What Can a Free Man Believe? [3]

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February 1, 1931

Vol. 2, No. 3

15

r

Published Twice Each Month by Haldeman-Julius Publications, Girard, Kansas

50c per copy; Yearly Subscription, In Advance, $5 for 24 Issues

What Can a Free Man Believe? By E. Haldeman-Julius

3 PART III Concluded

{Complete in 3 Volumes')

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Copyright, 1931, Haldi man-Julius Company

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What Can a Free Man Believe? E. Haldeman-Julius

HALDEMAN-JULIUS PUBLICATIONS Girard, Kansas

Copyright, Haldeman-Julius Company

Printed in the United States of America.

WHAT CAN A FREE MAN BELIEVE?

E. Haldeman-Julius

CHAPTER XII Looking

at

Life, We Find a Ready Philosophy

of

Common Sense

THIS ANIMAL, MAN

AN is an inscrutable, whimsical creature, never revealing him­ self (perhaps being unable to reveal himself)—that is one K view which, at the extreme, has a faded air of mysticism. There is another view which has the opposite fault of being too simple: according to this view man appears only in a few typical attitudes, neatly defined and consistent, and all set down in the impressive old tome (unprinted yet generally in glib circulation), “Human Nature and How to Recognize It Without Half Trying.” Undoubtedly this latter view is the more comprehensively, objectively attractive. It is less confusing. Neither way of looking at man is satisfactory as a general idea or as a means of judgment for practical use. It is futile to speculate about man as a deep, impenetrable mystery: if he is that, nothing remains to be said. Dwelling on this sense of mystery only intensifies it. This criticism refers to its value as thought. It has another sort of value as an o imaginative, artistic mood. Mysticism creates imaginary problems and neglects the truth which lies close at hand. It is so when men become deep, empty and vague about the soul of man. 1 Yet we cannot be so naive (or the free man cannot be so naive) as to accept a few copybook maxims as sufficiently, soundly revealing human nature. All too frequently these rules meet with individual situa­ tions, complicated motives and contradictory behavior, which they are inadequate to explain with even a low degree of plausibility. Simplicity is fine when it is realistic and illuminating, but not when it is a fanciful guess in the dark. 1 One thing which is contrary to common sense is the separation of men into saints and sinners, into rigid categories of good and bad, as if the personality of a man must be as smooth as rhyme or as definite as a sum in arithmetic. Common sense should make it clear to everyone that men have mixed qualities. No person can be wholly explained by refer­ ence to any general type. Each is like a puzzle with some pieces missing or with some pieces which do not precisely fit. Human nature is made up of disconcerting angles rather than pretty curves. It is more inter­ esting for this reason. A complete saint or a complete sinner would be a bore. It is, however, a considerable bother, unless one happens to possess the kind of mind which delights in studying the twists and turns of character, to take men as they are and discriminate aside from the rules. As in looking at a play, so in looking at life, men like to see characters perfectly modeled and solid as to type. Villains and heroes, good men and bad, strong men and weak, practical men and dreamers, energetic men and lazy, orthodox men and heretics—this sort of unshaded black£

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What Can a Free Man Believe?

and-white classification is what the average man, not a very curious nor analytical spectator of life, demands. If he must look for these traits blending as it seems inconsistently (or conflicting rather than blending) in the same individual, he feels rather imposed upon and set adrift, as if someone were to tell him that two and two occasionally make five or seven or any shifting sum. So the rules persist, not because they are true but because they are convenient. Life is short and too many facts spoil a theory. The thing which most encourages the mystical view of character is the ancient fiction that man has a “soul.” Thus when everything is known about a man—or when we have a sufficient knowledge out of which to make a pretty clear and convincing portrait—it is felt that there is still something beyond in a misty region of the elusive and inscruta­ ble. We may know how a man has behaved in a variety of situa­ tions, both commonplace and critical; we may know his training, his environment, the problems he has had to face and how he has dealt with them; we may know what his tastes are, what his interests are, and what his opinions are on a great many subjects trivial and vital. Yet with all this material, we are told that we have only touched the surface—far deeper, beyond our merely human gaze, is the mysterious soul of the man or, as a philosopher might say, the reality behind the appearance. To put it plainly, facts and a reasonable analysis of the facts have never been enough for the spirit-mongering school of character obfusca­ tion. They must have fancies, even though these fancies are discredited by the facts. But fancies, while they may be interesting, do not explain character. A good deal of this needless mystery is due to the unwillingness to recognize man as an animal. He is portrayed as half-man and half-god (or, sometimes, half-devil) ; as a little lower than the angels; as a strange, wonderful, reason-defying combination of the spiritual and the material. Suffering from this illusion, man has had far less peace of mind than he might have had by taking life more naturally. He has been made ashamed of his animal nature. He has been deluded by nonsense about the evils of materialism. He has worked himself imaginatively into a state where he really is, using the term reservedly, a soul-sick creature. In reason, we must dismiss this idea of a spiritual mystery in man and confine ourselves to what we actually can see and understand about human nature—that is a great deal and it is a matter of realism, not of magic. And we must also dispel from our minds the notion that men can be precisely classified, each fitting perfectly into this or that unvarying type. It is useful for comparison and as a rough-and-ready guide to have typical instances, and even typical combinations, of character in mind; but we shall be led into endless false judgments if we seek arbitrarily for the typical a-t the expense of the individual—if we try to make every man fit closely to a pattern; it may almost be said with regard to this fascinat­ ing study of character that there arc no rules but only exceptions. We cannot draw an ideal figure of a man—or a number of ideal, typical figures—and put certain elements of character together in what we conceive as a logical, right combination, and then expect that any man will resemble to the last least point and shade this artificial model. One can easily enough form a conception of an absolute saint or sinner, but

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where will one find an individual whom such a conception fits as a glove fits a hand? The thing is impossible. Saints are tempted (or they forget they are saints and act naturally) ; while sinners, even if sin is their main pursuit, must reasonably have time off. Strong men have their weaknesses, very ridiculous weaknesses sometimes, while a weak character has its aspects —or perhaps only its moments—of strength. If we can ever finally and fully judge character, it must be a judgment of individuals. To be sure, we can reasonably and pretty safely infer certain things from a man’s social environment, his occupation, his associations, his background, without knowing the man directly and intimately. Such inferences may, roughly and generally, be fair enough. They at least serve as indications, which we may follow to their proof or disproof. But always we must bear in mind that such general judgments are not sure, final nor unalterable. In any type there are, so to speak, untypical specimens. ’ -'3 Nor should we be deceived by the well-known generalization that all men are composed of the same fundamental stuff-of human nature. Broadly speaking, this is true. It is an immensely significant truth and has a vital place in any description of man that is at all worth while. But these elements of human nature are manifested in various degrees and ways as between one man and another. “Circumstances,” as the saying goes, “alter rules.” We all have the same general necessities, passions— the same basis, that is to say, of natural humanity—but there are particu­ lar variations of intensity, of quality, of the shape or color these natural tendencies assume. What may be called our human nature as distinguished from our individual nature is affected by the special conditions under which we live. It may in certain respects lie dormant; it may be repressed; it may be stimulated; it may be expressed in kind and fortunate circumstances or it may be subjected to extraordinary pressure. This human nature is not an absolute, unvarying quantity nor is it qualitatively simple, sum­ mary and the same in all men. Human nature is influenced by associa­ tions. And as ’our individual associations differ, so will our human nature vary in some sort accordingly. # We are often puzzled and surprised by the actions of men because we do not know enough about the circumstances which (taken in con­ nection with the individual’s physical-mental makeup) determine action. It may be put this way: that we know human nature pretty well but we cannot always know just where and how it will individually break out. Man has been on the stage long enough to have appeared in about every conceivable role, ordinary and extraordinary, and concerning his history in the main there is no such mystery as is obscurely intimated by those who talk of God and Destiny and the Great Unknown. Some centuries ago, in the fantastically imaged darkness of a pre-scientific age, there was naturally an impressive (as well as oppressive) air of mystery. It would not be correct to say that life has been entirely shorn of mystery —that it stands forth fully and finally explained—but there is certainly an immense enlightenment; and those who make a mystery of man in the medieval spirit are simply closing their minds to what, in this scientific age, we may call common sense (whether it is commonly applied or not.)

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There are persons who, at bottom, do not like a realistic explanation of things. If a thing is clearly understood, it ceases to be important or attractive to them. They look upon knowledge as rather sinister, even degrading, certainly cold and unfeeling, robbing life of its ancient charm of mystery (which, after all, was in a great degree the “charm” of ig­ norance.) Such persons will preserve a mysterious—or mystic—attitude toward life in spite of the most definite, extensive knowledge which is available. They have a low regard for plain explanatory facts. They refuse to follow a method of real analysis. By ignoring the great deal that we know about man they almost make it appear that, when all is said, we know nothing. As I say, this perverse and of course meaningless mystification is due chiefly to the myth of the “soul” of man. And, curiously enough, those who are most loosely and inaccurately simple in their generaliza­ tions about human nature are also deceived by this soul-myth. Both in their false simplicity and their superstition, they neglect to avail them­ selves of what is really understood about man. They are, in their ex­ cessively simple character, fond of making rules for a game they have not studied; while in their would-be mysterious character, they sit in a room with all the blinds down and say that nobody knows what is happening outside. 2. COMMON SENSE AND OMAR

Omar Khayyam wrote poetry that is not only beautiful, with haunt­ ing rhythm and images, but that has a philosophic significance. It is not the technical, formidable and bewildering philosophy of one who constructs a system but that of a man who looks at life with shrewd, disillusioned eyes. It has been said that Omar is not profound. That is not a criticism that need worry his admirers. Some men who are thinkers after an esoteric fashion of their own are profound to the point of being absolutely meaningless. But the thought in the Rubaiyat is clear and thoroughly alive with meaning. It is taken directly from life. It applies realistically to life. Omar is sensible, humane, and civilized. And his poetic-philosophic reflections of nearly a thousand years ago have a convincing as well as a charming tone to the free man in this modern age. The old Persian poet (who was also an eminent mathematician and scholar) had a philosophy of common sense. This means of course that he was uncommonly clear-seeing, straight-thinking, and no less candid than intelligent in his views. Common superstitions did not delude him. Common opinions, careless and unscientific, did not satisfy his intellectual curiosity. Yet his thought is simple enough and conveys such truths as one may know by a little thinking, a little observation of life. Omar did not turn to any obscure sources for his ideas. He did not deal in rare, difficult knowledge which is beyond the reach of the average man. The inspira­ tion of his philosophy is open and apparent to any man who cares to see it. It is simply life seen without illusion, treated with poetic feeling but based on sound philosophy or common sense. Omar did not fool him­ self. Strictly speaking, he was neither a pessimist nor an optimist. He was a realist,

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In the beautifully simple lines of Omar we can follow interestingly the mental processes of a free man—one who was free, that is to say, in his ideas and superior to any dogmas of theology or morality. In reading Omar, the free man of today finds as it were the echo of his own thoughts. But Omar did not believe in freedom in an unscientific sense. The dogma of human will and responsibility was not a bit con­ vincing to him. He saw man as a creature of circumstances. He is, in the first place, not responsible for his own nature. To illustrate: After a momentary silence spake A vessel of a more ungainly make: “They sneer at me for leaning all awry, What! Did the hand then of the Potter shake”

Even the Christian, to be logical, must say that a man is what God made him. The scientific view leaves God out of the business. A man has certain natural impulses—and he didn’t choose them. He has, in­ dividually, certain physical and mental characteristics. He is weak or strong, more likely a mixture of weak and strong traits. He moves amid powerful circumstances which bendHiim this way and that. Given a very fortunate environment, he seems in his success and happiness to be a free man: it is a prideful and pleasing illusion. He is really no more free than the man who is the most obvious, helpless, hopeless victim of circumstances. What we call “the free man” is simply one who has been favored perhaps in his mental structure or slant and who has been by a happy conjunction of circumstances—by contact with liberating influences of thought—freed from the domination of artificial dogmas. The view of Omar is frankly that of a man who refuses to bear un­ justly the onus of “sin.” He speaks for himself and in the same breath for all men as follows: O thou who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the path I was to wander in— Thou wilt not with predestined evil round Enmesh me and impute my fall to sin.

If there is evil in the world, and if a man is weakly prone to evil, or if circumstances pre'ss too hardly and mislead too treacherously—who can blame the man? It is an illusion that we can control life. We can only more or less intelligently and happily be adapted to it: this “only” signi­ fies indeed a great deal, and through intellectual and social development our adjustment to life is increasingly better (that is to say, scientific) — but, even so, we have to deal with forces which we did not create and which we cannot change. We cannot make laws for nature. We cannot wilfully elect our­ selves to a position of untouched aloofness from the operations of cause and effect. Life in general proceeds independently of our wishes, while as individuals we are subject to many unfavorable limitations. Thus: The Moving Finger writes and having writ Moves on, nor all your piety nor wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.

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IVhat Can a Free Man Believe?

That is common sense. It is also the view of toleration. How ab­ surd to condemn a man, in the tone of moral indignation, for that which, all things considered, he could not help! And there is another message in these lines. It is useless to bewail piously the past or to attempt by sophistry to make it appear other than what it actually was. Good or bad, its record has been written decidedly and unchangeably. And we always have a past to influence our future. Yet Omar is not tamely, spiritually resigned. He makes the best of life as it really is. Even so, there is the critical thought that it might be improved. Fie did not have the childishly religious idea that an over­ ruling Providence, spite of all the evil in the world, inscrutably directs all things for ultimate good. Omar would criticize God if there were a God. He would not pretend that life is all sweet when it is in so many ways bitter. He was merely an individual, alone and powerless, but he was not supine nor dumb. He could say: Ah, Love, could you and I with Fate conspire, To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits—and then Remold it nearer to the heart’s desire.

And from a human point of view life is certainly unjust and cruel and with many aspects of messiness and wretchedness. The optimist shuts his eyes to the unpleasant realities of life. Life is intolerable to him unless he can persuade himself that it has, after all, a good purpose in which man can trust. He must have the illusion of Providence. But Omar could bravely recognize the truth about life, and could defy in spirit the forces so much stronger than he, and philosophically live out his days withal. Fie did not live in a pretty dream world. Yet no doubt he had his ideals of what life might be if intelligence—sound human in­ telligence, with no concern with the supposed divine variety—could have the ordering of it. And, looked at as a human question, intelligence (stimulated and broadened by the material conditions of progress) has improved man’s social world. It has not, to be sure, altered what we call the laws of nature. But it has discovered these laws and brought about a more scientific, conscious and resourceful adjustment of man and nature. With his intelligence, his emotions, and his desires—his strong and al­ most painful sense of personal identity and his rebellious idealism—man may be regarded as an alien figure in a harsh, indifferent universe. He has, all too sadly, dreams that life cannot satisfy. He feels that poignant hopelessness and, judged by his very human egotism and highly developed sensitiveness, the injustice of that determinism which Omar represents so clearly. It is, so to speak, an inhuman determinism; but, within its limits, man evolves a human society which is in many things “nearer to the heart’s desire” anch which casts a more hopeful light of intelligence over a spectacle that, seen starkly, is not so fine. It is not that man can change what, at bottom, are the inexorable natural rules of this game of life. But he can and does (so far awkwardly, indeed, in response to impersonally superior circumstances) agree upon humanized and ration­ alized rules. And he can, let us say, learn to play the game more skil­ fully. He learns how to avoid .certain dangers and how to get certain

E. Haldeman-Julius

values out of life. And in this we see not optimism nor pessimism but the critical, realistic attitude of man. It is only by being dissatisfied with “this sorry scheme of things entire” that we can “remold it nearer to the heart’s desire.” We cannot indeed conquer life but we can endow it with a certain human fairness and significance—only, however, by means of the ration­ alistic approach. And clearly Omar was a rationalist. He saw life in concrete images. His was a philosophy to live by. It brushed aside all the misty futilities of esoteric philosophy(i. e., metaphysics) and of reli­ gion. The poet-philosopher declares: Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and saint, and heard great argument About it and about; but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went.

Could the uselessness of this sort of speculation, with which we are all so tiresomely familiar, be expressed with more simple and brief con­ vincingness ? We go in and come out by the same door. We have arrived nowhere and learned nothing. All these fine-spun arguments, theological and metaphysical, are no better than wasted rhetoric, words pointless and incomprehensible, mental acrobatics which have after all but a slight and quickly exhausted appeal as entertainment. Surely it' is enough for the intelligence to recognize that all the religions and all the darkly profound (or profoundly dark) ventures of metaphysics have not contributed to our knowledge of life nor to the practical livableness of it. If a man wants this kind of theorizing or imagining about life, he can take his choice out of a wide variety. One can find any sort of system or creed that one’s fancy may desire. Since man began to think, he has been engaged in the strange eerie business of fabricating illusory—elaborately illusory—notions about life. But these notions have explained nothing and, in a practical way, they have been useless. Omar knew ten centuries ago, when the world was ruled by superstition and only a few men had a faint perception of the possibilities of science, that metaphysics represented a blind alley or a meaningless circle. The strange thing is that this was not more quickly and widely recognized. It did not require—it would seem to the free man that it did not require—such a tremendous effort of the intellect. A plain understanding of life, as it was made forcibly apparent to men in the familiar round of day by day, would seem to have been enough. But of course we cannot, with a truly vivid sense of realization, penetrate with our modern intelligence to the psychology of superstition. We can ex­ plain it rationally, but we cannot jeel it as men once did (as some men still do feel it). Omar, however, was a rationalist and struck firmly a modern note. Finely a poet, he was more than that—he was an exceptionally sane, clear thinker. Ideas are to be judged, after all, by their agreement with life. When we consider the ideas of religion, which Omar so politely yet satirically rejects, we find that they only confuse the business of living and keep men from realizing the full possibilities of this real, earthly and brief life. With a very sensitive conception of the essential brevity of life, Omar felt that men should be direct and eager in living. And, as usual, he expressed his idea quite simply:

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What Can a Free Man Believe? A moment’s halt, a momentary taste Of being from the well amid the waste: And lo, the phantom caravan has reached The nothing it set out from—oh, make haste!

There is nothing obscure, nothing speciously clialetical, about this wise human counsel. One may say that it is simply calling attention to the obvious, adding, however, that the perception—or the understanding —of the obvious is not really so common as it ought to be. It is a re­ minder of what every man can know for himself—what he must surely see and in some sort realize—but what he will not intelligently admit and, bv that admission, live. It is the principal criticism of religion that it has always been at odds with the real substance and means of life. It is not alone nor chiefly its theoretical unreasonableness that makes it objectionable to the free-think­ ing man; but it has notoriously raised obstacles to the sensible, joyful re­ alization of life. In our time these barriers have been greatly reduced. Even where there is belief in religion, it does not so vitally interfere with the individual’s life. But in its very nature religion is unreal and even a little of it is narrowing and misleading. And we must bear in mind that in Omar’s day religion was far more obstructive to real living than it is now. There was more religion then, while today it is a decidedly reduced and not so piously applied kind of belief. Its very absurd, indeed its vicious, tendency was toward a denial of life.. Omar, more humanly, emphasized the reality—as well as the brevity—of life and celebrated its joys. He had a pretty attractive conception of life, too. “Wine, women and song”—but the element of song included the best of poetry, wisdom and culture. Evidently a materialist and full of a sensuous appreciation of life, Omar’s materialism, so to speak, was of the mind as well as the body. His idea of the real good in life is suggestively as follows: A book of verses underneath the bough, A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou Beside me singing in the wilderness: Oh, wilderness where Paradise enow !

Isn’t it a delightful picture? To be sure, it absolutely omits mention of the “soul.” It is, as any preacher can tell you, a program of living which takes no account of the “spiritual.” It ignores any re­ ligious conception of man’s duty to a God. It doesn’t try to explain or idealize life in terms of something that is utterly apart from and mean­ ingless to life. It is materialistic in the sense that it is solidly, valuably realistic. It is not merely a dull, stupid, unimaginative existence that Omar suggests: but living to the full a solidly and beautifully rounded life. We have not merely the comforts of life but the ecstasy, the culture, and the love which complete our self-expression. And it is noteworthy that religion, when it is exhibited in its “pure” form, not only minimizes the importance of comforts, insisting that we should think less about the material basis of life; but that it is suspicious when not severely antagonistic toward ecstasy, culture (the liberal in­ spiration and wisdom of life) and love. In his spirit of joy in life no less than in his intellectual rationalism, Omar directly challenges religion.

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Again, for all their poetic fancifulness which one does not take literally, Omar’s materialism is shown in these lines: I sometimes think that never blows so red The rose as where some buried Caesar bled, That every hyacinth the garden wears Dropped in her lap from some once lovely head.

Dust unto dust—an expression that is glibly repeated by preachers who deny its evident and inexorable meaning. Omar had no such reservations. He meant “dust unto dust.” Or, as some philosopher expressed it in witty prose: “At the banquet of life, every man is in turn a guest and a dish.” Or we have the stark Shakespearean image: “To lie in cold obstruction and to rot.” Yes, that is unpleasant. So is death unpleasant, and life itself in many respects is unpleasant. Truth has nothing to do with pleasantness. As for the “soul” which the preacher imagines to be hidden, oh so cleverly, in the physical frame of a man and to be superior to the dusty dissolution—Omar apparently was not deceived by this vague, baseless fancy. He refers to the “soul” in this ironical, dismissive fashion: Why I if the Soul can fling the dust aside And naked on the air of heaven ride— Were’t not a shame, were’t not a shame for him In this clay carcase crippled to abide!

Thus the poet suggests that this arbitrary conception of a “soul” is contradictory of the facts of life and cannot, put in whatever form of words, appeal to the reason. It would indeed be a shame, if life were so wonderfully “spiritual,” that it should be so bound by the material. Strangely enough, nobody ever gets a glimpse of the “soul” in birth nor in life nor in death. If it exists, it is as well hidden as it is effectually im­ prisoned by the crippling clay. Soul? Paradise? Religion with all its phrases and formulas? These feeble shadows of rhetoric are far removed from the kind of concrete images that Omar’s mind sought. He was not the man to deny facts nor to shrink, with hands upflung to obstruct the gaze, from the meaning of life. He chose the delightful form of poetry but his lines have the convincing ring of truth. He could make a theme of poignant beauty out of the sad necessities of this fated circle of nights and days. Fate, or what you will, limits us—but life has tangible, even de­ lightful realities if we turn aside from the futile “argument about it and about,” taking instead what lies directly within our range of vision and our grasp. Life is not ideal, but if it has real pains it has also real joys, real opportunities as well as real misfortunes, real thrills of intensely happy, vivid feeling as well as the keen thrusts of disappointment. Omar was all for life, here and now. He tells us: e

Some for the glories of this world, and some Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come. Ah, take the Cash and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant drum.

What! The cold, barren counsel of materialism? The empty despair of agnosticism? Thus saith the preachers—but what we really

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have, in these lines of Omar, is a very sensible, wholesome, attractive in­ vitation to enjoy life while we may and not cheat ourselves with vain illusions of “the Prophet’s Paradise to come.” Its nature, location, and date or manner of appearance are too uncertain. A distant drum—a very hollow drum—a drum whose vague, muf­ fled sound is utterly meaningless: that is religion, the speculations of mystical Doctors and Saints, all the unrealistic systems and creeds. There is more wisdom in Omar than in all the sermons ever preached. P . 3. MAN’S WORLD It is the human significance of things that should receive our in­ telligent attention. It is man’s world, not God’s, in which we live. And the philosophy of common sense, as we find it in the unforgettable and also the unanswerable lines of Omar, is one which may readily be grasped and applied by any man. It is only insofar as we express this philosophy (and every man does express it, inevitably though not to his own mind recognizably, in greater or less degree) that we get anything worth while out of life. It is this common sense, out of which, as we see, both poetry and philosophy can be made, that assures happiness, success and survival in life. It is to the disadvantage of life—a social disadvantage from which none of us quite escapes and a particular dis­ advantage to all individuals hugging the ancient futile illusions—that this philosophy of realism is not clearly and fully applied. As I say, the mysticism and the asceticism which Omar so whole­ somely rejects have never helped man to any better understanding or more useful activity in life. Their influence has been just the opposite: they have interfered with life. All human progress has been, basically and necessarily, materialistic. Our culture has a material foundation and meaning. Civilization means power and wealth and knowledge- — all quite material in their origin, significance and use. Real ideas, real motives, real actions, quite in the spirit of the thoroughly realistic Omar, have) raised humanity from the depths of medievalism to the far higher plane of modern life. And the ideas of Omar are in accord with modernism and with the outlook of the free man today. We cannot transcend the scheme of nature: we can only apply our intelligence, within these limits, to human adjustment in social life. Scientifically, we can study the in­ fluences of heredity and environment; but we cannot maintain the old notion of individual free-will and responsibility. We see that religion declines steadily in interest and its valuelessness is exposed beyond doubt. Life is short and we are more interested than ever in living for its own sake—living, in a clear light unbefogged by mysticism —living, which is quite evidently all that we are here for. The drums of a mythical Paradise are as nothing to the music and color and solid feeling of this worldly spectacle which is ours for a short tenure—short and therefore not to be wasted. Common sense is more respected now than it was in Omar’s time. It seems still to be uncommon in comparison with the bulky rags and tags of prejudice and superstition. Omar’s poetically phrased philos­ ophy has not outlived its usefulness—as perhaps it will never outlive its charm.

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CHAPTER XIII Without a Background

of Culture a Impossible

True View

of

Life Is

1. THE MEANING OF CULTURE

E have already seen how common sense, without an extraordinary equipment of scholasticism or any fine flourishes of reasoning, may enable one to understand fairly enough the essential, familiar truths of life. Actually, the many and widespread delusions which nowadays we identify by the generic name of bunk directly in defiance of common sense. Just a straight view of life is—or should be—sufficient to dispel all bunkistic notions. However, it is precisely this direct and clear view of life which the average man does not have. Are his senses defective? No—it is not in any deficiency of the ordinary senses that we can find the main reason for his susceptibility to bunk. It is not so much his inability to see facts as it is his tendency to give them a wrong significance, to relate them in­ correctly (or not relate them at all), and to escape from them or explain them away by various verbal dodges. He does not invent these verbal dodges for himself, but has them from a great variety of special pleaders, charlatans, and purveyors of more or less artfully contrived dogmas. The average man is, when all is said, a victim mentally of words put together without true sense. For sophistry plays a great part not only in the thinking of the man whose mind is trained in false subleties of reasoning but also in the mind of the average plain man who, less skilfully but satisfactorily to himself, performs (or is impressed by the performance of) mental feats of a like slippery nature. It is a mistake to assume that common sense is the common pos­ session of common men. Your simple fellow, without culture and with­ out a free intellectual outlook and range, is likely to be most confused, most illogical and most weirdly erratic in his mental processes. The truth is that a sound, convincing idea—an idea that has the simplicity and harmony of truth—is very rare. A clear reasoning about any subject requires a mental breadth, freedom and at the same time realistic directness which the ordinary person does not possess. (This is not to say that the ordinary person cannot develop such an ability to reason clearly.) He cannot really stick to a subject. He is led astray by irrelevancies. Fie sees facts confusedly. Fie is repeatedly tripped in his thinking by deceptive—often, indeed, meaningless—verbiage. In short, far from being clarified by common sense, the average man’s mind is in a jumble of traditions, prejudices, emotions, ready-made formulas, and wordy arrangements of sophistry. We may as well say at once that common sense—certainly as applied to important ideas or a general understanding of life—is not consistent with an uncultured condition of mind. Yokels, having the lowest culture, have also the least common sense. Intellectually, that

H

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is to say, they do not know the simplest meaning of reason. Their super­ stitions, their crude and limited ideas of life, are the very antithesis of common sense. Culture is necessary to sound thinking. In other words, an empty and idle and untrained mind does not have ideas of sound sense or value. Like any other machine, the mind requires attention. It is culture that gives life and purpose to the mind. What is here meant is culture in the broadest, freest sense. It is not—far from it—the same thing as pedantry. It is not a matter merely of academic associations. One may be cultured without being perfectly and imposingly a scholar. Yet culture does imply a good deal more than an ordinary range of knowledge—both the knowledge which is obtained at first hand from life and that which, less directly but not less im­ portantly, is obtained from books, and, too, from contact with lively and superior minds. The man of culture, be the extent of his knowledge greater or less, has at any rate a significant background of familiarity with human nature and wisdom, a basis of sound and important thought, and withal a lively habit of intelligence. He does not exist stupidly or incuriously within the narrow compass of the day. He has cultural roots in the past. His imagination, with the guidance of reason, deals with the future. Yesterday, today and tomorrow—all three are linked intelligently in the cultured mind. Culture means a fine regard for truth, a sensitiveness to beauty, and an inspired zest for life in its thoughtful as well as its merely physical aspects. There may be culture without erudition, without strik­ ing originality, without what we would readily call brilliance, but not without intelligence. Having culture, one may realize one’s deficiencies in knowledge but not set up guesses and prejudices in place of knowl­ edge. Culture implies a distinctive attitude toward things: a critical yet receptive, indeed a curiously seeking, attitude and a tolerant attitude no less. It is, after all, simply the attitude of a civilized person. Cultured —i. e., civilized—men and women have a genuine interest in ideas and they believe, first and last, in freedom of thought and speech. They welcome honest discussion, they are eager to know the why and where­ fore of things, and they delight in the play of thought for its own sake. To be civilized is, of course, to be quite free from the prejudices and rude criteria of the vulgar. It is to have fine tastes, broad views, and intelligent aims in life. Inevitably, the civilized person finds himself at variance with the notions that rule the herd. Those notions have not been thoughtfully acquired nor submitted to careful, conscientious proof. They are not enlightened by any civilized idea of what life in human society should be. But the man of culture has a higher critical sense. He applies tests which are not familiar or acceptable to the herd. lie looks at life from a loftier vantage ground. His conception of the objects that are worth while in life differs vitally from the conception of the average man. The difference, however, is not that which the preachers insist upon with so much obscure rhetoric. It is not that the common man is materialistic in his views while the cultured man is “spiritual.” It is, in fact, the unthinking crowd that is taken in by the patter about “spir­

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itual” things while the thinker suspects if he does not flatly reject such a would-be mysterious viewpoint. The illustrative free man of whom I write is indeed materialistic in his philosophy of life, fundamentally and sanely materialistic, concerned with the real spectacle and the intelligible, actual interests of life. It is a rich, significant, humanly valuable and sensitive materialism that animates him. It is not gross, unimaginative, oxlike. It involves a far more discriminating sense of values, a far greater activity of the mind, a more subtle and intense feeling about life than is discoverable in the average man who accepts uncritically the dogmatism and mysticism of the “spiritual’’ ballyhooers, inspired by nothing more esoteric and oracular than the oil of bunk. Culture, I should say, necessarily implies a tone of skepticism (the degree or the specific points of which may vary) which is foreign to the untrained, credulous mind. No man of culture can simply follow the crowd and meet, point for point, the popular mind on many subjects. It is possible, of course, for cultured persons to share this or that common prejudice; perfection of culture is an ideal and not a reality; yet any appreciable progress in the path of culture will carry a man away from the beliefs and standards of the crowd, so that variously he will be aware of differences and a fundamental tendency of conflict. In considerations of religion, history, literature, morals—in almost any subject of discussion—the cultured man will have a slant of inter­ pretation or appreciation which is decidedly in contrast with the slant of the average, uncultured man. He is not awed by the traditional respect given to certain beliefs. He has a free, self-respecting, self-reliant mental life. All ideas, as he sees them, are subject to the realistic, unterrified judgment of the thinking man. He does indeed respect authority in scholarship—the kind of authority which arises from thorough, special knowledge of a subject—and that simply means that he goes to the most reliable sources for the facts upon which intelligently he bases his opin­ ions. Nor does it escape his observation that real intellectual authority greatly conflicts with the popular conceptions of authority—in a word, dogma and scholarship are as far apart as the regions of pure fancy and precise fact. There is a kind of so-called authority which has only power and respectability to support it. and by which the average man is exces­ sively impressed. There is also a kind of authority, the authority of knowledge, which does not plead for blind allegiance but invites full investigation and criticism and, solidly entrenched with facts, holds itself secure. Only a minority may recognize it but on its own high ground it cannot be shaken. This authority—that is to say, this knowledge—is important to the cultured man. It furnishes the necessary background of his intellectual life. Far greater are its claims than that of any pseudo-authority of Church or State. The uncultured man, on the contrary, is impatient with (or, as it may be, indifferent toward) knowledge which conflicts with his common prejudices. He will hold stubbornly to an opinion in face of the most formidable body of facts which discredits that opinion. He is indeed the helpless victim of false teaching. And once thoroughly brought under the sway of such teaching he has a strong, tenacious prejudice against lending ear (let alone thoughtful consideration) to any contradictory viewpoint.

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This sort of prejudiced, falsely taught, man is more impressed by the opinion of an ignorant preacher or politician or leading citizen than by the opinion of the most eminent scientist who has devoted years of study to the subject under discussion. He regards S. Parkes Cadman as a “smart” man, a holy man indeed, because this purveyor of ecclesiastical bunk preaches what he, the average man, likes to be­ lieve—what, in other words, he has been taught to believe in general pious and superstitious tone if not in specific instances of doctrine. But he has no conception of the intellectual importance of such a man as Joseph McCabe—a world scholar who has fully and fairly studied subjects of which the Cadmans of bunkology are grossly ignorant— who has not merely opinions but a vast and sound equipment of knowledge. The man of culture may not himself be a great scholar but he recognizes and appreciates scholarship. He can detect a charlatan instantly. It is not hard for him to distinguish between the man who has a superficial acquaintance with the matter under discussion and the man who has mastered the subject and brings to it the criteria of considerable, correct knowledge. Perhaps it cannot be said that any man is entirely free from emotional and temperamental influences. It may indeed be said that the disposition to admit facts, regardless of all other considerations, is a happy manner of temperament. No doubt some people are natur­ ally skeptical, while others are just as naturally credulous. Some people throw emotional obstacles in the way of truth while others face truth directly and, far from feeling loss or sacrifice, are conscious of intellectual gain. Some people reason ably, while others reason poorly or may scarcely be credited with reasoning at all. Yet of the free man of culture such as I have in mind it mav be said that he values knowledge and an intelligent, civilized attitude above all things. If the facts of life supported belief in religion, let us say, he would accept such belief as true. Pie is not really prejudiced against religion. He has simply judged it, tested it by the facts, submitted it to the processes of reflection and the light of knowledge, and thereby discovered it to be false. Once that intellectual task has been fully carried through, the free man has a sound and well-defined attitude toward religion. Pie does not need to go over the same ground again and again. New creeds or formulas of a religious nature do not demand a special effort of investigation or understanding, because the fundamentals of the controversy between materialism and mysticism have been mastered by him. He is able to recognize at once a certain style or trend of thought and he naturally places it, historically and critically, in its correct relation. What is called “new thought,” for example, is identified readily —at least in its more popular manifestations and indeed in every aspect where it is mystical and religious—as a throwback to medievalism. Here the man of culture recognizes the will-o’-the-wisp which men pursued futilely and even ridiculously before the age of science. It is a conception, a style and object of thought, founded on ignorance. The history of mysticism is known and its futility, its actual repressive and misdirective effect upon life, is clearly recognized by free thinkers. On

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the other hand, the triumphs of materialism are conspicuous and in­ numerable—they are the triumphs of the modern age, of the world we live in. . * ' And culture, with the world’s progress, has extended its influence and significance. Always, to be sure, in every age the cultured minority has been the inspiration and the hope of civilization. Our admiration of past ages, of different periods of society, is bestowed not upon the common life, but rather upon the exceptional, cultured standards of life. Pagan culture was, after all, the culture of a few—of the best thinkers— of the finest men, although that culture was far more influential than would numerically seem possible. It is certain that in the Pagan world the cultured man had a freedom which we are only lately enjoying again in the modern world. For centuries that ideal of cultured freedom was lost to the world. Medievalism crushed all that was best in life and in thought. And, to be sure, there was no effective cultured minority during the darkest period of the Middle Ages. It can be said, however, that culture means the sharing of the standards of the enlightened minority rather than the opinions of the blindly led, ignorantly influenced herd in any age. One man’s opinion may be more valuable than the commonly held opinion of a million men •—if that one man has knowledge while the million are ignorant. Opinions are not equal without regard to the foundation of the opinions. The man who knows a subject thoroughly is much better entitled to have an opinion than the man who has only glanced, prejudicially, at the subject. Undoubtedly the opinion which is derived from direct knowl­ edge is far better than the opinion which depends only upon tenth-hand hearsay. And in culture, truly speaking, we have this discrimination of opinions. The cultured man seeks a sound intellectual basis for his philosophy of life and, in providing this basis, he turns to the sources of knowledge rather than to the shallow currents of popular belief. The standards of culture and the standards of popularity cannot be the same.There is a wide difference in knowledge, in criticism, and in aims. 2. BOOKS AND KNOWLEDGE

There is a tendency among men to speak contemptuously or slight­ ingly of book learning. Such a contempt may be well founded when it is applied to one who has read books or who has gone through the forms of an academic education to little apparent purpose. It is also true that the pedant who knows books but does not know life directly and sensibly will fall into amusing blunders. Even so, his trouble is that he has not read the books with a sufficiently lively intelligence nor made himself aware of the true relation between books and life. Pedantry is no more an argument against the reading of books than is any other instance of the misuse of a good thing. All things have their place—and books have a very important place, an indispensable and even preeminent place, in the life of the man of culture. For that matter, it is obvious enough, although not commonly admitted, that without books the limits of any man’s knowledge must be narrow indeed. Left entirely to ourselves and to our direct observa­ tion of life, we can know little. It is true that, as I have formerly emphasized, common sense in our own circle of immediate living should

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correct many of the popular delusions. It is true that to know life even in a small round of activities is, or should be, to know better than the superstitions which are current in the popular forum and the marketplace. There are facts—there are broad truths—directly apparent to all of us which we do not sufficiently appreciate. By the simplest illustrations many features of bunk can be exposed and shown to be contrary to the facts of life. But reflect how limited is the average man’s sphere of living. And in this connection I mean every man, whether cultured or not. We do not directly come into contact with many opportunities of knowledge. So far as our natural senses go, we are confined to a narrow sphere of observation. We can only see so much, hear so much, feel so much, and do so much—in our own persons, our lives are necessarily confined to our immediate environment. From this immediate contact with life the average man could or should learn a great deal more than he does. It should make him more realistic, and it would if it were not for the subtle yet tremendous pressure of false teaching. He has been taught, not exactly to disbelieve what he sees, but to give to it a foolish and incorrect meaning. Yet no man can go very far on what he immediately sees and ex­ periences. He requires more extensive information. Even the average man requires this, and in a botched and unintelligent way (which is yet better than complete isolation) he gets some awareness of the world from the newspapers. Confine him utterly to his own little corner of the world and he would be as ignorant as the serf of the Middle Ages, who was similarly confined. And there are many yokels today who have quite as narrow a range of information and interest. Ignorance belongs to no special age, though it may flourish more boldly in one age than in another. If knowledge is important—and on this we certainly can for our present purpose agree—how shall men acquire knowledge? As I say, there are simple facts of life which they should know without books, but which they commonly do not understand in their true significance. Let us say, however, that history is in the arena of discussion. Obviously, history is a branch of knowledge which has a leading importance. No matter what the subject in dispute—religion, morals, politics, economics, literature—it cannot be intelligently discussed except in the light of history. We must, for example, know the origin of religion; its in­ fluence upon the social life of mankind; its attitude in relation to such important things as liberty, education, sex, and happiness variously identified. And with regard to literature, that inestimable record of the thought and progress of mankind, who can have an intelligent opinion without reading the great books ? We must have standards, and we can have them only by comparison and knowledge. We must read in order to know. Morals we may be able to judge more directly in our own lives, but for any broad consideration we must be familiar with the moral ideas and practices of other periods. We must know what men have considered good and bad in other times, and also how their standards have been practically demonstrated. It is, finally, clear that scientific knowledge cannot be obtained directly, in a limited sphere of experience, by this or that individual. One must go to the books in

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order to acquire this knowledge. In a word, one must have evidence which is far beyond one’s immediate reach. The knowledge of mankind, which has been accumulated through the centuries, is preserved in books. This is indeed a truism which, however, the scorner of books has evidently not been made aware of. He thinks that the few things which he can know personally, immediately and directly comprise all of knowledge—at least of practical knowledge. Such a belief is fallaciously supported by an appearance of truth: i. e., a great deal can be learned by direct observation of life and, however limited, this observation enables one to act efficiently in the main course of living. Yet it is a mistake to think that this handy perception is enough or that it is in any way a substitute for wide book learning. Books and culture are inseparable. The immense cultural heritage of mankind is available only to the man who will read the major books in which that heritage is contain ed.- An indifference to books means an indifference to the past of the human race, an indifference to what men have learned in other times, and an indifference to the accumulated facts in any department of knowledge. The man who speaks- contemptuously or lightly of books is in fact displaying the most extreme egotism because he is assuming that in his own individual field of observation he has seen and understood the whole of life—or, at any rate, that whatever of life is outside his immediate observation is unimportant. Yet there can be no education, worthy of the name, without books. And with the increasing complexity of social life and with the progress of knowledge, there is a growing demand for books which will in a reliable way justify and continue this knowledge—which will provide a basis of facts and a steady influence of wisdom. It would indeed be im­ possible to exaggerate the importance of books in the intellectual life of mankind. It would seem that even the most stupid person could realize this significance of books, could appreciate the fact that without books the whole past of mankind would be entirely in the dark, and could understand that without the ideas, inventions and discoveries of great men in history our own immediate path would be darker and more difficult. Of course the old cliche that we can judge the future by the past is not absolutely true. Progress changes the attitudes as it changes the conditions of man’s life, so that, for instance, medieval judgments have no modern validity. Yet it still remains true that a knowledge of the past—yes, a thorough and unprejudiced knowledge, completely freed of all special pleading—is essential to modern intelligence. No man can adequately deal with the problems of his own time unless he has a background of historical knowledge. And he must also have scientific knowledge: not indeed necessarily the complete, detailed knowledge of the scholar but the general viewpoint which takes advantage of scholar­ ship. If one has a limited acquaintance with great books, there is always the opportunity to extend one's acquaintance. What is primarily im­ portant is the disposition to investigate the treasures of wisdom which are collected in libraries and the slant of judgment which places the emphasis upon culture. Given this fundamental viewpoint, one may go as

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far as one will, as the opportunities of knowledge are well-nigh limitless— not limitless absolutely, of course, but at any rate more than most men are willing to survey. There are not many men who possess and can conveniently flourish what may be called encyclopedic scholarship—yet, being cultured, they are guided by scholarship rather than by the popular winds of doctrine. Books, if they are sound books even though a few, convey to us the necessary materials of knowledge. Books enormously extend the scope of the individual’s familiarity with and study of life. It is, after all, a mark of ignorance to deny the cultural value of reading. It means that one is not familiar with the treasured wisdom of the race and in his utter lack of such knowledge is foolishly proud to despise those things of which he has' not the faintest conception. Obviously, to refer a yokel to the great books of science, to great literature, to the great movement of history,, is to cast pearls before a pig. He stands far outside the influence of culture, and insofar as it is brought to his attention he hates it because its spirit and its conclusions are so absolutely alien to his own stupid views. Above the yokel yet below the plane on which culture is appreciated stand many who, whatever their practical merits, have no knowledge—who certainly are unaware of the broad sweep of knowledge which is open to man’s under­ standing—simply because they do not read good books. The truth is that intelligence is developed and kept alive by constant and wide reading. For as I have said, the man who has not an intelli­ gently formed habit of reading is relying upon few and limited means of knowledge. He depends only upon what he himself can see and hear and know. He can have no considerable knowledge of history, nor of any branch of science, nor of the greater part of the world in his own time. And it follows that, being shut out from the knowledge which makes for intelligent judgment, having such narrow information and without a background of broad cultural understanding, his opinions are such as make the judicious grieve and his so-called thinking is a very poor excuse for the real activity of mind which deserves the name of thought. It is not merely a question of good will, although good will, added to other things, is very important. With the best will (emotionally) in the world, no man can have very good opinions without culture, without information, without mental training. We know that the most ridiculous blunders are made by quite well-intentioned people ; that follies not simply of an absurd but of a sinister kind are committed by good men who, unfortunately, do not have good minds; that terrible prejudices are most sincerely held. Good will is not enough ; wisdom is required ; and wisdom, if it does not reside exclusively in books nor is to be gained by the mere act of reading without reflection and the light of personal experience, is largely and significantly recorded in the solid and easily available form of print. Men may not have an equal understanding of what they read. There are also examples of men who have dealt extensively in book lore yet are not very wise in their personal conduct of life. And of course there is the familiar discrepancy between what men know and what they practice—there are few indeed who consistently use all the knowledge

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they have. These are not, however, objections to that culture which is preserved variously, extensively, and impressively in books. Books are the most valuable repositories of knowledge and it is for us to make the very best use of them. We shall know infinitely more with their aid than we can possibly know without them. It is, I repeat, only ignorance which suggests a depreciation of literary knowledge (using the term “literary” to include all written knowledge). No one who is very well acquainted with literature, no one who has made even the slightest discovery of what is to be learned from books, will agree for a moment with this depreciation. Even a little culture creates a desire for more and impresses one with the great value of a cultured background and equipment. One suspects indeed that there is something lacking in the mind that does not have an active curiosity to open the books and learn what men have thought and done. A good mind, one would say, is bound to be inspired with a steady zeal for knowledge. Indifference argues the lack of a vital spark or, perhaps, a narrow capacity. No doubt many who scorn books would in any case derive little benefit from reading. But we should not carry this idea too far. There are many accidents of environ­ ment which prevent men from realizing what advantages are to be had from books. And, too, there are many who read a great deal but have never learned to discriminate in what they read. Others are so in­ tensely devoted to a life of action that they have—or think they have— little or no time for reading and reflecting. Then we have the persons who read, not with the disinterested purpose of gaining knowledge, but merely to find support of a sort -for their prejudices—those who are addicted to reading only on one side of a subject. It is enough to say, finally, that it is the habit of the man of cul­ ture (and by this habit he can be recognized) to read constantly, widely, and with a curious interest in all the aspects of this many-sided life. It is impossible to dissociate culture from books. We must have, for the intelligent purposes of life, an equipment of learning which is far broader than our own immediate environment. 3. WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CULTURE

What are the fruits of culture? They are a background of rich wisdom and sensitiveness, a tolerant outlook upon life, a habit of clear and fair reasoning, a lively interest in ideas, a highly developed and dis­ criminating taste, a love of all things excellent and a conception of values that is free, intelligent, and unbeholden to the vulgar prejudices of the crowd. These fruits of culture are not produced by any magic nor are they conferred without his own effort, spontaneously and inherently, upon any man. The disposition to acquire culture may be stronger in one man than another, a livelier curiosity may lead one man farther than another along the paths of culture, but the actual, final fruits of culture must be won by each man for himself. If we have correctly stated the fruits of culture, then conversely a lack of culture means unwisdom, intolerance, poor reasoning, scant familiarity with or dull indifference to ideas, a lower level of taste and a set of values that is cheap and commonplace. Lack of culture cer­ tainly means that one does not have a free mind. It means that one

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is unintelligently controlled by custom and prejudice and is not capable of judging really for oneself on any question. It means, first and last, that one does not have the knowledge upon which, essentially, correct opinions must be formed. Few subjects are so simple that, without reading or study, any man can understand them and think correctly about them. There is indeed no subject which can be dealt with adequately in the absence of information, independently of other subjects, and in­ differently to the general body of culture. We can better understand, then, why the average man (although this same average man is in a far better position than the average man in the Middle Ages) is so easily led astray by the busy ballyhooers of bunk. He makes no use of the main, important sources of knowledge. He has no idea of what is soundly authoritative and what is not in any field of opinion. He has no real standards of comparison by which to judge men, measures and ideas. He is without light and guidance. If (and the truth of this is undeniable) the overwhelming body of knowledge is contained in books—if culture is impossible without exten­ sive and judicious reading—then we cannot expect the average unread­ ing man to be very sound, enlightened, or tolerant in his opinions. Nat­ urally he will fall in with the strongest prejudices of his time and place. His opinions will be much more the product of feeling than of thinking. He will be almost incorrigibly prone to error, because he has not the means (because he does not avail himself of the means) to test his ideas and to appreciate the broader and more carefully justified truth. Common sense is important—but, unfortunately, it is not very com­ mon. It is, after all, only in the light of culture that common sense can be fully appreciated. The average man does not realize the significance even of the simplest facts of life in the way that these facts are realized by the free man of culture. Books and culture—they are inseparable, and the man who neglects them (as the average man does neglect them) falls inevitably into every kind of error. There is really no use in discussing ideas without a back­ ground of knowledge; and while the average man has many opinions, he is lacking, first and last, in the essentials of knowledge.

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CHAPTER XIV Ignorance Breeds Injustice—But tiie Free Mind Recognizes Human Rights 1.

WHAT ARE HUMAN RIGHTS?

T is a large subject—that of human rights—and a sadly (need­ lessly) confused subject, variously emphasized and questioned and disputed, not to be finally settled in a brief essay nor in this our time. Yet there are certain broad principles which may be stated with some confidence and which may be regarded as charac­ teristic of the free man’s attitude. To put it another way, there are certain prejudices and dogmas, contrary to the rights of man, which are indefensible in the light of modern thought and which any man, freely and fairly thinking for himself, must condemn with proper spirit. As religious authority so-called has declined, it has been possible to have a clearer view of the rights of man. We are no longer bound, for example, by the superstition of divine right—the divine right of kings or priests or any ruling class—nor of a divine arrangement which has placed men in certain stations, high and low and middling, where they infallibly justly belong and in which they should remain content. In this demo­ cratic modern society, we have developed away (comparatively at least and in broad leading principle) from the notion of servility and sub­ mission as due from one class to another. True, we have class distinc­ tions, and the snobbery and inequality thereupon attending, but we have not the medieval class spirit—indeed, within the space of a century our feeling about humanity has been wonderfully broadened and, let us say, humanized. One may question whether a just regard for humanity and a considerable recognition of liberty could ever have been possible so long as the idea of God as a supernatural monarch had strong prevalent force. With doubt and criticism of the idea of a “heavenly kingdom,” there grew doubt and criticism of earthly kings and their kingdoms, of all pretensions to infallible right and rule. Skepticism is the first breath of human emancipation. When a man asks upon what authority certain claims and preten­ sions are founded, he asserts the first principle of liberty. Observe, too, that there is a necessary distinction between liberty and anarchy. Cer­ tain laws must be obeyed; but we want to know whether they are just laws, and certainly we should inquire as to their origin and meaning and ultimate, as well as immediate, results. Some men may well have authority and leadership; but we want to know critically the source of their authority and the direction of their leadership. We may concede a great deal to the superior man, but. we rebel at making our genuflexions before the merely tyrannical and arrogant man. The authority of merit we may respect, but not the authority of injustice or accident. We are bound not blindly to submit to power, but to examine and understand it —to make it justify itself not simply in active assertion but in thought­ ful due.

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Whether with regard to ideas or government or any human re­ lations, the spirit of liberty demands critical question and proof. We are not to accept ideas because they are imposingly or arbitrarily pre­ sented to us—because they emanate from a source that is powerful or respectable—because certain eminent men announce such ideas or because they are popularly acceptable. A church, a party, a government cannot, by its mere declarations, compel us to believe thus and so—our right of individual judgment is not to be denied. Once we dismiss the consid­ eration of authority (in its aspect merely of power, not of knowledge) and emphasize the consideration of truth, we are applying the principle of intellectual liberty. Ideas should have a convincing, not a compulsory, power. It is the ideas which should convince us, not the social or traditional power back of the ideas which should compel us. And we must make some decision. It may be intelligent, or it may be ignorant, but we must decide for ourselves, very consciously or with little thought or awareness. He who perhaps was the most rationally thoughtful of “the New England school”—Oliver Wendell Holmes— expressed it as follows: “We all have to assume a standard of judgment in our own minds, either of things or persons. A man who is willing to take another’s opinion has to exercise his judgment in the choice of whom to follow, which is often as nice a matter as to judge of things for one’s self. On the whole, I had rather judge men’s minds by comparing their thoughts with my own, than judge of thoughts by knowing who utters 4hem. I must do one or the other.” It is far better, then, con­ cerning questions of human right and reason to cultivate the habit of judging for one’s self rather than to place dependence upon any other’s opinion. Nothing is better than free individual thought, even though at times it may be mistaken. Its mistakes will not be so many as those which follow upon blind, thoughtless trust in others. To be sure, there are matters of facts concerning which scientific authority must be taken; a man cannot simply depend upon reasoning about astronomy, for example, but must take the word of men who have specially studied this science (unless, as few of us are able to do, he specially studies it for himself). More fairly stated, all our reasoning upon any subject must have an eye upon facts, and facts are more readily, commonly accessible in some departments of knowledge than in others. If a man is well-read and has observed life to some purpose —if he is intelligent and experienced but not necessarily a scholar—he is qualified to have ideas concerning human nature and government and morality and the relations most familiarly important and disputed among men: yet in biology or geology or chemistry he may be incompletely or inaccurately instructed—he may accept the statement of a scientist about the latter’s specialty, but he will not regard the scientist as a perfect, unquestionably authoritative guide in all the relations of life. An Einstein, for instance, may have prejudiced and unconvincing ideas about government or morality: with such questions any intelligent man is familiar and is able to judge for himself—and should judge for himself, his worst mistakes being the result of taking uncritically the judgments of others. What is a star composed of? We must ask the scientist. What is man—or human nature—composed of ? Here too we must learn

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a great deal from science, but even so our own experience has enabled us to judge somewhat of human nature, of human rights, of the just relations between men, of what constitutes a rational life. Strictly speaking, all ideas should be scientific, which means that they should be based upon facts reasonably understood and applied (for one can be unreasonable about the significance or the place one gives to a fact). Some facts are familiar and easily discovered by any man for himself; others are ascertained with difficulty and by rare, extensive, scholarly investigation; and specialism makes a man scientific in one field while he is unscientific in another field. Undoubtedly Sir Oliver Lodge knows more about physics than you or I; yet we are quite able to detect the bunk in his spiritualistic belief. In a humbler way, a garage mechanic may be scientific in his knowledge of an automobile and its workings, yet reason very poorly about life. And a politician may be very clever at getting votes and playing one interest of expediency against another yet understand very little about the art or science of government. A preacher may be familiar with all the subtle points of doctrine apper­ taining to his creed, yet be utterly unscientific and unconvincing as a thinker and, indeed, wrong about practically every question of life. I have referred to the art or science of government, although one may call it artifice and an arbitrary, not necessarily true or noble, science: but, with respect to government, there are some truths that should be clear to every intelligent man and that are not to be put out of the reck­ oning by any esoteric claim to knowledge. Government, of course, de­ pends on power—and power may sustain an unjust rule. From this viewpoint (of power alone) every successful government is vindicated. Thus the worst despotism, if it is effective, has as much authority as the freest republic. But intelligently we ask, Why should one man rule over another? We use our critical sense, too, for the purpose of making any form of government justify itself in our own minds as good or bad—good, mind you, for the governed rather than for the governors. In the view of the free man, no government is justified merely by tradi­ tion or by a written framework of constitutional authority or by any “sacred’’ general principles which have not the force of intellectual, realistic conviction. Patriotism or loyalty, as commonly understood, is a poor substitute-name for slavery, meaning that a man surrenders his own convictions of right and wrong to a self-constituted or privileged council of governors. Government is still unjust today and challenges the criticism of intelligent men, although the principles of social and governmental authority are seen in a clearer light than formerly. And as regards the broad principles of government, all intelligent men (granting that they are at the same time just and, relatively, un­ selfish) must be agreed—they must be agreed, for example, that all government “derives its just powers from the consent of the governed” and furthermore (perhaps this is even more important) that social government must always be tempered by a due, even by a delicately fine, regard for the rights of the individual. It is a particularly vicious inter­ pretation of democracy which would make a majority vote the deciding influence in the lives of all men. Here we sec indeed the theory and the foundation of such a tyranny as has never, for potential evil, been ex­

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ceeded by any more individual, kingly, or class-dictated tyranny of the past. I say that this tyranny is as bad in essence as any other, although it is not so complete in extent nor so utterly regardless of human rights. It is, in a word, not easier to tolerate tyranny when it is practiced in the name of democracy. And so with morality, which involves questions of government, social opinion, and a philosophy of life: the free man is critical of (by no means indifferent to) moral ideas, challenging any man’s claim to dictate arbitrarily to his fellows what is right and wrong for them. All power, all so-called authority, is prolific in a variety of abuses. We can trust no man nor group to exercise a moral guardianship over us, but must, in some sense, decide these things for ourselves. It is always our right to put the question: Why is this good and why is that bad ? Intelligently, too, we are careful about making absolute distinctions of good and bad: what is bad for one (i. c., unsuited to his needs or perhaps misused by him) may be well enough for another; and, again, if a man feels that certain conduct is bad, although intrinsically it is not, it does not follow that his meticulous morality should be binding upon all others. However, this is not the place to discuss morality but only to em­ phasize human rights in relation to morality. A moral dictatorship is impossible, just as moral censorship in art and literature and recreation is impertinent, generally frivolous (that is to say, false and trivial in its reasons and motives)^, and, with scarcely an exception, ignorant. It is a big enough job for any man to manage himself, without claiming the privilege of dictating to other people. And actually, every man has the right to do wrong, so long as he does not interfere with the rights (I do not say the feelings or prejudices) of someone else. It is also a particularly odious fact about the moral tendency, as it has been jealously manifested in certain groups and most conspicuously in certain periods, that it has been unjustly, unintelligently, and un­ naturally oppressive. We find it setting up the most absurd taboos, trying to kill the joy of life, demanding that human nature deny itself somberly and fearfully. Puritanism, as it has been exhibited for in­ stance in the United States, has plainly been an oppressive force which all men of free spirit, who believe in human rights (and who have more­ over a clear rational conception of human rights) must firmly oppose. It is true that this Puritanism has not been entirely successful. It is none the less an affront to the free personality and is incompatible with any sound conception of liberty. And in the category of human nuisances, a place at the top of the list belongs to the man who tries to impress forcibly or by unfair methods certain dogmas of virtue upon his fellows. For that matter, evangelism, even when it relies upon persuasion or moral threats rather than upon force, is a nuisance insofar as it is thrust upon persons who do not wish to hear it. Here I refer to the type of man who is always going around, personally, trying to convert others. He is a bore and a nuisance, and he has that spirit of dogmatism—of fanatic­ ism—which Is naturally associated with tyranny. You will understand now my perfectly simple and just conception of the rights of man—at least of the first principle that must be granted,

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namely the right of free inquiry, criticism, thought, and differentiation. It is, roughly, a contrast between the medieval and the modern attitude: between the principle of unquestioning belief, unquestioning obedience, unquestioning conformity and the principle of intelligent, self-respecting judgment. 1 know what is often said about the impossibility of complete liberty; but I am not talking about complete liberty—only about reason­ able, possible, socially tolerable and workable liberty. It is clear that no man should be forced to be a slave in his own mind to the ideas of another—that free thought is indeed the only kind of thought worth while. It is again certain .that, while social order and direction are indis­ pensable, tyranny is wrong and all claims to authority must be examined in the light of reason. To say that we must have social order is not to say that you or I should be blindly, utterly subject to the will of another or of others—and while this extreme demand is not made in our time, it is still true that there are forms of social, economic, and political sub­ jection which are not reasonably defensible. There is a tendency to brand criticism as treasonable; and private judgment—-the dignified use of mind and taste—is confounded with anarchy. And finally, we can have no doubt about the right of men to be masters over their own morals, so long as they do not follow an intoler­ able anti-social line of conduct which robs others of their rights. It is, in short, the right of every man, when belief is asked of him or compli­ ance demanded, to put the critical inquiry: What is the nature of this pretended authority and what reason have I for believing or complying? Does this mean anarchy? No, it means a choice between freedom and tyranny. It is the idea which, still imperfectly but clearly even so, has been asserted in modern society. 2. FRIENDS AND FOES OF FREEDOM

I have stated general but clearly guiding principles, and the details of their application would fill volumes—have indeed gone to fill the many volumes which have been devoted to a discussion of liberty, social justice, and the rights of man. The important fact to bear in mind is that these principles still need proclaiming, as they are not perfectly understood*nor admitted by men. We still have ideas thrust upon us yvith dogmatic claims—not; of course, with the actual power of medieval bigotry but with the insistence that it is our duty to believe certain things and that we have no right to exercise our own thinking powers upon them. There is still too much arbitrariness—unreasonable arbitrariness—in govern­ ment, and men are forced to submit to tyrannies which, being tyrannies, are not founded in true social need or just policy. There is still too much of a disposition p’revalent and obnoxious to make us yield to moral rules, whether or not those rules have the sanction of our own taste and thought. To put it shortly, not all men have come to believe in liberty. Or, if they profess such a belief, it is evident that not all men know the meaning of liberty—nor do I refer to a precise meaning but to a free, broad, reasonable meaning. (Let me suggest here that disputes about the meaning of liberty are generally, if not entirely, disputes between those who believe and those who do not believe in liberty. Granted clearly and

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soundly the principle of freedom,, and it is not so difficult for men to reach an agreement. But as a rule when a man attempts to define lib­ erty, his real object is to deny liberty. To make use of an old saying in an expanded form, the will to be free and to let others be free will usually find a way.) We may as well—indeed it is important that we should—recognize that there are certain forces yet operative in modern society which are hostile to the primary, fundamental principle of liberty. There are, for example, individuals, institutions, organizations which assert the absolute, unquestionable sacredness and supreme authority of certain beliefs, deny­ ing that men are rightfully and virtuously free to reject such beliefs. The old power to compel or punish terribly is gone. The penalty of the stake no more looms menacingly for the heretic. But if they have not the same actual power, these haters of intellectual liberty have the same pretensions. By every device and threat at their command, they seek to ensnare, terrify and bludgeon minds. If they genuinely believed in freedom, they would base their appeal entirely upon reason and they would admit the fair and logical right of difference. But instead they are hopelessly committed to dogmatism. They offer us so arrogantly (and, with the growth of the modern spirit, so unimpressively and in­ effectively) the choice of belief or damnation. In matters of government, we find a similar spirit of opposition to liberty. Here the opponents of liberty have the apparent advantage that some social order and control is necessary—that government, even though it be called an evil, is an indispensable evil. Starting from the common­ ly undisputed assumption that we must have law and organization, these anti-libertarians place every obstacle they can in the way of the free judgment and impulse of the individual. They seem at times to fly to the opposite extreme, and to assert that no man can be in any way or significance a law unto himself. Yet, if we reflect, we must realize that no social order would be possible at all if men were not, to a considerable extent, their own law­ givers. After all, the integrity and safety of the social organization— the workableness of laws and the power of government—depends greatly upon the sensible, willing recognition of men. Suppose we were all anarchists at heart; suppose we were all unreasonable, unfair, indifferent to decency and right and efficiency—a poor social order we should have. Really, as individuals we furnish the power of the laws which we will­ ingly obey. A country of anarchists could not be governed ; a country of ordinary, reasonable men can be governed; and, of course, a country of the slavishly-minded is bound to be governed badly. In moral questions we find the same tyrannical attitude, standing the scientific influence of this age, in which the pract al effects and the practical rights of behavior are more careful’y examn notwithstanding our departure—or the departure of the broad e ing opinion of mankind insofar as it realhr thinks and discriminates from the ancient fears and taboos and supersttitions: there is still tendency to assert so-called moral authority rigidl hold certain things as inherently bad or good, regardless of reason and right application—to impose arbitrary rules irrespective ot the facts

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which should reasonably influence behavior—to insist that we conform to a standard of respectability or virtue whether or not our reason or our circumstances justify it. It may be said that in the Puritan heritage of America this tendency of moral dogmatism is most of all apparent. Absolute right and abso­ lute wrong are firmly fixed in the moral creed (though maybe not in the moral practice.) The right of individual judgment, the right of different standards, the logical force of circumstances is not conceded by these ultra-moral arbiters—no, not arbiters but would-be dictators. What, indeed, is the attitude of a moral reformer, as we know the type in our own country? Pie is prejudiced by teaching or tempera­ ment against a certain kind of behavior. It is an undiscriminating prejudice (as prejudices always are) and does not, for example, make allowance for the various degrees or aspects in which this kind of be­ havior may be manifested. Drinking, according to this type of mind, is always and in every respect wrong. Gambling—even playing with cards, let us say—is inherently wicked. The impulse of sex, .unless shamefully and conventionally indulged, is bad. Even the habit of keeping late hours has a taint of iniquity. Yet there is no actual, thoughtful, realistic examination of these various kinds of behavior in their relation to different persons. There is no logical reason given why this or that act should be bad and this or that other act should be good—or, perhaps, I • should say there is no wise reason given. (Logic, we must remember, simply means correct reasoning from a premise. The Christian, starting from a certain premise of belief in what God wills, may logically arrive at the most unreasonable conclus­ ions. The point at which to attack logic is at its source. Reject the Christian’s divine premise and you will reach very different human con­ clusions. Everything must be challenged in its premise. Thus mon­ archy was most effectively challenged when men began to dispute the primary notion of the divine right of kings. Religion is hopelessly handicapped when the skeptic denies the premise of revelation. Moral ideas must find more careful justification when we examine premises rather than remote far-fetched conclusions. Admit an original error and you will be led logically enough into a host of subsequent errors.) The free man is, I should say, fairly able to adjust himself to the various demands made upon him. He is not, for example, imposed upon by false claims of authority in the realm of ideas. He is perfectly capable of thinking for himself and therein lies his intellectual safety. He is certainly amenable to the just, essential demands of social order yet does not by that token surrender his identity and integrity as an individual. He has a code of morals, and he is indeed morally selfconscious and self-governing, but it does not follow that he agrees with the professional moralist. In fact, his very conscientious and scrupulous individualism places him above and beyond these crude representatives of bigotry. But, as I have said, in discussing liberty, we cannot confine our attention to the free-minded persons. If they were alone to be consid­ ered or if they were in the majority, the issue would be simple enough.

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Between free-minded persons no very serious quarrel is conceivable. Certainly, no such quarrel is probable where men agree upon the funda­ mental, guiding principles of liberty. Our trouble all comes from those men who suspect, fear or hate liberty. Tyrants and bigots—they are our natural enemies. There is another view in which this subject of the rights of man must be regarded. It is not entirely a question of formal, acknowledged government. It is not utterly a question of command and power. Aside from the great governmental and social compulsions, there remains the issue of individual judgment. Each man, in a word, may be an enemy or a preserver of liberty. It depends upon the fairness of each man’s judgment. We are, in fact, tested every day, in our simplest dealings with our neighbors, concerning our belief in liberty and our willingness to concede (or our ability to understand) the rights of man. There is a great deal of injustice which is not enforced by govern­ ment. It is not clearly, finally written in the social compact. It is, arbi­ trarily and unfairly, visited by one man upon another as a matter of individual intolerance. We must in our daily relations have a certain attitude toward our fellows; we must grant or deny them certain rights; we must judge them generously or narrowly; we must, in a broad way, let them live their own lives or we must try to make them live our lives. Necessarily, in all our contacts we are placed in the position of judges of human rights. We must decide what is due to our neighbor, either positively or negatively—either in our cooperation with him or in our letting him alone. We must have some standard of opinion, fair or unfair, by which we are guided. It does not, from our present point of view, make any difference whether our standards can be enforced or not. The essential question is whether they are enlightened and defined by a due sense of human rights. Consider, for example, the attitude of toleration. It is a just attitude and will be sensitively, generously operative in the mind of anyone who genuinely respects the rights of other men. We have, rea­ sonably speaking, no right to hate others or to damn them or persecute them for holding different opinions. It is all very well to use persuasion with them, provided they are willing to listen. It is all very well to be­ lieve that they are misinformed or prejudiced or bound to untrue notions. But it is not our business to withhold from them fair dealing on account of their contrary beliefs. Yet how common is this form of injustice! The average man un­ justly denies the very human right of anyone’s differing from his opinion. He is a stickler, without reason or generosity, for commonplace conform­ ity. Of course, with his average neighbor he has no serious quarrel about ideas, for they are agreed in their average notions. But let a curious or contradictory idea be expressed and at once the whole community sig­ nifies its intense objection, its persecution, its denial of intellectual liberty. And we are not more just in our attitude toward governmental de­ mands. For instance, in the war with Germany, the average man would make no allowance for the conscientious or reasonable objections of anyone who opposed that war. The demand was for absolute loyalty,

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without regard to intellectual or human or moral considerations. If any man thought that war was a folly or a crime, still it was demanded that he give it his support, his money, and even his life. International crime—international rapine and murder—was in that instance glorified falsely, insidiously,.and viciously with the fine name of patriotism. But it still is true that if you follow your neighbor, if you follow the crowd, if you follow your leader, unthinkingly and inhumanly, you are surrendering your own right to intelligent and moral judgment. There is a similar handicap and an equal injustice in applying rigid moral criteria to the behavior of men. What you think or say about the conduct of your neighbors, who certainly should have equal rights with yourself, will depend upon your willingness to grant justice. If you think that you have a right to dictate to your neighbors what their be­ havior shall be, that will carry with it one very evil and dangerous atti­ tude. But if you respect your neighbors’ rights, their difference in ideas and tastes, that will just as surely guard you against intolerance. The average man is inclined to judge others harshly and narrowly— that is, if he judges them at all. (Let me say that there are many per­ sons who are not particularly cultured nor intelligent who have at least the virtue that they let others go their own way without criticism—■ they are far more to be admired, than the evangelical zealots who are always trying to convert somebody.) What I wish to emphasize is that our application of justice is not entirely, nor even largely, a question of governmental laws nor distinct and absolute power. It is largely a question of fair and humane opin­ ion. In this modern time, loose or informal social influences have taken the place of what, in old times, was the force of absolute law. Ostra­ cism is nowadays a more important force than legal persecution. The popular sentiment of injustice is more effective than any formal, govern­ mental decree of injustice. It is all the more important, therefore, that we should individually correct our ideas of human relations and—if we do not perhaps agree in every least detail—unite on certain principles of right and liberty. We confront every day not simply a government of laws but of human opinion—and it is our duty to make that opinion more humane, more just, and more intelligent. We must recognize always the fundamental rights of man. 3. THE SENSE OF JUSTICE

I am sure that sentimentality is among the worst enemies of clear thinking. If you say to me that a certain man has an abundance of good will and susceptible emotions and easily exicted nerves, I shall not place much dependence upon the judgment of that man. Far better in my view is the man who is cold and unemotional yet who has, intellectually, a sense of justice. Fair thoughts and actions are far better than fair feelings. Mere emotion leads many men astray. Just criticism is always safer. For when it is a question of the rights of man, thought is much more dependable than feeling. Our emotions may be enlisted in behalf of the worst injustice—witness the occasions in history when men have bravely, passionately stood in defense of the most outrageous course. Slavery was defended by men who could derive no possible benefit

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from it. Religious bigotry was defended on principle by its very victims, by men who could not possibly have been more happy or more powerful in the victory of the leading bigots. Monarchy was defended by men who were the slaves of that false, ridiculous system of government. Al­ ways, unjust things have had the support of men who were emotionally susceptible but not reasonably critical. If we were to judge by emotions alone, they have been, for the greater part of man’s history, on the side of injustice. It is true that the rights of man have had an emotional inspiration, but far more important has been the justly intellectual declaration of human rights. Justice is essentially not a question of feeling but of thought. There is one way indeed in which justice is essentially dependent upon true thought and a clear recognition of facts: What has this man done that he should be praised or condemned ? What is there about this idea that it should be accepted or rejected? What is there concerning this policy that it should be approved or disapproved? Obviously, only facts can determine our viewpoint—or should determine our viewpoint. We may easily be misled by our sympathies; and we may be even more treacherously misled by our antipathies. What we feel about any such issue is not so important as what we think about it; indeed, and what we think about it should depend upon what we know about it. Here it is.that so many persons fail absolutely: they have no knowledge whatever about issues which, nevertheless, they presume to judge. I have (as any man can) quite simply tried the merits of justice and sentiment. Dealing with persons who had a true sense of justice, I have not only been wanting in occasion to complain but I have con­ sistently known what I could expect. But dealing with persons who were ruled by mere sentimentality, I have been very unfortunate and have never been sure what might be the issue. It is known that people can do the worst things with the best will. It is also known that a bit of sentiment may obstruct the course of justice and turn one aside from the path of wisdom. It is fine to acknowledge the supremacy of truth— but no one can do that sentimentally. We find truth by thinking, not by feeling, and our attitude is wise or foolish according to the intellectual perception that we have. You will say that scholars may be wrong; and that is true, when they let themselves be influenced by emotion rather than by that thought or knowledge which should appertain to their scholarship. It is all the more likely, however, that the average man, without any balance or guidance of scholarship, may be wrong. He has, indeed, only his feelings and his prejudices and the common sentiment around him for materials of judgments—and these materials, I repeat, are very poor indeed. Justice, intellectually speaking, is more accurate. 1 ake away ego­ tism, tradition, dogmatism, circumstantial interest, an emotionally per­ sonal or desirous mode of thought—and you are more likely to have a true understanding of any situation. After all, the just man is simply the man who thinks correctly. The rights of man are recognized (though they may not be admitted) by every clear, unprejudiced, justly function­ ing mind. Injustice, when all is said, has its roots in prejudice and ignor­ ance and, inseparable mainly from these two qualities, selfishness.

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CHAPTER XV

A Free Man Looks 1.

at

Literature

THE NECESSITY OF CRITICISM

N SPEAKING of the free man as having a distinguishing view­ point from which he looks at literature, I do not mean to imply that there is a set of rules by which he judges literature severely as being true or false, good or bad, deserving of praise or blame. I should be absurd were I to indicate a certain model of literary truth or value, a certain theory of criticism, which must be ad­ hered to willy-nilly by anyone meriting the claim of being intellectually free. On the contrary., it is against any such narrow attempt to confine literary appreciations and first of all the expression of the human spirit which at its highest we call literature, that I consider the free man should naturally raise his voice always and everywhere. Freedom of literature obviously means an open field. It does not therefore mean that dis­ crimination has no office with regard to the writings of men. Intelligence necessarily suggests a critical attitude. One places a value upon productions in the field of ideas or in the field of ordinary daily utility. Only, so immense and varied is literature, fulfilling so many functions, one must approach it with a broader spirit of free judg­ ment. There is, for example, the question of individual taste. Good critics may, differ in their appreciations, but it does not follow that a critic should condemn a book or a kind of literature simply because he does not personally care for it. Ideas, on the other hand, may be demon­ strably true or false. One does not say (if one looks seriously upon the function of thought) that the idea of immortality is true but that one will have nothing to do with it, or that it is false but nevertheless one likes it and will make it preferably a part of one's mental equipment. But one may consistently grant the merit, even the high and important merit, of a literary work without caring for it as a matter of personal taste. A man may have a poor appreciation of poetry. Yet he does not therefore consider poetry as unimportant or worthless or belonging to an inferior order of literature. • Free-thinking men are not so apt to agree on literature as on more earnestly argumentative questions. Anyway, precise and unvarying agreement on all things will be vainly sought for among men, rude or cultured, unreading or widely read, mentally confined or free. The closest kind of agreement among free-thinking men is a general agree­ ment of liberal, tolerant, yet critical tendency. They have, more firmly than other men, a regard for the principle of freedom although they do not invariably apply it in the same way. Ideas are uncertain enough, even among thinking men. Tastes are more uncertain. And, simply as a matter of literary taste, one’s opinions about books are not as im­ portant as one’s opinions about s. : or social customs or religious ideas or political issues. It is, however, important that a man should have a critical attitude toward his reading. In the first place, he should have some standard of selection in what he reads. It is not idly said that a man may be judged

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by the books he prefers. That kind of judgment may sometimes go astray, but it is pretty safe. We do not expect the man whose reading consists almost wholly of trashy, ephemeral, meaningless books to have a good mind. The cultivation of taste or thought depends vitally upon one’s communications in the world of books. This is not to exaggerate bookish interests or knowledge. Free minds are made by a realistic looking at life as well as acquaintance with the best books. Books, as I have said, are essential to culture. And no very sure nor wide freedom of mind is possible without culture. Again it is evidently of considerable and continuous importance that a man should, having critically selected a kind of reading that is worth while or really interesting and developing, go about his reading in a critical spirit. If a reader is not a critic, what then? It must follow that he is indifferent to what he reads; or that he accepts what he reads without judging of its truth, importance, or significance; or that he re­ jects what he reads without tolerant, thoughtful consideration. In a word, it would be better for such a man not to read at all but stick to his radio. Literary criticism is many-sided and depends, for one thing, upon the form of literature. In biography one seeks at once a truthful and living study of a man. Facts are fundamentally important. The legend­ ary, hero-worshiping school of biographical literature is seriously mislead­ ing when it is not puerile and trifling—though it may both. Then there is the broad truth, the right connection of the facts to make an illuminating picture, and—for all biography should do this—to place a man in relation to his time against the background of more general events. Critically, then, we do not want heroes in the conventional sense when we turn to biography, although we may indeed be interested in the full dramatic possibilities of the subject. We don't want biography that is written in a spirit of vilification. But neither do we want it written in a spirit of deification. And we demand truthfulness above all. A par­ ticularly censurable offense is the effort to misrepresent the viewpoint of a great man for the sake of lending prestige to a school of thought. It is ridiculous, let us say, for any biographer to present Benjamin Frank­ lin as a Christian: just as ridiculous as it would be to offer Gladstone as the model of a free-thinker. Or consider the essay, that charmingly varietistic form of literature. Here we may be critical in that we require the reflection of an unusual cast of mind. We are not interested in the report by a commonplace man of what he thinks and feels. We respond rather to the man who has a charming, vivid, unusual appreciation of life. Or we seek the thoughtful expression of a mind that deals skilfully and originally with ideas. Or we seek wit, personality, style, the spirit of an age. Mon­ taigne is really the ideal essayist, having every quality which recom­ mends this form of literature. He has a style that is easy, pellucid, de­ lightful. We feel that we are in the presence of an extraordinary and excellent personality. He is animated with a taste for life, humorous and reflective and always natural. He is, finally, a man of shrewd and sound ideas. Charles Lamb was not a thinker, but he had rare wit and charm and he was, too, essentially intelligent.

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,* We do not go to poetry for truth precisely. A good deal of poetry may indeed be readily shown up as untrue to life. This is not to say that truth and poetry may not go together and that their relation is not important. We know that there is much of wisdom and soundly realized human nature in the magnificent rhythms and images of Shakespeare’s poetry. And so have other great poets—Byron, Shelley, Keats, Burns, Heine, Goethe—expressed truths in surpassingly grand or poignant style. Omar Khayyam, as we have seen, gives us skepticism which appeals to the intellect and, in beautiful images and melody, to the esthetic sense. What poetry must have and what we chiefly want from it is beauty—power—what seems almost perfection in feeling and expression. At its best, poetry has the grand manner. Prose may be effective. Poetry must be captivating. It is the language of emotion, imagery, sublime moods, and visions of idealism. Of course, a man may be for­ given for not being a habitual or enthusiastic reader of poetry. But there is something wrong with him if he habitually and enthusiastically reads the verse of Eddie Guest and calls it poetry. A man should be enough of a critic to tell good work from bad, even though he may not agree with other critics in the extent of his regard for various examples of good work. Turning to fiction, we have a wonderful variety, as full of rich material and surprise and amusement and inspiration as life itself, in which every conceivable taste can be satisfied. Even so, many persons of fine culture and intellectual freedom do not care for such works of the imagination. They are perhaps scholars whose time, intellectually, is entirely taken by profound and important researches. They read definitely and extensively with the object of acquiring knowledge. They are occupied with history, philosophy, science, works that are called serious in a special way, although, to be sure, fiction is often serious and educational. Yet one who is interested in novels, which at best are an imaginative study of life and character, should have critical choice. It is not enough to say that a novel should reflect life. We know that it reflects the novelist’s view of life; and that view will depend upon the intelligence, the actual familiarity with life, and the range of ideas and sympathies of the novelist. As his own nature is large and understand­ ing, so he will appeal to similar natures, and shallowness, narrowness, prejudice are condemned in fiction as in life or in any form of litera­ ture. Even when one seeks amusement only, one wants real value and some things which would entertain the uncritical mind will not con­ vincingly hold the attention of the critical mind. To write good fiction requires a good mind, just as for any other order of enterprise in which thought plays an important role. The man who turns to language for expression, whatever the specific form that expression takes, reveals the quality of his mind and imagination and nature as great or middling or small. We know the extent of his in­ tellectual, emotional horizons. It is also pretty evident what degree of skill and fitness he has for his chosen work. Similarly, it may be said that the reader identifies himself by the things that interest him and that he admires. A true enthusiasm for the masters of fiction, as for the masters in any other kind of endeavor,

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literary or not, bespeaks a mind excellently trained in appreciation, a high order of feeling, a more than ordinary breadth of thought, a faculty of criticism that it intelligent. To be imposed upon by shoddy, sloppy fiction, which is without a gleam of real insight, which owes nothing to the process of thought, which is insensitive to the deeper appeals of emotion, which falsifies life clumsily and betrays a poor understanding of character—to be deceived and, strange to say, interested by this class of fiction is a mark of mental inadequacy. Certainly it signifies a lack of culture. One’s reading has evidently been narrow. One has no com­ parative scope, no real conception of better or best by which to test the poorest and put it in its place. For the critical sense is developed by familiarity, whether with ideas or with practical things or with literary productions. Intellectually, the critic is the man who has widely acquainted himself with ideas and has devoted real thought to them. Literarily, the critic is the man who has sharpened and refined his judgment by a variety of reading and who can, let us say, intelligently compare an Isben play with a current melo­ drama, an ode by Shelley with a sentimentally shallow bit of verse, a Balzac novel with a flashy popular tale, a Gibbon or a Lecky with in­ ferior historians, a Strachey or a Woodward with conventional biog­ raphers. It is not simply a question of knowing what one likes: it is a question of the reasons one has and the capacity for appreciation, the tendencies of thought, and the range of knowledge. For all the differ­ ences of critics—and they do not essentially differ so widely as the aver­ age man thinks they do—they have on the whole a trained faculty of appreciation. They recognize power, talent, superiority even though they may not always like, even though they may severely condemn, the viewpoint of the artist. They know a good thing when they see it and poor stuff seldom fools them, although a clever style has time and again blinded some critics to inferiority in more fundamental things. Anyway, one who has an active mind must be a critic of literature as well as life. He cannot read carelessly. He will not lump things together without discrimination. He has standards, not indeed narrow or dogmatic, but clearly pointing to broad paths of discovery and judg­ ment in the world of books. He has vivid receptiveness to the touch of a master and to valuable talents below the masterly heights. It may be said, finally, that only the critical viewpoint is worth while. No man is much of a thinker unless he has critically weighed ideas. He must have an independence and realism of judgment. He must have, let us say, intellectual initiative—not waiting to be told that certain things are true and accepting such statements readily, but seek­ ing the truth for himself: looking at life for himself and, beyond that, relying upon the inspiration of the best thinkers and the knowledge of the best scholars. It is not that one should uncritically follow—should but repeat the ideas of—even the greatest thinker; any more than one should say that because Shakespeare was great he was without faults. There must be an intellectual process in one’s own mind. And it is this process of criticism and thought and making things real to oneself which should be followed whether with regard to ideas or the works of litera­

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ture or the practical issues of life. Confronting whatever question, we must be informed about it, we must think about it, we must compare the various opinions about it, we must judge critically what our attitude should be: otherwise, what can our opinions possibly be worth? 2. IDEAS IN LITERATURE

As ideas have a way of creeping into the language of men (albeit the facility of language without thought is amazingly developed) one cannot always regard books merely as specimens of literary art. Art itself is often a matter of correctly conveying ideas or consistently treat­ ing a certain theme. It is not, then, a concern of taste only. Thought reposes in the balance. Values are reflected in literature, and, accord­ ing to one’s intellectual contacts and convictions, according to the meas­ ure or definition of one’s interest in life, one chooses literarily. To be sure, an ehdless discussion goes on in the speech of men, in the news­ papers, in the political forums, and we are perforce drawn into these swirling currents of contemporary opinion. But there is a higher forum, so to speak, in which ideas are treated both in a reflective-and imagina­ tive way, and where they have their most intense expression—namely, the forum of literature. Now it is obvious that the free man will have a kind of interest in literature determined by his outlook on life or one may indeed say that his outlook on life is largely determined by the breadth and insight of his interest in literature. The point is that the two go together and that the mind which is emancipated in thought will absorb the spirit of literature differently from other minds. There are paths specially known to the free-thinking, free-searching man—not so much secret paths as they are paths ignored by other men. He has, of course, a particular receptiveness to kinds of literature which other men regard suspiciously or reject acrimoniously. Nor is it only that the free man concerns him­ self enthusiastically with a kind of literature which is unknown to the average man and which is unadmired or not adequately comprehended or unknown even by conventionally cultivated men. Even the recog­ nized, respectably accepted masterpieces, what are called the standard works of literature, are appreciated by the inquiring free-thinker in points which may be indifferent or obscure to more common-habited minds. Many, for example, are thrilled by Shakespeare’s plays on the stage or read them with admiration for their poetry, their characters, and their stories: but they do not realize the extent of rationalism which appears so significantly in the great dramas. They fail to discern that Shakespeare was very much a skeptic and must be indeed rated by the Christian as an “infidel.” He had no Christian or sentimental view of life. He saw life as it was in all its splendor, its passionate urgency, its sad and ironical contradictions (from man’s point of view), its defeats and vain seekings, its inexorability through which man at last succumbs to the unfailing order of death and change in nature. We are told that the dogmas of religion are consoling. But that sort of consolation is not to be found in Shakespeare nor indeed in most of the world’s great writers. Skeptics, even in the most popularly admired literature, find the strain of their own familiar thought.

What Can a Free Man Believe?

And even in the commonly recommended, romantic Scott the freethinking reader observes aspects that escape many readers. Underneath all the romance, he is reminded of the sordidness and generally the un­ civilized character of life in medieval times. In his understanding of religion he has historically a knowledge of what life was when Chris­ tianity had full sway. When he hears laments about the decline of faith and the growth of materialism, he might sufficiently refer the woeful ones to Sir Walter.. The strong note of rebellion in the beloved Burns may be missed by many casual readers, but not by the man whose reading is enlightened by an interest in such free, challenging conceptions. For all their mysti­ cism, our much-lauded New England school of writers were decidedly unorthodox and they are interesting to the free man in a way that is impossible for others who admire them (very likely without know­ ing much about them) in an echoing school-bookish way. Even so, the skeptic in perusing Emerson’s high-flown essays will not be imposed upon by these airs of mysticism. Fie will separate the sound human wisdom and the stuff which consists of “indefinites and infinites.” Dickens may be merely an oddly fascinating story-teller to the average reader, but to the unconventional critic his attitude on social questions will have its share of impressiveness. And Thackeray is interesting, not alone as an extraordinarily talented writer, but as a humane and bunk-detect­ ing cynic. Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, not to speak of its ironical use as a children’s tale, may be read by orthodox older persons and yet not be understood—really not be suspected—in its full significance. It is only the man who has moved customarily in the atmosphere of mental free­ dom who can appreciate that blasting, immense satire upon the human race. Fie is prepared for it. Fie can have a pretty fair glimpse into Swift’s mind. But the average man doesn’t expect such shocking things and, in fact, they almost invariably elude his set mental habit. For the matter of that, the true believer of simple, incurious type has no suspicion of the extent to which skepticism and cynicism have flourished in past times. Fie imagines perhaps that what he calls the “infidel” is a modern product. Well, the “infidel” is more frequently on view in this modern .age and he goes farther, as a result of logical evolution, in his rejection of religious ideas. But throughout literature there is a strong, cumulative record of heresy, of dissent from popular notions, of rebellion against pretended intellectual or moral authority, in short of an order of thinking which naturally provides many shocks even for the average man in this enlightened age. Seemingly in the most innocent places there is matter of critical import which can be grasped only with the aid of a free point of view. Take such a story as The Scarlet Letter. It cannot correctly be read by anyone who is not critically aware of and emancipated from the viewpoint of Puritanism. Mark Twain, again, is just a comic writer in the general view. But the man who freely, critically considers the role of ideas in litera­ ture is able to understand and feel the whole force of Mark 1 wain’s skepticism and heterodoxy, his kinship with the great debunking satirists, the distressing conflict of his nature with the still powerful Puritanism

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and orthodoxy of his time. And who can appreciate, as the free man does, that posthumous fling of mockery and defiance, The Mysterious Stranger? Literature unfolds before no one in such rich and illuminating sig­ nificance as it does before the free-thinking man. For in literature— in the domain of great literature—we are dealing with minds far above the average, minds that were original or cultured, minds that had special power and curiosity, minds through which life was reflected more broad­ ly and critically than in any conventional view. It follows that freedom of thought, using that term most inclusively, appears in abundance and variety throughout the great literature of the race. In many ways (not always equally nor in the same direction) the masters of literature have sounded rebellious or skeptical notes concerning religion or morals or social questions or in their personal interpretations of the color and meaning-of life. Ideals have been dealt with by them more freely, whether in a direct and challenging way or by the implicit significance of their art. It is not merely a matter of “propaganda” in the pure and simple sense of the word. A writer may be as impersonal as can be, he may just record life as he sees it, but the significant thing is that he doesn’t see life as the ordinary man sees it. He has a wider view. He has a keener insight. He faces unpleasant things more candidly. He is a more persistent and curious searcher of the ways of nature and society. Flaubert, for instance, had the ideal of impersonal art. He didn’t preach. He didn’t try to make his readers believe one way or another about con­ troverted issues. He was purely descriptive. Yet life as he showed it does not square with the illusions of the moralists or the sentimentalists or the Christians. And in getting a view of life through such an intelli­ gent mind, even when that mind does not directly comment, one’s own mind is stimulated and is better able to perceive the foolishness of much that passes for “the good, the true and the beautiful.” Other writers are more strikingly in the literary tradition that ap­ peals to the free man: a tradition which is not confined by schools of classical or romantic or realistic, which is not so much determined by style or choice of subject matter, but which is rather the tradition of a free, critical, intellectual point of view. We may say, in a word, that the free man turns most sympathetically toward the humanistic order of literature. He is indeed interested by style and art but he is always, too, concerned with thought in its general sweep and its special applications. For him the great writers are significant as enlighteners of the human mind. He recognizes in them great civilizing influences. They stand higher than the prevailing ideas of their time, symbols of the best spirit of that time and of the advancing light of the future. And wherever, in any country or any period, there is a really de­ veloped literature one finds a good deal of skepticism. One finds rebel­ lion against the gods and creeds of superstition and, in much the same spirit, a progressive tendency with regard to human government, ideals, and relations. One finds a lofty inquiring spirit, a freedom from baser fears and illusions, a love of truth, an interest in open-minded specula-

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tion, all of which is very uncomfortable to the dogmatic or conventional mind if it is not, after all, beyond the grasp of such a mind. Undoubt­ edly, as literature is the record of mankind, it reflects the errors of man­ kind. And a writer may be above his age yet not utterly apart from it —being even as a rebel under the dictation of the intellectually challeng­ ing necessities of his age, as in the case of Voltaire who devoted such tremendous energy to fighting the tyranny of the Catholic Church. But the best writers, as I have said, may be expected to reflect the best thought of mankind. This is found to have been true from the days of the ancients, of the wise and witty Pagans with their richly diverse literature, to our own day. Indeed, none knows better than the man who has freely, widely thought and read how far superior was the wisdom of Pagan thinkers to the orthodox belief of a commonplace, unthinking man in our age. A Democritus, a Lucretius, an Epicurus, living over two thousands years ago, had a higher, clearer philosophy of life than that which (if we might so dignify it) is contained in the current credo of the majority of Americans in the twentieth century. A similar state­ ment could be made about the wise men of any age. Wherever a really superior mind has left its imprint upon literature, we find an order of thought that is either meaningless Greek or unpleasant, perhaps scanda­ lous, heresy to the average man (if he should come into contact with that thought) who may pride himself upon his high state of civilization. What a glorious, luminous company is that in which the free-minded reader of the world’s literature finds himself agreeably at home! Among the great, what a variety of inspiration he discovers lighting up his de­ votion to liberty and truth! Consider the most brightly glowing lights of our modern literary heritage: Cervantes, Shakespeare. Montaigne, Rabelais, Goethe, Heine, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Voltaire, Swift, Hugo, all names that are variously associated with the history of human enlightenment and whose genius can be most truly appreciated by the reader who stands emancipated from the common prejudices, whether past or present. It is the free man, after all, who should naturally have the most valid and glowing enthusiasm for literature. For in its highest significance literature is an expression of the free, daring, growing spirit of man. It reveals the noblest side of humanity. In the many-vol umed library containing the wisdom of ages, freedom—freedom of thought, freedom of life, freedom in all its joy and leading—is the brightest, bravest word. And as we study in the various forms of literature the growth of human thought, we find that it follows a marked tendency of ever-advancing criticism, skepticism, widening boundaries of knowledge, higher levels of intellectual culture to which only the mind unfettered by creed, custom and illusions can attain. For here too—in realizing the evolution of ideas—the free man has the advantage. It is, in fact, this evolution which he is most interested in tracing. He relates to their actual origin in the past many notions which still erroneously influence men. He knows not merely error in its contemporary form and use but he knows the history of error. He sees men living today whose intellectual outlook is a century, two cen­ turies, five centuries behind the times—and he can historically place this

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and that type of belated mind. And always he comes back to a con­ templation of the lively, free intelligence that has manifested itself in the literature of past ages—most conspicuously in certain periods, but dis­ coverable in any period which possessed a vital, growing literature. Ideas in literature have the greatest appeal for those who move familiarly in a free world of thought—who deal with ideas, whether in contemporary life or in literature, in a reasonable, truth-seeking, civilized way—who have a tolerant, inquiring, continually active mental life su­ perior to custom-marked prejudice and policy. Literature offers its best to him who, in mental clarity and courage, is able to take it. 3. FREEDOM OF LITERATURE

The thing which most interests the free-thinking man is the struggle for enlightenment which is recorded in literature, which has been notable in all save the most submissively dark periods, and which is still going on in our day. For a time, under the supreme Christian influence, there was no literature, of practically none—and that was because the ideal of liberty of thought had been crushed by ignorance and bigotry. The ancients, however, believed in the free utterance of bold thought and this attitude is also modern. In fact, for some centuries, since the so-called Christian world began to resist the evil Christian influence—which is to say, the influence of faith and superstition—this ideal of the expansive rights of literature has been upheld before men. And, as I have said, the greatest and most admirable writers have proclaimed this ideal and have remained true to it even at considerable sacrifice. After all, it was just this ideal which Voltaire proclaimed un­ ceasingly, in every way which his fertile brain could devise, and in con­ nection with all the ideas which were cherished or disputed among men: this ideal of toleration, of liberated and unresting inquiry, of open dis­ cussion so that the truth might be known or at any rate (which is but just) that men should have their choice among errors. It is not well that a single powerful error, or tyrannical system of errors, should dominate the world. It is better that error should be erratic, scattered, and go by favor. In this way, too, error has a better chance of mingling itself with truth. One need not state it as an absolute dogma that truth will be finally and completely and impregnably victorious if it is left free to combat error. It is enough to say that man has gained in knowledge and a clearer perception of truth by the freedom of literature, of science, of the arts both speculative and useful. There has been a definite and broad advance. Superstition does not ride mankind terrifyingly as it did a few hundred years ago. Even popular opinion has been purged of many gross errors. The winning of the freedom to pursue knowledge has been justified by a steadily, if not yet entirely, successful pursuit. Notwithstanding the greater recognition, both legally and in the common opinion, of the importance of a free and outspoken literature, there is still a desire which dies hard to hamper the speech and writing of men. It even takes the form of a censorship, having the force of law, which is annoying and unjust and foolish although not on the whole effective. It docs not seem that in the modern world anything of real interest and importance can be absolutely suppressed. One way or

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another, ideas will circulate. But difficulties can be made. False issues may be raised. Literature may be misjudged morally or patriotically and certain taboos, held to be necessary for virtue or social order, may be impressed upon large groups who are easily discouraged from venturing upon forbidden ground. Apparently literature has a fair, full, and open field in our time. Everything is discussed. Once restricted subjects are now fearlessly treated in the drama, in fiction, and in controversial literature. But the prejudices of error and obscurantism have still a good deal of life, among conventional circles, among popular leaders and molders of opinion, and in the common regard. And it is, first and last, the dispo­ sition of the free-thinking man to resist, condemn and deride this tend­ ency of obscurantism. This is one sure, superior sign of the free man, in his attitude toward literature: that he insists uncompromisingly upon the broadest, most varied, most liberal expression of the ideas and emotions of men, the most honest treatment of all aspects of life—Shakespeare’s mirror of nature if by that is meant the reflection of all the thought and struggle of mankind, a complete history of the race in every form that history may naturally take. It is ridiculous to subject literature to the judgments of a narrow morality. The artist may well reply with Balzac that if he describes evil it is because evil exists. It is also interesting and certainly a useful, solid theme for reflection. We cannot say that literature shall know only a part of life. The whole is important and he who expresses him­ self in any of the arts chooses that phase of life which most strongly appeals to him, which is most suited to his talents, and on which he has intelligently the most to say. It seems to me that the free man should, that naturally he would, stay clear of schools and labels in literature. Fie may prefer to call himself a realist. And certainly realism must always have a vast field and a vital importance. But the imaginative, tireless faculties of man as employed in literature cannot be held within any exclusive, however meritorious, form. We seek that which is excellent of its kind, but we do not fall out with Eugene O’Neill for writing unusual psychological dramas, nor with H. G. Wells for writing Utopian romances (in which, even so, there is some very realistic criticism of contemporary life), nor with Shaw for writing about Joan of Arc, nor with any man for writing about whatever subject interests him. We may not be interested. We may be critical. We may find fault with a man’s art or with his ideas. To believe in the freedom of literature is not to believe in the wisdom and virtue of all that may be written. Most important of all, since literature both in its ephemeral and enduring aspects is concerned with ideas, it must be free in order that man shall know the truth. Civilization is essentially that state of society in which ideas have the freest circulation. Io be civilized is to be in­ finitely curious, infinitely expressive, infinitely rich in thought and feel­ ing about life. It may be said, in short, that a society is judged with respect to its extent of civilization by the test of whether it produces a free, vigorous, many-sided literature.

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CHAPTER XVI A Free Man Looks at History

anq

Makes His Report

1. REALISM IN HISTORY

REE thought is established firmly on a groundwork of historical knowledge. If we take history broadly, to include science and all that is known in every branch of the world’s evolutionary past, it is apparent what a force of liberation this study may be. It must, of course, be history of a fully realistic description. What passes popularly for history is vague, misleading, often the product of deliberate falsification, and in many respects worse than worthless. This kind of history which is composed so largely of legends, preachments, and a superficial picture of events cannot stand for a reliable moment in the face of real scholarship. It is not compatible, that is to say, with a true understanding of the past. The difficulty is that so few are able to make scholarly com­ parisons. They cling to misconceptions which have been the subject of complete debunking among historians of the first order; false notions and garbled versions which have been repeated glibly by popular sooth­ sayers, entertainers and politicians although their incorrectness is readily ascertainable by the student; incomplete statements of fact which, even when true as far as they go, omit vital material which leads to a very different conclusion regarding the significance of events. It is amazing how little indebted to facts are many generally held views of men. It is amazing, yet natural too when one reflects that most men barely touch the outlines of knowledge here and there, that they seldom have a peep at the real, primary, downright stuff of history, that they get their ideas from men who are poorly informed or who, knowing better, are desirous of making out a partial case. In short, we know that the interests of obscurantism in history are very great. With the knowledge and the facilities of communicating knowledge which are present in the world, there is one thing vitally lacking—namely, an ideal devotion to knowledge, a supreme and generally effective determination that all men should know the truth, and that there shall be no suppression or misinterpretation of facts for the sake of bolstering favorite opinions. Surely enough, one may say reassuringly, enlightenment spreads and the field of error, even of popular error, is diminished. Yet in view of what is known about history there is a surprising general ignorance; at any rate, it seems ridiculous that some egregious fallacies should persist when the truth is not really in dispute nor hard to ascertain. It is ridiculous when one knows better; but if one doesn’t know better, a false account of history may be convincing enough, and especially satisfactory when it agrees with a man’s prejudices. And there is no mystery or accident about the dissemination of untrue history. We can understand, for instance, how powerfully the motive of patriotism operates to distort the vital record of a nation’s life.

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Politicians are notoriously far removed from any sound principle of love for the truth, and such men continually take liberties with history in a spirit of partisanship. And a jealous nationalism encourages only a flattering view of a country’s past politics, wars, ideology, and social conditions. It is denounced as unpatriotic for a historian to tell the truth, if what he tells may reach a wide audience and provide material for un­ comfortable public controversy. It can be said that not one man in a hundred in any country has a correct, enlightened understanding of his country’s history. He may in the most superficial way be familiar with the chronological order of events. He knows in a general way that certain things happened, certain rulers held power, certain changes vaguely understood have taken place in historic time. But of the real forces of history he has no adequate comprehension. His view is partisan, patriotic, and idealistic. He is given an exaggerated idea of the virtues of his country, the loftiness of its ideals and customs, the deceptively portrayed background and moti­ vation of its social life, its cultural life, its political life, military adven­ tures—adventures which are made to appear glorious and righteous, regardless of the intrigues and struggles for power that prompted such violence. It is not that the truth is hidden. It can easily be known if one cares to look for it. It is of course not spread forth fairly in the full, ready view , of all men. It is not printed in the newspapers, nor in popular works, nor in common school histories. It is familiar, however, to the student who has read the works of the most careful and able historians and who has, above all, gone to original sources. Not long ago we had in this country a tempest of patriotic resent­ ment over a biography of George Washington which showed him as a human being rather than an impossible image of bloodless perfection. It really made Washington more interesting. But as it was contrary to the legendary picture of “the Father of His Country,” there was a scan­ dalized outcry and, plainly asserted, the notion that history should be faithful to certain “ideals” rather than faithful to the actual record. Few Americans have any broadly correct and useful knowledge of the political, social, and cultural origins of their country, of its Revolution and the formation of its government, of the leading characters of that important and polemically obscured period. Yet if they were to read only the unquestioned documents left by the chief actors—by V\ ashington, Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Paine and others—they would have a quite different idea of “the Spirit of ’76” and of the principles and problems with which “the founding fathers” were concerned. Patriotic history falsifies the patriots’ own story. There has been such misrepresentation of every important period of history: especially of the most important periods, when great changes and critical issues have been to the fore. How many Americans have a sound grasp of the economic factors that went to the making of that tremendous crisis, the Civil War? Flow generally known is the skeptical attitude of the leading American Revolutionists? It is still declared, directly con­ trary to the historical facts, that the American government was Christian in its origin. The truth is that Ihomas Paines ideas on religion were

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held by the leading American patriots of the time, and that the “Spirit of ’76” was decidedly more inspired by the fashionably current ration­ alism of the age than by Christianity. One readily understands, of course, why the beginnings of the Republic are placed in such a false light. The propaganda of Christianity is responsible for a good deal of falsehood. Preachers and befrienders of the church do not want the truth known. Again, the object of pa­ triotism is to convey an impossibly pure, lofty, idealistic view of the origin of our government—to make it appear perfect and inspired—and this leads to a neglect of the basic materialistic factors. It is foolishly taken to be a shameful fact that economic reasons were involved in the struggle for American liberty—when they are, after all, just the reasons we should expect to have the greatest force. So the whole struggle is ' politely elevated to the plane of “ideals”: the truth that ideals have a material basis is slurred over: and facts are distorted to suit the idealistic picture. There is, finally, the tendency of any ruling class to play down a country’s revolutionary past. It becomes treasonable to repeat the sentiments of the patriots who fought to establish the new government. It is embarrassing to say much about Thomas Jefferson’s ideas on tyrants—not simply monarchical tyrants but any tyrants, the spirit of tyranny itself.

Great historical struggles against absurd powers, oppressive prin­ ciples, illiberal systems of thought are not fairly discussed by the up­ holders of contemporary conservatism, who benefit from the special privileges and the unjust powers and the illiberal traditions that still obtain in the world. It is not easy to reconcile an admiration for the past champions of freedom with an apology for the present enemies of freedom. So there is a vast amount of misrepresentation and sophistry, great men and great issues of the past are presented in a false light, and the heroes of historical enlightenment and revolutionism are made to appear tamely as models of orthodoxy or to serve as lurid warnings of disreputable character and tendency. It is very clear that the free-thinking man, who is fully and soundly committed to the principles of progress and liberty, will have an outlook upon history quite different from that of the man who has a motive of defense for current anti-liberal systems. The free man does not attempt to square history with narrow conceptions of religion or patriotism or class rule. He has no sympathy with obscurantism, which would make him wish to ignore certain facts and lessons of history. He has indeed the greatest regard for those personalities and those influences in history which have acted for the culture, the enlightenment, the liberation of mankind. He defends himself, however, from the uncomplimentary charge of bias. He insists that one should judge systems, governments, ideas by th&ir results. And he does not hesitate to express his approval of intelligent, progressive forces, which have developed the brightest and most attractive and most excellently efficient features of civilization. On this question of bias, whether one is willing to declare oneself in favor of freedom or oppression, in favor of enlightenment or obscur­ antism, I think no one will flatly array himself against t]ie free-thinking

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man: not in so many words, although it may be plain enough that his position is unfriendly t'o freedom. It is, first and last, important that we should know the truth. We should know what are the lessons of history with respect to freedom, culture, progress—what really are the forces that have made history and in what direction they have tended. And this knowledge can be obtained only by studying the record of the past with a perfectly free mind, without illusions cultivated for partisan or apologetic ends, without preconceptions in defense of which we should be disposed to ignore the plainest facts. This realistic view of history liberates us at once, for example, from any mystical interpretation of human events. The notion of a divine will or intelligence guiding the course of history is crude, preposterous, and entirely untenable. It is of course so very childish that very little reflection, very little knowledge of history, should be enough to disabuse any mind of the notion of Providence. We find that the events of history come about humanly and naturally. Man’s institutions, his ideas his ways of living have evolved. Nor has there been a steady, consistent wise evolution as if by way of carrying out some divine plan. The record of man is replete with blunders, the following of false trails, the defeats of the best possibilities of life, setbacks, betrayals, tragedies of ignor­ ance and cruelty. x As in the evolution of life to the human level—a blind, infinitely sordid and painful development terribly exacting in its price—so in the story of human life to the present level of civilization, we see no evidence of any finger of God or any beneficently guiding spirit. We have indeed more reason to be depressed by the dark aspects of history and to see, clearly enough, that man has been at the mercy of very materialistic factors which he did not understand: that he has been the victim of his ignorance and that he has stupidly, disastrously floundered in the darkness of his own fears, passions, prejudices and conflicting interests; and that, if we were to take any mystical view, we should have to conclude that man had been the sport and plaything of ma­ licious fates. But mysticism is at once meaningless and superfluous. We see history as an intelligible drama. Things do not happen causelessly. There is no record of miracles. Individually and socially, men arc explained by their surroundings, by the time in which they live, by the concrete factors with which they must deal and the degree of culture they bring to the struggle. No mythical devil is needed to explain the sad consequences of man’s ignorance nor any mythical god to account for his growth in knowledge and civilization. (For that matter, the religious agencies which have talked most about gods have been significantly opposed to culture and the great ideas that have helped the race forward have been impious.) We do not always find man behaving wisely but we observe him behaving naturally according to his opportunities, his limitations, and his necessities. And slowly there have evolved better ideas of justice, of government, and social relations; and a more intelli­ gent conception of the world. We are no longer seriously in doubt about the main lines of his­

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torical development. History, like other branches of study, has been subjected to scientific principles. We know essentially, and in most cases with an extensive minuteness of detail, what sort of life went on in different ages and places. We know what men thought, how they were governed, how they made their livelihood, what various advantages and handicaps they had, the social, geographical and cultural setting in which their action was staged. The facts are carefully checked and they fit reasonably together to form a convincing picture. It is foolish nowadays to repeat loosely the old saying that history is a fiction agreed upon: modern scholarship has placed history upon a firm, immense, critical basis of knowledge. It is a full, vivid, intelligible story: it is a natural story, in which there appears no excuse for the gropings and esoteric speculations of the mystic. There may be obscur­ ities and disputed points but there is not, correctly speaking, any mystery. And the broad truth is known, especially about the notable civilizations concerning which we have pretty full records, and about the main ten­ dencies and factors of the evolution of human society. It is not really a very pleasant story. It has dark, cruel, and idiotic aspects. It is repeatedly a tale of fine opportunities lost through ignor­ ance, hopes of progress destroyed through unreasoning passions and through catastrophes which man had not the intelligence to foresee or prevent, civilization until modern times insecure and temporary, confined to small areas of the earth, and not including a free, literate, substantially civilized majority of the race. No more stupid and grim joke could.be imagined than the reading of divine intelligence into this story of human folly, struggle, alternate victory and defeat and, ’finally, with the aid of science and a sustaining, spreading materialism the steady trend of prog­ ress that we know today. History, in fact, conveys the sternest, most gigantic lesson in realism. Here, in the actual record of man’s life, we have all the elements of essential debunking. It delivers the death blow to the most attractive and imposing myths. It forces upon one at every turn a critical view of human institutions and ideas. It most impressively shows us wnat forces have made for the betterment of the race and what forces have been reactionary, degrading, and opposed to the truest interests of man­ kind. It furnishes us the evolutionary perspective by the light of which alone we can discuss adequately the subjects which are vital to our wel­ fare. We cannot have an intelligent grasp of history and still cling to a romantic, sentimental way of thinking. Certainly the free man, by his view of history, is strengthened and clarified in his open, critical, studious habit of mind. He who knows the record of human folly and injustice, the origin of beliefs and their course of evolution, the clash of opposing principles in history, the true picture of past times can be no other than a free-thinking man. He occupies the safe ground of an evolutionary viewpoint. He has the great advantage that he is free from errors which are historically discredited. He lives intellectually on the enlightened plane of modernism. 2. SOME LESSONS OF HISTORY

Undoubtedly the pessimist can draw the most discouraging conclu­ sions from history. In a tale by Anatole France, history is compressed

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into an epigram: “Men were born, they suffered, and they died.” Add that they were born into an ill-managed world, that they suffered enor­ mously from the injustice of their fellow men, and that they died gen­ erally without having had a glimpse of significant life—died, too, victims of human oppression and ignorance—and you have a view of history that is supported by ample material on every page of the record. History is covered with blood and tears and the stains of wretched­ ness and folly. The great majority of men who have lived on this earth have been no better than slaves and beasts of burden. They have been heaped endlessly as sacrifices in insane wars. They have lived in squalor and fear. They have—or a few of them have—made tragically futile attempts to better their lot: but revolutions have been succeeded by reactions, bright moments comparatively have been followed by long dark stretches, and it could be said for the greater part that right was on the scaffold and wrong was on the throne. As I have said, he who tries to sentimentalize in optimistic style about history can only do so by ignoring the facts. Men have had little to thank a god or nature or their fellow men for. They have not been the beneficiaries of a special kind care—quite otherwise. But of course the sensitive modern looks at history more critically than the average man regarded it in the past. On the whole, men have submitted to what they thought they could not help. In simple ways, they have derived some satisfaction from their animal-like existence. Set one of us down in almost any age of the past and we should be inexpressibly more discontented than was the case with those actually living at the time and having no conception of modern life to dwell upon in contrast with their own lot. That, of course, does not make the wretchedness of history look any brighter. Nor is it admissible as an apology for the ills and injustice that have darkened the human story. It is when he considers modern civilization—the progress of the past hundred years—that the optimist can draw his most encouraging conclusions. We have a right to be hopeful about the future, although that need not make us hug illusions about the past. All that we can do about the past is to know it in truth and thought­ fully seek its lessons. If, let us say, man has been the victim of vast and terrific bunk and if this bunkistic victimization of mankind still has its reverberations in our own day, we must assert with all our power the sober, impressive view of history which the facts justify. False ideas have betrayed men. Their ignorance has betrayed them. Not knowing better, men have worshiped and bowed to the vicious influences that have marred their lives. And while we should not in any childish spirit bewail the fact that conditions in the past have been far from ideal— and while we cannot in a sense judge, in an absolute moral way, the evils of history as if men, say, in the tenth century are to be blamed for not having been more intelligent and humane—we should at least realize, with the benefit of a modern point of view, what sort of past the race has. We should not be deceived by the glamour of fine illusions. We should certainly not express pride at the gilded tyrannies of the past. We should not speak, for example, of an Age of Faith as if it had been an idyllic, precious period from whose blessedness man has unfortunately

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fallen. We should speak plainly and call it the age of ignorance and warn men against those influences of the present day which would, in some sort or another, idealize that low’er state of man. We should not talk incorrectly about the civilizing effect of things which have in fact been obstacles to human progress. It is still possible, for instance, to hear in our day talk about the benefits of war to civilization, about the moral qualities of war, and about the virtue of maintaining those hostile divisions and aims of men that inspire war. Beyond doubt the sentiment for peace is immense and growing in the modern world. Men more definitely think about the abolition of war as a possibility than they did a century ago. But there is still a great deal of nonsense that is seriously uttered in defense of war. Or, if war itself is not defended, we have a glorification of the sentiment of patriotism (without the truth being told about what sordidly, calculatingly lies behind this sentiment in the mind’s of a few who arouse it) and much jealous, inaccurate stuff about the pride and destiny of separate nations and, generally, an encouragement of prejudices and suspicions and fears that lead to war. Past wars are grandiloquently lied about and the “reasons” for wrar in the modern world are given a specious dignity and appearance of necessity. Pacifism is held up to mockery. The plain truth, without any frills or excuses, that war has been a terrible curse of civilization and an interruption of the creative life of man—that war is monstrous, unintelligent, anti-social—that only in peaceful ways can man find security and happiness: this plain truth is shamefully obscured and concealed beneath treacherous rhetoric on every hand. Men are encouraged in a thrilled pride because their ancestors were warriors. They emulate where they should pity or abhor. History for many people still appears as a record of the grandeur of battles and the pomp of rulers. They do not think of history critically in terms of civilization or its opposite, in humane values, in soundly progressive interests. The masses have been the victims, the unconsidered pawns, in the game of war. They have been too easily inflamed with a spirit of patriotism and loyalty in contradiction of their own welfare. For back of war has been the desire for power or plunder on the part of rulers or ruling classes. This is an outstanding fact in the tragedy of history— the fact of unjust rule against the interests of mankind at large. The best interests of nations, of civilizations, of progress have been time and again sacrificed to the narrow ambition or greed of men controlling the organized forces of the State. The critical student of history can have no illusions about the righteousness or the wisdom of governments among men. He sees all too clearly the exclusive, selfish motives at work. It is clear that no man nor group can be safely trusted with very great power. Even if one considers government a necessary evil, one cannot help seeing that it has on the whole been maintained by a system of force and intrigue which is violative of fairness and reason. It is natural that the free-thinking man, in looking at history, should find his sympathies consistently drawn to the victims, and still more intelligently to the challengers, of authority and misrule. Back of the pride of empire and the dashing appearance of conquerors and statesmen

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he perceives the debunked and pessimistic realities of all this glory. It is apparent too that older civilizations were insecure because they rep­ resented chiefly the good fortune and power of a ruling few, of a favored minority of men, while in the masses there was no sound civilized basis of life. It is of the greatest and most powerful importance that in the modern world the benefits of civilization are widespread and that the fall of a central power or the shifting of prestige and authority does not, as once it did, threaten the whole social structure. For when the masses of men were impoverished and illiterate, it was clear that their social ■world—the hold upon civilization of such a society which flourished importantly only at the top—was very vulnerable. As we see it clearly today, civilization can be safely entrenched and progressive only when it is diffused as a solid reality among the masses. We do not today have an ideal civilization but we do have a civilization that is world-wide and that takes in significantly the common life. Cul­ turally the common life is not on a high plane. But it is literate; it is, broadly speaking, enlightened and efficient—immensely so in comparison with past times; it has the knowledge and the power and the material equipment for survival. One cannot imagine mankind slipping help­ lessly into another Dark Age, with the very memory of civilization lost to the world. The evils of government in the modern world are serious enough. Unjust privileges flourish. The full opportunities of civilization are not fairly open to all men. But we learn plainly from history that this is the greatest advantage of our world—the diffusion of knowledge and power. And it is wisdom to continually increase this advantage, to insist upon the value of democracy in its social and materialistic aspects—or, instead of democracy, let us say a free and self-conscious and energetic common life—and to condemn, with sound history as well as feelings of humanity for our justification, every appearance of tyranny and effort of obscurantism. And this recognition of the essential basis of civilization includes the historic importance of the growth of free thought and culture. Civili­ zation is produced by, as it is proved by, the spread of enlightenment. In judging, therefore, the factors that have been hostile to progress one forcibly realizes that a chief, deadly factor has been man’s victimization by religious folly and bigotry. Here the free man encounters a kind of bunk that still incongruously persists—namely, the notion that religion has geen a great civilizing influence. It is incongruous because it is so entirely contrary to our modern knowledge of the role of religion in his­ tory and because too it persists by the side of a decline in actual religious beliefs. There is a great deal of discussion of religion today, but the note of skepticism runs through it all, and even believers are obviously on the defensive; while it seems that it is not this or that belief of religion which is thought to be so preciously worth saving, but a general belief in the usefulness or attractiveness of religion. But not only is it plain to the thoughtful mind that there is no usefulness, no need, as there is no reality of religion in life. Historically the case is far worse. By his follies of superstition, his sanity-warping concern with fears and visions of another life, man has neglected the

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business of this life and been prevented from rising earlier to the con­ ception of progress which he now has. His religion has distorted his attitude toward every relation of life. It has worked as a tyranny of the mind, extending itself to every evil possibility of social tyranny. It was particularly disastrous that religion should have been such a terrible power for centuries after the passing of ancient civilization, not simply holding mankind back from progress but keeping it on a far lower level than life had formerly occupied.

One who studies history without prejudice cannot avoid the conclu­ sion that the overwhelming effect of religion has been antagonistic to the highest, efficient purposes of civilization. Far from religion having been responsible for the greatness of modern civilization, it has warred to the last ditch against the agencies that have really created this civili­ zation. It was bitterly opposed to the liberation of man, socially, in­ tellectually, in every way. It threw every obstacle both of actual force and of prejudice in the path of that scientific study and mastery of life which—it is a truism—represents the most wonderful civilizing triumph of mankind. Another truth that history enforces, in this and other connections, is that man has had to make his own world—his social world—in his own image. Nature has been indifferent to him—from the facts one would say that it had been hostile if one could ascribe to it a conscious­ ness. Illusions, religious or otherwise, have not changed the essential facts of life This world is all man knows or has and how poorly, under the sway of religion and tyranny and all manner of fa^e codes and idealisms, he has managed it until, finally, in science he has found the real means of emancipation. It was an emancipation that would not have been conceivable so long as religion actually held men’s minds in bondage. Everything worth while in life, actual or prospective, demanded freedom for its realization: first and last, freedom and the will to think, to investigate, to know, and to apply our scientifically directed energies to the real problems of this life. This freedom was plainly incompatible with the supremacy of a religious habit of mind; with the old forms of political, social tyranny; with the narrow, slavish manner of life in which men formerly were cramped and blinded. Only as he became free could man do great things. Freedom, knowledge, civilized power—these are essentially anti-religious in their origin and their effects. It is not, of course, true that religion explains all the sufferings and mistakes of the race. It must, however, bear an enormous share of re­ sponsibility. There has been no greater weight of bunk that has crushingly oppressed the struggling children of earth. Like all forms of bunk, it has to face the verdict of history. 3. THE CASE FOR RATIONALISM

What is important to know, in a word, is that the historic case for rationalism is strong and complete. At every point, when we turn in­ quiringly to the record of man’s past errors and difficulties and struggles, we learn that what is modernly called “debunking” is the right, useful

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attitude. It is bunk that has interfered always, in various forms subtle and crude, with the better, saner aims of life. It is debunking that has struck the chains from men, has stimulated them to intelligent efforts, has brightened the face of our human world. It is by the use of his reason, sensibly and directly applied to the true needs of society, that man has advanced so far and has thrown off so many handicaps by which unfor­ tunately he let himself be held too long. What is really the viewpoint of those who seek to falsify history and flout reason for the sake of bunk? What is the opposite attitude from that of the free-thinking man? It is that certain beliefs are somehow sacred and authoritative in a dogmatic way and shall not be placed under the light of criticism. It is urged that for emotional or traditional or opportunistic reasons (a deceptive opportunism, however) men shall agree that certain opinions are right, shall defend those opinions passion­ ately, and shall regard skepticism or knowledge as an enemy when it calls in question the validity of such conventionally cherished notions.

And this position cannot stand in any halfway plausible light by the side of the facts of history. It is clear that the widespread prevalence of certain beliefs does not argue their truthfulness; and, moreover, that this disposition to believe on dogmatic grounds or, really, on no grounds at all—this credulity in defiance or indifference to reason—has repeatedly and terribly led mankind astray. The long tale of terror in history could not have been possible had it not been for this credulity and submis­ siveness of the masses of men. Ignorance has been man’s chief enemy, the necessary support of all evils that have afflicted the race. And it is uncompromisingly against ignorance, against loose thinking, against an unrealistic view of life that rationalism is active. The rationalist is decidedly a spokesman for freedom, because he knows, historically, that it is through freedom the race has prospered and advanced. It is, he sees, not simply a question of the right of freedom but also the utility of freedom. Liberated, man learns and achieves. Ra­ tionalism is an approach to life by means of knowledge and distinguished from blind, empty faith—and history shows that it is this approach which has been rewarded by positive gains for humanity. Faith oppresses; it deceives; it prevents full living. That, historically, has been the effect of faith. Times of progress are times of new ideas, new and bold attempts, a challenging of old ways and beliefs. The skeptical attitude has been emphasized by rationalists, by freethinking men, and certainly history reveals the immense importance, the plain progressive necessity of the skeptical attitude. For we should not have this modern civilization had men not come at last to question skeptically the right of tyrants to have authority over them; the founda­ tions of the faith which had so long been blindly accepted ; the meaning and use of the forces in the natural world, inquiry concerning which in­ volved a challenge to the dogmas which unscientifically prevailed and were held to be sacred. We know that science has been a skeptical, revolutionary, world­ changing force. It has set mankind upon a broader, more wonderful

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path of historic achievement. But in preparing the way for science there was necessarily a strong attitude of rationalism, of liberalism, of humanism. It is precisely the rationalistic, realistic tendency that has in­ spired the production of all the wonders of the modern world.

Looking at history, the free man is interested in the truth first and last and always. And, with sound knowledge as his guide, he identifies as good or bad those influences which have worked for or against better­ ment in human affairs. He has only one partiality, and that is partiality for the enlargement of wisdom and happiness in this real, this inexorably short, this not-to-be-wasted life.

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CHAPTER XVII In Today’s Freedom There Is the Hope of a Freer Tomorrow 1. IN PRAISE OF MODERNISM

UMMARILY, it may be said that the free man is thoroughly modern in his thought and sympathies. This does not mean that he is lacking in appreciation of the aspects of greatness in the past nor that he approves of every single manifestation of human nature, social policy, and opinion today. It does mean that he is informed, in his outlook upon life, by the enlightened and critical spirit of the modern age. What is it to be progressive? It is, first of all, to share the best thought of the age. It is, of course, to be hospitable in the face of change and new ideas—to be open-minded, alert, growing. It is not to stand still, saying that so far the race has come and it should go no farther. We know there are people in our time, just as there have been in every period, who believe that change is either impossible or undesirable. They are the conservatives. On the whole, they regard present customs and institutions as the best possible. They are hostile to any suggestion of the new, when it attacks the cherished prejudices and basic ways of contemporary life. They forget that their beloved social order could not have existed had it not been for progressive—even revolutionary—in­ fluences and that conservatism, whatever good points it may have, can­ not dictate the future of humanity. Again, there are reactionaries who strongly believe that we have had too much progress—in freedom, in knowledge, in materialistic richness and power—and that some earlier period was much more right and beautiful. They do not, however, exhibit a full consistency of reaction­ ary opinion. Some may think that our advance in political liberty is a very commendable thing, but that we should be far better if we were to be intellectually set backward to the viewpoint of the old-fashioned reli­ gion, to an age of faith, to the simplicity of belief in God and Heaven and, less pleasantly but more dramatically, Hell. Others deplore the machine character of the age and dream longingly of a return to the slow, simple, hand-working, country and village life of other days. They think our modern world is too hard, too fast, and too noisy. They say that materialism threatens to rob life of its beauty, its hope, and its fine sentiment. They talk eloquently albeit vaguely of “spiritual” values. Very few, however, have a sincere belief in the anti-materialistic doctrine. Even those who declaim most touchingly of the “spiritual life would not, after all, welcome a social reaction which would deprive them of the comforts and opportunities which are the products of this materialistic age. They want, in fact, to retain the goods of materialism and get rid of the ideas which naturally result from the new social order. Consider, for example, their pathetic dilemma in their attitude to-

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ward science. Simply stated, they owe to science their good fortune in having a much better time in this world than they could possibly have enjoyed in any pre-scientific “age of faith.” Actually, science has made them more comfortable, more safe, more happy—and this they find it impossible to deny. But at the same time, science has revolutionized the intellectual life of man: immensely so with respect to the thinking minor­ ity and also to a marked extent in common opinion, in the general attitude towards life. They would like, these critics of materialism, to have the old spirit­ ualistic faith and the new materialistic conditions. Yet they have both. And I daresay that, if pushed to a sharp and final choice, they would cast their votes in behalf of materialism. They too are modern in the sense that they really prefer the advantages of a more efficient life to the vain lures of faith in a crude, inefficient world. The free man is entirely a modern. He recognizes this as the greatest age in all history. There is no past which he regards as better, taking the social picture as a whole. He is in sympathy with the modern spirit in all its manifestations. He believes to the utmost practicable limit in political and social liberty—and he does not believe that we have yet reached that limit. He wants more liberty, not a restriction of present liberties. He has a profound appreciation of the fact that men can live more freely today than men could live in any other age. And he is, of course, quite in accord with the intellectual liberalism of the modern world. He rejoices that the ideas of men have broadened. The greater prevalence of a critical, skeptical attitude of mind, which is so insistently deplored by the defenders of surviving bunk, is hailed by the free man as altogether good, a sign of the maturing intelligence of the race, the head and front of essential progress. As for the materialistic character of our civilization, the free man looks at it sensibly and finds that it signifies a far greather human wel­ fare. The loss of faith does not, as he reflects, call for mourning. It is indeed a fortunate loss. Even if that faith could be regarded as some­ thing valuable, still it is apparent that the gains of materialism have abundantly made up for it. Evidently materialism and skepticism go together. Very well—it is far better to have a rich, interesting, happy materialism than to have a poor, dull, and deluded condition of faith in the chimera of another life. For that matter, those who speak so mournfully of the loss of faith are perhaps assuming -too easily that all others share their feeling. No one is forcibly robbing them of their faith. If others do not set such a high price on faith but find that they can get along more simply and pleasantly without it, preferring the solid realities of life, that would seem to be a matter of personal privilege, to say the least. If faith is so true and fine for any man, what should it concern him if all the world is benighted so long as he remains in the saving, sacred light? It often seems that the defenders of the faith would, if they had the power, compel others and even deny them access to that knowledge which, as we increasingly observe, deals strong blows at a faith which depends upon antiquated conceptions. They are not friendly to the right of men to choose between, let us say, Faith and Knowledge or Spiritual­ ism and Materialism. They cry out that the world is going to the devil

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because men, in great numbers, differ from them in choice and opinion. And significantly, those who are loudest in their lamentations are the very ones who are profitably, professionally engaged in the business of uphold­ ing the ancient faith. It seems, too, that if people have to be reminded so persistently that they have suffered this loss of faith, it cannot be such a vital, terrible loss. What, indeed, are the precious things that formerly were enjoyed and that are denied by modernism? A man can, as I say, if he has a sufficient intellectual resistance to the conclusions of modern knowledge, have a faith and belief of the strictest medieval description. Whoever longs for the simplicity of olden times can, personally, have just as quiet and simple and intimately withdrawn a life today if that is what really delights him. If anyone believes that the moral ideas of the age are too free, he can be as narrowly moral as suits his conscience. On the other hand, if men generally find it easier and more agreeable to follow modern tendencies in their adjustment to life, that too is very natural. In the ways I have mentioned, no one is compelled to follow a certain course or ideal of life. But there is today a wider field of choice. Life’s oppor­ tunities are greater. Man is not so narrowly a slave to the crude necessi­ ties of a limited environment. Broadly speaking, the praiseworthy features of modernism are obvi­ ous enough. Taking freedom both in its individual and social significance (the two fairly reconciled), when has mankind been so free as in this day and time? We have such a freedom of avowed thought as was never enjoyed before. There is no longer persecution for opinion, on an im­ mense and dreadful scale. Legally, we can be as intellectually free as we wish to be. After all, the State interferes very little with opinion, excepting in time of war. The power of the Church to dictate men’s opinions has gone (which is not to say that its influence upon susceptible minds has entirely gone) and it is, indeed, the loss of this power which many churchmen bewail more sincerely than any .subsidence of faith. When one makes allowance for all the possibilities of intimidation and obscurantism that still exist in modern society, it is evident that the situation has been improved almost beyond measure within the past hun­ dred years—and to go back only a little farther, the comparison is terrific. Naturally, the free man is quite enthusiastic about the fact that he is living in such an age. Others may voluntarily submit to the dogmas and superstitions and restrictive notions of conduct which prevailed in pre-scientific times. But the free man rejoices in this more liberal mod­ ern atmosphere which is as the breath of life to him. He can find no past age that would have suited him so well, that would have so favor­ ably encouraged his special qualities of mind and character. And, in passing, it may be remarked that if he were to choose any other age, it would not be any period of Christian time that would appeal to him, but the Pagan civilization in the full tide of its culture and glory. Even the common man today, far as he may be from real intellectual freedom, must appreciate the social and political rights that he enjoys. He is his own man and can, to a great extent, live his own life. Truly, the common man has not enjoyed any consideration, any freedom, any hope worth mentioning save in this modern, materialistic age. It is

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plainly the age of expanding, wide, common civilization. It is the age of the rights of man. When anyone idealizes the past, he is really idealizing slavery, ig­ norance, poverty and hopelessness for the masses of mankind. He is idealizing, among other things, ignorance—yes, extremely illiterate and superstitious ignorance as the common state of men. I refer of course to the society of past times as a whole, and not to the exceptionally brilliant and cultured few- in any period. Modernism has brought real enlightenment (if not the highest culture and the most advanced intel­ lectual outlook) to the millions, contrasting with the dense darkness in which dwelt the millions of former times. And a broad, splendid culture is open to everyone who will diligently seek it, who will but claim this free and rich opportunity of modern life. Above the great common enlightenment which appears to the credit of modernism, there has been a tremendous growth in knowledge which is not generally made use of. Intellectually, and chiefly of course because of its scientific character, the modern age stands far above any other age. And let us remark that, so stupid and prejudiced can men be, this su­ perior intelligence of modernism is precisely the objection which some critics urge against it. We are accused of being too intellectual, too critical, too free-minded. Our knowledge is anathematized as a corrupt­ ing influence, which has dulled our vision of those “higher truths”— those “spiritual truths”—which, curiously enough, appear the less true as our actual knowledge increases. The enormously increased material possessions and facilities of the modern world admit of no comparison with the social poverty of the past. To slight these things, as some do, and say that materialism is not so important is merely silly. I repeat that not one man in ten thousand actually believes such nonsense. There is nothing so wonderful as man’s control over nature, his productive genius, his power to bring richness and variety and security and all the significant reflections of material things into his life. Those who depreciate material things are simply depreciating life, are depreciating the actual concerns and achievements of humanity, are depreciating man’s realistic job of making the best of this world. Such critics of materialism are not even superficially intelli­ gent. It is perfectly clear to common sense that our lives depend, for better or worse, upon the material means of living. What are the fruits of our materialistic civilization? Comfort—men have comfortable, sanitary surroundings, they are physically better equipped for the business of living, which means that they are more pleasant, more efficient, more self-respecting, more hopeful, more alive. Safety—it is a far more secure world, less ridden by fear, therefore more humane and more wholesomely feeling the joy and adventure of living. Leisure—out of leisure, the widespread modern leisure, grows a more in­ teresting and intelligent life, with leisure a broader culture and a higher development of personality is possible (whether everyone makes the most of this leisure is another question), with leisure indeed the most important part of life is lengthened. Knowledge—it is man’s mastery of the mate­ rial world that has given him his vast knowledge, his knowledge is real and material, his maintenance of world-wide communication and of great

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educational systems is possible only upon the solid, rich basis of ma­ terialism. It is evident, in fine, that civilization, so far as the majority are concerned, must be based upon an immensely productive and resourceful materialism. Before the day of science and the machine, only a few could have leisure and culture: and that culture, lacking science, was more brilliant than sound; while the leisure of an aristocrat some cen­ turies ago was far narrower in its possibilities than the leisure of an ordi­ nary man today. It is meaningless to talk of the “spiritual” nature and life of man. But if we consider his humane sentiments, his culture, his regard for personality, his sensitiveness to the most significant things in life—these have been enhanced by his material progress. Again we have what must seem a paradox to anyone but the realist: the more skeptical man be­ comes about “spiritual” things, the more civilized he is: “spiritualism” produces nothing of value, while materialism produces comfort, safety, leisure, culture, all that is solid and fine. And modernism is hopeful. Not only are we fully aware of life now and making the most of it, but we have a progressive vision of the future. We do not look back to some ideal, some golden age. This is the best age, and the future will, in all reasonable prospect, be greater. It is not simply a matter of Utopian dreaming. It is not idealism of a merely imaginative and wishful type. We actually have, we increasingly have, the power and the knowledge to improve the conditions of life on this planet. The foundations of modern civilization are natural, strong, deep, and as wide as the world. In science we have the really efficient method of knowing and doing. We can avail ourselves of all that is valuable in the past: its wisdom, its beauty, its inspiration. We can (though we have not yet entirely done so) disencumber ourselves of the errors of the past. Men formerly seemed helpless before the forces of nature and helpless, too, under the tyranny and ignorance of an unscien­ tific, unprogressive society. We are in a very real sense—and in a scien­ tific, not a mystical, way—the masters of our own destiny. It is all the result of a quite natural evolution, and it is indeed by this knowledge of evolution that we understand so much better the drama and struggle of man’s life in the past, the problems of our own contemporary life, and the possibilities that lie in the future. Those who are not in harmony with the modern spirit are unfortunately far behind in the march of progress. 2. LOOKING AT THE FUTURE

No doubt that is a risky, vain presumption—to say that one is look­ ing at the future, when really the future isn’t visible or, at any rate, appears as only a large blank yet to be written upon. Even so, one can draw some conclusions from past and present tendencies. And, as a free man who is careful to avoid dogmatism, one can offer these conclusions tentatively even though with a tone of conviction. One thing that can be most safely asserted is that modernism will hold its own, will add to its triumphs, and will become—well, ever more and more modern. Medievalism has had its day—or rather its night—a long and painful night. We are not likely to suffer again the domination of the major evils of that old, pre-scientific world. Absolute, hopeless

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poverty—despotism cruel and complete—superstition so wretched as to be well-nigh incredible—they will not again be socially in control, char­ acteristic of the common life, the effective obstacles of civilization. The scientific enlightenment and organization of human life is the soundest guaranty of the future. Of course, one must fairly admit that our modern life is adulterated with yet lingering evils of the past. Superstition, crude or fashionable, has still its devotees. There is poverty, injustice, fear and conflict in the world that mock the possibilities of life as we now know them. After all, one can say that, dazzling though the contrast between the society of today and that of a century ago, we are only just beginning to progress and to realize what life, scientifically equipped and guided, can and must be. We have indeed the materials and the plans for ideal living, but we have not yet intelligently, fully put them to the test. We are belated in learning or applying a science of social organization so that all can share adequately in the benefits of modernism. Our distribution is not impersonally just and scientific to compare with the wonders of our production. Qur belief in and understanding of the principles of freedom is not as clear as it might be, so that, while the old stark tyranny is gone, there survives a good deal of unjust rule by force or intrigue. And knowledge, first and last, does not have the wide acceptance and ascendancy that it should have. True, the common life is enlightened and humanized far beyond what it ever has been. The average level of beliefs, sentiments, and conduct has been raised. Even stupid people are a credit to modern influences, comparatively to what they would have been a hundred years ago. Yokelry today is not as awful a spectacle as the peasantry of the Middle Ages. And where medieval notions harig on most tenaciously, though not so bad as the original, is precisely where the light of civilization—average civilization—has scarcely penetrated. The world suffers most perhaps in our time from stupidity and from a frivolous, mentally narrow and superficial lack of culture. There is a better spirit among men, more ordinary decency and sense, a superiority to the most glaring, extreme errors and abuses of the past. What is needed is a profounder popular culture. Free thought, with a realization of the extent and significance of modern knowledge, must become more common. It is our task to encourage the growth of this common understanding, but meanwhile we must in a fair comparative view admit that, on the most conservative and critical reckoning, great progress has been made. It may seem now too slow. We may be impa­ tient, and indeed that impatience may be intelligently turned to good use. Far be it from us to grow complacent or to bask in an excessive optimism. And some statements and predictions may be made which are not at all recklessly dogmatic or optimistic. It is certainly the simplest kind of a sensible view that the scientific attitude toward things—science in action and, naturally if more slowly, science in thought—will continue and will grow, steadily triumphing. Science is too well established and too successful for any other view’ to be conceivable. It has proved itself. It has won the respect and the gratitude—the dependence indeed—and is more and more winning the thoughtful conviction of the race. The future, one may say confidently, belongs to science. This means both that the future will witness greater demonstrations of power, in control

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over nature and in social achievement, and that it will witness a more enlightened condition of the common life of mankind. This would seem to suggest that the future of religion is not very bright and strong. One hesitates to make positive statements, knowing the snares that lie along the pathway of the prophet. Judging by the intellectual history of the world to date, however, it is apparent that religion decreases in credibility, significance and power with the diffu­ sion of knowledge and with the growing prestige of interests and ideas concerning this world as against speculations concerning another world. This tendency is impressively marked in the history of the past few centuries. Today religion, certainly from the standpoint of intellectual authority and as a power in the affairs of men, has scarcely a shadow of the importance which it had at the dawn of the modern age. Indeed, since the beginning of the century religion has rapidly lost power and prestige. In 1900, it was a fact that a religious viewpoint in thought, morals, and human relations generally prevailed, at least in the United States, not seriously questioned save by a few heretics who were objects of derision and curiosity. To be sure, Ingersoll had already dealt very effective blows at the “old-time religion.” Scientific educa­ tion and the growth of a very worldly materialism in the first years of the twentieth century accomplished far more than the sharp logic and iconoclastic wit of Ingersoll. There is no doubt that the pious gospelers are quite right when they allege that our materialistic civilization is unfriendly to religion. When the Church was most successful, men knew little about the nature of the universe, had very vague and sentimental (and fearful) notions about the meaning of life, and, finally, did not enjoy a brilliant and ex­ pansive kind of life in this world. Fear and poverty, both social and intellectual, made them all the more susceptible to the claims, at once threatening and seductive, of the pulpit. In a narrow environment, nar­ row piety and a faith that is narrow in its worldly outlook are more understandable in the light of pathetic compensation. (And even so, think how dull is the Christian fancy of Heaven, reflecting the dullness of life in that old Christian world. That life was dull for the average man. The few who, by their genius or their social fortunes, found bright­ ness in that world were, it seems, the least attracted by Christianity. If they were not atheists, neither were they very pious, for piety had no place in their scheme of worldliness.) Indifference, to say the least, is a marked and familiar attitude toward religion in this year of the fading vision of “Our Lord.” Life is too interesting, and religion has too little contact with the living interests of men. The two holds of religion over men—the threat of punishment hereafter or the hope of an immortality in Paradise—have been steadily slipping. Even among professed adherents of the churches, Hell has gradually lost its air of reality to the imagination and the belief in a future life is surely not as simple and firm as it was only a few decades ago. It seems quite reasonable to predict—and it is strictly in line with the development since the dawn of modernism—that religion will have less and less significance for men in the coming years. As for the power of religion, there is not only the exposure of its intellectual incompetence but also the spirit of freedom which prevails

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in modern society. For social reasons, if for no other, religion will not again be permitted to sway tyrannically, to dictate as master, the lives of the people. Regarding the social and political future, it is also pretty safe to assert that there will at least be no recrudescence of tyranny as it has been known in the past. Generally speaking, it seems that the tendency will be in favor of democracy, although that democracy is and will be capable of abuses. That is a problem which friends of liberty have still to give their serious consideration. Yet this will depend upon the growth of rationalism and the true, intelligent spirit of freedom among men, so that while there will be increasing social control as so­ ciety grows in complexity and while an all-powerful state with modern facilities at its command presents dangers however democratic its form, a fully civilized society will limit this control to technical necessities and have regard for the rights of the individual. At any rate, the major­ ity may be expected to guard jealously their political rights—and their power. Whether they will intelligently and fairly use that power is an­ other question. Apparently it depends upon the diffusion of culture, of the spirit of enlightened modernism, among the people. Thus it will be seen that nothing is so important as the weakening of old traditions, prejudices, taboos, dogmas that stand in the way of free individuality. Every blow at intolerance, at narrow morality, at notions of virtue and authority which are peculiarly derived from the pre-scientific world is an essential blow for liberty. There is no use deluding ourselves with the belief that political democracy, in itself, is an all-inclusive guaranty of human rights. There must be a free, tolerant attitude of mind throughout society. Formerly it was the cause of the majority that was asserted boldly by a few humanitarian leaders. In recent years we have seen the situation reversed and have had special appeals on behalf of mistreated minorities. But on second thought, has not social approval, the consent if not the active demand of the majority, made all kinds of tyranny possible? The herd upheld the bigotry of the Church in its worst days. The herd also upheld the wrongful rule of monarchy. It has always been the in­ telligent minority that has been found in the forefront of the struggle for liberty and enlightenment. It is true that this intelligent minority has grown in number and that in most ways the attitude of the majority has been improved by a decent regard for the rights and opinions of the heretical individual and the unpopular group. Even downright intoler­ ance, while it may be unpleasant enough, is not terrible as it once was. Still tentatively, one suggests that the moral code will in the future be more rather than less free. It is certain that in the present period a striking emancipation from old-fashioned inhibitions and precepts has taken place. The rapid and convenient facilities of modern life have made it more practicable for people to engage, without offense or general cognizance, in behavior that was once severely forbidden by custom as disreputable; add to this the fact that scientific invention has, particu­ larly with regard to sex, enabled moderns to escape the risks that once were very real and serious—they can, so to speak, “cheat nature.” There is, again, the industrial revolution which has emancipated woman from the restrictions of the domestic sphere, liberated her into a free worldly

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life equally with man, and given a succession of shocks to the staid old proprieties. The greatest revolution, morally speaking, has occurred in the very field of sex behavior and it is here that naturally change would be most pronounced inasmuch as the old morality was so excessively sex-con­ scious: “immorality,” “sin,” “vice,” “sensuality,” all those terms implied, and still commonly imply, a breaking of the Puritan code of sex. There is nothing more intriguing—really more weird—than the intensity, the narrowness, with which man’s prejudices and theories of morality have been colored by the particular thought of sex. Today sex, like all other things, is brought out into the clear, critical light of scientific discussion. Intelligent people are no longer impressed by mere arbitrary codes nor theoretical principles of virtue. They want to know the facts and by those facts will they judge this question of sex morality. The notion that sex is somehow inherently shameful, low, unworthy of “spiritual” man has gone into the discard, and happily so. Certainly this must affect the social problem of marriage. That institution must yield, at least in the way of modification toward freedom, to the demands of our modern society, in which we think of rights as well as duties, and in which per­ sonality means more than an empty formula demanding the sacrifice of an individual’s nature. It is most probable that the trend of custom, then, will be intelli­ gently toward greater freedom of—let us say a more sane, realistic atti­ tude toward—behavior. At the same time, we have a clearer and fairer appreciation of socially necessary ethics, of rules that are essential to the preservation of social order, of the kind of morality which means quite simply the willingness to treat our fellows fairly. On the one hand, we reject the code of Puritanism. On the other hand,* we elevate the principles of humanity. The moral gain is tremendous, just as is the gain of a richly rewarded materialism over an empty, illusory faith in other-worldly religion. All told, we may believe that in the realization of personality, in the enjoyment of life, in our thinking and living generally, the tendency will be to carry modernism still farther along the road of freedom. If we are going toward a higher civilization—and that would seem to be true—theu this more civilized future will be wiser, freer, happier. 3. CONCLUSION

I have been careful to deal with the tendencies—with the princi­ ples—of free thought in a general way. For it would be presumptuous indeed to draw up a list of opinions, with the claim that free men unani­ mously agree on this, that and the other point. Free-mindedness does not mean infallibility. It does mean that one gives real thought to every question, that one respects evidence, that one is open-minded, and that one has, first and last, a conception of values which is not derived sub­ missively from any creed, from traditional authority, or from popular prejudice. Dogmatism is the one attitude which is abhorrent to the free mind. Ideas must prove themselves. They are not to be accepted as true simply because they have been long cherished by many people, or because they have the official imprimatur of Church or State, or because they are

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respectably held notions of the society in which we move. Absolute state­ ments, generalizations, opinions that will not admit of discussion—these are foreign to the intellectual habit of the free man. He sticks carefully to skepticism, to the critical attitude, to the fine security of tentative or suspended judgment where a question is doubtful. It does not follow that the free man is without decided opinions. He has indeed very strong convictions. But he doesn’t get them “out of the air,” nor take them over wholly and carelessly from someone else, nor swear that they must be true or the heavens would fall. Even where he is most confident and vigorous in his beliefs, he is always willing to admit the possibility of discussion. And his opinions have been reached by a process of honest thought and investigation. Any man can have an opinion, for that matter: but what is back of that opinion? It has been made plain that I am optimistic about the future. And so I believe that a day will come when the attitude of complete intellec­ tual freedom, of real toleration and love of truth and intelligent, re­ sponsible concern for ideas will seem as natural to the average man as foolish, stubborn, undebatable prejudices now seem: or perhaps I should be more cautious—that free attitude, let me say, will grow in favor among men as civilization grows. Today, however, the opinions of men are entangled and obscured by old traditions; men have the most slender and ridiculous grounds for their beliefs; prejudices are defended with scarcely an attempt to hide their real nature; some subjects—sex, pa­ triotism, racial differences—arouse instantly an unreasonable fierceness of assertion (not really debate) in which calm, honest judgment is not permitted. It is, then, necessary and still, to the average man, even rather novel to insist upon the general principle of a free-minded attitude to­ ward life in all its ideas, aspects and activities. What is the intellectual code of the free man? All subjects should be discussed with an open mind. True understanding should be the end and aim of all discussion. Knowledge—the facts critically weighed and proved—should be the foundation of belief. We should draw plain, honest, intelligent conclusions from our knowledge, thinking freely in a realistic spirit, undismayed by any considerations of what is said to be holy or respectable or expedient or pleasing or what-not*. That may seem a severe code. Perhaps no one follows it perfectly, however sin­ cere his intention to do so. Yet there are many who find it, &s a gen­ eral rule, the most natural attitude to have toward ideas. They may err. But they are not likely to dogmatize. They do not merely believe and argue: they think and discuss. They are tolerant. They are critical. They are engaged in an unresting process of unlearning and learning, of comparing, of seeking, of asking questions. Such are the free men, and for them life is a fine intellectual adventure.

The First Hundred Million ■

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TARTLING facts about selling 100,000,000 books in ten years! If you want to learn how and what to write for publication; if you are curious about the present reading tastes of the book-buying public; if you have ever wondered how a great publishing plant prints and binds books by the mil­ lion; if you would like to know exactly what goes on when an editor deals with authors; if the secrets of advertising and sales­ manship, applied to books by millions, are worth learning; in short, if you want to know how books are written, what makes books popular, how advertising is prepared, etc., HERE IS THE BOOK YOU NEED: “The First Hundred Million,” by E. Haldeman-Julius.

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E. Haldeman-Julius, editor and publisher of the world famous Little Blue Books, takes you into his confidence. He conceals nothing that he has learned in almost ten years of publishing the pocket classics. He tells of outstanding successes, with sales figures. He laments, with the exact facts, his unhappy failures. The information in this book cost hundreds of thou­ sands of dollars to acquire. A famous editor and his requirements—his relations with writers—his selling secrets. The “writing game” from start to finish, told by a veteran editor, a successful publisher, a daring advertiser, and a persuasive salesman—and also an insight into the tastes of the Ameri­ can reading public of today

The True Story of the Little Blue Books! Chapter Titles: What Amer­ ica wants to read; Are Ameri­ cans afraid of sex? The quest for self-improvement; Ameri­ cans want fun and laughter; Religion vs. freethought; Side­ lights on reading tastes; Reju­ venating the Classics; The hos­ pital; What a change of scen­ ery will do; The morgue; An editor and his writers; How the Little Blue Books are produced; Following a new title from copy to customer; Business man or philanthropist; An editor turns to advertising; A comparison of advertising mediums; The pass­ ing of the “sales policy.”

Read the enthralling story of how people’s reading tastes are tested, analyzed, and satisfied. Find out what America wants to read! Be astounded—be fascinated—be con­ vinced. Learn, incidentally, what books YOU have shown that YOU want most to read! For this book takes you behind the scenes in pub­ lishing, and shows you one of the most interesting psychological labo­ ratories in the world in its innermost workings.

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