Chapter 2

But at such a crisis in our lives let us make no avoidable mistake; let us not say that our self-respect is in peril, when we mean our pride. To strike back, even in self-defence, is to turn our backs to the path which Christ pointed out to us. To fight against almost insuperable odds, as we must, can be justified only by a cause which we cannot without degradation surrender, and can in no other way maintain. If we give up our political rights for love of peace, and because our gentler nature does not goad us on to return blow for blow, we forfeit none of our self-respect; but if we give up this privilege for love of Christ, that His law of love may become the law of the nations of the earth, we have His promise of a glorious reward.

But, after all, why should we consider which path we should follow, that of resistance, or that of submission, before we know where we are going? What is that survival, which we must fight for; what is this conquest, which gilds ignoble stooping?

In North Germany, where the climate is too severe for grain or grass to flourish, there was nursed a race, which hunted in the forests, and fished along the rocky coasts. In the fifth century, these men learned that there were more beautiful parts of the earth. In less than fifteen hundred years they have swept the Celts from England, the Indians from North America, the Maoris from Australia. Will they continue their devastating progress over the earth, never resting until they have extinguished every other race? It may be so, but long before they have dispersed the other inhabitants of the globe, they must themselves have become scattered, divided, opposed. Already, the English language is unintelligible in Germany, though Englishman and German are offshoots from the same stock, the German of the North can hardly understand the German of the South; Dutch and English vessels have fought desperately at sea, in the past, and to-day, Dutch and English are face to face in South Africa; England and America have fought two wars; the Northern and Southern states of this country have fought one. As far back as we can go the same condition reveals itself; Greece humiliates her sister Persia, and falls before her more powerful sister, Rome: the barbarians who sack Rome in the fifth century and the Romans themselves are of the same Aryan stock: so are the English and Russians, who seem about to grapple in a deadly struggle to-day. To assign a limit to this process of selection seems as impossible in the future, as in the past. Yet it may well be doubted whether, amidst the host of the fallen, there were not many who were worthier than those who have survived.

Forty years ago, Hallam, after reviewing the Middle Ages, was forced to say: "We cannot from any past experience, indulge the pleasing vision of a constant and parallel relation between the moral and intellectual energies, the virtues and civilization of mankind." And to-day, it is an almost accepted view, that the least difference between the savage and the civilized man is the difference in morality. It follows that morality has played no conspicuous part in the process of selection; that the extermination of others does little or nothing to improve the character of those who survived; and finally, since Japan has put on European civilization as easily as a Japanese can put on a suit of English clothes, that civilization is a varnish, spread over the material beneath. That this is the real belief of nearly every one of us, and has always been so, our judgment of the conduct of individuals proves. Do we go about the streets giving prizes to octogenarians, or put down to wickedness the early death of a child? Why then, should we otherwise regard long life in a whole people? Do we applaud the superior strength or cunning of Cain, or pretend that the discovery of gun-powder strengthened the arm of the _good_? No, neither loyalty, nor victory is the true test;--it is by their fruits that God will know them.

Let us, then, throw away this narrow, self-justifying doctrine of the survival of the fittest, and follow instead the noble counsel of Milton:--

Nor love thy life, nor hate, but what thou liv'st, live well. How long or short permit to heaven.

Let us find our model less in the conquering Saxon and more in the dying Saviour. Christ died that we may live; and for the same purpose all created life has passed away. Let us so live that when the last man goes from the earth, he will, no matter what his race or color, owe a part of the good there is in him, of the hope there is for him, to our influence. Our life cannot be too brief for this influence to be exerted; and when God shall look over his flocks to praise the worthy, it is the witness of His Son that his first loving welcome will be for the least and lowliest.

But we have so little faith to-day, that I hardly doubt that there is chiming in the ears of many in this audience the refrain:--"This is all sentiment and doesn't help us to deal with hard facts." We ought, however, to hesitate, I think, before consigning this view to the babies' limbs. It may be after all that the Sermon on the Mount was not pure eccentricity, nor Christ a Don Quixote. Of the two counsels, 'Get religion,' and 'Get money,' there is yet something to be said in support of the former. Carlyle fairly exculpates the nobility of Scotland for their cold treatment of the poet, Burns. "Had they not," he asks, "their game to preserve; their borough interests to strengthen, dinners to eat and give?... Let us pity and forgive them. The game they preserved and shot, the dinners they ate and gave, the borough interests they strengthened, the little Babylons they severally builded by the glory of their might are all melted, or melting back into the primeval chaos, as man's merely selfish endeavors are bound to do."

And after all, who are the poor? Let history answer! Is thrift taxed, which seems able to bear, or prodigality, which spares nothing? Do we tax clear-headed temperance, or the wretched drunkard, whose starving wife and babes, by reason of the penny of internal revenue, lose one more crust of bread? Upon whose shoulders falls the lash of scorn and punishment? Upon those of the able man, who never tries to do his best, or upon the ill-born, ill-bred creature's only, whose best is so little above society's arbitrary passing mark, that to slip at all is to fall below it? I have often thought that in the words, "The poor always ye have with you," is contained, far from a curse, the greatest pledge of the world's salvation; for except that hunger, cold, sorrow and disease walk among us, the bond of sympathy which binds us to our fellow-man slackens, and the heart grows dead and cold.

One night during the long period of hardship which the missionaries experienced in the conversion of England, a snow-storm drove Cuthbert's boat on the coast of Fife. "The snow closes the road along the shore, mourned his comrades, the storm bars our way over sea." "There is still the pathway of heaven that lies open," said Cuthbert. It is even so with us. Can we regret it? Surely the problem is greatly simplified. While our minds are fixed upon survival, no path is clear, and we weary ourselves walking along roads which either lead nowhere at all, or bring us back to our starting point. But, with only right living in view, there is no mistaking the way; for there has always been a straight road ahead of us, which we could follow if we would. It is hard to keep plodding along the narrow path, when fields of wealth and power stretch away on either side, but, happily for us, these are about all fenced in, even the great Sahara desert is fenced in. We cannot be tyrants if we would, nor can we despoil our fellows for they are as poor as we. Our road is made smooth before us. God has not led us into temptation. We ought then to come nearer than other peoples to a Christian life, to that better community, where one half of the world is not happy while the other half is miserable.

Of the little guidance which is needed, a part we may get from others, a part from ourselves. From the English, _before_ their entrance upon their progressive stage, we may learn the importance of two bonds, that of the family, and that of the neighborhood. National, state, even municipal organization is denied us. The village is the highest unit of population in which we may hope to develop our political instincts. The village gave birth to literature, manners and customs; as indeed it did to all institutions, political and social; for, let us not forget, that for centuries, the western European peoples, so powerful to-day, had, except in time of war, no other life than that of villagers. Deeper yet in our nature the family has its source. To it we owe our earliest expressions of chivalry, care and protection; of obedience, loyalty, devotion, faith.

The basis upon which the historic monogamous family rests is reverence for parents and respect for women: the basis upon which the village community rests is the common ownership of land;--and it is in just those great countries of Europe, where common ownership of land longest prevailed, namely, in Russia and Germany, that great cities are fewest and the inequality of wealth, least. In such village communities we would be strong enough to resist single handed aggression, yet too weak to warrant persecution; rich enough to escape the degradation of unending toil, though not rich enough to arouse in our oppressors the spirit of avarice. He who seeks to maintain himself in his social privileges and political rights must have in reserve abundant means of subsistence, and beyond this, rugged manhood. If he is going to defend himself in the possession of anything which another covets, he must be prepared to fight down the whole decline from civilization to savagery.

Not only would the village community furnish us with centres of resistance to oppression, but what is of greater importance, with custom, and tradition, that understanding among men and between generations which is stronger than law. It is the peculiar weakness of our efforts at organization, that they proceed from the minds and wills of a few individuals, and not from any popular demand, and until our many society constitutions, in part at least, codify existing customs, it is like making ropes of sands to expect our organizations to endure, or our articles to bind.

In the cities, where so many of us now live, the village community is no longer available, and the replacing of it is one of the serious tasks before us. Men who will help to solve this and other like problems are desperately needed. Without armies and without government as we are, leaders, whether statesmen diplomats, politicians or orators, we can well depense with; without national life of any sort, national organizations to control our political, social, religious, literary or scientific affairs may easily be spared. But quiet, earnest, trained workers, who will help to improve our family life, and bring into communion even small groups of families, are destined to be the pioneers of our civilization.

To confer any lasting benefit upon our people, however, patient deliberation and foresight are needed. I appeal to our unselfish men and women no longer to limit their discussions to the events which this month or year brings forth. The present is always a bad time for consideration. What hunter can _aim_ his gun at a bird which rises from beneath his feet? Will he not rather fire at a bird which is coming or going? We are gathered here tonight as amateur historians and prophets, to review the past and lay plans for the future. But let me quickly relieve myself of the charge of encouraging rash projects or empty theories. I am proposing no vast schemes; I believe it useless to do so. We move through life, with our backs toward, to the engine, and see all that we see after it has passed. The reason, the imagination, with their creative powers, picture for themselves the world that lies before, but so swift and so unremitting is our progress, that the new revelations constantly pouring in alter the premises before a conclusion can be reached. Only the most gifted geniuses can draw in the vaguest outline a picture of the future which the flight of time will prove to be true. For the most part, our spiders' webs of theory are remorselessly cut down by the scythe of time. It is good to investigate sociological problems, and devise means for guiding our course safely through perils, but in our moments of pride, we would do wisely to reflect, that it is as though we were playing at chess with God as our adversary. All efforts to improve our state are bountiful, which are made after prayer, but other plans than those conceived in a spirit of humility and obedience to God's law are, when we are mindful of His jealousy, at once foolish and terrible.

CHARLES C. COOK.

Footnote:

[1] A study of the conditions attending upon the entrance of England and of Japan upon their progressive stage, as a part of the problem of determining the point of equilibrium between the white and colored people of America.

Transcriber's Notes:

Passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.

The following misprints have been corrected: "Hollaud" corrected to "Holland" (page 3) "unforlunate" corrected to "unfortunate" (page 7)