Part 22

In this way; records stand, but the things that they record progress. We must go to the library to find out where humanity stands on the road and what lies before us. If our public comes to us naturally to read these records and if our writers know this and write for a public interested in reality, the library has done its part. Before this linkage can function truly, we must have authors who realize that there is a special library public and who write for it. We are told that the English publishers, before they accept a manuscript ask, “How many will the circulating libraries take?” They mean the great commercial subscription libraries like Mudie’s and Smith’s. The patronage of these libraries is more important to them than that of the public at large, or at any rate, they feel that they can rely upon it as an indication of what that of the public at large will be. There is a library public that they recognize and respect. We have nothing in the United States to correspond to Mudie’s and Smith’s. Our great circulating libraries are our free public libraries. Do authors or publishers or booksellers recognize the public library as a force to be reckoned with, either apart from other readers or as indicative of what other readers will think or do? I once made an investigation of this question and I was compelled to acknowledge, as I am still forced to admit, that there is no such recognition. Neither author nor publisher consciously does anything different, because there are public library readers, from what he would do, if all our public libraries were wiped off the face of the earth. My hope for the future lies in a justified suspicion that though neither is consciously affected, both do recognize the library public unconsciously and indirectly. Both would admit that their output has been affected by the great extension of the reading public and its consequent alteration in quality. A discussion of the exact effect would lead us too far afield. The point is that the literary product has been changed by a change in the numbers and quality of the reading public, and that this change has been brought about in no small degree by the establishment and popularity of public libraries. Possibly it is not too much to expect that this unconscious recognition will give place to a conscious one, and that the producers’ mutual influence bring each other into more frequent contact with reality.

Now, there may be some here who, wondering at my classification of the Hoosier poet, are saying to themselves, “Was Riley also among the Realists?” And I ask in turn, why has Realism come to connote a proportion of things that do not enter at all into the lives of most of us? We have all known and loved the old swimmin’ hole; how many of us are familiar with the man who commits suicide, not to end an intolerable situation, not in a frenzy of grief or remorse, but just to see what will happen? Yet when a Russian writes about such anomalies as this our critics say, “What wonderful realism!” If realism is anything, it must surely be real. There is morbidity in life; we cannot avoid it or overlook it. But is there anything in life that corresponds to ninety-nine per cent of morbidity? Not in my life, nor in yours. For you and for me, Riley is a realist. God forbid that he may ever be anything else.

There is something in the situation of this city in which we are assembled, that encourages men to look life straight in the face. Those who dwell amid rocky heights and caverns may be excused for looking behind them when they walk and for trembling at shadows. The sailor between whom and eternity there stands only a two-inch plank may live largely among unrealities. But the man of the open prairie, with God’s solid earth stretching away north, south, east and west, and God’s free air above and about him, stands firmly and sees clearly. What interests him is the present and its necessary relationships with the future, with only so much of the past as is able to consolidate these relationships and illumine them. Here, as one would expect, is growing up a school of representative artists, working some with the pen and others with the brush, whose aim and whose high privilege it is to record those relationships on canvas and on the printed page, each in his own fashion, of course, for a love for the outer realities can never do away with that supreme inner reality, a man’s own self that which looks out upon the world and sees that world through its own spectacles. It is the triumph of all art that faithfully as it may represent what it sees, its representations will still be, in large part, functions of the artist’s own mood, so that the same scene, the same event, portrayed by different writers or different painters, may arouse in us emotions as varied as joy, grief or mere restfulness. And of course, although we may praise James Whitcomb Riley portraying what he saw about him there would be little to praise if he were not at the same time portraying James Whitcomb Riley and if that portrayal were not worth while.

I like to think that what we librarians are doing is in some measure akin to the work of the artists of pen or brush, though perhaps in a secondary way. The writer interprets reality; we interpret the writers themselves. Here is a case where we cannot have too many middlemen, for each, instead of piling up cost to the consumer, piles up the value of the product. How many men could sit in a country churchyard at evening and see unaided what Gray saw? Gray in his Elegy records that churchyard and himself as well. But how many men does Gray fail to reach? How many, whom he would rejoice or comfort, never heard him? And to Gray, in this query, let us add the names of all the good and great in literature. Here is where the librarian steps in. He presents Gray and Gray’s fellow artists in words, to his public.

Years ago the library was merely a storehouse and the librarian the custodian thereof. Today the library is a magazine of dynamic force and the librarian is the man who exerts and directs it--who persuades the community that it needs books and then satisfies that need, instead of waiting for the self-realization which too often will never come. Does not the librarian in some fashion interpret life and nature to his public, through books in general, even as the writer interprets them through one particular book?

This may seem fantastic, but I like to think that it is true. The October air in these autumn days is full of megaphonic voices, each insisting on its right to be heard above all the others. We are urged to enlist in the British army, to buy Liberty bonds, to build huts for the Y.M.C.A. and the Knights of Columbus, to work for the Red Cross, to buy tobacco for the soldiers, and at the same time to support all our local charities and pay our club dues as usual, not neglecting to respond to the calls of the tax collector. We librarians have ourselves used the megaphone to some purpose, having as you know, raised a million dollars to establish and maintain camp libraries, giving our soldiers the same public library facilities that they enjoy at home.

But in the midst of all this distracting chorus let us not forget that our normal lives must function as usual, despite the abnormalities that surround and interpenetrate them. The opening of this noble library building and the character of this assembly are proofs that we intend to live as usual, even amid so much that is unusual.

I see no limit to the usefulness of this building and of the institution whose home it is to be. The house is new but its occupant has been long and favorably known to your citizens. Indianapolis has library traditions, and is what we librarians call a “good library town.” Your library has had good leadership and it is to continue, adding the force and freshness of the new to the strength and experience of the old. The memory of your dearly loved poet will be brought to the mind of each library user--by the children’s room that bears his name, by the land that he gave to enlarge its site, by this enduring portraiture--by a thousand and one things, none the less cogent for being intangible. I look to see this library, in the home city of James Whitcomb Riley, grow into a place in the public heart comparable with that which was attained by Riley himself. It should be loved for its broad minded humanity, for its sympathy with mankind, especially with little children, for its readiness to “rejoice with those that do rejoice and weep with those that weep,” for its quick response to the personal and spiritual needs of every reader, and above all for its firm hold on the realities of life and its appreciation of life as something that is lived on the farm, in the city street, in the office, the school and the club, not in the clouds, not in fog and mist, not with the improbable or the impossible. That it will do and be all these things we may be confident. Riley the well beloved is gone. His memory lives on; let it live with peculiar force and vividness in this library, in its attitude toward those whom it serves--in the affection which they in turn feel toward an institution that has long been, and will long continue to be a center of literary, civic and intellectual force in the city where Riley lived and wrote.

THE CHURCH AND THE PUBLIC LIBRARY

The years immediately succeeding the great war are to witness great progress in team-work. The war is teaching us to get together, and it is impossible to believe that the lessons we are now learning will be suddenly and totally forgotten with the advent of peace. The world is full of institutions, associations, corporate bodies of all kinds, founded on a knowledge of what may be accomplished by the cooperation of individuals; but the cooperation of these bodies themselves, one with another, has been faulty until recently.

The public library is cooperative in its very essence. Its business is to help others. Were there no public for it to serve, its very necessity for existence would go. In the older days it merely sat with folded hands, ready to serve. Of later years it has become a compelling force, reaching out into the community by a thousand tendrils and attaching them to whatever individual, or body of individuals, seems to be in need--often without knowing it--of library service. The public library’s relations with the schools, with the business man, with the industries, with the military service--you will find these all discust over and over again, not only in the technical magazines devoted to library work, but in the public press.

And yet we look in vain for a discussion of the public library’s relations with the Church. Why is this? The Church itself is in the cooperative class with the library. It exists to help mankind. Without a humanity to help, and a humanity weak and fallible enough to need help, its mission would be over. In studying this question I find an unaccountable timidity on both sides. On the one hand, librarians and libraries seem to be shy of religion. They rarely purchase religious books in any systematic way. They are afraid of denominational literature, both books and periodicals, apparently on the ground that those presenting the view of one religious body might be objected to by other bodies. Some libraries refuse to subscribe for any denominational papers, but will accept them as gifts. Many libraries refuse to allow the holding of religious meetings in their buildings, probably for a similar reason.

On the other hand, the churches, as churches, seem often to ignore the existence of the public library, even when their members use it constantly. They maintain libraries of their own in their Sunday-schools, for their young people, and these libraries, I am sorry to say, are often far below standard! They rarely show interest in the public library’s collection of books, not seeming to care whether the library does or does not contain their own denominational literature.

There are some noteworthy exceptions. The Roman Catholics are aware of the library and seem to appreciate its value as a publicity agent and an educator. They are concerned when it contains books of which they disapprove, and are anxious to put on its shelves works that will interest their own people. Of late they have published in several of our large cities lists of books in the public library written by their coreligionists, or, for some reason of special interest to them. These lists have usually been prepared with the assistance of the library staff and paid for and distributed either by a special committee or by some denominational body such as the Knights of Columbus. That they have a sympathetic attitude toward the library is shown not only by these facts, but by the fact that libraries in several cities, organized specifically as church libraries, have been turned over to the local public library as branches.

Another religious body that appreciates the aid of the public library is that of the Christian Scientists. This Church has committees specially charged with seeing that public libraries are supplied, free of charge, with its literature.

During the present Luther anniversary there has been some activity on the part of the Lutheran churches to see that libraries are supplied with material bearing on their organization and doctrines. With these exceptions I have not met, during my library experience of a quarter of a century with the slightest interest on the part of religious bodies regarding the book-collection of a public library--either about what it contained or what it did not contain. Occasionally, however, a church library has been transformed into a public library branch. In New York there are three branches that began their existence as parish libraries of Protestant Episcopal churches. Doubtless there are instances in other cities of which I have no knowledge.

I am sure that more active cooperation between the public library and the various religious bodies would benefit both and, through them, the public. In the first place, the library should devote more attention to its collection of religious books, and it would do so if those interested showed their interest actively. There is much material of great value to teachers in Sunday-schools that should find a resting-place in the library. In a town where there are, say, a dozen Sunday-schools, it may be quite impossible for each to buy several sets of commentaries, concordances, works of travel and description, &c., but they might well club together for the purchase of this material and give it to the library or deposit it there, where it would be at the service of all. In larger towns, where the library fund is greater, united effort on the part of the churches would doubtless result in the expenditure of part of the book-money for this purpose. Librarians are anxious to serve the public. If they can be shown that the public wants books of one kind rather than another they are only too glad to respond. They do not like to buy books in the dark, but the apparent indifference of the public often forces them to do so.

Such works as these are of common interest to all Christians. But in addition every library ought to contain a certain amount of denominational material. The library is not, except possibly for some occasional reason, interested in propaganda, but facts about the Methodists or the Baptists are surely of as much value, and should be preserved with as much care, as facts about a constitutional convention in Nebraska or the proceedings of a plumbers’ association in Salem, Mass. Every good library should have one standard work on the history of each of the prominent religious denominations, especially those that are strong in its home town. It should include the biographies of its principal divines and laymen. There should be also its year-book, renewed annually, its official confession of faith and statement of organization, its liturgy, if it has one, its official collection of hymns. Its chief periodical should be on file.

I do not know of any library that makes a specialty of obtaining this material and seeing that it is all up-to-date. Most librarians would exclaim that their meager funds would not stand the strain, and that, besides, there has never been the slightest demand for such material. There is a demand for all the latest novels by Harold Bell Wright, Robert W. Chambers, and Marie Corelli, and so these are purchased. Here is where the indifference of most of our religious bodies toward what the library does or does not contain is bearing legitimate fruit.

Does your public library contain reference-material that is of interest, or ought to be of interest, to your co-religionists? If not, whose fault is it? Extending our inquiry beyond reference-material, we may next assert that there are many semipopular books of a denominational character, sermons by a favorite divine, advice to young people, words of comfort to those in trouble, which it is to the interest of Christian people to see more widely read. The libraries will never waste their money in the purchase of these if they are to remain idly on the shelves. They will buy freely in response to a demand. Whose fault is it that the demand does not materialize?

I have said that such a demand might easily divert part of the library’s book-fund now devoted to other purchases. But the churches could afford to buy these books and present them to the library if they would cease to duplicate the library’s work in directions where such duplication is useless. Why should a Sunday-school library buy stories, for old or young? There was good reason for it in the day, now far distant, when the public library was non-existent and the Sunday-school was the only general source of decent books. Even in that day the Sunday-school library largely bought trash--the kind of wishy-washy, mock-pious stuff turned out by hack-writers at the rate of several volumes per day.

The rapid rise of the public library is doubtless due, in part, to the neglect of its early opportunities by the Sunday-school library. But no one can say that the public library has not risen to the occasion. The very best part of its collection, the most carefully selected, the most conscientiously distributed, is that which contains its books for children. We have schools for the training of children’s librarians, and we give their graduates special charge of rooms for children in our library buildings. There is no reason now why any church should maintain a library of general literature for any purpose whatever.

I have alluded above to the library’s value as a publicity agent. As a matter of fact, both the Church and the library are the greatest and most valuable means of publicity that we have. Both are unpurchasable. Both reach selected elements of the community, partly the same, partly different. To have an event announced from the pulpit, especially with commendation, gives it a prestige that it could attain in no other way. Similarly, to have something published on the library’s bulletin-boards, or on slips inserted in each circulated book, or in any one of a dozen ways that have been practised by libraries gives publicity of high value. Both the pulpit and the library utilize these methods for themselves and often for outside bodies, but not often for each other. It is rare for a clergyman to mention the public library from his pulpit, altho it is occasionally done. It is also rare, tho not totally unknown, for a library to give publicity to a church in any of the ways that are proper for this to be done.

In particular, every library, especially in a small city where there is no local guide-book, should be a repository of local religious information. Any one should be able, not only to ascertain there the location of any particular church, but to consult its literature, if it issues any; if not, to find on file authentic information about it corresponding to that usually put into print--the names of officers, a list of parish organizations, &c. Such things can be had for the asking, and there is usually no one place in a town where they are all assembled. There should be such a place, and that place may well be the public library. Large libraries quite generally collect this material; the smaller ones should follow suit. They will be apt to do so if the church people manifest an interest. If the collection and continual “following up” of the material involve more work than the smaller staff of the library can do, it ought to be easy to divide it among volunteers from the different congregations, this being the church’s part of this particular item of cooperation.

It is safe to say that the Church and the public library may help each other in at least six ways:

1. The substitution of the library’s children’s room for the Sunday-school library in the purveying of general literature.

2. The more careful and more generous provision of religious books in the library, with increased interest on the part of the church in the character of this part of the collection.

3. The offer by the library of facilities for religious meetings.

4. Utilization of religious gatherings in the church to call attention to the library and its willingness to aid and advise.

5. Publicity given in and by the library to the churches and their work.

6. Publicity given in and by the Church to the library and its work.

As a basis on which cooperation of these and other kinds is to rest there must be personal acquaintance and confidence between the clergy and the librarian. This is something of which increase will bring further increase, as in the accretions to a rolling snowball. For instance, the pastor of a church must have a certain degree of confidence in the librarian’s good-will and ability to venture to recommend the purchase of a book; the librarian must have the same to be willing to entertain and act upon such a recommendation. But the contact once made, the book once bought, there is ground for increased confidence and acquaintance and for additional advice, and so it goes.

It will be noted that this counsel lays a greater burden on the librarian than on the clergy. It is no great task for any clergyman to make the acquaintance of the librarian; it is quite another thing for the librarian to do the same by each and every clergyman in his city. If the city is large and the clergy of various denominations are numbered by thousands, it is practically impossible. Recognizing this fact, the clergy should take some steps toward making collective take the place of individual acquaintance. They should invite the librarian to their meetings and he on his part should be ready to attend and to address them if requested to do so.

It should hardly be necessary to warn both parties to such cooperation as this, that the obtrusion of considerations of personal advantage, where this conflicts with public service, will be fatal to its success. For instance, a clergyman who is preparing an address on some rather unusual subject must not expect the librarian of a small city to expend public money for books which will aid him, and him alone, in his work. Fortunately, this particular issue can generally be avoided, owing to the growth of facilities for inter-library loans. Altho the librarian might properly refuse to buy these particular books, he would doubtless offer to attempt to borrow them from some larger library, and this attempt would have a good chance of success. Interlibrary service of this kind is bound to increase largely in the future and offers a most promising field for the rendering of aid by the smaller libraries to the scholar, literary worker, and investigator, including, of course, the clergyman.