*

to the new elite's Intentions, h® dares not carry this hostility too far, lest he alienate hip chief form of 84, Hyde, Wllllexr DeVUtt, The College. Man and the College Woman (Boston, 1906) pp. 2^5-305."

247 support#

Unking the new elite no worse than other groups,

he weakens his attack toy, In a choice of alternatives., declaring it more susceptible of improvement than other groups* 5* The Qenerel Escort of the American Association of Professors* 1915* This classic In the literature of aosdeiaic freedom contains a synthesis of the viewpoints considered above worked into an argument with ® logic of its own* Will*a and Ross’s robust hostility to the new elite for its ideological ethnocentriam; Small*® and particularly Weatherly’s dilation of the professor’s social function; Weatherly’s plea for a return of managerial power; Eliot’s © M Hyde’s unwillingness to identify with other social groups;

Eliot’s fear that Joint leadership inside the

university would ruin the professor’s reputation outside of it; *■ all these concepts can be extracted from th© text*

The result is not a compilation of viewpoints,

however, tout an argument with an integrality of its own* For several reasons, this report deserves careful attention*

In the first place, it was strictly

the product of professorial thinking.

College and

university presidents and deans were explicitly banned from

248 membership la th© American Association of University Professors; in the early days they were not even accorded honorary membership,

In the second place, th© high

calibre of the professors who authored th© report give it th© stamp of serious endeavor*

Counted among the fifteen

on the committee were "one of the outstanding scholars” 86 of the country, Professor Charles h* Sennett of Cornell ; the former president of th© American Psychological Assoc­ iation and former co-editor of th© Psychological Keview, gn Professor Howard 0* Warren of Princeton ; the noted expert in the period of th© English Renaissance and later Dean of the Graduate School of the University of Washington, Frederick W# Psdelford

88

, and the zoologist, Charles A*

65* Membership eligibility was as follows: Any person"may be nominated for membership who holds and for ten yeers hee held s teaching or research position in any one or more than one American university or college, or in a professional school of similar grade; provided that no person having teaching or research for his principal occupation, and no administrative officer not giving a substantial amount of instruction, shall be eligible," Bulletin, AAUP, March, 1916, p. 15* 86. Of, Fowler, Harold north, "Charles J3, Bennett, in Dictionary of American Blomrauhr. IX, p* 192, 87* Haagdon, William Chaunoey, "Howard Crosby Warren" Dictionary of American Biography, XXX, pp; 476-7* loan Scholars Scholars, Cat tell, Jacques 88, Of; Dictionary of American editor tlanohiter * A 9 4 2 T p ♦'“$$2* 7

249 Kofold, th© sociologists, Woatherly, Glidings, ©ad IteaXey; th© ©canomlsts Bly, Seligirian, Fa mum, and. Fetter,

/it th©

annual meeting in 1916# the rest of the membership of the A A W accepted the report*

Thus w® h©v@ here th© thinking

of some of the most illustrious, If not the perhaps most representative, members of the profession.

In the third

pie©©, the report was not the result of hast® or improvise** tion, or th® product of some galvanic example of injustice. Many of th© ideas in the report ©an b® traced back to th© forementioned authors and to the preliminary report of th© economists, political scientists and sociologists meeting '89 in joint conclave in 1914* In the fourth place, the report created a favorable impression among many professor© and it crested at least an impression throughout th© academic world.

It was described, in the press at that

time, as "the most comprehensive, general declaration of principles regarding academic freedom that has ever 89, At the annual meeting of the American Beaaomic Association, th© American Political Science Association, and th® American Sociological Society, meeting in Dec, 1913» it wee decided to appoint a joint committee "to examine and report upon th© present situation in American education©! institutions as to liberty of thought, freedom of speech, and security', of tenure for teachers," The committee met in June, 1914* Six of those who framed this tentative report ~ cieligmen, Fetter, Weatherly, Pound, Dealey, Bly - were also on the AAIIP Oosmitte©,

250

appeared la this country,"^0

In the opinion of th® Ifnited

Btetes Bureau of Education the report was ’‘one of the most valuable contributions of the year to th© discussion of educational policy" end the Bureau distributed thousands of copies to it*"91

Th© report led to th© formulation

and adoption in I 925 of principles In wlil.oli both oolle^j© 92 administrators and th© college professor* concurred* In the words of one modern commentator, it was "a landmark 93 In the development of th© teaching profession*" These reasons fox* paying the General Report close attention do not eras© the fact that its authors not only shared a common bias on this question but were probably chosen because of that bias*

Most of the committee

members had previously established themselves as vocif­ erous and bellicose partisans on this issue*

Hichard T.

Ily had been tried by the Wisconsin Board of Regents in 1894 for holding "utopian, impractical and pernicious doctrines" and, though vindicated, had been deeply troubled 90. O^rrent Opinion. LM, March, 1916, pp, 192*193*

91* Retort. Baited States Bureau of Education, 1916, Qh. S. 92* Ludlum, o£. olt*, p* 29 . 93* Ibid *, p* 19*

251 toy what he thagght war© th© dangerous implications of this experience,^

.(After th© publication of the AAtfP

G-eneral Report, Ely was in th© fore-front of those who attempted to gat the President of the University of Wisconsin, Oharles Tan Bis©, to accept its proposals, 95 but unsuccessfully,} Leligman and Farnum, it will to© recalled, had been on the committee of economists who reported upon th© Ross Case,

Howard G, Warren had been

the sparkplug behind the investigation by s joint philosophers-psychologists committee of th© dismissal of Professor John M, Meehiin from Lafayette Collage, an investigation which stimulated the formation of the Professors* Association,^

Around that time, Warren

had written an impassioned defense of academic freedom in th© Atlantic Monthly,

"Who is to judgeff, he asked,

"whether th© fantastic theories advanced by © man of genius ere ridiculous heresies or pertinacious facts? Are the politicians, th© clergymen, and th© philanthropist 94, Ourti, Merle and Carstensen, Vernon, The University of Wisconsin: A History (Madison, 1949) 1, pp* 508-

:

527

95* Itold,, XI, p, 56,

96, Murchison, Oarl> Els tor?; of Psychology in Auto­ biography 1 ('Worcester, 1530}' "Howard c, warren" p*

463.

252 b,tt,r fitted to deolde ttion the soholar?” The professor ■should "toe held accountability to hie celling,"^

Whether

this bellicosity we© endemic through the entire profession at this date, or limited to th© professors in the associa­ tion, or even possibly the unique attribute of th© men on this committee, it is not possible to tell with complete assurance. The 'General Report was divided into two parts: A General Declaration of Principles, and Practical Proposals. The General Declaration went to the heart of th© issues we have been discussing,

At th© outset, the professor®

attempted to define th© scop© and basis of th© power exercised toy those bodies having ultimate legal authority in academic affairs.

With th© legal supremacy of the

boards of trustees, they could not quarrel:

"American

institutions of learning are usually controlled by th© boards of trustees as to the ultimate repositozles of 98 power," But legal power, to these professors, did not describe moral obligation.

Where the school or college

was openly end clearly "proprietary", that is, "where the 97* Warren, Howard C,, "Academic Freedom" Atlantic Monthly. p. 691f 96* Bulletin, AAUP, Dec., 1915, Th© text used in this paper Ts the■reprint of the report in School and Society, XIX, J©n, 22, 1$ 16, 109—120» "p 1"”X 69*

253 school was ’’deisgned for th© propagation ot specific doctrines prescribed by those who have furnished its endowment*, "th© trustees ©re bouud by the deed of th© gift, and whatever be their own views, are obligated to carry out the terms of the trust.”

’'Concerning-the

desirability of th© existence of such institutions, th© committee does not desire to express any opinion.” But on this point the committee was quit© ready to assert its opinion:

proprietary institutions ’’should not be

permitted to sail under false colors.” Th© public must not be misled into believing that such schools were searching for truth, when, In fact, they were only communicating dogma. it was precisely on this point that many boards of trustees were morally obtuse.

’’Any university which

lays restrictions upon the intellectual freedom of its professors proclaims itself a proprietary institution, and should b© so described... ”

But ”(t}his elementary

distinction,..is not yet so universally accepted as it should b© in our American institutions,”

"While in many

universities and colleges th© situation has coxae to be entirely satisfactory, there ©r© others in which the relation of trustees to professors is apparently still conceived to be analogous to that of a private employer

254 to his employeesj in whioh, therefore, trustees are not regarded as debarred by any moral restrictions, beyond their own sens© of expediency, from imposing their personal opinion© upon the teaching of the institution, or even from employing the power of dismissal to gracify their private antipathies or resentments.

The argument had a neat,

though rather circular, logic,

When trustees ©plotted their

legal power to the full, the character of their institution changed.

Such a change in the character of the institution

was unconscionable because it was done under the masquerade of freedom.

/;To, remain non-proprietary, the institution

had to maintain a board of trustees whose legal powers were not enforceable. Xip to this point, th© professors merely indicted Individuals on boards of trustees without naming the ©lasses or classes to which belonged.

But that the new

elite was the referent.- of © large part of their indict** ment was made clear a little later on.

"In the ©srly

period of university development in America, the chiefmenace to academic freedom was ecclesisticel end the disciplines chiefly affected were philosophy and the natural sciences,

in more recent times the banker zone has been

99, Ibid,, p. 111.

255 shifted to the political and social sciences* •.The special dangers to freedom of teaching in the domain of the social sciences are evidently two.

The on© which is the more

likely to ©fleet th© privately endowed colleges and univer­ sities is th© danger of restrictions upon the expression of opinions which point toward extensive social innovations or call in question the moral legitimacy or social expediency or economic conditions or commercial practices in which large vested interests are involved.

In the

political, social, and economic field almost every question, no matter how large, and general it st first appears, 1© more or less affected with private or class interests; and, as th® governing body of © university is naturally made of men who through their standing and ability ere personally interested in greet private enterprises, the points of possible conflict are numberless

..hen to this is added

th© consideration that benefactors.•.themselves belong to the more prosperous and therefor© usually to the more conservative classes, it is apparent that, so long as effectual safeguards for academic freedom are not estab­ lished, there is a real danger that pressure from vested Interests may, sometimes deliberately end sometimes unconsciously, sometimes openly and sometimes subtly and in obscure ways, be brought to bear upon acadeadc

256

authorities, n^OO To th© professors of the General Report, th© trustees of non^proprietery Institutions were the trustees for th© public'*a Interest,

When Small made this statement,

and decided that the new ©lit© on boards of trustees was chastening its Ideological Interests for th© good of the whole, he underwrote the assertion of intention in the doctrine of joint leadership,

But th© professors coupled

their statement to th© charge that the new elite was often insensitive to its responsibility.

The outcome of their

argument, therefore, was emphatically to reject th© assertion of intention,

"The conception of a university as

an ox-dlnary business venture, and of academic teaching as a purely private employment, manifests.•.a radical failure to apprehend th© nature of the social function discharged by the professional s c h o l a r . " T h e responsibility of the university as a whole is to the public at large, and any restriction upon the freedom of the instructor is bound to react injuriously upon the efficiency and morale of th© institution, and therefore ultimately upon the interests of the community, The immediate solution which th© professors 100, Ibid., p, 115. 101. Ibid,, p. Ill, *02, ibid., p. 112.

257 sought was professorial self-government to the greatest extent possible.

"(The professors) are th© appointees,

but not in any proper sens® the employees, of th© former (th© trustees)*

For, cmoe appointed, the scholar has

professional functions to perform In which the appointing authorities have neither th© competence nor moral right to intervene*

Th© responsibilities of the university

teacher is primarily to th© public Itself, and to th© judgment of its own profession; and. while, with respect to certain external conditions of his vocation, h© accepts a responsibility to th© authorities of the institution which fee serves, in the essentials of his professional activity his duty is to the wider public to which the institution itself is morally amenable**.University teachers should be understood to be, with respect to the conclusion© reached and expressed by them, no more subject to th© control of the trustees, than are the judges. subject to th© control of the president, with respect to their decision ,,103 • * * Big business w©$ not the only vested interest endangering academic freedom*

^

"Where the university is

dependent for funds upon legislative i'^vor, it has some­ times happened that the conduct of the institution has 103* Ibid,. p* 112.

2 58

104 been affected by political considerations*.

There

were, in addition, "the dangers connected with th© exist©nee in a democracy of an overwhelming and concentrated public opinion."

"The tendency of modern democracy is for

men to think alike, and to speak alike.., ..Public opinion is at one© th© chief safeguard

of a democracy, and th© chief

menace to th© real liberty of the individual."

105

So had

President kliot spoken, but the professors did not choose to believe that because the new elite had company in its transgressions it should for that reason be regarded more tolerantly.

On the contrary - and this is th© integrating

idea in the report of th© professors * the public could be reasoned with, provided the professor© restrained end remained Independent of th© new elite,

"On© of th© most

characteristic functions (of a university) in a democratic society is to help make public opinion more self-critical and more circumspect, to check th© more hasty end unconsid­ ered Impulses of popular feeling, to train the democracy to th© habit of looking before and after."

If th©

professorial group can prove that it is truly disinterested, "(t)h© public may respect, and b© influenced by, th© counsels...which are given by the men of science," 104. Ibid,, p. 11$.

105. Ibid.

But "it

259 Is little likely to respect or heeu them if it has reason *

to believe that they are th© expression of the interests, or the timidities, of the limited portion of the community which is in *1 position to endow institutions of learning, or is most likely to be represented upon their boards of trustees Clearly, then, in rejecting ijoint leadership, ti was "jointness” to which objection was taken; ship was very much in the professor’s mind.

"leader­

This ©merges

even more clearly in the definition of "The Purposes for which Universities Exist” - a section which the professors added somewhat gratuitously to their discussion of academic freedom.

It bears extensive quotations

Th© importance of academic freedom is most clearly perceived in the light of the purposes for which universities exist. These are three in numbers A, To promote inquiry and advance the sum of human knowledge, B, To provide general instruction to the students. G. To develop experts for various branches of the public service. In the earlier stages of a nation*s intell­ ect uel development, the chief concern of educa­ tional institutions Is to train th© growing generation ana- to diffuse the already accepted knowledge. is only slowly that there comes to b© provided in the highest institutions of 106. | M | , , p, 116.

260 learning the opportunity for th© gradual wrestling from nature of her intimate secrets,,♦ Th® third, function of the modern university is to develop experts for the uses of the community. If there is one thing that distinguishes the more recent developments of democracy, it is the recog­ nition by legislators of th© inherent complexities of economic, social and political life, and th© difficulty of solving problems of technical adjust­ ment without technical knowledge, Th© recognition of this fact has led to the continually greater demand for the aid of experts in recent years, hes become an important pert of the work of universities; and in almost ©very one of our higher institutions of learning th© professors of the economic, social and political sciences have been drafted to an increasing extent into more or lest unofficial participation in the public service,,.To be of use to the legislator or the administrator, he (the scholar) must enjoy their complete confidence in the disinterestedness of his conclusions," 107 Mot merely as teachers, but also as professional truth-seekers and technical experts, did th© professors consider themselves to require untrammelled freedom of expression,

had, further: not merely within th© academic

institutions; but within th© wide circumference of American society itself, did these professors pitch their claim to unshared leadership, A well-rounded analysis of this report would go into th© historical and social circumstances which, in 1915» were in th© background of these professors’ thinking: the coming of th© European, war, which fired American men of knowledge with apoeslyptio dreams; th© appeal ian intellectual! sm, which seemed to precurse th© 107* Ibid*, p* 113*

Wilson­

261

infiltration of mom of knowledge into government posts of responsibility} tin© mood for planned reform which still pervaded th® social scene,

A study of this hack**

ground! however, Is beaid© th© point of this chapter, limiting this inquiry to th® logic of the professors* argument a© it related to joint leadership, the following may serve as summarizing observations? firsti it appears that th© reaction of these professors to the new elite's assertion of intention wasv channelized and directed by their own desire for power, Second, th® professors* rejection of the new

V

elite's assertion of intention was based aa much upon v

the feer that the new elite would compromise them in the eyes of the public, as on th® new elite's record of academic crimes. Third*• th© professors* bid for power was based on th© claim that the professorial point of view was detached, disinterested, scientific, and that per contra, this was hot true of other groups in the community,1 fourth, the professors did not, in rejecting joint leadership, attach themselves to other social groups What identificstion with the non-elit® public it made was not in the capacity of partner, or servant, but mentor.

Th® professors looked to themselves for strength; to the enhancement of their intra- end extra-mural power for solution. Fifth, however firm the professors were in rejecting joint leadership for the present, there was some doubt ©bout th© future.

Insofar as their opposition

to the new elite was based on grandiose expectations of unitary leadership there was the possibility that this opposition would be transient,

for what would be their

attitude to joint leadership should their hopes for popular acceptance prove chimerical?

What would be their

attitude to joint leadership should their vaunted esprit de corps produce an uncomfortable sense of social Isolation?

In th© decade of the 'twenties, th© men of

knowledge were to find these questions meaningful; ©t this time of hope, th® argument built on self-reliance seemed built on a herd soil and not a shifting sand*

263

Chapter six The Profeasors' Response to Joint Leadership - II If th® professors who suspected Intrigue behind restrictions of academic freedom reacted to the assertion of Intention, those who diagnosed the problem In terms of value-conflicts deriving from deep social and historical factors reacted to th© assertion of fact*

Th© lines

between these two diagnoses cannot be exactly drawn,

for

example, th© AAUP professors understood that economic and social changes underlay the cabals against professors who spoke their minds on social issues.

John Mecklin, an

important figure in this chapter, was not aware of the presence of plot in his search for institutional and social causes.

The difference between th© two Is obviously one

of emphasis only.

The A&UP professors put the heavier

weight upon volitional factors: the will of the trustees who surreptitiously changed the character of their universities, the intentions of th© benefactors in attaching conditions to their gifts.

Mecklin, as we shall see, put

his stress more on the cultural and evolutionary factors of American development and accented conflicts in values.

l

v deep-seated

2&k 1* Two educators: Brown and Dewey.

1900. 1902. 1911.

Professor Blmer I# Brown, professor of education st th© University of Michigan and at th© University of California, and later chancellor of Kew York University, wrote one of the earliest historical treatments of the Issue of academic freedom.1

He recognized the threat to

academic freedom as stemming from two sources:

from the

public and from the newtelit©• The public threat arose, he thought, from the fact that partisan political groups had the power to make sweeping changes in state Institutions of higher learning*

"(W)hea these changes involve the

removal of competent and irreproachable teachers and the appointment in their places of others who are not better as teachers but are, personally or politically, allied with those how are for th© time in control of State government; especially when thoughtful and capable teachers of history or of economics, whose personal convictions ally them with the defeated party, are summarily displaced by others who belong to the party in power - in all such cases th© proper 2 interests of education suffer violence." Brown’s historical 1* Jones, Theodore,"Elmer Ellsworth Brown".Dictionary of American Biography* Supplement, p. 125* 2. Brown, Elmer S., "Academic Freedom”, Educational y v Review, March 1900, p. 229*

265

perspective prevented Him from seeking radical and abrupt restraints upon public interference*

After all, the

"demand for public control, as it appeared in th© early part of this century, was in part a protest against ecclesiastical influencejw it was also a praiseworthy "expression of the purpose to make public school® directly responsible to th© public to which they ministered,"

In

consideration of larger democratic values, it would not do to divest the public Of all control and Interest in higher education, for "an increase in responsibility is an approach toward real freedom,"

Therefore what was needed was

professorial autonomy from public interference, without

v

total divorce from public ties and control, *{IImprovements in th© scholastic organization" could partially achieve this.

3 Th© threat passed by th© new elite also had its

compensatory features. by the new elite,

Brown found no deliberate schemir

"It is not necessary to maintain that

wealthy patrons of eudcational institutions attach servile conditions to their gifts. is rarely th© case.

It is a notable fact that thin

It is much more the fear on th© part

of faculties and managing boards that frank utterance will

266

lessen the income from gifts, widen really imperils the freedom of t e a c h i n g * E v e n this situation was not totally evil*

tfWher© this consideration merely restrains teachers

from imposing private opinions upon their classes in the guise of instruction its operation may he good.

Where it

restrains them from presenting well-established results of scientific research, its operation is wholly bad."'*

But

agaon this threat was worth risking for the positive good that cam© of it. above.

Brown's reasons were unlike any discussed

"(B)chools and universities under private control

cannot b© dispensed with.

If such did not exist, the public

welfare would demand their establishment; for times will inevitably appear in our national life when the immediate pressure of governmental control will unduly restrain our State institutions*..John Stuart Mill was clearly justified in the contention that there should be no monopoly in 6 education.*." Th© function of the new elite was to provide th© antidote to th© totalitarian proclivities of public opinion. In weighing the pros and cons, Brown accepted joint leadership. 4. Ibid.. p. 230. 5. Ibid.. p. 230. 6. Ibid.. p. 229.

He did not do so on th© basis of the

267 assertion of intention, though ne did believe that the new elite*s intentions were not so dishonorable as had been asserted*

But rather he believed that impersonal forces

made th© affiliation of new elite and professor necessary* together th© professor and n©w elite could fend off the aggressions of th© politicians and their public supporters. The benevolence of the new elite, however, did not stem from th® personal attributes of its members, but resulted from the exigencies of the educational situation in America. Two years after Brown*s article appeared in the Educational Review. John Dewey, elaborated upon - and changed the direction of - Brown’s critique.

Dewey ascribed

restraints upon two professorial freedom of speech to one cause *• the general public, its intellectual shortcomings, its opposition to change, its materialistic values.

He

mad® no explicit mention of the role of the new elite except to deny "dictatorial interferences by moneyed 7 benefactors with special individual utterances," He put no credence in the existence of plots.

And yet r though

Brown was more auspicious of th© new elite, Dewey*s approach was more damaging to it.

For his definition of

the general public was generic enough to include th© new . 7* Dewey, John, "Academic Freedom", Educational Review, (January, 1902) p. 5.

263 elite also; lie did not separate the new elite from other orders in society.

Sweeping as his condemnation was, he

did not relinquish his faith in the redemption and reformation of individuals or groups.

His concerns were

too humanitarian, his desire to expand the leadership role of the university professor was too intense, his * optimism too deep-seated for that.

But he did not see,

as did lovejoy, Iliot, Hyde, and Brown in their separate" ways, a choice of alternatives by means of which h© might prefer the sophisticated or potentially redeemable very rich to the philistine or intolerant average. The major shortcoming of th© public, wrote Dewey, was its unwillingness and inability to realize that the sooial and psychological disciplines had attained the status of sciences.

w(T)o the public at large the facta

and relations with which these topics deal are still almost wholly in the region of opinion, prejudice and accepted tradition,

it has hardly dawned upon th© community as a

whole that science really has anything to say upon matters in th© social and psychological sphere.

The general public

may be willing enough to admit in th© abstract th© existence of a science of political economy, sociology or psychology, but when these dare to ©merge from a remot^ and technical sphere and pass authoritative judgment upon affairs of daily

269 Ilf© - when they -come in contact, that Is, with the Interests of dally life - they meet with little bat skepticism or hostiXity or, what is worse, with sensational exploitation*"

This lack of Intellectual tonus did not

characterize the mental processes of one element of the general population a® against another (the politician as against the new elite, for example), but of the general population as against th© university population.

"To

investigate truth; critically to verify fact; to resoh conclusions by means of the best methods at command, untrammelled by external fear or favor, to communicate this truth to the student; to Interpret to him its bearing on the questions he will have to face in life - this is o precisfclythe aim and object of the u n i v e r s i t y * T h © cleavage between "we" and "they" was in this context as sharp in Dewey’s writing as in the report of the M O P committee* The second shortcoming of the public was its materialistic values,particularly as they were applied in measurement of eudeational work*

"The public mind gives

an importance to the money side of educational institutions which is Insensibly modifying the standard of judgment both S. Ibid., p. 5* 9* Ibid., p. 3*

2?0 within and without the college wall®." the university has not held its ground,

In this matter, "fh© great ©vent

in til© history of an institution is now likely to be a big gift, rather than a new Investigation or the development 10 of a strong and vigorous teaoher." fhis mood affected and infected Independent research.

"Unconsciously, without

intention, the money argument come® to be an argument out of proportion, out of perspective...Many an individual who * would pursue his straight sours® of action unhindered by thought of personal harm to himself, is deflected because of fear to Injury to the institution to which he belongs."*1 Still, the tons and origo of the professors’ problem was the intellectually uaresilient, the over-materialistic public. In a fashion that is familiar to those acquainted with Dewey’s explications of these problems, he ended this generalized attack upon a note of hope.

"Thor® has never

]

been a time in the history of the world when the community j so recognized its need of expert guidance as to-day.

In

spite of our intellectual chaos, in spit© of the meaningless; f hullabaloo of opinion kept up so persistently about us by thj® 10. Ibid*# p* 11* 11 . Ibid», p * lh•

271 daily press, there is a very genuine hunger and thirst after light. sure of

The man who has the word of wisdom to say Is

his audience...(T)he demand grows for the authority

of wisdom and intelligence.

This foroe is hound to over­

come those Influences which tend to withdraw and pen the 12 scholar within his own closet." The professor - and more than the professor, the Intellectual in all fields must not wait for spontaneous applause, but must organize his own claque.

Already there was perceptible solidarity

of truth" among men of knowledge.

"It is not chimerical

to foresee a time when the consciousness of being a member of an organized society of truth--seekers will solidify 13 and re-enforce otherwise scattered and casual efforts." In this spirit Dewey organized and presided over first meetings of American Association of University Professors. Dewey rejected the assertion of fact.

Be found

nothing which differentiated the new elite from the intellectual timidities or materialistic values of the mass.

Bor did he make a special allowance for future

conciliation with the new elite.

His hopes were placed

rather on the development of two movements: the growing realization among the people of "the need of the community 12. Ibid *» p. 14. 13* Ibid.t P* 14.

272 for guidance” and "the sens© of membership in the wider university to v M o h ©very Inquirer belongs.” Dewey made one further contribution to the question of academic freedom in this period - an article ifi the Cyclopedia of Education (1911) called "Academic freedom” . His attack upon the Intellectual apathy and y materialism of the general public was repeated: Barring the cases (more often found in America than elsewhere) of supposed interference by a founder or large benefactor in matters where he happens to have strong interests, It will be found accordingly that the question of violation of academic freedom comes up in sciences and topics that are in a conation of formation..* If ideas and scientific information were so abstract and impersonal as to have no bearing upon social practice, or if social institutions were so plastic and flexible as to respond easily to ©very intellectual change, freedom of thought and expression would not have to be bought at a great price. But sine® social life rests upon a body of customs or mores which have great Inertia and which tend to persist simply because they have existed and which resist change, the innovator, the reformer, the prophet of change, have been regarded with suspicion and dislike. 14 This time the new elite was Singled out briefly for censure, but its threat to the university was considered as indirect and as growing out of the nature of the largescale organizations;

there was no plot.

14. "Academic Freedom", Cyclopedia of Education" (Monroe, Paul, editor), (S.T., l 9 l f "T, p. 700.

273 iSxperience shows that in the present state of things the menace to academic freedom is indirect rather than direct, that is, there is little likelihood that any trained independent thinker will have his ideas suppressed. But American colleges have undergone a very rapid expansion, demanding great increase in material resources; the proper equipment of libraries, laboratories, museums, etc. being very expensive. !fhis has led both to an aggrandizement of administrative authority and to a direct depends ©ace upon the wealthy men from whom the necessary endowment must be obtained. Since teachers are usually animated by a strong loyalty and esprit d© corps the situation has a tendency to make "avoid teaching or expressing views which might alienate the class of persons upon whom the development of the institution most obviously must depend. 15 To rank-order these ideas in terms of their

importance to this great systematlzer of thought would require extended reference to his system, something beyond the scope of this chapter.

It may simply be pointed out

her® that the specific points made in these articles on academic freedom occur and recur in his writings, growing out of fundamental philosophic conceptions.

In Human

Mature and Conduct ■ Bewey attacked the business men*a aversion to change as an example of habit over-riding thought.

He attacked the inflated importance which

15. Ibid.. p. 701.

16. Dewey, lohn, Human Hature and Conduct (M.Y., 1922), Business caiculWfoB^ri ^ d W I o W r " 5 T the kind where the end is taken for granted and does not enter into deliberation. It resembles the case in which a man has already made his final decision...Deliberation is

274 th© American public attached to material exploit sad quantitative achievement, eased up onthis attack during the World War period, and went to the attack again during the twenties.^

His hesitancy in differentiating peoples

on socio-economic lines grew out of his longstanding opposition to oast© divisions in an industrial society, and to his pluralistic s o c i o l o g y w h i c h led him to find ecological, occupational and institutional divisions as is not free but occurs within th© limits of a decision reached by some prior deliberation or ©is© fixed by unthinking routine." (p. 215) "A radical distinction thus exists between deliberation where th® only question is whether to invest money in this bond or that sotck, and deliberation where the primary decision is as to th© kind of activity which is to be engaged in."(p. 21?) 17. Cf. "The Discrediting of Idealism," The Jflew H©public Oct., 18, 1919; "The American Intellectual "'Frontiern, The Hew Eepublic. May 10, 1922;; "Industry and Its? lotlvea".The' forid Tomorrow, Deo. 1922; his chapter called nA Critique of American Civilization", in Eecent Daias in American Civilization (H.T., 1928), 5 5 r w s & m : ----------------------------

18. Gf. Experience and Mature (Chicago, 1925); "The social division ini 'o'a'"laborlag’class and a leisure class, between industry and esthetic contemplation, became a metaphysical division into things which are mere means and things. As early as 1888, he sharply criticized ^ the industrial order for Its fundamentally aristocratic nature. (The Ithies of Democracy ( ) pp. 2528; ^ this was repeated in HTs' 6utlines of & Critical Theory of Ethics ( ) p. 10#'; "and" glvexf~even1fuller force In tiie book on ethics written in tho progressive period: Dewey, J., and Tufts, James H., (M.Y., 190C) p. 158, passim.

275 iapbrtaat a® socio-economic ones.*^

Fundamental to his

thinking was his desire to enhance th© self-awareness, the fraternal loyalty, the drive for status and material reward of th® men of knowledge, particularly of academicians. It requires no elaborate exegesis of his works

to see in

his break with Hegelianism his realization that a world constituted by universal mind gave actual minds only the 20 function of deciphering and not of changing the world ; to see in his emphasis on the unity of thought and action a desire to give a reconstructive role to speculative 21 thought; to see In his attack on formalism in logic and *9* cf- Sft Public and Its Problems, {K.Y., 1927). 20. This is made clear in Morton G. White's study of Dewey’s ^ switch from Hegelianism to Instrumentalism, In th© letter to William James which marked the first relax­ ation of Dewey's Idealistic fervor he wrote, "I believe that a tremendous movement is Impending when th© Intellectual forces which have been gathering since the Renaissance and Reformation shall demand free movement and...shall, through free inquiry...demand authority of all other so-called authorities." (White, Morton G., Th© Origin of Dewey’s Instrumentalism, 11.Y :, 1943, p. 103, 21. "But in the practice of science, knowledge is an affair of making sure, not of grasping antecedently given aurrEIesT What is already known, what Is accepted as truth, Is of immense importance; Inquiry could not pro­ ceed a step without it. But it is hejd subject to us©, and la at the mercy of the discoveries which it makes possible. It has to be adjusted to tpe letter and not th© latter to it. When things are defined as instru­ ments, their value and validity reside In what proceed© from them; consequences not antecedents supply meaping and verity,"(Experience and Mature, p. 154.)

2?6 his replacement of it with instrumental logic an attempt to make "mind" more than "a passive spectator of the 22 universe." In Democracy and Education, the book that links philosophical pragmatism to educational theory, Dewey restated all of th© foregoing for the professional educator.2'* How do Dewey*s articles compare with the Oeaeral Report of th© .American Association of University Professors? Considering th® close attachment that Dewey had to the AAUP, affinities between his ideas and those in the Report would b© expected. pronounced.

These affinities are, indeed,

1) Both argued for something more than academic

freedom, for, rather, a sort of academic hegemony.

2) Both

based their claim for th© professor on his ability to rise above the perspective of selfish interest.

3) Both looked

to the professor’s group-awareness to bring this to pass, 4) Both, therefore, though rejecting different aspects of joint leadership, were doing so the better to assert their version of professorial leadership. also perceptible.

But differences are

Though Dewey wrote his 1902 article

while the fight against malevolent wealth was at its height, h© did not call out th© new elite by name, and did not 22. Whit®, op. olt., p. 103. 23. Democracy and Education. (N.Y., 1916) pp. 23, 54-55,

m r m zuTJ&T.---

27? question Its intention®.

Tlx© AAUP committee, on the other

hand, though it delivered its report on the eve of th© warinduced rapprochement between big business and many liberal Intellectuals, s&w fit roundly to condemn the new ©lit© for its Intrigues,

This does not, of course, make Dewey, as

one noted philosopher has styled him, an apologist for 24 American industrialists. In part, indeed Dewey*s preference for process and values rather than volition was due to his desire to make the differences between th© educator and the big business man oroginal and fundamental* A selection from Democracy and Education gives a clue to his motive:

"It is not enough to see to it that education

is not actively used as an instrument to make easier th© exploitation of one class by another.

School facilities

must b© secured of such amplitude and efficiency as will in fact...discount the effects of economic inequalities, and secure to all the wards of the nation equality of 25 equipment for their future careers." Dewey*s rejection of joint leadership was a maneuver of offense, not defense. 2* Four psychologists: Cat tell, Ladd, j'astrow, and Mecklin. 1900-1916. The large number of psychologists who interested 24* Euasell, Bertrand, A History of Western Philosophy,^ (N.Y., 1945)* * 25. Democracy and Education, p. 114*

themselves la the issue of academic freedom leads on© to

y

speculate about what there was in psychology as a research discipline or academic field that might account for it. Possibly their fight to divorce psychology from philosophy and establish it as an independent discipline brought th© psychologists to a higher degree of consciousness of th© Inworkings of th© academic organization.

It is possible,

too, that the then-pressing interest of psychologists in psychometrics, Intelligent testing, and individual differ­ ences worked to develop In them a keener awareness of the social and institutional role of th© man of superior intellect.

At any rate, on the honor roll of professors

who fought for academic freedom of expression, the names of psychologists - the four under discussion and others

26

-

are writ large. Without question, 1. MoKeen Oattell had an enormous influence upon th© thinking of professors of his 2? generation upon academic freedom and allied issues. 26. Also on this list, on© should include Howard C. Warren , and James Baldwin of Princeton, and G. Stanley Hall of* Clark. Of. Weyer, Idmund M, "George T. Dadd", Diction­ ary of American Biography, pp. 525-6; Hall, Life and 4 C?onf©salons, p 7 Curfcl, M., Muoatora... *67 Stanley ^ialT^T Murchison, 0£. olt., "Jam©¥'M, Illdwin" pp. 1-30. 27# Wells, Frederick Lynman, "James McKeen Cattell" American Iournal of Psychology. 57: 270-275 (1944).

279 tartly this influence was derived from directorship, lasting over several decades, of Science. School and Society and the Directory of American Men of Science; partly it came from his conception and editorship of ffnivnrflty Control, a book which became a monument in the professors* fight to Improve their status within the 2$ university. To th© further enhancement of his reputation Cattell became a martyr to th© cause of academic freedom when he was dismissed by Hicholas Murray Butler for petitioning Congress to rely only on volunteers for 29 overseas service during the World War. Three articles give the main outline of Cattell*s thinking on the Issue of academic freedom: "Concerning the American University", a speech which he delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Johns Hopkins In 1902; "University Control", an essay published in various sections 26. Woodworth, R.3., "J. McKeen Cattell" Psychological Review 51: 201-209 (1944) 29* The AAUP reported upon th© case as follows; "In October last a distinguished man of science was summarily dis­ missed from his professorship In an important university after a quarter-century of service, upon the charge of "seditious or treasonable" acts.•.With his opinion upon this question th© members of your committee have personally no sympathy w h a t ever.In any case, the committee, If it had the power, would assuredly not con­ ceive that it had the right, to forbid a fellow citizen to exercise his lawful privilege upon a matter of this kind; noh does it appear to the committee that the

2SO between 1906 and 1913* and "Academic Slavery", an address delivered before The Twentieth Century Club In Boston in 30 1917* Through ell three run certain continuous threads; the desire to- eliminate the new ©lit© from Its positions of control In American universities, the desire to substitute for the new elite faculty representatives and representatives of th© general public; and a confidence that this new alignment of power would give the professors the dignity, the social prestige, and the autonomous controls over academic affairs which he felt they merited* On the surface, Oattell seemed to make a closer Identification with "grass roots" of the community than any of the professors studied except Will or Ross; e i analysis shows, however, that this also was a case of professorial special pleading. Cattail’s desire to rid the university of the new elite was not in most cases based on suspicion of its motives.

"Our private educational corporations", he wrote

in 1902, "dependent upon the generosity of millionaires, board of trustees of an educational institution is Invested with such a right." ’’Report of th© Committee on Academic Freedom in War Time” 191$, printed in Bulletin. AABP, Bov., 1922. 30. All three are contained in Addresses and Papers of i .v McKeen Cattell, Vol. XI {Lancaster,1947).

281 are In a remarkable ancl almost anomalous position.

Tot

it la evident that this unique phase of development has not only kept th© university in advance of popular appreciation, but has also tended to maintain th© stability of society. At a time when large fortunes and monopolistic corporations are needed for the material development of the country, the generous gifts of a few men of great 31 wealth have done much to allay popular clamor." But the need for th© new elite has ended.

"It seems likely,

however, that in the end th® people will control monopolies and th© universities supported by the profits of monopolies.

There is no more reason for depending on

th© generosity or caprice of millionaires for our universities than for our ships at war.

It has always

seemed to me a curious perversion that elementary education, chiefly useful to th© individual, should be free and supported by th© state, whereas higher education, chiefly for the benefit of th© state, should be a charge to th© 32 student and depend on private charity." iror this reason, and for another to be mentioned presently, Cattell urged that th® new elite be eliminated.

His reason was not,

that the new elite interfered maliciously with freedom of 31. "Concerning the American University", 32. Ibid.. P. 128.

0£. cit., p. 13$.

ZB2

speech.

"So long as universities are dependent for

support on gifts from rioii men or on appropriations Made by a legislature, there is real danger that the teaching economies, sociology and some departments of history and philosophy may suffer limitations.

But so far as I am 33 aware tills is a danger rather tiian a fact." "As a

matter of fact professors have not often been dismissed fey trustees in order to control the results of research or of the facts taught in c l a s s e s . C a t t e l l scented no plot*

Bather* he thought the new elite had outlived Its

usefulness, was an anomaly in education * an inversion of Professor Brown’s argument.

If circumstances had once made

the new elite necessary, circumstances had now made it superfluous. There was, however, another reason why th© new elite should fee expelled, according to Cattell.

Its

members on boards of trustees, being amateurs at the job of directing education, had to put autocratic power in the hand® of th© college president.

"In the academic

jangle" he wrote in University Control. "the president 33, Ibid., p. 136. 34* "Academic Slavery", oj>. clt., p. 351.

283 le is my black beast*w

The new elite created a condition

Of absentee ownership in which the president "was not a leaderi but a boss*

He is selected by and Is responsible

to a body practically outside the university, which in the 36 private corporations is responsible to nobody." This condition breeds interferences with academic freedom* "Dismissal of a university professor from a reputable university as a result of publishing or teaching the conclusions of his investigations is sporadic and under control*

the disease which is endemic in the university

is subordination of the teacher to the academic machine... When a professor Is dismissed it is nearly always because he is persona non grata to the president or to influential colleagues."^

Cattell*s rejection of Joint leadership

was of the following order:

the new elite’s intentions

were not malign but they were misplaced in terms of present day needs; the; new' elite’s remoteness from actual control of university affairs undid the good the new elite ought to^achiefeeEybrearing ann %r. presidential autocrat who mediated between fcEMfciM-nand the professors. 35. "University Control (N.Y., 1913) p. 31. 36. Ibid., p. 32. 37. "ieademio Slavery", p. 349.

234 Cattellfs plan was to replace the m m elite V with the faculty and the general public electing the corporations of state institutions.

He would have had

this corporation elect the trustees and would abolish or 38 diminish the power of the president. His desire to b© associated with public representatives was conditioned by his genuine belief that the people appreciated the problems and goals of professors.

"Some of us live In a

world of university trustees, presidents, deans, heads of departments, secretaries, registrars, superintendents ...and it seems that they at times impose limitations on behavior and on speech beyond those warranted by the existing order, or such superior wisdom as they m y possess.

Indeed the professor can usually appeal from

academic discipline to the general public in expectation of sympathy there,” its sympathy?

How would the general public express

"When the people own thfcir universities

they will probably see the wisdom of delegating to those concerned...the right to elect th© trustees” and run the internal affairs of the u n i v e r s i t y H e did not hope that the people would b© wise enough to exercise their powers, 38. University Control, pp. 3-62. 39. Academic Slavery” , pp. 349.

285 but merely that they would be wise enough to delegate them. With words that reflected ills disoipleshlp of dalton and bis sponsorship of Thorndike, he wrotei

"True democracy

does not consist of government by the uninformed but of government of those most competent, selected by and 40 responsible to th© people.” Again, her© was rejection of joint leadership for the sake of leadership. One rather imperfect statistical test of professorial reaction to Cattell*s proposals is available. In 1912, Cattell submitted a questionnaire on his proposal to enlarge th® university corporation with faculty and public representatives, and to put control of university management in the hands of the professors.

Cattell

believed that his 299 responses constituted a fair sampling of existing academic sentiment, although his responses were solely from men of the highest rank order in the natural and exact sciences. Ofthe :299^:replies£attell counted 185 to b© in agreement with his plan, or almost two-thirds.

One must not assume, however, that professors

agreeing with his program agreed with the logic of his argument.

A reading of the letters accompanying th®

returned questionnaire indicated that many listed as -•

i

r .t~ -in-—

rnr-'H'i

1- "i m

40. Ibid.. p. 349.

—

r -^ ,- .

.

.............. .

. ■■■■-. —

mm#

286 "favorable* were opposed to some of bis underlying 41 conceptions* But th© conclusion that may reasonably be drawn is that ther© existed a general hostility to the educational status quo and to the intramural status of .professors whioh then obtained* Professor Georg© Trumbell Ladd,, for forty years the chief psychologist at Tale University, continued the argument flad ^down by Dewey rather than by Cattell, in his popular article entitled "The Degradation of th© Professorial Office", thesis and his animus*

His first paragraph contained his "(T)he professorial office...is

undergoing a process of degradation.

By this I mean that,

instead of being constantly held up to its proper high level of appreciation and regard, the office of teacher in our colleges and universities is being subjected to influences which are bringing it down to a relatively low level of appreciation and reward;" Influences?

What were these

They "are partly internal! that is to say,

they are partly due to the character and conduct of the presidents, trustees and faculties of th©3© institutions. But they are yet more largely due to th© opinions and active influence of the patrons and alumni of these institutions, 41. university Control, p. 23, passim.

26?

and ©specially, to th© whole temper and trend of the national mind and th© national llf©."^2

Tills scattergun

attack left no possibility for gaining potential allies. Tiie popular mind, to Ladd, was not vacuous as V

muck as it was petty, and addicted to pecuniary standards. "(T)h© merchant and th© military classes are being raised, in their own esteem and in the public estimate of their indispensable value, to a higher point of standing. Education itself is coming more to have its worth tested by its ability to train man for successful commercial competition with other nations...It is the prevalent mercantile estimate of the teacher’s function which is ths primary source of the prevalent process of degradation.” Ladd mad© his rejection of th© assertion of fact explicit: "estimates of this sort are scarcely less common in this country among the successful and well-to-do, among the men who - not always very scrupulously - have pushed them­ selves to the front in business, the professions, or 43 politics." Restraints upon academic freedom result from these deeper factors, and not from any conscious design. 42. Ladd, George T.,"The Degradation of th© Professorial Office" forum (1903) p. 270. X U d ., P* 273.

$38 They com© about because Of the "light-hearted, serio­ comic or contemptuous way in whloh the press and the public esteem the proffer of services, and treat the opinions of the professed experts in our higher institutions of learning♦

This ’way* of the papers

and the people with th© university professor is employed by almost all the classes outside of his class * by the ’common run* of th© clergy and of the politicians ali&©. la their ignorant fear of th© truth, or often for their own reputation for orthodoxy, the former are too ready to hold up for ridicule or censure th© scholar’s opinion, however scientifically served or guardedly expressed, whether on questions of evolution, literary criticism, religion, or philosophy.

Th© open and unlimited contempt of the average

politician for public finance by the class whom his own misinformation and unscrupulousness teach him to dread 44 Is too manifest to need even a passing reference.” For Ladd as well as for Bewey, Cattell, and many of the others whom we have treated, alleviation of this condition could only come from the elevation of the professor’s status both within and without the university. But unlike Dewey and th© AATJP professors, Ladd did not believe that such was either impending or in prospect.

289 *Xu not a few Important respects, however, the teachers in oar highest Institutions of learning - inoluding of course th® professional schools - are always tetter fitted by far to to© th© counsellors and leaders of the nation than Is any other class of oitizens.

University professors

ought always to form an important and influential element in the control of opinion and administration in the municipality, the State and th© nation."

But "(p)ietur©

*

the immoderate merriment which would follow the first surprise if any memtoer of the board of aldermen in on© of our worst^governed cities were to propose giving over the diseased condition of its public affairs to the diagnosis and prescription of a committee of college professorst" The author ended on this pessimistic note; "(T)h© hope which has once not unreasonably entertained* that the profession of the teacher might seeur© and hold for its own elite the same lofty standing in th© estimate of the public and th© same important degree of influence over th© public which belongs to the best members of the legal and medical profeasionsor to the foremost men in business and politics seems destined to have its fulfillment indefinitely postponed. 44. ibid.* p. 270. 45. Ibid.. p. 202.

290 III an article which appeared ten years after­ wards, Ladd reiterated these ideas while pursuing another subject:

"The Need for Administrative Changes in th©

American University” .

Interested in discovering the

reasons for the failure of th© American University to advance science, scholarship, and philosophy, Ladd saw again **aa no small part of th® causes" the general public, with its Ignorant or mistaken views in respect to th© 46 interests, values and ideals of th© higher education,” I© also charged the failure of th© university to "the internal management ...of presidents, faculties and trustees1*; th© latter particularly were guilty of "ignorance, indifference and.. .cowardice.***? Of all those who emphasized "circumstance” in their diagnosis of the problem, Ladd was the most adamant in his rejection of joint leadership, particularly In its assertion of fact.

Going along with Dewey in reducing

th© academic freedom issue to a conflict of values, Ladd parted with Dewey over the latter*s invincible optimism. Where Dewey found identifications between the scholar and 46. Ladd, George T , , "Th© Need for Administrative Changes in American Universities" Popular Science, April, 1912, • in Cattell, University Control, p . 34$. 47, Cattell, op. clt,, p. 353*

th© lay public highly desirable and still possible, Ladd

/

thought a rapprochement Impossible, however desirable. In his pessimism, in his sense of isolation which admitted no Improvement, Ladd was out of tune with the dominant theme

of professors in this period. Joseph Jastrow, head of the Department of

Psychology at the University of Wisconsin in this period/ followed Ladd without absorbing the latter*s pessimism. Jastrow rejected th© assertion of fact by also emphasizing/ the cleavage of values; (T)h© particularly ominous feature of the democratic rule if that with its freer distri­ bution of opportunities, "practical” men come into influential postions and establish alike the standards of approved success and the power to enforce thorn. Political control and economic control set the patterns for control in general; and any claim for exemption on the part of education from the tests thus established is cavalierly dismissed as a special mask for in­ competence. While still regarded as indispensable education finds its hands tied by an alien rule, which may be kindly but undlscriminating, but Is $uit© as likel# to be self-confident and intolerant. 43 These shots were aimed at the new elite among others: "The expansion of business, Including the business of government” he wrote in the same book, "has developed a 43. Jastrow, Joseph, The Psychology of Conviction: A Study of Beliefs and AtOTudes T i X , m W > ~ 2 9 7 ~ S % > 2 2 k .

292 technique of its own; though It® mastery was to be secured th© largest share of social control.

Th© business

technique, and still more dlsasterously the business attitude, comes Into sharp and direct conflict with the scholarly temper and disinterested habit of mind of th© inquirer...The practical manfs control advances, or implies, or Imposes the view that the same methods that bring success in business must apply and have like value in education..•iffhen education is appraised by irrelevant standards, its cause, however attentively listened to, IQ fails to get a hearing.” But, interestingly enough, when lastrow contemplated th© benefactions of the new elite, h© was quit© approving of them. mind” at all.

Such"producta of the business

were not in conflict with the scholarly temper As one of the leading analysts of th© Carnegie

pension plan, he was,when th© plan was first announced, entirely favorable to it.

He silenced critics who feared

that too much power over education would pass to th© Qarnegl© Foundation, with ”(t)he day has wholly gone by when it was really an impropriety not to look a gift horse in th© face...(the,plan) m e r i t s , i t will doubtless receive, th© -enthusiastic endorsement of those by whom 49, Jastrow, op. cit*, p. 235*

293 the welfare of our intellectual concerns is properly 50 cherished.**^ The change in the policy of the Foundation in 1911 shook only his faith in its trustees and in Mr. Fritohett, hut not in Andrew Carnegie, who had also played a responsible part in changing the plan. Jastrow still was able to write:

"The favorable comment -

indeed the enthusiastic approval - with which the announcement of Mr. Carnegie's notable philanthropy was received is as valid now as ten years ago to show the public and professional appreciation.

The first obligation

and privilege of th© reviewer is to express to Mr. Carnegie the gratitude of the teaching profession for his recognition of a need and the means whereby it may be met.” Dints appreciation of Carnegie, however, - as may be gathered from Cattell*s distrust of the Carnegie plan from its inception

and from the results of the questionnaire

50. Jaatrow, Joseph, "Endowment of Learning, Dial. May 16, 1905, pp. 3L3-6. 51. Jaatrow, Joseph, "fen Tears of the Carnegie foundation” School and Society, October 1, 1916, p. 309. 52. Of. Cattell in Science: April 2L, 1906; April 2, 1909; March 11, 1910; Beoemfcer 2, 1910, March 3, 1911; April 15, 1916. In School and Society. November 9, 1913, his article after the'darnegitf switch of plan, Cattell linked the entire scheme to restraints upon academic freedom. "In the case of college and university teachers a pension system may prove particularly

i

294 which Cattell submitted to over 200 professors in 1916 * 53 was not general mong professors. The obvious disparity between lastrow’s hostility to the values of big business generally and bis willingness to accept th©ir philanthropies in specific circumstances was visible again in 1925 when Jastrow opposed the resolution of the Wisconsin Board of Regents to disallow in the future the acceptance of all "gifts, donations, or subsidies...by or on behalf of the University from any incorporated educational endowment or pernicious, for It can be used to control not only their freedom of action, but also their freedom of teaching and of investigation. President Butler (stated) that the cost of a pension may be #1200 a year to th© professor. This considerable sum is with** held from his salary, to be repaid ultimately for good behavior* Th© professor who does not see eye to eye With Wall Street and Trinity Church may be compelled to sacrifice either his intellectual integrity or his wife and children.” (P. 394#) 5£.

Certain professors agreed with «Tastrow’s whitewash of Carnegie; many did not. The following are two samples from the letters of those who did not (the letters were unsigned): "I can not believe that it is right to accept a pension in the form of charity bestowed by some private corporation, whether they call it a ’foundation1 which arises after a man has become so rich that he cannot give his money away, or whether it is doled out straight from his generous overflowing soul” , (p. 73) -Again, "Had w© not better trouble ourselves more about the question of a fair distribution of wealth and income? If lustice were meted out to all, we would have less need of pensions." (p. 76), Cattell, y. MoKeen, Carnegie Pensions, (H.Y., 1919).

295 organization of life® character.54

it is a question as

to whether Jastrow merely exemplified tin© hiatus that exist® generally between theory and practice {in which ease his argument is of interest mainly to the student of human nature), or whether his inconsistency was a natural by-product of the stress on "circumstances" in describing the causes of academic restraint.

If the latter,

it suggests that to those who ©scribed the professors1 adversities to process rather than to design, and who at the same time sought the enhancement of the professors* power, rapprochements with the wealth interests for specific benefits did not do violence either to their logic or their consciences.

In this light, Dewey, X»add, Cattail

and yastrow - in their rejection only of the assertion of inten­ tion but not of the assertion of J ;faction - were making 54. Z o m Gale, the author, explained the motives of the Board of Regents of which she was a member by quoting from the Federal Industrial Relations Committee (1915: "The domination by the men in whose hands the final control of a large part of American industry rests is rapidly being extended to the control of education and public service in the United States; and one of the means of the exercise of this control is by th© endowment of colleges and universities,and by the creation of funds for the pensioning of teachers." Jastrow called this a "sincere but mistaken view of the situation." in Bulletin, AAUP, Deo. (1925).

296 a double demarche sthey curt^th® new elite* s aggression and re­ open to the new elite’s gifts. Professor John Mecklin, the fourth and last of the psychologists under discussion, brought Ladd’s argument up to date in an article written for School and cc

Society in 1916.

Only a few years before, Mecklin

had been forced to resign his professorship at Lafayette College under circumstances which indicated, to an investi­ gating committee, that Lafayette "disapproves of the mere presentation to the students.•.of any philosophical views which It regards as seriously e r r o n e o u s a n d discourages instruction which has the effect...of provoking thought adn stimulating discussion and debate among the students 56 upon philosophical and religious issues." nevertheless, ¥ Mecklin did not emphasize the purposive attacks upon the professors’ rights but the deeper conflicts between the professor whom he called a "spiritual Ishmaelite" and the American public. 55. Mecklin’& article appeared in the spring of 1916, „ which strictly speaking, is outside the ideological bounds of this study. His article however refers v to and is an outgrowth of the mood which created the A A W and is part of the thinking of the three or four years which preceded Its formulation. 56. The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific

BStHogffr7 anT"2 9 T T fIIT p p 7’P

I . --------------------

297 "In a recent editorial on the American AA UP the Maw York Times makes the following remark; ’Academic freedom, that is, the inalienable right of every college by**.Intemperate, sensational prattle about every subject under the sun, to the classes and to the public, and still / keep on the payroll or b© reft therefrom only by elaborate process, ia cried to all the winds by the organized dons...*

The Times editorial Is...of Importance

as'voicing the attitude of the American public toward a group whose claims to intellectual leadership are not supported by a definitely recognized status in the social order.

Back of this language is the assumption that the

college instructor is at best a member of an Institution the policy of which he does not shape and towards which he sustains the relation of a hireling.

It expresses the

feeling of the comfortably established member of the social order toward the irresponsible critic.

It is a recrudes­

cence of the world-old animosity of the tribesman for the danless man who has no rights society is bound to respect because he has not status."^ 57* Mecklin, John M., "Academic freedom and Status", School and Society. April 29, 1916, p. 624.

298 Macklin did take cognizance of the fact that certain timea and certain situations encouraged deliberate aggressions upon academic freedom, Academic freedom is apto to suffer also in those communities and during those periods where there is an overdevelopment of conservative group interests, fine social order is always imperfectly organized. v, ' -w:' •••w ^ -r • £>ueh organization as exists is confined to groups, Th© diversity and conflict this engenders seems necessary to a healthful public sentiment, Situations arise, however, where certain group interests all but master the entire situation and shape the ideas of the community... Since the war we have noticed, especially in the North* (the) organization of society through powerful Industrial and capitalistic Interests that have flourished under high tariff protection. It is to be expected that these powerful economic interests should find representation on the governing boards of privately endowed institutions. It Is also perfectly natural that men who hold chairs In the social sciences in such institutions whould have pressure brought to bear upon them by these interests to influence their utterance upon matters of social ©r economic character." 58 More bluntly than most of th© others whom we have studied, Mecklin ma^e improvement of the professor*s status (both in and out of th© college) the specific for the diseases he was describing; "The problem of academic freedom is therefor© one of establishing a recognized status for th© profession of the scholar.

Such a status

involves well-defined rights and privileges, which the , profession itself must very largely determine in its own 58, Ibid,. p. 627.

299 Interests and in the Interest of the community it serves*"^ The college professor "has no Independent standing in the community*..There Is no clear understanding as to his rights or his obligations to th© community he serves..."A well-defined and respected status is absolutely necessary. for the dignity and the efficiency of the scholar’s profession,"

60

Mecklin, like so many of the others,

argued for leadership within the university with an eye to leadership without. 3. Conclusion In drawing conclusions from the materials presented in this and the preceding chapter, the caveat introduced at the beginning of chapter five ought to be repeated;

a pre-poll tested collection of individual

attitudes may not b© automatically assumed to be a scientific sampling of the opinions of the entire group. This consideration restrains the Impulse to make sweeping generalizations about the attitudes of professors In this period from th© materials presented.

At the same time,

these materials have not been so haphazardly chosen as to 59. Ibid., p. 625.

60, Ibid., p. 626.

make significant..generalizations upon them impossible, for on© thing, a large number of academic disciplines are represented hares sociology, economics, psychology, education, philosophy, and - in the A A W committee English and biology,

furthermore, though dispute over

the Importance of omitted articles Is conceivable, there is not likely to b® much disagreement about the importance (judged from the amount of contemporary comment) of the articles Included in this survey.

All of th© authors

Included were professors who had stature in their profession; some w®re of the very first rank. Referring back to the beginning of chapter five, the following conclusions are offered concerning the attitude© of th© professors; Position. With th© definite exception of Albion Small, all the professors studied in these chapters believed that academic freedom was in some degree being suppressed, and that action of some sort should be taken to preserve It.

This was true equally of those professors

who had suffered personally from academic restrictions (Ross, Will, Cattell, Howard, lovejoy, Eecklin) and of those who had not (Eliot, Hyde, pewey, Brown, Jastrow, Ladd, and Weatherly).

-301 2. Diagnosis. The professors spilt about evenly Into those who emphasized "plot" and those who emphasized "circumstances" •

One would exp sot that those who had been

dismissed by arbitrary boards of trustees would tend to detect "plot" more than the others, and this expectation is fulfilled.

(Hose, Will, Howard, Mecklin somewhat).

Against what one might expect, however, it is not possible to conclude that there was a greater tendency to stress th. ev^jdesign, of the;new elitee at the beginning of this period than at the end (for Weatherly and AAUP Report come at tne end; and Dewey and Small at the beginning). 3* Identification. Her© are very Interesting results.

Of the group studied, an extraordinarily large

number of professors found the new elite to be at fault either to be guilty of misusing its public trust (lliot, Weatherly, AAUP Report, Will, Ross, Howard) or of inadequately grasping th® needs and nature of the academic Weltanschauung.

(Cattail, Ladd, *Tastrow, Mecklin). Tet

for ©11 this, th© few who Joined hands with other groups * also were suffering from the actions of the new elite: small business, labor, the consumer, or - the term most common in these generalized discussions - "the general public".

On

contrary, many professors in a manner ofJ

speaking, wished a plague on all their houses (AAUP Report, Ladd, Jastrow, Mecklin).

Some of those who pledged their

allegiance to th© "general public" did not do so to Join but to exhort; did not assume the public point of view but hoped to improve th© public’s appreciations (Weatherly, AAUP Report* Dewey particularly; Small, Eliot, JLado,0attell somewhat). 4* Prognosis. One notices a buoyancy, an eagerness, a confidence in th© early realization of objective®, among these professors.

In some cases, criticism, even sharp

criticism, of the new elite, was softened by the expecta­ tion that the new elite would be reformed. {Eliot, Hyde *

particularly; lastrow, but quite differently).

More often,

criticism of the non-elite public was tempered by the faith that the public would repent its ways and that, if the professors could demonstrate their detachment from special interest groups, ttye public would accept professorial leadership (M^P Report and Dewey particularly; also Iliot).

Some w@r© hopeful that what was sought could

be speedily accomplished merely by an adjustment of th© machinery of administration (Brown, Hyde, Cattell). Th© significance of these attitudes in terms of acceptance and rejection of joint leadership may b© summarized as follows;

303

!• All but Small a M Brown rejected th© notion of joint leadership on th© basis of their contact with th® new elite at th® institutional level*

This was done

a) with differing severities (Will, Ross, and Howard were the most hostile; th© AAUP was also very antagonistie; Kllot was angry but hopeful; JTastrow condemned and congratulated the new elite depending upon the occasion)* This was done

b) with differing emphases:

some rejected

the assertion of intention but were non-oomlttal

about

the assertion of fact (Weatherly, Hyde); some rejected the assertion of fact but were willing to see merit in the assertion of intention (JTastrow)*

However, putting

qualitative differences aside - the remarkable fact is that except for Small and Brown, all of these professors attacked th© new e^ite, either refusing to see brave new worlds arising from its philanthropies or refusing to admit that its members had superior personal (chiefly mental) qualities. 2.

The professors’ key complaint with the new

elite was that it was tied to narrow and self-seeking interest, to the rubrics of its ideology {Weatherly, AATJP Report, Dewey particularly; Eliot also)*

Per contra,

their key argument in support of their own plea for

304 pref©rentla1 treatment was they were able to rise above ideological interest.

This, in a seeming paradoari which may

be resolved by a knowledge of the strategic value of paradoxes in ideologies,) the professors claimed to be above self-interest at a time when they were growing more acutely conscious of their interests, to renounce selfseeking objectives at a time when they were seeking sieifb$h objectives for themselves (Small, kliot, Weatherly, Ladd, leoklin; a M particularly Dewey and th© M U ? Report).

The

observation that it is the claim of an ideological heresubjeot to be altruistic, to be selfless for the good of the whole, may also reader this paradox more intelligible. 3.

Th© tothl impression is that th® rejections

of joint leadership (and also even the few examples of acceptance) war® designed by the different professors to expedite their own wishes fo|f leadership in this period. This desire seems to be the constant factor in these otherwise heterogeneous expressions.

This brings to a close this three-chapter study of the interaction of professors with big business men at the institutional level, in which the concept of joint

305

leadership was used as the fulcrum for analysis.

Now the

vast problem looms of relating this element of self-interest reflected in the professor’s attitudes toward joint leader­ ship - to their reactions toward the big business Ideology as a whole,

faking any single professor, what bearing h M his

acceptance or rejection of joint leadership on his acceptance or rejection of the big business ideology?

How was the

quality of that acceptance or rejection (emphasis on intention of fact, etc.) reflected in the quality of his reaction to the total ideology?

What differences did his identifications,

prognosis, and diagnosis make when he grappled with the full ideology?

These are th© problems for Part Three.

306

PART THREE 3 REACTIONS TO THE TOTAL IDEOLOGY Of BIG BUSINESS Chapter Seven William Graham Sumner la this and the following chapter it is proposed to trace the reactions of two pioneers in American sociology - William Graham Sumner and franklin Henry Griddinga - to the total big business ideology, emphasizing the connection between their attitudes toward joint leadership and their responses to the ideology as a whole. William Graham Sumner was born In 1B40, in New Jersey, of English immigrant parents who were self-taught and poor.

He graduated from Yale College In 1363# studied

In Europe until 1366, returned for a brief period to a tutorship at Yale, was rector of the Episcopalian Church from 1370 to 1372.

In 1372, he was asked to become

Professor of Political Science at Yale# a post which he was to hold, with some modifications of title, until hie death in 19101*

A dominating teaching personality and a

1. Biographical material may be found in Sumner’s "Autobiographical sketch" written for A History of the class of 1363 of Yale Golleg© (New Haven. iWJl; MarrIs jS. W a r r ^ TOStem Sraham Sumner (Hew York, 1925) which is the "only' full account of his life;

307 prolific writer, Sumner exercised a tremendous influence upon his students, becoming a fixture and then a tradition^ at Yale while he lived, and th© idol of a good-sized cult after his death.2 In the course of his career, Sumner made two important vocational changes, changes which not only throw light upon the man, but upon the college professors as a group In th® poat-CIvil War period.

The first of

these was his decision to give up the pulpit for the professor's platform, and thereby to give up his studies in religion for studies of a secular nature.

Of the

various motives that might have prompted him, Harris E. Starr considers that his desire to find a larger audience "Sketch of William Graham Sumner" Popular Science Monthly, jfune 1389, pp. 261-268. Manuscriptsof~Sumner < hot consulted in this paper are to be found in the Sumner Estate of the Yale Library, and in the Documents of the Connecticut Board of Education. An intensive bibliography and a helpful Index are furnished in The ^ Forgotten Man and Other Essays (Hew Haven, 1919) pp.

5WP5ir;----------------

2.

His leading admirer, Albert Calloway ICeller, published a eulogy of him in Ramlnscences (Mainly Personal) of ^ William Graham Sumner '(&' ' • ' the same time aware of the motivation behind other systems and blissfully unaware of their own - unaware, that is, that they too are ideologists.

Sumner turned to "science”

(tthi® escaping enclosure by his own relatlvlstic theory) to show that certain few individuals in society could and did - act on behalf of the whole despite their narrow ideological perspectives.

He followed Galton and Ammoa2^

"vanity" and "fear". Cf. logardus, Emory S.. A History of 3oolal Thought (Eol.Angeles, 1929) p. 353. 27.

Sir Francis Galton held the following assumptions which Sumner took up as proved). 1) Human individuals are different in bodily and psychological character­ istics. Contrary to the popular idea of the equality of men, men are unequal. 2) Physical and mental characteristics are distributed according to a typical curve of frequency distribution among the individuals of the same society; 3) Individual differences are due to two principal factors, - environment and heredity is far more important; 4) these differences apply to groups within the same society and to differ­ ent races. The wealthier strata have a higher per­ centage in this elite than the poorer strata. Cf. Hereditary Genius (London 1S69, first edition), pp. 1-31: j^uiriea lnto Human Faculty and Its Develop­ ment (London, 1^83] pp. Y J S - I ^ j T . T h e ”German anthro­ pologist Otto Ammon linked the theory of Individual differences to Darwinistic theory. To be successful

In discovering a statistically small social elite, whose members possessed innately superior intellectual, moral, and physical qualities.

In this group he included almost

exclusively the new elite and the men of knowledge. "Societal value (Sumner's short-hand for the sum of these qualities)..conforms.♦.to worldly success and to income from work contributed to the industrial organization..." (the new elite).

"On the other hand,...so long as

scientific work and books of the highest value to science and art pay the authors nothing, the returns of the market and income only imperfectly measure societal value." (the 28 men of knowledge). How could this elite be socially useful; if tainted with ideological provincialism? revolved on two hinges:

His answer

1) only this elite can change

existing folkways to make them fit its interests; la the struggle for existence society must approach a type wherein all its members would be appointed to such positions as would be the most suitable to facilitate the production of genius. The best social order Is that in which every member is doing the work which best utilizes his Innate abilities. (Cf. discussion of Otto Ammon In Sorokin, Pitirim, Contemp- * orary Sociological Theories (N.Y.,-1928) pp. 244*251."

323

2) changing the folkways is an essential factor In social progress*

Implied in this approach was the belief in

joint leadership as an exclusive relationship and a preference for the assertion of fact to the neglect of the assertion of intention. A far cry from hi® glorification of the forgotten Man which one finds In his earlier writing*^ was this condemnation of all who were not in his elite: Kvery society has, in the great central section of the masses, a great body which is neutral in all the policy of society. It lives by routine and tradition. It is not brutal but it is shallow, narrowminded and prejudiced... It lacks Initiative and cannot give an Impulse for good or bad. 30 "The masses are not large classes at the base of a social pyramid5 they are the core of the society."

These

masses - the great majority of the people of a society are slaves to their own folkways.

"They accept life as

they find it, and live on by tradition and habit...In other words, the great mass of any society lives a purely instinctive life just like animals."

So submissive are

29. Cf. "The Forgotten Man", a lecture in The Forgotten pp. 276,27$. 30. Folkways, p. $0.

324 the masses to habits that they are not able to realize their Ideological interest, nor do they frequently perceive it. ”We must not be misled by the conservatism of castes and aristocracies, who resist change of customs and institutions by virtue of which they hold social power,

fhe conserva­

tism of the masses is of a different hind.

It is not pro*

dueed by interests, but it is instinctive.

It is due to

inertia. •.The masses, moreover, have not the power to reach out after ’improvements’ or to plan steps of change by which needs might be better satisfied.” 31

Opposed to the in­

effectualness of the masses is the competence of the elite, fhe elite has ”the power to regulate their lives to some extent according to their own choice...”

”0nly the great­

est and best can react against the mores so as to modify them.”

fhe excellence of this elite did not lie in its

ability to give up ideology for the benefit of the ordinary run of men* but in its ability to realize ideology against all that was ordinary, current, and commonplace.

Its virtue

was not the virtue of benevolence conceived as some specious type of ”up-lift” , but the virtue of efficient intelligence which alone had the power to dislodge the dead weight of the mores. nevertheless the activity of this elite did have 31* folhwayg. PP. 45-46.

325 benevolent effect. gress.

For it was the Instrumentality of pro­

trnllke Carnegie, who thought members of his elite

could become detached from self-interest, and unlike Small, who believed this detachment actually took place in academic associations, Sumner scouted the possibility of breaking the Iron rule of self-interest.

But this very fact was the

a&arce of the elite*s social usefulness.

In realising Its

self-interest, the elite provided "(organization, leader­ ship and discipline* whie% are Indispensable to any ben­ eficial action by masses of men." 32

acting In a rational

manner, the elite inspired the masses to act more ration­ ally, for the masses were able to Imitate if not Initiate enlightened behavior.

Moreover, the elite achieved its

goals without rending the fabric of society and whilst maintaining the forms of order.

"Institutions must also

be produced which will hold the activities of society in channels of order, deliberation, peace, regulated antagon­ ism of Interests, and justice...But where do the institu­ tions come from?

the masses have never made them,

fhey

are produced out of the mores by the selection of the lead­ ing men and classes who get control of the collective power of the society and direct it to the activities which will (as they think) serve the interests which they regard as

326 important. . .The historical process lies been full of error, folly, selfishness, violence and craft.

It is so still,

the point which is now important for us is that the masses have never carried on the struggles and process by which exploitation of man by man is to some extent repressed, and where Individual self-realization has a large scope, under the Institutions of civil liberty.1* And then came the sentence which shows how sensitivity to ideology as such can be used to further particular Ideological goals:

"It

Is the historical and selected classes which have done this, often enough without Intending or foreseeing the results of action which they inaugurated with quite other, perhaps selfish, class purposes in view.** 33 Professor Hichard Hofatadter, in commenting upon Sumner1s switch from economics to sociology, wrote:

"(h)is

intellectual activity passed through two overlapping phases/ distinguished less by a change in his thought then a change v in the direction of his work.** 34

xf it may be added that

the change of direction marked also a culmination of his thought, this comment may serve as the key for helping us to understand Sumner’s reaction to joint leadership and tor 33. Folkways, pp. 48-49 , 34. Hofatadter, Hichard, Sooial Darwinism in American Thought, 1860-1915 CPSlIaTeipKia 1945) p. 40.

327 understand Ideology*

its connection to the total tig business It seems important to bear la mind that there

was continuity and development in Sumner's attitude under­ neath what seems like a precipitous break in thought,

there

seem to be three sustained ideas. 1) In both phases, more strongly and more securely in the later than in the early phase, Sumner accepted the notion of joint leadership,

this is the most obvious thread

of continuity. 2) In both phases, the quality which he most ad­ mired in the new elite was its ability to get things done, to be effectual.

Sumner, the economist, admired the new

elite for the power which its capital gave it.

Sumner, the

sociologist, admired the new elite for the power which its rational pursuit of self-interest gave it.

His admiration

seemed to grow as he made the intellectual journey from economics to sociology:

for it required more power to defy

the mores than to mulct nature of her wealth. 3) In both phases, he was skeptical of certain claims made for the big business hero-subject.

Altruism,

generosity, supra-ideologieal thinking, he felt, did not distinguish it.

Its benevolence was derived from its power;

its power was not justified by its benevolence.

He paid

little attention and gave little credence to the assertion

32$ of intention, with Its utopian promises.

Thus, It. was only

partially and to the neglect of certain important embellish­ ments, that he endorsed the big business man as hero-subject. let us see now what carry-over there is of these ideas to the big business ideology as a whole. 2.

Sumner on Poverty Sumner's handling of the egalitarian natural

rights doctrine, makes clear his approach to the issue of poverty.

His books on economics contain an elaborate and

many-sided attack upon this doctrine.

He attacked, first

of all, the metaphysical underpinnings of the natural rights theory, making liberal use of Spencer and Lippert.

He con­

sidered the very hypothecation of metaphysical rights an outrageous conceit, in view of the lowly biological origins and infinitesmal cosmic importance of man.35

He believed

that the science of evolution proved abstractions and universalizations of this sort to be dangerous dogma:

life

edges toward the complex and the differentiated; there is no universal "Man", only individual "men", no abstract "Sight"* only concrete "rights".36

Moreover, the idea that

35. "The Demand for Men" (written between 1&S7-1891) in Challenge of facts, pp. 111-116. 36. "locality" (written between 1900-1906) in Barth Hunger p.

329 men have a claim to happiness prior to the expenditure of effort showed, he thought, no understanding of the struggle for existence, of the simple fact that all that man has on earth has been gained through noli, sacrifice and blood. " 3 7 Darwinistic theory, become an ontology, was his weapon against the meiaphysio of natural rights. In Folkways, and in other writings in his sociolog­ ical period, he used a different weapon.

On the presumption

that to have a genetic understanding of an idea Is to be­ come disabused of its metaphysical claims, he demonstrated / that the roots of natural rights were in the mores: the notion that there are such things as •natural* rights Is due to the fact that rights originate in the mores, and may remain there long before they can be formulated...in philo­ sophical propositions, or In laws...Tbe question of right or rights can arise only in the in­ group. All questions with outsiders are settled by war...War with group-comrades is "wrong" be­ cause it lessens the power of the in-group for war with outsiders. Here, then, is where other devices must be invented...The usual form of a law was a taboo - "thou shalt not".. .When taboos are analyzed, and their spirit developed in posi­ tive form, we get a proposition in the doctrine of rights...It is certainly far wiser to think of rights as rules of the game of social competi­ tion which are current now and here, They are not absolute. They are not antecedent to civilization. 37* "Banquet of life", The Independent. June 23, 18S7, in Barth Hunger. pp. 217^221; "fK©Cass of the Forgotten SanT^pfher Considered" in What Social Classes Owe, pp. 134-152; also in War an&'^theF Sisays iHew Haven 1911) p. 257. ^

330

They are a product of civilization.^ The target of this entire attack was not all y rights, but the egalitarian construction which had been placed upon the idea of natural rights.

He was, therefore,

not content merely to attack the metaphysical support of natural rights, but also natural rights as an ideal, which could still move men to action.

In the rise of the bour­

geoisie, Sumner wrote, “natural rights” were not socially noxious*

“They were counter-assertions against the exist­

ing system which assumed that rights were obtained from sovereigns.**

The trouble began when ”ln the nineteenth

century, the eighteenth century rhetoric about natural rights, equal rights, etc. gradually took the form of a demand for materialistic equality of enjoyment” , and men began to seek equality of “fortune, of realisation, of earthly lot, of luxury, and comfort, of power, and satis­ faction.” 29 This egalitarian ideal Sumner contested with argu­ ments borrowed from a pluralistic view of government, a biomorphic notion of society, and a legal or constitutional 38. “Bights” (1990-1906). This was one of the three essays which preceded and led to Folkways in Forgotten Man. pp. 80-82. 39. “Equality” (1900-1906) Earth Hunger, pp. 87-88.

331 argument.

The question that lie constantly asked was:

"It

a man Una a birthright to property, against whom can b© assert this claim?"

He could not, according to Sumner,

assert it against the state.

The state, to Sumner, was

)/ not an entity superposing individuals; it was those indiv­ iduals in their governing capacity.

"When...all the fine

phrases are stripped away, it appears that the state is only a group of men with human Interests, passions and de­ sires, or, worse yet, the state is, as someone has said, only an obscure clerk hidden in some corner of a govern­ mental bureau." ^0

A claim against the state would thus

in reality be a claim against other Individuals.

More­

over, even if this non-entity could redress Inequalities among individuals, it would be exceedingly unwise to appeal to it* "The state exists to provide Justice, but the state is only one among a number of social organisations. parallel with others and has Its own functions.

It is

To confuse

the state with society Is to produce a variety of errors, not the least of which is to smuggle statecraft into politi­ cal economy." ^ 1

«The path of wisdom seems to lie in mak­

ing the demands of the state as few and simple as possible, 40* "The Influence of Commercial Crises on Opinions About Iconomio Doctrines" (an adress 1879) forgotten Man. p. 2 3 2 . 41* «sociological fallacies", Earth Hunger. p. 364.

332 and la widening the scope of the automatic organs of society which ere non-political la order to see whether they will not prove capable, If trusted. " ^ 2

This argument for

laissegfaire Was not made so much in the vein of the class-' leal liberalism which equated government with tyranny, hut

•/

in the vein of the sociological plurallets, who regarded the state as an umpire enforcing a minimum of constraint among various competing "interest-groups.» ^3 This argument, however, still allowed the individual to set a claim upon some non-political organ of sooiety, such as a philanthropic agency or business concern. Sumner had no Intention of allowing his pluralism to en­ courage this expectation.

To prepare against this, he pro­

pounded a bio-morphic theory of social organs.

The analogy

of society to an organism was, by the middle 80s, a popular Idea; it was "in the air.”

However, the practical' infer­

ences drawn from this blo-organiamie theory varied:

there

were some, like Bluntschli, who believed this argued for a 42. "Democracy and Modern Problems", Independent. March 28, H W - r Barth Hunger, p. 305. 43. It is a mistake to consider Sumner an "old-fashioned" liberal in this, as Henry Steele Commager seems to do when he writes that Sumner "conceded to the command­ ments from Manchester an authority he could not con­ cede to those from M t • Sinai." (The American Mind, Mew Haven 1950} p. 201.

monarchy which could coordinate the social organism;^ others were sociallets who used the theory to demonstrate the solidarity of elass#^

Sumner’s application must not,

therefore, be taken as a deduction from clear premises, but as the result of ideological prejudice.

"One of the

most difficult things to learn in social science", he wrote, "is that every action inside of the social organism la attended by

reaction, and that this reaction may be

spread far through the organism, affecting organs and mod­ ifying functions which are, at first view of the matter, apparently so remote that they could not be affected at all. " ^ 6

Every gain in one part of the organism causes a

loss in another part; there Is no such thing as a total gain, only internal displacement.

The social thinker "re­

gards all the displacement which he can accomplish as pos­ itively new creations he does not notice...the reaction... All social change...has two sides to it...the cost and the gain.* k7

from the notion that groups in society have the

44* In political science, Sumner was an organioist rather than a mechanist, a pluralist rather than a follower < of the atomistic theory. Cf. Barnes, Harry I., Soc­ iology and Political Theory, a Consideration of H e ioHolotlcal lasis’o rgblltlcs W T r T l ' m r m s B i m T 45. Of. Sorokin’s excellent brief account in Contemporary Sociological Theory. "Biological Interpretation1of Social Phenomena.'w Chapter iv, pp. 194-218. 46. "Democracy and Plutocracy", Earth Hunger, p. 284. 47* "Democracy and Plutocracy” , Barth Hunger, p. 285*

same harmonic had compensatory relation to one another as the physical organs of the individual, Sumner drew the dubious acquitur that the social organism could not be improved in any of its single parts, and that aid to one organ would cause a hurtful drain upon another.

(But, to

test the analogy, would he have denied the benefit of sur­ gery and therapeutic medicine when applied to the physical body?).

This was his way of acquitting non-political social

organs from liability with regard to the natural rights

7

claims of individuals. Could, as a last resort, a claim be established upon private property?

Could one man claim the wealth of

another, falling to find a social agency which he could sue?

Against such a suggestion, Sumner interposed the

strongest ethical objection.

However, if there is no

natural right to gain property, upon what ethical grounds could one propose to defend property?

In reply, Sumner

introduced his concept of civil rights which, far from taking their sanction from natural rights, he conceived as society’s bulwark against natural rights.

Civil rights

assume that "a man has a right to make the most of himself to attain the ends of his existence..."

Natural rights,

on the other hand, assume that "a man has the right to what­ ever he needs to attain the ends of his existence.

If the

335 latter is true, them anyone who is bound to furnish him What he heeds Is under sorvltud© to him." 1

"Civil

liberty ie the status of the naan who is guaranteed by law and civil institutions the exclusive employment of all his own powers for his own welfare." 48 Whence derives the ethical sanction for civil rights?

From what source * since metaphysical well-springs

are ruled out - does civil law acquire its moral founda­

tions? In Folkways, he provided a clear-cut answer:

the

morality of civil rights Is force; right Is merely the phil-J osophioal ornament of might* Modern civilized states of the best form are often called jural states because the concept of rights enters so largely into all their constitu­ tions and regulations**.Ifhe history of the dogma of rights has been such that rights have been be­ lieved to be self-evident and self-existent, and as having prevailed especially in primitive society* Eights are also regarded as the opposite Of force *•.(But) (a)©thing but might has ever made right, and if we include in might '(as we ought to do) elections and the decisions of the courts, nothing but might makes right now#..If a thing has been done and is established by force.••It Is right In the only sense we know*...There would be no security at all for rights if this were not so. 49 fhis was not on Sumner1s part an abandonment of the quest 48. ’’What is Civil Liberty?” Popular Science Monthly 30QCF, July 1889, in Earth E u n ^ g , p. l 2 f . 49* Folkways* p* 406.

336 for morality* waa M s

Hi® admiration for power, for potency,

ethic. T h e ideological significance of Sumner1® approach

to natural right® can be discussed along three line®. First of all, it is clear that Sumner accepted the Carnegie model in its most general aspects.

H© attempted to justify

poverty, and, did this by refusing to countenance the natural rights Justification of ©quality.

He pointed out (Carnegie

with less erudition did also) that the individual had no

J

legal or ethical claim to material well-being, and had only the right to expect equal opportunity to improve his con­ ditions. But, (in the second place), his attack on the metaphysie of natural rights went too far.

For in discard­

ing the entire natural rights cargo he not only exercised egalitarianism but he imperiled the positive protections to existing property that natural rights insured.

To be

sure, he was quick to substitute for the natural right o f ' property the property guarantees of positive law.

But since

he rooted the ethology of positive law in the authority offorce. Phiso, was not in all respects an effective substitute. wBu© $ ^ 0 ®®®” could not stand alone without a strong ethical buttress.

On the contrary, the suggestion that property •i

was based in the last analysis on pre-emption and force made

337 the big business group as vulnerable to an ethical counter­ argument as the feudal classes had been when they faced the rising bourgeoisie*

And not all the danger would come

from ethical idealists*

The enemies of big business could

make good use of this very, anti-metaphysical, anti-ethical argument*

Thorstein Veblen, for example, was at this very

time beginning to base his attack upon, the big-business hero-subject on his sociological hppraoch to natural rights, his linkage of the predaceous outlook of the barbarian with the outlook of the business man, his connection between the growth of a leisure class and a society in which law is a stratagem for d o m i n a t i o n . S u m n e r had over-stated the big business man's position, and, for the purposes of Ideology, to over-state a position is sometimes to state it very badly* furthermore - a third point - Sumner made no attempt to assimilate the democratic legend into his ide­ ology,

Carnegie had accepted natural rights, undertaking

to revise only their content*

Sumner was uncompromising

in his opposition to both the metaphysic and the content of natural rights*

Whereas the big business man had an

innate fondness for the myths of the mass, which also was ideological wisdom, the professor had contempt for the 50. Veblen* Thorstein, the Theory of the Leisure Class (N.Y. 1899) partiouHFlyTp. 7-35, $0-9'8. .

m myths and an indifference to the selling properties of the ideology. Turning to Sumner^ treatment of the oonoept of progress, one notlees the same acceptance of the basle ide­ ological position, and the same indifference to ideological strategies.

Sumner had no hesitation in accepting, in his

writings on economics, some of the Inherited notions about progress.

Like Carnegie, and like the earlier proponents

of the theory, he believed that the test of progress was utility, or, as he put it, "the gratification of...need."^ In his early writing, he was fairly definite about this: "(f)rom the Increase in industrial power there follows ad­ vance in science, fine arts, literature and education, which react again on the social power to stimulate it and acceler­ ate the rate of its a c t i v i t y l i k e Carnegie, and like the early bourgeoisie, Sumner felt that progress, when i t v occurred, occurred slowly and gradually:

"The progress

which has been made in developing the possibilities of human existence has never been mad® by dumps and strides.*, The progress which has been made has been won in minute stages by men who had a definite task before them, and who 51 \ "Discipline*1 (probably written in the 80s) in Forgotten Man. p* 428* 52i "Power and Progress", The Independent. Jan. 15, 1891, in Challenge of Facts, ppT‘To-51 • "

339 have dealt with it la detail, as it presented itself...*53 had againi like Carnegie, and the early bourgeoisie, Sumner believed that progress, when it occurred, was not the re­ sult of accident or happenstance, but of predictable laws: "the social order", he was fond of intoning, "is fixed by laws of

nature.

*54

j n

sociological period, however,

he tended to substitute Intellectual achievement for mater­ ial achievement as the better test of progress, and decided that the curve of improvement technology was greater than that In art and culture.55

other than this, he accepted

the Inherited view of progress on these points. But on the q.uestion of whether the eradication of poverty was sufficient proof of progress, he broke with the inherited conceptions.

Poverty and progress were en­

tirely harmonious ideas, he believed, and he thought that the Spencerian dialectic proved it.

Carnegie had thought

the same, but had regarded poverty as the condition of progress and Its source.

Sumner understood poverty to be

rather the residue of progress} attracted to the mysti$ue of power, he saw nothing romantic in poverty, nothing edi........ u— u w— w — n»n.i« i............................................... ■w .w

n * n

■

h»i i i

.......................... i n .......

mmrnm

53. "The Challenge of facts", Challenge of facts,pp. 5051. 54. "The Challenge of facts", Challenge of facts, p. 37. Also "The Absurd Effort to Make the World Over", forum March 1894 in War, pp. 195-210. 55. Of. folkways, p. 604.

340 fylng in its pains and

humiliations

*56

used the

tautology of "survival of the fittest" hut three times,5? it is apparent from a good many of his pieces written before the 1890s that he accepted this and the rest of the baggage of social Darwinism*

the inexorable struggle for existence

which he Interpreted as an inexorable struggle of man with man; and the idea of natural selection, which he interpreted as nature's self-adJustive mechanism for equating evil with failure and goodness with success*

"The 1strong* and the

•weak* are terms which admit of no definition unless they are made equivalent to the industrious and the Idle, the frugal and the extravagant*"5®

"(T)he weak who constantly

arouse the pity of humanitarians and philanthropists are the shiftless, the Impudent, the negligent, the impractical, and the inefficient, or they are the idle, the Intemperate, the extravagant, and the vicious*"59

The distinction which

Carnegie drew between "failure" and "poverty” kept the 56* There is one exception to this which I could find. "Poverty, if ever conquered and banished, will come again through the vices engendered in a world without poverty, and so the conflict with it must begin again." "Power and Progress* Challenge of facts* p. 146. 57* "The Challenge of facta"; "The Commercial Crisis"; "The Predicament of Sociological Study*. 58. "Commercial Crisis" in forgotten Man, p. 229. 59. "The forgotten Man" forgotten Man, p. 475*

341 villain-subject category from over-orowding:

Sumner would

seemingly assign multitudes. In "Abolition of Poverty" 3umner mad© the point 'J

that the presence of the poor was proof that society was essentially healthy*

"It is plain...that poverty and wealthy

are only relative terms...If there were no difference in the command we have over the material comforts of life, there would be no poverty and wealth...As we go down the scale of civilization we find the contrasts less and less; So, on the contrary, as we go up in civilization, we find the contrast greater.

There is every reason to suppose

that this distinction will become more and more marieed at every stage of advance.

At every step of civilization, the

rewards of right living, and penalties for wrong living, both become far heavier; ©very chance for accomplishing some­ thing better brings with it a chance of equivalent loss by neglect

or

incapacity..."6°

Poverty implying wealth, sick­

ness implying health, - this was the sophistry of the di­ alectic as Sumner used it. Carnegie believed that the future would see the end of poverty; his interest in the means of progress never completely eclipsed his interest in the utopian ends of progress.

To Sumner, the future held no such promise;

60. "Abolition of Poverty" Barth Hunger, p. 229.

342 poverty was ineradicable; the mechanism was fated to be in motion perpetually.

"We might as well talk of abolishing

storms, excessive heat, and cold, tornadoes, pestilences, diseases, and other ills*

Poverty belongs to the straggle

for existence, and we are all born into that struggle.*’ Sumner took a view of Nature that differed from Carnegie’s. Both saw Nature as some Reus ex machine which dispensed retributive justice to individuals struggling in the competitive world.

But Sumner found Nature no benevolent

friend of man, planning for him better than he could plan himself.

Nature was indifferent to man’s needs; Nature was

as Mai thus, and not as Rousseau, construed It.

"The law of

population.•.combined with the law of diminishing returns constitutes the great underlying condition of society... Progress is a word which has no meaning save in view of the laws of population and the diminishing return...(T}he fact that population ever advances, yet advances against a bar­ rier which resists more stubbornly at every step of ad­ vance... Is the guarantee that the task of civilization will never be e n d e d . T h i s did not mean that human intelli­ gence should do the good works which Nature neglected. Nature was as tyrannical in its laws as it was niggardly in its bounty.

Intelligence could adapt to Nature, but intel-

61* "Sociology" 1881 in War* pp. 175-6.

343 ligenoe could not drastically change it*

the difference

between Carnegie and Sumner * the big business man and the professor - on this point is striking.

The big business

man was an optimist; the professor a pessimist. conceived Nature to be a benevolent despot.

Carnegie

Thus, at the

same time that he oould make its despotism answer the so­ cial reformer, he oould use its benevolence to reply to the need for social reform.

Sumner, also conceiving of

Nature as despotio, found it miserly and inscrutable.

He

answered the social reformer but did not divert social dis­ content.

By positing the benevolent despotism of Nature,

Carnegie was able to mitigate his historical reality-state­ ments with utopian concepts.

By positing Nature's despotism

as unqualified and unmitigated, Sumner revealed his essen­ tial lack of concern with utopian reality-stat©meats. One important exception must be made to this, and that is the power which Sumner conceded Intelligence in his later period, with regard to the folkways and mores. Though it was not possible, he felt, to change the mores "except by slow and long*continued effort",^2 yet he believ­ ed, in retrospect, that all advances in the culture of man had been accomplished by Intelligence;^3 by the production 62. Folkways. p* &?• • 3>bid., p •

16.

344 of Ideas which, through the power of suggestion, move to the masses to action.^

The folkways have no internal

capacity for change, and must be changed by the individuals who have greater insight into them and into their own rela­ tion to them,

liven here, however, Sumner did not exaggerate

the possibilities of Intelligence; Intelligence might see through the folkways but not its own ideological perspec­ tive. The ideological significance of Sumner*s approach to progress may be categorized as follows:

first, and per­

haps moat obviously, Sumner did a service to the new elite by attacking the egalitarianism implicit in the notion of progress#

Poverty, to Sumner, was a penalty for weakness

in individual eases, a necessary and ineradicable fact when looked at from the point of view of society. But - secondly - he made no attempt to win over the poor, either by giving them a romantic view of their condition, or by giving them the assurance that they would inherit the earth in the bye and bye#

He made no attempt

to identify with the inherited view of progress on the dif­ fusion of wealth as test, or c and continuous upward path of progress.

: on the inevitable His logic was un- >

broken by concessions to popular preconceptions. d4# Ibid., p. 19#

The sell-

345 iag~power of the Ideology was not his concern. Thirdly, again Sumner emphasized the virtue of power and strength.

The strong survived and prospered;

the weaklanguished in poverty.

Survival and prosperity

alone had ethical meaning. fourthly, Sumner’s anti-intellectualism had a paradoxical aspect*

Like others of the social Darwinistic

school, Sumner honored power and bowed before natural law, but at the same time gave Intelligence the vital cognitive function of knowing the natural law and of being able to use the mechanism of power.

Nature was inscrutable only

to the social reformer seeking relief of the poor; to the thinker who accepted the fact that the best and the strong­ est have prospered, Nature was an open book.

Economic law

was immutable to the social planner; but to the superior elite, social process was intelligible.

All of the ide­

ological purposes which this paradoxical position serves are not yet apparent; what is abundantly clear is that this is not logical but ideological. 3* aumner on the Concentration of Wealth Sumner’s justification of the wealth of the new elite had various elements, but none of his arguments relied upon the Christian ethic.

When it came to discussing the

method by which vast wealth was acquired Sumner did not,

m like Carnegie, maintain a discrete silenoe, but explicitly stated that the Sinai commandments did not and should not bold.

"The aggregation of large fortunes is not a thing

to be regretted*

On the contrary it is a necessary condi­

tion Ibr many forms of social advance."&5

yor the sake of

its important benefits, we should be willing to put up with the questionable tactics used to secure it.

"I do not say

that 'he who desires the end desires the means' because I do not believe that that dictum is true; but he who will not forego the end must be patient with the Incidental ills which attend the means.

It is ridiculous to attempt to

reach the end while making war on the

m e a n s *"66

But it was

precisely a war upon the means which the fhomlstic strain in Christian thought represented, and it was precisely a tender regard for individual character as opposed to worldly loss and gain which characterised the Christian ethic. He was similarly opposed to applying the Christian ethic to the uses of wealth.

"What law of nature, religion,

ethics or the state is violated by inequalities of fortune?" If the millionaire "gets high wages and lives in luxury", "the bargain is a good one for

s o c i e t y . "67

It Is interesting

65* What Social Classes Owe, pp. 54-55* 66. "Concentration of Wealth" Independent. April-Iune 1902, in Challenge of facta. p. 85. 6?. "The Concentration of Wealth", p. 90.

347 to note that 3umner seemed moved by the ethical-religious values of asoetlo Protestantism - frugality, bard work, temperance - when be weighed the poor in the balances and found them wanting.

When he spoke of the rich - even the

idle and luxury-loving rich - he applied a fresh standard: the standard of fulfillment of social function.

In Folk­

ways he opposed aaistie^litttjaa a behavioral norm.

Asceilsim

was a prejudice of the crowd.W

Often as not it disguised

mere vulgarity and philistinism.^

%f

s@nsuality was to be

depressed It should be repressed on rational and not relig­ ious grounds.7® Lacking Carnegie’s real or assumed religious • scruples against the evil effect of massed personal wealth, Bumner found it perfectly proper to allow inherited wealth" to pass from generation to generation. here but an ©xpediential one.

He saw no issue

"The right of bequest rests

on no other grounds than those of expediency,

The love of

children is the strongest motive to frugality and to the accumulation of capital.

The state guarantees the power

of bequest only because it thereby encourages the accumula­ tion of capital on which the welfare of society depends.

63. yolkways, p. 609. 69. Ibid., p. 452. 70. Ibid., p. 616 71. "Challenge of Facts" in Challenge of Facta, p. 42.

348 What was admner’s reaction to the gospel of wealth, that complex strategy by means of which Carnegie combined

v

religious imagery* an appeal to the men of knowledge * and

,J

a pretext for increasing the social power of tne new elite? Sumner’s attitude iiad three components.

1) The religious

tone of it - and the ^do-good" aspect of Christianity alto­ gether - he vigorously opposed,

Always opposed to philos­

ophies whleh counselled (as he put It) "some people to mind other people’s business’1

Sumner came in his later writ­

ings to blame the masses and the mores for this humanitar­ ian absurdity.

Human!tarianism, he wrote in one of his last

sociological essays* "has been imposed on modern religion by the mores"; it has "warped and colored Christianity,"73 2) nevertheless, Sumner was not, as we have already seen, so adverse to charitable intentions that he would not have the university scholars benefit from it.

The needs of the

poor were not a fit excuse for philanthropy, but "(a) univ­ ersity now needs an immense *concentration of wealth’ for its outfit and work" and, therefore ought to be subsidized by those of the wealthy who had a mind to give.7k

On the

72. Cf. forgotten Man, p. 493. 73* "Religion and the Mores" American Journal of Sociology March 1910 la War, p. 146. 74. "Concentration of Wealth" in Challenge of facts, p. 82.

349 practical level and In so far as the interests of M s group were concerned, Sumner was attracted to the gospel of wealth,

3} But the Oarnegiean program for completely relin­

quishing wealth, struck him as altogether Quixotic♦

”A

great deal is said” he wrote in 1883, win the cant of a certain school, about ’ethical views of wealth*, and w© are told that some day men will be found of such public spirit that, after they have accumulated a few millions, they will be willing to go on and labor simply for the pleasure of paying the taxes of their fell©w-citiz©ns...There are no such men

n o w ,

”75

Generosity - of the extreme brand adver­

tised by Carnegie - he did not ascribe to the hero-subject of the big business ideology. Most of his apology for th© concentration of wealth depended upon the harmony of interests theory as amended by Carnegie - a theory which justified the new elite without hating to rely upon its benevolent intentions. In his earlier writings, he fully accepted its three major points:

the wonder-working power of capital, the essential

role of the entrepreneur* and the doctrine of the "open” elite.

If he struck an occasional strident note (as when

he referred to the new elite as ’’military-captains” and as when he doubted whether th© natural harmony of interests 75. What Social Classes Owe, pp. 54-55*

350 would over work so perfectly as to end class conflict), on th© whole he wrote what was pretty much orthodox Carnegie doctrine.

la the folkways, however, a new approach Is dis-,

oarnible.

The power of capital Is played down against the

power of intelligence.

And, most important, th© qualifica­

tions for entry into the "open* elite became more obviously inherited mental abilities rather than acquired capital. The earlier suggestion that there was no real or lasting harmony of Interests was mad© more explicit in his hereditarist and selectionist sociology. Sumner*a eulogy of capital in his writings on economies had the same Eicardlan emphasis as Carnegie's. He defined capital as "labor and self-denial embodied in useful things."

for the individual, the possession of

capital allowed him to succeed in the struggle for exist­ ence.

For society, the possession of capital was ”(t)he

instrumentality by which, from the beginning, man has won and held every step of his development of civilizeUon..."76 Capital must be efficiently organized in large aggregates to do its work.

"Two features most predominantly

76. "Power and Beneficence of Capital". Address delivered before the 6th Annual Convention of the Savings Bank Association of the State of Hew York, May 10, 1399, in Earth Hunger, p. 141.

351 distinguish the present age from all which have preceded its

first, the great scale on which all societal under-

takings must be carried out; and second, th® transcendental importance of competent management•"?7 fully as important as capital*

Organization was

"If the society..•lowers

its organization or wastes its capital, it falls back to­ ward the natural state from which it rose..."73

The talent

for organizing capital was rare, requiring an heroic judg­ ment, courage, and perseverance.79 new elite eminently possessed.

These qualities the

"The millionaires are a

product of natural selection, acting on the whole body of men to pick out those who can meet the requirements of certain work to be done...It is because they are thus selected that wealth - both their own and that entrusted to them - aggregate under their hands*"^° Sumner was even prepared to argue that the organ­ izational abilities of the new elite had beneficial effects because of the plan of nature.

Carnegie*® favorite device

of attaching the benevolence of nature to the work of his hero-subjeet was, momentarily, taken up by Sumner in his 77* "Concentration of Wealth" Challenge of facts. p. 82. 78. What Social Classes Owe, p. 68. 79. Ibid., p. 53. 80* Concentration of Wealth” Challenge of facts, p. 80.

352 assertion of the conventional wages-fund doctrine:

MHo

loan ©an acquire a million without helping a million men to Increase their fortunes all the way."0*

"Those who have

th© most interest...that the social organization b© perfected and that capital be Increased are those at th© bottom."02 However, he feared that a perfect equilibration of inter­ ests and a universally satisfying distribution of benefits throughout all the strata of society was not possible, Finally, Sumner, as economist, accepted the "open* elite idea with its fundamental thesis that indiv­ idual social mobility was preferable to basic changes in the social structure.

His formulation has often been re­

viewed . The maxim, or injunction, to which a study of capital leads us, is Get capital. In a com­ munity where the standard of living is higher, and the conditions of production are favorable, there is a wide margin within which an individual may practice self-denial and win capital without suffering....The man who has capital has secured his future, won leisure which he can employ in winning secondary objects of necessity and advant­ age, and emancipated himself from those things in life which are gross and belittling.®*’ Hi. What Social Glasses Owe, p. 68. 82. Ibid., P • 68. 83. BDo We Want Industrial Peace* Forum, Dec. 29, 1399 in War, p. 239. Wilat

Classes Owe, p. 78.

353 Sumner*a "Forgotten Men" was the man who was sating capital and moving upward*

He represented the majority of sober,

hard-working American men and women climbing the social ladder to the top.

Hot everyone arrived, but all were in

movements the very beat - in the course of competitive straggle - reached their destination. Folkways presented a different view of the elite. In the first place, Sumner grouped the population along a curve of what he called "probable error" and what we would call the Bell curve.

The masses were the statistical mean

of the population and the most numerous; the elite were in the upper-most percentiles. ing, than a dynamic one. for the groupings ical ability.

It was more of a static order­

Secondly, four criteria were used

intellectual, moral, economic, and phys­

Hitherto there had been only two criterias

the economic (expressed la the admonition "get capital") and the moral ("self-denial") .

In folkways, a greater

emphasis was put on the biological and Inherited factors in class.

Where before he had referred to class divisions

as "industrial", "mercantile", "professional", "labor", etc., now his divisions were "delinquent", "dependent", 35. Forgotten Man, p. 476-47®; What Social. Classes Owe, PP . 1 >4*152. 36. "Democracy and Plutocracy" Earth Hunger» p. 291.

354 "proletariat", "illiterate", "mediocre", "talented", "geni­ us".®^

Thirdly, th© ©lit© was much more sharply set off

from the numerical majority.

Where before th© Forgotten

Man had occupied an honored place in the middle between the extremes, in Folkways the middle was designated as "medi­ ocre", and those who fitted were unflatteringly dubbed "the masses". What is the ideological significance of the foregoing?

The same tendencies noted In his reaction to

th© Issue of poverty are apparent In his reaction to wealth. Generally speaking, he believed that it was wise, right, and necessary for wealth to be concentrated in th© hands of the new elite.

Again, with th© bluntness and over­

emphasis of the logician rather than the merchant of idei

ology, he had but few concessions to make to the business ideology which had come before. 4*

Sumner on Monopoly Sumnerfs handling of big business monopolies

was similar in quality to the above.

When Andrew Carnegie

tried to break "popular illusions" about trusts, he did so by attempting to fit the trust in with popular prejudices. The large-scale business. Carnegie felt, cheapened the cost 87. Folkways, pp. 40-41.

355 of articles} the prlee*flxlna: trust would, in the order of things, eventually disappear.

Sumner would not base his

apology either on the presumed altruism of big business men nor on expectations of th© trust*s ultimate disappearance* He ridiculed the former assertion ("It is, of course, a jest when th© makers of a trust affirm that they make it for the benefit of consumers.” )^, and he did not credit the latter (”as the demand (for goods) rises th© pressure of the monopoly advances la a progression to which no limits San be assigned”) His argument almost strictly consisted in the assertion that monopolies were the result of the operation of natural forces.

"It Is easily perceived, upon a view

of facts, that monopoly Is an order of nature, and that it predominates over all the most fundamental relations of man to the earth on which he lives.

It is not a product

of civilization, or a result of the capitalistic organiza­ tion of society, or an invention of the bourgeoisie, as is so often asserted.

If then anyone desires to declaim

against it, he must understand that he is at war, not with human institutions, but with facts in the order of th©

88. "Trusts and Trade-Onions" Independent April 19, 1888, in forgotten Man, p. 260. 89. Ibid., p. 261.

u n i v e r s e . "90

These "facta” were; the limited resources

of the earth (a geographical "fact"— to one who is a Mal­ thusian) the universal drive in men to pre-empt these re­ sources in the struggle for survival (a psychological "fact"— if one is a hedonist, a functionalist, or an in­ stinct Ivisb), and the natural Inequalities of men which enables the most able to establish a monopoly (a social "fact1*— if on® believes in laissez-faire) .91

That Sumner

accepted the natural order not as he found it but as he wanted it, and that there was as much creation as accom­ odation in his submission to the universal economic law, should be recognized. 5.

Conclusion If a unifying thesis can be applied to a thought

created over a period of forty years and subject to the inconsistencies and ambiguities which systematic thinking so frequently contains, the following thesis seems to this writer to come closest to doing so.

Sumner. in rational­

izing the goals of the new elite with the particular stratagems we have noticed, reveals himself as a man of knowledge who seeks to enlarge his social function, who 90. "Another Chapter on Monopoly” Independent, March 15, 1888 in garth Hunger, p. 249. 91. "Trusts and Trades Unions” In Forgotten Man. p. 25?S "Land Monopoly” Independent, Ian. IA, l 8 W 7 P- 243,244 in garth Hunger.

357 ipyfora rt£Q9k.-the..sense that the masses will not follow M s direction, mho finds compensation for his lack of power la identifying with those who have the power* Three pro­ positions are offered here - the desire to enlarge function, the sense of isolation, the association with power - and ope premise is assumed:

that there is something more and

something "other" in Sumner9a ideology than a whole-hearted and simple devotion to the solution of the new elite9s ide­ ological problems.

A complete reworking of the material

already presented in terms of these propositions would not he feasible.

What we shall do is list, without making

an elaborate attempt at new interpretation, the Insights already gained which ean be further Integrated by these propositions. 1.

Desire to enlarge his social function,

is easy to see in certain aspects of Sumner9s thoughts his switch from economics to sociology, and his desire to have the new elite subsidise the university work of the i• men of knowledge. But his anti-intellectual ism - as evidenced in his construction of natural law - seems to argue against the proposition that 3umner sought to en­ large the social function of men of knowledge.

But it

appears to this writer that his anti-intellectual ism was only intended to be applied to ideological enemies: the

fhis j

social planner, the social reformer, the social "thinker" they were mot able to perform worthwhile social functions by mere oner else of mind.

But Sumner was convinced that

these gentry were dilletantes in the art of thinking - not truly "scientists"•

Only th© true man of knowledge can

know the complex: and underlying factors of social develop­ ment which must be accounted for by any.successful remedial plan.

Knowledge was a secret open only to the initiates.

At all points Sumner fumed against simplistic notions of how knowledge might be acquired and against shallow and half-learned conceptions of what the content of knowledge was.

The Folkways makes this explicit in its dichotomy

of intelligence vs. the mores, and brings to the open this element which is often concealed in the writings of the "brawn and muscle" school of Social Darwinism.

From the

ideological point of view, the basic conflict, according to Sumner and probably according to th© Social Darwinistic school of which he was a member, was not "non-thinking" as ' against "thinking", but "planning without" versus "plan­ ning through" society's gaosticiaaa. 2.Sense of isolation from the masses. This was a growing thing. SO keenly:

In his economics, he did not feel this

he exalted the Forgotten Han, made entry into

359 theelitohood of the nation easy, joined with the new elite but not exclusively and -with m •awareness of Its shortcom­ ings.

But disillusionment with the masses slowly set in.

"He had learned that human beings in general are not oontrolled in their actions by cold logic, and that the reasonableneas of a policy, however, vividly demonstrated, does not in itself impel them to adopt it.w

Th© masses

were not willing to consult the men of knowledge for their projects, were not willing to defer to scientific lore and to the keepers of that lore.

The striker® in the Hsy-

market Square of Chicago, the drumb-eatersurglrig war with Spain, the politicos revising the tariff ever upward did not seem to require him or his kind. sociology symbolized his pique.

His movement to

In his sociological works,

all social problems became in essence intellectual problems. The masses did not accept the clarifications of "science*, because they were bound to the obfuscations of the mores. They had to be led, they could not be convinced.

Folkways.

seen in this light, is the result of intellectual selfconsciousness become hauteur.

Much in Folkways become®

understandable with this as a key?

th© Forgotten Man as

merely a member of the "mediocre" masses, the elite as an exclusive group based upon hereditary intellectual fac­ tors.

Isolated from the many, he was even more willing

360 to mole© ooooosaions to inherited conceptionsj

in Folkways,

right was a symptom of force} the Christian ethic as commoaiy used was a distasteful mixture of religion and kumaaitariaaiamj th© utilitarian test of progress, as well as til© egalitarian test, was not applicable} and so on. The lack of identification with tbemass plus a pessimistic prognosis for tft© future sets Sumner apart from most of the professors treated in th® proceeding chapter. Estrangement from the masses was not uncommon among the latter as we have seen, but always in mitigation was their faith that they still possessed great hortatory influence over the masses.

But Sumner's was not the separation that

the leader of a group insists upon, but rather the with­ drawal that an apostate from a group makes.

The ©xhil©ra­

tion, the idealism, the messianic consciousness of the Progressive mood do not appear in Sumner's writings.

And

yet - different as was mood and tactics - Sumner's goal seems curiously to have been the same as so many of the others - the enhancement of the social function of the men of knowledge.

The difference was that, despairing

of acquiring power directly, he latched on to those who held th© power and acquired

sensation of power vicar­

iously.

3. Attachment to power. This vioariousness in

361 Sumner1a enjoyment of power is th© ©lew to muck that appears in his writing.

As often tiae case of those who are not

strong but who admire strength, he exaggerated the import­ ance of strength; did so beyond the point where it was good, i.0«9 sellable, ideology.

H© lauded the wonder­

working power of capital, the fore©-preemption basis of law, the survival of the strong.

He was tough-minded about

the class struggle, the lastlngness of poverty, the insipid­ ness of humanitarian!am, the waste of philanthropy when applied to th© poor.

The utopian reality-statements that

promised the diffusion of power he opposed.

Compelled

(as he felt) to behave tamely in the world of men, he gave vent to aggression with violent words.

362

Chapter light J'ranhlla H©nry Giddiaga franklin Henry biddings was born at Sherman,.. Connecticut in 1855 and grew up in the strict Puritan atmosphere established by his clergymen-father. only formal schooling

His

was acquired in the Connecticut

schools and in Union College, where he received the A.B. degree in 1877#

For ten years thereafter he was s

Journalist, writing editorials for eastern newspapers and submitteing serious articles on economics to th© Political Science quarterly.

These articles attracted

the interest of men in th® university world, end when Woodrow Wilson, Associate Professor'of History and Political Science at Bryn Mawr, went to Wesleyan Univiverslty in 1888, biddings was invited to replace him.

In

1894, Golimbi© University established its first separate v chair of sociology and biddings was called to fill it. There h© was to remain for fully thirty-eight years. biddings had an immense influence both among students and among professors.

What Small Wis to Chicago,

and Sumner to Yale, Giddings was to Columbia;

a one-man

sociology department, dominating by dint of personality,

eminence, a M sheer longevity, three generation* of graduate students.^

his publication record was prodig­

ious - his bibliography, which does not cover the last two^ years of his life, contains references to fourteen books and two hundred end five articles*2

In the field of

sociology he won wide renown for his concept of "conscious3 ness of kind” , was one of the Important historical 4 figures in the development of American social psychology, and was on© of th© fathers in America of the statistical approach to sociology.^ figure in his own field*

He was more than an influential Despite his brief academic

training, biddings had stature enough in hia profession 1. for the extent of his influence, cf• Small, Albion "Fifty Tears of Sociology in the United states", f m r l a m Joupal pt-S&ti&teat. May, m f , PP. 721-S64i Bernard and Bernard . p p » oit* ,pp* 237* 6?0, 664* 67$; Horthcott, Clarence, Tn Barnes, Harry S., editor, Introduction to the History of locloIORy (Chicago 194$) pp* 744-toi* pariiouiarly 744-5»and foJu; Xerpf, o p * olt., pp. 246-247; Bogardus, qjl* oit., pp, 476-4^0*

2. A Bibliography of the fa cultyof .. j^olMl.c^..3oienpe at , ::...■_d o l l a Univere ity , igfeo-i930 (SolumSa TJnivereity Press, N.Y., 1931) pp. 63-76,

3. See below, pp, 4* Karpf, o£. M i - * P.- 21 7*

5. Bee below, pp.

to have boon * founder and editor of th© American Academy of Political and. Social Science, an editor for three years of the: publications of th© American .Economic Association, twice ^resident of the American Sociological Society, once President of th© Institut Internationale d© S.OQlplo&le, and one of th© founders of the American 6 Association of University Professors, hike Sumner, Giddings arose from a religious background against which h© rebelled, opposing, as one 7 biographer wrote, its "semblance of uncanny reality," Again like Sumner, Gicdings made the fateful jump from economics to sociology,

From his first study in economics-

a report on profit-sharing with special reference to $ practices in Massachusetts (1885) - to his most important contribution to sociology, the Principles of Sociology^

6* Further biographical data may be acquired in Gillin, 1. W , "Franklin Henry biddings” in Odum, Howard W,, Amer­ ican testers of Social Qoieaos (N,Y*, 1927) which stress ©s' li’ is; personal "&©v®T6pm©nt and the development of his thought by chronological treatment of his books, pp. 191-228; Hankins, f ,H., "franklin Henry biddings 18551931 Some Aspects of hia Sociological Theory," American Fourne! of 1Sociology. November 1931, pp. 349-3671 3tern, B-i,^V'T^'^Mdihga, ixanklin Henry," Hnoyolopedi© of the Social Sciences..(N.Y,, 1930) *

7. Giliin, op, oit., p, 196 8* Heport of the Massachusetts Bureau of statistics of labor, 1886, cited in Publications, American Bconomio ttSOTIetloa, 1, p'p, 44T'"4,0'8", ('l’ SifU). 9. Gid&in&a. Principles of Sociology (N.Y., 1896) Later edition^.wiri lgggi' 1^9,' 1 W , 1 ' 9 0 2 , 1903, 1904,

t h e m m e a gradual m m l n g away from th© atil! "dismal1 ” aeleaoaa*

Eia motive seems, like Sumner's, to hav© been

an impatience with the retardation of economic* in accepting the empirical approach and th® evolutionary frame of in reference , both of which h© felt were neoessary to make economic theory more than a parlor exercise*

Moreover, lie

held th® Oomtean view that sociology was the fundamental inclusive and coordination science of social sciences.

©11 the specific

"Is society after all a whole?

activity continuous?

Is social

hr® there certain essential facts,

causes, or laws in society, which are common to communities of all kinds, ©t all times, and which underlie and explain the more special social forms?

If we must answer ’yes’ then 11 these universal truths should he taught." Sociology was

not the leavings of the special social sciences, nor even the'equivalent to them in importance, hut the bed-rock of the cry upon which all the special social sciences rest. "So far from being merely the sum of the social sciences, 1905, 1908, 1909, 1920* The purpose of the book was "to combine the principles of sociology into a coherent theoryV v, ix,10.' "The Sociological Character of political Scohomy* Publications.' American Boonostie Association, III,

mi&Tpp'rsi-^.

11. Principles. p. 32.

366 12 It 1$ rather their common basis,.*

At the seme time,

aoelolbijy’s function la Integrating social theory wee not to b@ taken to mean its removal from the concrete events of social life,-

His fear that sociology might become

fanciful and suppositional, rather then realistic and empirical, led him to emphasize the necessity of the statistical treatment of its data.

He thought th© phenom­

ena of collective behavior could always be expressed in terms of *fr©qu8ncyTf tand nmod©n, could always be measuredc; 13 quantitatively. Conceived as the queen of the social sciences, yet made plebian in its emphasis on fact and measurement, sociology was introduced into the curriculum at Columbia1**' and was impressed upon the thinking of its 12, Ibid,. p, 33 13, biddings, f ,H., Xndudtlye Sociology (M,Y., 1914) pp, 20-23; Priaeipie's, p. Iffi&s 'theory of Human Society. ’s.y., W^Tppr 202-208, 14, Before Giddings, sociology had barely won itself a niche in the academic curriculum. Prior to th© establishment of sociology by Giddings at Byyn Mswr, the only courses entitled "Sociology” were Sumner’s at Yale (1876), Weatherly’s at Arkansas (1890), and Small’s at Colby (1890), O'Connor, William T., ^ ffiatoreliam and the Pioneers -M Mexican Sociology, Tih.B.aiss art ©Tron^tuitEoIT c iHTverQ ity , in -Catholic University studies.'in Sociology, VII, I, fWashington, 1942), pp, 3-3,

Ie

graduate students.

In his switch to sociology and in

hie conception of the rightful place of sociology among the social scientific disciplines, biddings * desire to com© to grips with the real problems of American life, to acquire for sooiel scientists the neer-omniscene© that was accredited to the physical scientist la brought to the fore.

There were further ideological purposes in this

deflection to sociology - ©ad these will be shown presently. It will be necessary On occasion to go beyond the chronological limits set for this paper in delving into j

th© ideological substance of Giddinga* thought,

Although

Gidding© was one of the key figures among th© pre-World War academicians, fully a third of his books end over half'' ©f hi© articles were written after 1915*

A convenient

rule of thumb in selecting his writings for study is to refer to the later material© only when they are necessary to fill gaps in his system.

For example, his idea® on

progress were fairly completely dilineeted before 1915« but the question of natural rights was not seriously treated until 191S, when America *s entry into the World War Incited him to writ© ^b© Meapop.^lble State^ 15, Ifotably Stuart A* Bice (Quantitative Methods in Politics. H,Y. 1928). and geoigq1hund¥e\^.(Social Baaaaroh (1S.Y. 1929).

y

36a

Gid&inga did-not accept either th© ©eeertioa of feet or the assertion leadership*

of Intention in the idea of joint

Hie chief argument against the assertion -of

fact was that the m m elite, though Intclleebualiy superior lacked th® altruistic inclinations and regard for dis­ passionate thinking which would make their intellects serve society*

Bis chief argument against the assertion of

intention -was a reversal of attack} those of th© new ©lit® wil© ere altruistic lack th© scientific information which would make their charities intelligent. joint leadership did not m m leadership per se.

Rejection of

the rejection of th© idea of

biddings * social philosophy was built

around the concept of a "natural" elite, which possessed both intelligence end altruism end in which a power ought to be reposed commensurate with its ability. biddingsf transposition to sociology lent rein­ forcement to these ideas and his major sociological concepts give insight into th© Ideological meaning of his position. The major concepts in his sociology of interest in this connection ©re 1) the psychic factor in- ©volution} 2} the psychic determinates of class} 3) "consciousness of kind." In his first text-book, Giddlngs named economic

369 aotlvitiea as tb* "moat fundamental*' in aoolal developmeat" $ la his first article® for th© Political Soieno© auayt^rly he tended to consider olas® and class affllia17 tlon as decided by economic criteria* 3©o&, however, he had' the feeling that these were inadequate descriptions: that something more than technology was responsible for th® advance of ©iviliged man, that something more than variable income differentiated individuals in society* The something he was groping for, and which he thought the science of sociology was essentially concerned with, was the navohlc element in human life; the morel 18 intellectual growth and achievement of man* 'Class was of Sociology

1898), p* 42*

17* "The Persistence of Competition**, Political ffoicao© v Quarterly. March 1887 H ’, PP* 62-7$, IS* This emphasis upon the psychic* element in sociological study m k m biddings (along with Ward) on© of the pre­ cursors of American social psychology from th© field of sociology* Throughout, the psychic factor looms large 4 in biddings work* In addition to the examples furnish­ ed above, Gid&lngs attacked Marx for leaving out this factor In his theory of history (Qlvlil&atian and Society, 15,Y,, 1932), felt that the pur®ly ©m m i 0 Interpretation of war was "indeed inadequate because it left out ©motive and intellectual causes (Bemoc and Empire, P»* 269^279); felt that th© "mental* an< "moraPcould be keys to a theory of history* ("A Theory of History* Political Solano© Quarterly, xdOT (1920) p# 494)* $orT"®'"fuari'hiarcTec^ point, of. Page, Charles II*, Olas© and A f r i c an Sociology; From Ward to Boss (B *Y ,, I940Ji ppTTJ^X 53,

370 not an objective but a subjective division; social

grouping* were not really based an what people owned but on what people knew end. felt*

Economics, though it was

theoretical, slighted the intellect; economic determinism, though it pretended to be scientific,left out the factor of social consciousness, which he thought was able to move worlds,

to biddings, the precept "man does not live

by bread alone"was not only an ethical principle but an empirical fact,

this was not © rejection of materialism,

a relinquishment of Darwin for Bagel *

It was the study

of intellectual and moral factors in Interaction with the physical and economic factors which yielded a balanced interpretation of social phenomena,

"{$)ooial causation

is a process of psychical activity conditioned by 19 physical processes and cosmic law," It is interesting to note that a number of sociological theorists, all stressing the psychic factor of evolution, came to differing ideological conclusionss for example, consider the ideological differences between Spencer (with his assoolationlst psychology), MeDougall (with his Instinct psychology), and Ward (with his esaooiationiet psychology and poaitivistic bias).

The

Elements, p» 333; Of* Principles, pp* 363, 400,416417*

371 conclusions to which Oid&Xngs cam® are of as much interest, therefor®, to th® student, of ideology as they are to the student of the logic of science.

This is amply demon­

strated by the way in which Giddlnga applied his psychological view of Darwiniatio science to the phenomenon of clast. To biddings the population of every society no matter what the technological and economic development of that society may be - fall into classes of three fundamental types, each of which is hlerarchially divided and possessed of an elite at the top. fundamental types ,20

These three

as elaborated in Principles and

- are the "vitality" classes, the "person­

ality” classes, and the "social” classes.

All but the

vitality classes are stratifications built on psychic (i.e,, mental q»ad moral) diffvenoeas the vitality classes alone are differentiated on a psycho-physiological basis. The highest class among the vitality classes have the highest birth-rate, the lowest death-rate, the greatest amount of body vigor.

The highest class of the personality

20* Principles * pp* 125-131; SSB|EiE> PP* 103-118; In la&ugtlyp SoclolOfty t'l.T,, l90i) pp. 249-264, he divides the personality class into the mental class and the morel class.*-

372 Classes ay# the intellectual "geniuses" and the moat ©restively talented,

The highest class of the social

classes posses® altruism, selflessness, inspiration, of the highest degree*21

The true elite of a society are

those individuals who occupy the topmost class is all three categories*

This was the natural elite, as opposed to the

artificial elites which wealth and Station created* Having used his sociological correction of economic theory to argue away the automatic association of wealth and social leadership, Glddlng® analysed the existing groupings in society to discover which ones were also to be regarded as society1® natural elite*

The moat

eminent of the vitality ©lasses are "the better sort of farmers ©nd many engaged in "business and professional life*"

foremost among the personality classes are all of

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