Believing as I do that the cycle of woman has dawned, and that through her humanity will reach a higher and nobler civilization than the world has yet known, I feel the most profound interest in all that affects her health, comfort, and happiness; for as I have before observed, her exaltation means the elevation of the race. A broader liberty and more liberal meed of justice for her mean a higher civilization, and the solution of weighty and fundamental problems which will never be equitably adjusted until we have brought into political and social life more of the splendid spirit of altruism, which is one of her most conspicuous characteristics. I believe that morality, education, practical reform, and enduring progress wait upon her complete emancipation from the bondage of fashion, prejudice, superstition, and conservatism.



UN-AMERICAN TENDENCIES.

BY REV. CARLOS MARTYN, D. D.

The monarchial conception is that a few are born booted and spurred to ride, and that the many are born saddled and bridled to be ridden. The republican theory is that "Everybody is cleverer than anybody," to quote the epigram attributed to Talleyrand; and that government, in Lincoln's phrase, should be "of the people, by the people, and for the people."

The United States is the only nation in history which has dared to base itself upon an absolute trust in the people.

There have been republics (so-called) ad infinitum and ad nauseam. "Greece," cries one of the foremost of our orators, "had her republics, but they were the republics of one freeman and ten slaves; and the battle of Marathon was fought by slaves unchained from the doorposts of their master's houses. Italy had her republics; they were the republics of wealth and skill and family, limited and aristocratic. Holland had her republic, the republic of guilds and landholders, trusting the helm of state to property and education. The Swiss republics were groups of cousins. And all these which, at their best, held but a million or two within their narrow limits, have gone down in the ocean of time."

The Spanish-American Republics are nondescripts. They owe their existence to pronunciamientos. They are the puppets of successful soldiers, and are administered by generals who follow one another like the ghosts that walked in the vision of "Richard Third," and do not hold office long enough to be photographed. They are based on mongrel races, steeped in ignorance, cramped by superstition, and physically rotten before they get ripe.

Our fathers built a commonwealth on the foundation of manhood. They recognized no other qualification, save for a period of inconsistency, color; which, happily, is now wiped out of the fundamental law, though not entirely out of popular prejudice.

The faith in the people which Jefferson, Sam Adams, and the men of '76 cherished as the distinctive tenet of their political creed, has been justified by results. Their gigantic creation launches into the second decade of its second century, belted with power, aggrandized with El Dorados, the amazement of the world, the "Arabian Nights" translated into every-day reality.

Unfortunately, however, in the face of this unprecedented record of prosperity, certain un-republican tendencies begin to exhibit themselves among us. These may well give thoughtful patriots startled concern.

Half a century ago, before time had been annihilated by the telegraph, and distance abolished by steam, nations were comparatively isolated; and the American most of all. Europe was three thousand miles away. Now-a-days, the old world is next-door neighbor to the new. Saint John's apocalyptic vision is realized; there is "no more sea." It is bridged by steamers, and flashed out of existence by the electric cable. What is the consequence? The consequence is that while Europe borrows many of our ideas, America borrows more of hers. With the increase of travel, the growth of wealth, the enlargement of our leisurely class, there is an aping of English and German habits of thought and modes of life which are utterly repugnant to republican institutions. While Europe should seem to be almost ready to discard baby-house distinctions and the embroidered rags of aristocracy, America, strange to say, appears willing to put on and wear the disreputable finery. We are becoming disagreeably familiar with what Mr. Gladstone characterizes in an inspired phrase, as the classes in contrast with the masses.

This interchange of national customs comes inevitably from the facilitated intercourse of our day, from the intimacy begotten by inter-marriage, by commerce, by travel. But it is sad if we are to borrow more than we lend, and if the balance of trade is to be perpetually against us. We must find or invent a remedy if republicanism is to survive. The widespread alarm felt among our humbler citizens shows how real the danger is. Take, for instance, the growing distrust of universal suffrage manifested by our cultivated classes. Certain journals, the organs of wealth and monopoly; social-science conventions, composed of pert specialists poisoned by caste feeling; even pulpits, which should be the guardians and exponents of democracy,—cautiously, tentatively, but as positively as they dare, discuss the propriety of restraining the ballot, and sigh for a property or an educational qualification.

Now, if there be one feature of American republicanism which is supremely characteristic, it is universal suffrage. This interpenetrates our political system as veins run through a block of marble. The patriots and sages who framed our Constitution grouted it with this principle. They believed and declared that it was safe to trust men with self-government. They recognized, of course, the fact that in every community there would be an element of ignorance and inefficiency. But by putting the ballot in every hand they deliberately took bonds of wealth and culture to enlighten this ignorance and train this inefficiency. They enlisted the self-interest of the Commonwealth on the side of popular education. They said, practically, to the well-to-do and to those who had interests at stake: See to it, if you would save your possessions, that you share them with the poorest and the lowest, at least to the extent of lifting them to the level of self-control and self-respect. In fact, this is the meaning of our free schools, of trial by jury, and of the ballot-box. Tocqueville, whose insight into republican institutions was marvellous, distinctly traces our prosperity, in his survey of American democracy, to universal suffrage, with all that it necessitates. So on the other side of the water, when, in 1867, Parliament doubled the English franchise, Robert Lowe leaped to his feet and cried, amid the cheers of the House of Commons: "Now the first interest and duty of every Englishman is to educate the masses." Previously, if the Court of St. James stooped to put intelligence on one side and morality on the other side of the cradle rocked by poverty and vice, it was pity that dictated the gracious act. Now it is self-preservation. Who does not know how much stronger self-interest is than pity as a motive? Who cannot see the far-sighted wisdom of our fathers in thus ingrafting this powerful motive upon the fundamental law?

Moreover, universal suffrage is educational in itself. Responsibility educates. Nothing else does. By throwing the responsibility upon the people they are necessarily lifted, sobered, broadened. Our women do not vote. What is the result? Not one woman in a thousand has any interest in, and not one in two thousand has any acquaintance with, political affairs. Their ignorance would be laughable were it not sad. Every father, husband, brother, can testify to the impenetrable ignorance of his feminine belongings concerning matters of public moment. It forms the topic of universal comment in male circles. It is not because women are naturally incapable. It is because having no responsibility they naturally have no interest. Why should a woman inform herself of what does not concern her? Occasionally, some woman, exceptionally placed, or born with a genius for politics, studies and masters state-craft. But exceptions do not invalidate, they prove rules. Women, like men, cannot be expected to take any intelligent interest in affairs that lie outside of their life.

Our men, on the contrary, are politicians down to the infant in the cradle. A boy baby cries, "Mr. Chairman!" as soon as he can talk, and calls the next crib to order. Men know that the maturing of politics, the selection of administrations, the distribution of offices, the adjustment of taxes, are their function. This knowledge whets the edge of interest. The significant fact is that it is not the people who are indifferent to politics. This indifference is found among merchants who are too busy making money to attend to the public weal; among scholars buried alive in their books, with no interest in any question that is not musty; among men of leisure, aping old world aristocracy, and out of touch with democracy; among those who say that all men are equal and are afraid they will be,—never among the people.

The plainer men are the greater is their political interest. Our naturalized citizens, shut out in their native land from all participation in government, and hence appreciating citizenship here, are among the most alert. These are they who crowd the halls during the recurring canvasses, and who are always early at the polls. And is it possible to overrate the instruction they get at meetings where they hear great questions discussed by master minds, when issues are torn open and riddled with light? Thus universal suffrage is itself a normal school, the people's college.

It is often said that, judged by its power to govern great cities, universal suffrage is a failure. This is true. The failure, however, is due to local causes. It does not come from the inherent incapacity of the masses, but is the spawn of accidental and removable evils. Chief among these is the corner grog-shop. This is the blazing lighthouse of hell. Here it is that morals and manners are debauched. It is over this counter that what an old poet calls "liquid damnation" is dealt out. If the quid-nuncs, instead of railing at universal suffrage, would combine to help shut that door, republicanism would speedily lose its reproach. The constituency of the grog seller is the ready made tool of the demagogue. A true democracy can only exist on the basis of sobriety. A drunken people cannot be trusted with the dearest rights and most vital possessions of freemen. Better the merciless tyranny of the Czar, or the military despotism of the Kaiser, far better the class rule of England, than the staggering, hiccoughing, bedevilled government of the groggery!

Aside from the great centres of population, the common people are more trustworthy than the corporations, the colleges, or the newspapers. The selfishness, the preoccupation, the anti-republicanism of these, are proverbial. We know that editors are echoes, not leaders, printing what will sell, not what is true. Landor declared that there is a spice of the scoundrel in most literary men. Everybody understands that a corporation's gospel is a good fat dividend. Who would exchange universal suffrage for college suffrage, or corporation suffrage, or newspaper suffrage?

Our danger to-day does not lie in universal suffrage. It lies in the steady encroachments of wealth, in the multiplication of monopolies, in the too rapid growth of fungus millionnaires, in the increasing number of well educated idlers, in the sinister prominence of the saloon in politics, in the tendency of the country to submit to bureaucracy, in the transformation of the national Senate into a club of rich men, housed and fed at the national expense, in the change of the House of Representatives into a huddle of clerks to register the decrees of greedy capital, in the chronic distrust of the people felt among book-educated and professional men; in one word, in the appalling gravitation towards government by "boodle" in the hands of unscrupulous minorities.

The only hope of deliverance lies in the people,—in their honesty, fair play, and decision, No; it is not universal suffrage that has brought disgrace on the country. If the rancor of party spirit, if the dry-rot of legislative corruption, if the tyranny of incorporated wealth, if the diabolism of intemperance are to be curbed, it is universal suffrage which must hold the reins. Talk of taking the ballot out of the hand of the poor citizen! As well fling the revolver out of window when the burglar is in the house. One of the keenest critics of American life has said: "Corruption does not so much rot the masses; it poisons Congress. Credit mobilier and money rings are not housed under thatched roofs; they flaunt at the capital." The real scum is the so-called better class. If anybody is to be deprived of a vote, it should be the railroad king, the mill owner, the indifferent trader, and the Europeanized Yankee who spends abroad what his father earned at home, and mistakes Paris for Paradise.

As another illustration of the un-republican trend, observe the obsequious attitude of our government towards monarchs and monarchies. We are to-day cheek by jowl with the despots of Europe. Instead of being the torch bearer of freedom we occupy a position of apology for what we are and of gaping admiration for what they are. When an opportunity offered the other day to recognize the new Republic of Brazil, the toadies at Washington equivocated and postponed. One would suppose that the disappearance of the last monarchy from the new world would have been greeted in the great Republic with the ringing of bells and the blaze of bonfires—would have been answered by a regular Fourth of July outburst. Bless you, no! The Czar was displeased. The Emperor of Germany was in the sulks. Queen Victoria put on mourning. Why should the Dons at Washington be out of fashion?

On the other hand, when Carlos I. was crowned at Lisbon last December, the American Squadron of Evolution was in the harbor, and behold! the officers of the Republic's war-ships paraded side by side with the other flunkies of royalty in honor of the coronation—thus showing that they belonged to the Squadron of Reaction. For so misrepresenting their country they ought to be cashiered. Republicans refusing to recognize a new republic, but hastening to recognize a new king! What a spectacle! Spirits of Otis and Franklin, of Jefferson and Hamilton, what think ye of such democracy as this?

No one would have the United States play the role of a bully, or enact the demagogue. But surely there is a medium between that and the despicable inconsistency of unfriendliness towards those of our own political faith, and of lackey serviceableness towards a crowned head. Kings do not hesitate to discourage republicanism everywhere. A republic should not hesitate to encourage it anywhere. Self-respect in such a matter would win the respect of the world by deserving it. But when Americans sell their daughters to European profligates for a title, and pay millions to boot; when republicans in profession become tuft-hunters in practice, and haunt the back stairs of palaces; when the United States government, the eldest born and guardian of democracy, decredits its own political creed and parades in royal processions,—is it not time to cry a halt?

We need in this country a revival of republicanism. There is a tendency to flunkeyism at the bottom of human nature. Most men "dearly love a lord," as Burns affirmed. Hence, a full-fledged aristocrat attracts flunkies as a magnet draws iron filings. Lucian tells of an exhibition in Rome in which monkeys had been trained to play a human part; which they did perfectly, before the beauty and fashion of the city—until a wag, in the midst of the performance, flung a handful of nuts upon the stage, and straightway the actors were monkeys again. Some of our republicans are monkeys in human attire. They get on well enough until the nuts of class distinction are flung among them,—then they are on all fours.

Let us make democracy the fashion. Send devitalized Americans to Coventry. Make an unrepublican word or deed the unpardonable political sin. Do this: or else ship the statue of Liberty Enlightening the World back to France, and ask her to set it in the harbor of Marseilles.

Another of these un-republican tendencies is the current movement for civil service reform. Every thoughtful citizen perceives and laments the evils attendant on the present spoils system. It is the quartering of the conquerors upon the conquered. It makes public office the reward of party service. It loads half a dozen men (the President and his Secretaries) with the responsible but impossible duty of filling hundreds of thousands of offices, on the grab-bag principle.

With the best intentions, the civil service reformers would make a bad matter worse. On their plan, the un-American method of fixed tenure by competitive examination and appointment by irresponsible cabals would replace the method of political appointment for party service. Thus they would fasten upon the country a great army of permanent officials. It is out of harmony with our whole system. Every other officer is elected, and for a specified term. Why, even in the ministry, the tendency is to break up the life-pastorate. The largest of our religious denominations has deliberately adopted the principle of rotation. And the other bodies, while nominally retaining the life theory, have practically borrowed the Methodist plan.

No wonder civil service reform is unpopular. It goes to work at the wrong end—works away from instead of towards republicanism. In England, in Germany, where families reign, and where governmental servants might consistently hold office for life, such a system has a warrant—though even there it is found to be obstructive and reactionary. But in a republic, where universal suffrage is the law, nothing more intolerable could be conceived. The idea of creating a class distinct from all other classes, independent of the administration and unaccountable to the voters, fixed and immovable save for causes proven—why, it is, not a step, it is a stride towards absolutism. Such a proposition, like "Hamlet's" case,

"——makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of."

That the civil service needs reform goes without the saying. But the reform should be pushed along consistently republican lines. The proper, the democratic method would be a further and broader application of universal suffrage. Make all the offices elective.

Instead of appointing Custom-House officials and postmasters, elect them. Put the responsibility where it belongs upon the respective communities they serve. Then, men that are locally known and respected would be selected. If the people are capable of electing their own presidents, governors, representatives and judges, surely they might be trusted to elect Custom-House officers and postmasters! Otherwise, our republicanism is a humbug. This would abolish the Washington grab-bag. It would also avoid the creation of a class of life-officials than which nothing could be more dangerous and unsavory.

If our fathers, with no precedents on the file, could announce their sublime faith that all men are endowed by their Creator with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; if they could discard the probate-court idea, and adopt universal suffrage; if, in spite of inconsistencies and imperfections, their conception has flowered in the best, and happiest, and most prosperous nation on the globe,—cannot their children show a faith as serene, a courage as brave? One thing is certain, the European experiment has failed, while ours is a miracle of success—and most successful when most consistently worked out. In such circumstances, shall we exchange this for that, and go back from the nineteenth century to the fourteenth?

When Hume derided his mother's faith, and exhorted her to get rid of her Christian prejudices, she answered: "My son, can you show me anything better?"



EXTRINSIC SIGNIFICANCE OF CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT IN JAPAN.

BY KUMA OISHI, A. M.

All students of history are aware that the revolution of 1688 succeeded in consolidating constitutional government in England; that, though toward the middle of the last century it had not yet assumed its present admirable aspect, the English idea of political liberty and religious toleration attracted the attention of Montesquieu and Voltaire, who introduced it to their country; and that, since then, accelerated by the establishment of the federal government in America, and the triumph of the revolutionary principle in France, the theory has spread over the continent with astonishing rapidity.

Now that constitutional government is established in Japan, will she not exercise the same influence over the Asiatic continent as that which England has exercised over the European? To this, three great objections may be raised. I. The pervading conservatism of Asia. II. The prevailing ignorance among the Asiatic nations. III. The doubtfulness as to their adaptability to the representative form of government. We shall try to answer these objections in the above order.

I. If it be argued that the Asiatic people are conspicuously characterized by the conservative spirit, that they seem well satisfied with their present social and political organizations, such as they are, it must be remembered at the same time, that this was also the appearance which the French people presented, before their attention was called to the political superiority of England. "In general," says Lecky, "there runs through the great French literature of the seventeenth century a profound content with the existing order in Church and State, an entire absence of the spirit of disquiet, scepticism, and innovation that leads to organic change."[7]

[7] Lecky's History of England, Vol. V., p. 301.



That the conservative spirit and the seeming contentment of some of the Asiatic nations are not in themselves forces strong enough, when the time comes, to dispel the charm, as it were, possessed by the theory of representative government, that in short, conservatism is no match for "progress," as such a movement is popularly called, can be illustrated by the history, not of the European nations alone, but of some Asiatic nations themselves. To the general conservative tendency of Asia, Japan was no exception until about twenty-five years ago. No rational being would have then believed that in the course of a few years, Japan would become one of the most progressive nations on the face of the earth. The revolution of 1867, from which the birth of New Japan is dated, was originally a dispute between the Mikado and the Shogun for the de facto sovereignty, and not the struggle of the lower classes to rise to political eminence. The tottering dynasty of the Shoguns came to an end, not because they were tyrannical, not because the people felt the special need of social amelioration, but because they saw that the Shogunate had been the instrumentality of usurping the imperial authority, while the nominal Emperor was shut up in his palace, and closely watched by the agents of the Shogun. In Japan loyalty and patriotism meant one and the same thing; therefore the people could not long tolerate this state of affairs. They needed only an occasion to deprive the Shogun of his political power, and to restore it to the Emperor. At last the occasion came. The demand of the Western nations to open certain seaports of the country, accompanied by the threats of armed force, compelled the Shogun to yield. But this step proved fatal to him. If the people were opposed to the Shogun's usurpation, they were still more opposed to his new policy, simply because it was new. They were blind to the innumerable advantages that could be derived from international commerce and communication. As a hermit nation, the people looked down upon the foreigners with mingled distrust and disdain. Knowing nothing of the Western civilization they were determined that no "savage strangers" should step upon the "sacred land of gods." To them the admission of the foreigners signified nothing less than unprecedented disgrace and possibly more—a prey to the ambition and treachery of the "foreign devils." The conservative spirit of the people carried them to a pitch of excitement as high as the exactly opposite principle carried the French people during the revolution. The Emperor became doubly dear to them, because he was a sovereign de jure, and because he was opposed to the new policy. Thus the revolution which followed owes its triumph to the conservatism of the people. Even with their zealous attachment to the Emperor, and their deep hatred of the Shogun, it is an open question whether events would have taken the same course, if the Mikado had advocated and the Shogun opposed the new policy, so strong was prejudice of the people. No more unfavorable condition and time could have been chosen for the introduction of the European civilization. However, in spite of their abhorrence of the Western people, the Western ideas and customs, in spite of all their efforts to shut them out, the appearance of some formidable men-of-war, floating the flags of different nations, compelled Japan to enter into the terms of treaty with them. Twenty years have passed since then, and within that short period, the nation has undergone a marvellous transformation under the magic touch of progress. It would be telling an old story to enumerate the series of innovations that have been written socially and politically, until the promulgation of the new constitution, in which culminated the national pride of the people. The matter to be noted here is that the European civilization encountered but a few obstacles, notwithstanding its inopportune introduction, and was soon adopted with determined zeal. The like progressive phenomenon on a smaller scale is also recurring in Korea, but of this later.

II. Having thus seen from well known historical examples in Europe and Asia that the conservatism is not in itself a force strong enough to resist progress, which leads to the establishment of constitutional government, let us proceed to meet the second objection, namely: the prevailing ignorance among the Asiatic nations. Here the nature of our inquiry involves three distinct topics. 1. Was the general intelligence of the Japanese people, before they came into contact with the Western civilization, higher than that of the other Asiatic nations? 2. Is there not a peculiar characteristic among the Japanese which impels them to progress? 3. Consequent upon the exposition of these two topics, investigation must also be made as to why the Chinese Empire does not show a similar progressive tendency.

1. Besides being the most dangerous enemy of representative government after its establishment, ignorance is most hostile to its establishment. Prima facie, people must possess a certain degree of capacity, mental and moral, to understand what civilization is and what representative government is. The Batta of Sumatra may have their own alphabet, and the Fans of the West Coast may excel in iron work,[8] but even these fall short of the pre-requisites, not intellectually only, but morally also. We cannot conceive of them, seated around a camp-fire, discussing the merits of two chambers system, or defining the rights and duties of a citizen, while their vile lips are stained with the blood of their fellow-man, whose flesh they have just devoured. Not to expatiate further on this self-evident fact, it is certain that the Japanese people were sufficiently intelligent to understand and appreciate the Western ideas, when they were thrust to their notice. Certain, too, that in some branches of aesthetic art, they were somewhat superior to the neighboring nations. But beyond this, thirty years ago, a careful observer could have detected in the Japanese people no conspicuous intellectual attainment, except, of course, such points of dissimilarity as exist between any two nations equally civilized. Japan, Korea, and China had the same system of education and the same "classics," and each was composed of followers of Confucius and believers in Buddhism. True, Japan was then under the feudal system, and China and Korea were and still are under monarchy, but in point of absolutism, their governments were all alike. The greater differentiations were the facts that the Japanese had their own system of religious belief besides, called Shintoism, that the Japanese and the Koreans each had, in addition to the Chinese characters, their own syllables, and that the styles of their dress were different in no small degree. But the former, being a belief, principally concerned with the hereafter, has no more connection than the latter two with the subject of our inquiry, which relates to the intellectual phases of these people only in so far as they influence their political ideas.

[8] Peschel's, "The Races of Man," p. 163.

2. Nor can we find any peculiar characteristic in the Japanese people, to which we may ascribe their progressive tendency. The only predominant characteristic that we know is their imitative power. This they have remarkably exhibited in their adoption of the Chinese civilization, which they modified and made their own, and more remarkably in their recent adoption of the Western civilization. Let us examine what relation this bears to the conservative and the progressive spirit of the people. Mr. Herbert Spencer attributes two motives to imitation, either reverential or competitive.[9] It is with the latter that we are concerned. This, coming as it does from a desire of an imitator to assert his equality with the one imitated, implies the recognition of superiority of the latter, and the acknowledgment of inferiority of the former. Conservatism, in the sense we have been using the term, defies any recognition and acknowledgment of this sort; therefore it defies imitation. In other words, a man does not imitate what he dislikes or scorns, and since conservatism is aversion to, or contempt for, say a new political institution, the imitative trait has no part to play, while that aversion or contempt continues. Evidently, then, the imitative power of the Japanese was not the force which served to make the conservative people progressive; only when conservatism gives way, and admiration for what is new is awakened, can this power assume its full activity.

[9] "His Principle of Sociology," Vol. II., p. 209.

Were we to admit for the sake of argument that the Japanese people were far superior in intelligence to the other people of Asia, or that they possessed a peculiar characteristic which impelled them to the adoption of the Western civilization, or even both, our position will not be altered, for the progressive idea of Japan has already reached across the sea to the continent of Asia, giving rise to an event in Korea. In December, 1884, the two political factions of that country, one of which was liberal and the other conservative, respectively, representing the Japanese and the Chinese principles, disputed for supremacy. The positive and negative currents, as of electricity, met at the peninsula, and produced a spark of revolution.[10]

[10] There was another agitation in Korea in 1882, but this was a mere uprising of the mob against the Japanese staying in that country, and not of grave political importance. For the details of both these events, the reader is referred to "A Korean Coup D' Etat," an entertaining article by Perceval Lowell, Atlantic Monthly, November, 1886. This poverty-stricken country, with an imbecile sovereign at the helm of state, and with no organized array, is practically under the control of the Chinese government, though nominally she is independent. Some European powers, who seem to consider that the greatness of a nation is commensurate with its success in its territorial aggrandizement are casting eyes at her, in vain let us hope, for the sake of Korea. While the influence of China is so predominant, she cannot accomplish much. A coup d' etat might be needed a few times more, before she can become an independent nation in the fullest sense of the words. At any rate, her prospect is dubious enough at present.

Although, unfortunately for Korea, the liberals were vanquished, and its chief leaders were banished from their native country, the significance of the phenomenon does not lose its weight on that account. The tidal wave of progress, once repulsed, is not likely to subside forever. Meantime, it is worth while to notice, that even under the undisputed administration of the victorious conservatives, the nation could not remain aloof from the rest of the world. Besides entering into treaties with some western and eastern nations, Korea is availing herself of the services of European abilities, for the purpose of internal improvement.

3. "But," some one may ask, "if the establishment of constitutional government in Japan is due principally to the inherent excellence of the institution itself, and not to the superior intelligence of the Japanese people, nor yet to their peculiar characteristic, how can the non-progressive tendency of China be accounted for?" The vast extent of her dominion,[11] the immense number of her population,[12] and her almost inexhaustible national resources, all combine to make the question in regard to her future policy a momentous one. With the best form of government, and under the guidance of an able statesman, it is within her power to promote the advancement of whole Asia, and mould the destiny of the world. Yet, to all practical intents and purposes, she is evidently indifferent to the possibility of such a noble mission. Nay, more; she ignores it. She reminds us of an opium smoker. The world is awake, but she reposes in profound slumber, and little does she care what others are doing. The doctrine of Laissez-Faire is the sinew of her policy toward the European states. She lets them alone so long as they let her alone, leaving them to wonder for what she was born. When some one comes and strikes her on the face, she stands up, still half asleep, slowly gathers whatever strength is in her, returns blow for blow, but the moment her enemy disappears torpidity again overtakes her, she relapses into dreamy indifference. Of what is this opium composed that she smokes?

[11] About 4,179,559 sq. miles.—The Statesman's Yearbook, 1891.

[12] About 404,180,000.—Ibid.

I must not be understood to mean absolute irresistibility of constitutional government. Already I have touched upon one exception, viz: inadequate capacity, mental and moral, of people. Instead of excepting Japan from the pervading conservatism of Asia, I am inclined to make causes resisting or retarding the establishment of constitutional government in China exceptions to its irresistibility, side by side with ignorance. Such causes are, doubtless, multitudinous. Nevertheless, a careful observer will be able to single out two principal ones among many others: territorial and intellectual.

We have seen that the average intelligence of the Chinese people is not much inferior, if at all, to that of the Japanese, previous to the revolution. Even those Chinese who come to this country for manual labor, can read and write to some extent. Undoubtedly there is a large number of illiterate and brutal outcasts, who are a standing disgrace to humanity at large, but they can be found in every nation at present. The average intelligence of the middle class in China is, next to Japan, perhaps, the highest among the Asiatic nations. But the greatest evil from which Chinese intellect is suffering is its bombastic antiquarianism. This differs from conservatism, in that it is not the cautious distrust of new institutions for the improvement of the existing ones, but an effort to move backward, and to revive the ancient order of things, which crumbled into dust a thousand years before, from its inadaptability. The goal toward which modern civilization is striving, is the attainment of justice, the security of property and of the lives of individuals. The ideal society of the Chinese is one in which the simplicity of primitive tribes makes the administration of justice unnecessary, in which the possession of property and the protection of lives are unknown. Eulogies are lavished throughout their literature to the peaceful reigns of the primitive kings, when no one locked his house at night, or touched another's article which he happened to find on his way. To them antiquity is adorable instead of venerable. They consider themselves insignificant by the side of their godly ancestors. No doubt the doctrine of Confucius, which the Chinese people endeavor to carry out to a letter, has played a large part in producing this effect. Instead of unfolding the possibilities of the future, he recapitulated the virtues and achievements of the past. I am not attempting to depreciate the inestimable service, which his system of philosophy has rendered toward enhancing the standard of rectitude among his disciples. But for him Asia might have sunk into the depths of moral chaos. This much at least must be said in justification of his doctrine, that evidently it was not his intention to reproduce an exact duplicate of the primitive Chinese civilization. "Let each day bring a new order of things," and "A sage's principles change as time," are among the precepts he enunciated. But these aphorisms, upon which the Anglo-Saxons would have laid a great stress, have been set at naught by his followers to the detriment of their own welfare.

This antiquarianism also existed in Japan, before the introduction of the European civilization, but here it had lacked much of its intensity, through its non-originality. The Japanese had no inventive pride, and it was with little reluctance that they abandoned their old theories which they borrowed from China, and adopted new civilization of the West. The Chinese cannot forget that whatever civilization they possess is their own, and that, at one time, theirs was the "Celestial Empire," which gave law, literature, and art to the neighboring nations. Every one knows that all the people still believe their civilization far superior to that of Europe. And since they do not care to compete with the civilization which they regard as inferior, they are striving to model themselves after the features of their own ancient civilization, which, for aught we know, might have been purer because younger, but which, existing in the less developed stage of society, must have been necessarily cruder. They are not aware that a society developed to any extent is a composite organism; that an originally simple cluster of people had grown into a complex community, through double methods, the multiplication of its own offsprings, and its union with another cluster or clusters of people.[13] This gradual growth of a society is followed by a corresponding diversity in the division of labor, thus making the social structure also complex.[14] Whatever else they can do, the Chinese will never realize their ideal of ancient simplicity, with their present complex social structure and system. A human society can either fall backward or progress forward, but it cannot progress backward. In China the active movement for social and political amelioration is restrained by the erroneous idea that they will aggravate evils and increase the distance between the present and the past. The unemployed energy of the nation, like an unemployed human muscle, is losing its vitality. Unable to go backward, unwilling to go forward, the nation is at standstill, and its civilization is stagnant with vices of the worst sort, the growth of which is checked by no iron hands of heroic reformers.

[13] Spencer's "Principle of Sociology," Vol. II., pp. 436-458.

[14] Ibid, pp. 459-472.

Another cause acting against the susceptibility of China to the European civilization is the vastness of her territory. The power of resistance being equal, a force requires longer time to travel larger distance, but when the power of resistance against the force of civilization is much stronger, as in the case of China, in comparison with Japan, the required length of time becomes still greater. The vast and thickly populated Empire of China naturally contains the various aggregates of people, with diverse inclinations and antagonistic interests, which makes their joint effort for any achievement extremely difficult, especially when the central authority is weak. The disadvantages are further multiplied by the difficulty of travelling and communication. On account of these hindrances, the Western civilization has not as yet time to permeate the whole Empire of China, and give the people an impetus for progressive movement. It may be well questioned whether "the fathers" could have succeeded in organizing the federal government, if the colonies were as large, and contained as great a population as the present United States. As it was, several States refused to enter into the confederation at first.[15] Taking into consideration her better facility for communication, and her proximity to the other European powers, perhaps Russia owes to the size of her territory, the successful maintenance of her absolute monarchy as much as China. But here the decisive battle is already impending. At this moment she is trembling with apprehension lest the palace of the Czar be at any moment levelled to its foundation by the terrible explosion of a nihilist's bomb. The more the employment of force is resorted to as the means of suppression, the greater the violence of resistance. It may take the Chinese people generations before they are seized with such political fanaticism, but judging from precedents, it is a rational probability that the absolute monarchy of China may yet become the object of furious attack by her now inert and abject populace, apparently in happy ignorance of the nature of sovereign authority, the free and unrestrained exercise of which they may learn to covet too soon.

[15] New York, Virginia, North Carolina, and Rhode Island. Bryce's The American Commonwealth, Vol. I., p. 32.

Ignorance, antiquarianism, and large territory, then, are some principal causes which retard the march of progress. There remains only the third and last objection to be met—the adaptability of the Asiatic people to the representative form of government.

III. If two thousand years of Asiatic despotism has given her people one lesson, that lesson is obedience, and obedience is, according to John Stuart Mill, a quality essential to the people under constitutional government.[16] Not only they must be obeyed, but also they must obey. Law, which is constitutional, commands their obedience, so long as it is not repealed, whether it promotes, or is detrimental to, their welfare. This is especially the case in England, where parliament is supreme and not the constitution, as in the United States, though in both countries vox populi will tell in the end. On the other hand it may be disputed that if long despotism taught the Asiatic people to be subservient to public authorities, it also made them meek and slavish, entirely eradicating the spirit of independence, indispensable to self-governing people. Granted, but how shall this defect be remedied? Because they are too slavish and not sufficiently independent, are they to crawl under absolute despotism for another two thousand years, which would make them all the more slavish, and all the less independent? Slavishness is obedience plus something more. If political liberty were given the Asiatic people, when they had just learned to obey, slavishness would never have become their fault. The very fact of their being slavish proves that despotism should have ceased to exist long before, and should cease now, in order to cure them of this despicable disease. As far as this question is concerned, then, the slavishness of the Asiatic people, instead of being against their adaptability to constitutional government, is for it. In the words of Macaulay, "If men are to wait for liberty until they become wise and good in slavery, they may indeed wait forever."[17]

[16] His Representative Government, pp. 85, 86.

[17] His Essay on Milton.

There may be a thousand other infirmities among these people, but most of them doubtless are, or were, found among the highly civilized people of to-day. Every nation can point with pride to some men of admirable achievement, of brilliant genius, of saintly virtues, but that same nation also contains the countless number of inebriates, robbers, and murderers. Differences in environments and in the stage of civilization have contributed much in differentiating the inhabitants of the globe, but we must bear in mind that they are all made by the same hand of the Creator, and are, in general, striving to do good according to the dictates of their conscience. What characterizes civilization is not so much the quality of goodness revealed, as its quantity. Between aborigines and highly advanced people, there exists a wide gulf, but that gulf becomes perceptibly narrower between the so-called semi-civilized and the civilized, much narrower than the word "semi" indicates with the force of scientific exactness. But behind all these arguments, there lays the most fundamental condition of the adaptability, namely: that the people should be desirous of establishing it. No other Asiatic nations beside Japan have expressed their desire to this end, either by words or by action, and therefore they are incapacitated.

This objection would be fatal, if we were advocating that the Asiatic people ought to have constitutional government. But we have not been. We have been arguing that since constitutional government has irresistible attraction to those who can understand what it is, and since it has already been established in Japan, the other Asiatic nations will begin to desire it, notwithstanding their seeming ignorance and conservatism; and because they are adapted for it in all the respects but one, the want of desire to establish it, when that desire is enkindled within their breasts, then a "great democratic revolution," which De Tocqueville said was going on in Europe,[18] and which is still going on there, will also go on in Asia. We may observe in passing, that Sir Henry Maine's arguments against the irresistibility of popular government[19] have no connection with our position, being directed against the ultra-democratic tendency of modern times which is beyond the scope of our present discussion.

[18] His Democracy in America, Vol. I., p. 2.

[19] His Popular Government, pp. 70-74.

But will this new institution of Japan possess permanency? Constitutional government has shown in many cases the lack of stability. In France and Spain especially it has been established and overthrown again and again.[20] Can Tei Koku Gi Kai[21] prove itself above such frailty and stand for ages a majestic monument of the people capable of self-government? Or must it pass away in ignominy and gloom through its own weakness, or of the constitution, or of the people, or of all these combined? Hitherto we have been discussing the extrinsic significance of constitutional government in Japan, but this important question introduces us into the field of its intrinsic excellence. To answer the question we must examine the constitution itself in its details, besides tracing the steps which led to its promulgation. Perhaps a volume may be necessary for this most interesting and profitable study. At any rate, the space which we have already occupied renders a further discussion of the subject impossible for the present. But we cannot lay aside our pen without expressing our fondest anticipation, and most earnest desire, that guided by statesmen of genius, and supported by the prudent and patriotic people, this first institution ever founded on the Asiatic soil for the development of political liberty, may be crowned with brilliant success, not only for the sake of Japan, but for the sake of all Asia, whose myriad sons it is her noble duty, as well as privilege, to rescue from the yoke of ever-detestable bondage.

[20] Ibid, pp. 17, 18.

[21] Literally, "The Deliverative Assembly of the Empire," being the comprehensive name for the two legislative chambers of Japan, corresponding to Parliament of England or Congress of the United States.



UNIVERSITY EXTENSION.

BY PROF. WILLIS BOUGHTON, OF OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY.

University extension is a movement intended to bring the people at large into closer communion with the college and the university. Though it had a lowly birth in England, it has become a great institution permanently wedded to Oxford and Cambridge. For some years the idea has been growing that our American colleges ought to be doing something in this same line. The world is full of students who are unable to attend the university; some are prevented by family ties, and some by business relations; but mature though they be, there are everywhere real students who are lamenting the fact that they seem forever shut out from the light of knowledge as it is shed abroad from our higher educational institutions. To such are added those young people who have been by circumstances early forced into industrial pursuits, but who are hungry after such training as will enable them to command better situations and better salaries. The success of the Chautauqua movement indicates how many there are that are bent upon improving themselves.

This Chautauqua movement is only an attempt to Americanize university extension. In various ways, however, it fails to perform the full function of the latter institution. While Chautauqua work is carefully planned, it is elementary; the student is left almost entirely to his own, often misdirected, efforts; and there is little or no chance of his coming into personal contact with the experienced educator and specialists. Though the circles have, through lack of direction, sometimes neglected education for entertainment, the organization as a whole has accomplished a wonderful work in the elevation and the instruction of great numbers of people.

University extension, on the other hand, profiting by the experience of Chautauqua, proposes not only to plan courses of study, but to direct, supervise, and test the work of its students as well. In doing all this, it employs the lecturer, the syllabus, the class, the travelling library, and the examination. It has adopted methods whereby it can reach people of as varied occupations as those reached by Chautauqua, and it can thus furnish them with information having a positive educational value.

The lecturers are college-bred men or women, and specialists in different lines of educational work. If actively engaged in teaching at some reputable college or university, their chances of success are greater, and the character of their work is of a better grade. It promises well for the future of university extension to record that some of America's most popular and celebrated professors have added to their already heavy duties the burdens of some line of extension teaching. But all college professors are not adapted to this work. The successful extension lecturer must be of a versatile nature—a good lecturer, an earnest student, a practical teacher. It is his duty to interest a mixed, popular audience in an educational subject, and to inspire numbers of his hearers with a determination to enter upon a systematic and thorough course of study. The teacher who can do so must have within him the spirit of the reformer, and the earnestness that will enable him to arouse and to enthuse to action the numbers that are dying of lethargy and ennui. The teacher who can do this has here a field of labor extensive enough for the highest ambition, and may be repaid by a success grander than can be attained in the limited circle of the college or the university.

The work of the lecturer arranges itself into unit courses. The unit course consists of a series of six related lecturers, so arranged that they will cover a definite field of study. Though less comprehensive, the unit course may be compared to a course of study in a college curriculum. As extension students are the busy people of this world, these lectures occur only at intervals of one week, thus giving the student time for the extra reading and study that he is asked to do. A unit course, then, will cover a period of six weeks; and four unit courses, extending over a period of twenty-four weeks, constitute an extension year. It is superfluous to attempt to estimate how much the earnest solitary student may accomplish in a year through the assistance and the impetus thus given his efforts. Much, however, depends upon the personal effort of the student, and the syllabus is intended to direct his private study.

The syllabus is much more than a carefully prepared outline of a unit course. It must form a skeleton for the student's diligent work; it must recall and elaborate the points brought out in each lecture; it must give a comprehensive list of reference books upon the course—a bibliography of the subject—with information as to the best editions and as to how to use the books to the best advantage; it must suggest lines of research—comparisons and parallelisms; it must outline for the student paper work with full instructions as to how to write upon the subject; it must, in short, be a sort of teacher, full of methods and of suggestions, supplementing the work of the class.

The class immediately follows the lecture and is conducted by the lecturer himself. It is here that the student comes into the most direct contact with the educator. Just as the lecture is for the popular audience, many of whom seek pleasure rather than information, so the class is preeminently the earnest student's workshop. It is here that he has the privilege of turning questioner and of putting to the lecturer such queries as have puzzled him in his private work. The papers that have been prepared during the week are criticised and discussed, and experienced lecturers claim that some extension students can and do prepare papers which show as deep an insight and as broad an understanding of the subject as are manifested by the ordinary college student. The class then is, from the student point of view, the select portion of the audience, and still it often happens that only a small proportion of this class even can be induced to do systematic and thorough work; they are regarded as the fruit of the lecture and measure the speaker's ability to interest a popular audience.

As an adjunct to class work, the travelling library is proposed. In order to do effective work, the student must have books, and university extension proposes to arrange with public libraries so that the necessary volumes can be furnished the isolated student at a cost little in excess of that of transportation. There is such competition among express companies that there will be little trouble in getting rates of transportation which will render this feature of extension teaching practicable. What Mudie's Circulating Library is to England, the extension travelling library may be to America. The result will be to place in the reach of all the best copyrighted books, and to strangle the reprints of worthless publications that are bought only because they are cheap.

Finally there comes the examination. For the assurance of timid and sensitive persons, it may be stated that extension work is optional, and may be carried to any desired stage of completion. The many enter upon the work because it is popular and interesting; and as soon as it assumes the character of study, the class will often dwindle down to a small portion of the audience. The requirements for an examination will weed this remainder until there is found but a handful that will submit to the test. These workers are usually mature, and often prove themselves to be thorough and proficient students. The examination is intended to be a thorough test, and if it proves the work to have been creditably done, a certificate to that effect is awarded.

Any community that arranges for one or more unit courses is termed a local centre. In order to introduce and conduct this plan of work, there must be some kind of a local organization. Often there already exists, even in a small town, some literary club or other society organized for purposes of education or culture. Such societies, if in a thrifty condition, may be utilized for extension purposes. If they prove to be responsible for the expense of one or more unit courses, no further organization is needed; but in towns where no such society exists, a local centre may be formed by the co-operation of a few citizens. A public meeting may be convened or other means taken to elect a local committee consisting of a half dozen members, with at least a chairman, a secretary, and a treasurer as its official board. The first work of the committee is to raise a guarantee fund to cover the expense of one or more unit courses. Responsible persons are willing enough to subscribe to such a fund upon the assurance that it will not be used except in case of a deficiency caused by a limited sale of student or course tickets. Experience in Philadelphia has proved that, ordinarily, enough tickets will be sold to more than cover the expense of the course.

The guarantee fund raised, the local committee is ready to secure the services of a lecturer, and is brought into business connections with the nearest branch, as the next higher stage in the system is denominated. The branch is located at a railroad centre, and in the vicinity of some college or university. For example, the Philadelphia branch is the business centre for the entire region within a radius of fifty miles. It draws its lecturers from the faculties of the University of Pennsylvania, Princeton, Bryn Mawr, Haverford, and Swarthmore. The branch acts as the middle man between the college and the local centre. Its functions are to supply a competent corps of lecturers, to systematize the work within its jurisdiction, and to organize new local centres. Already the Philadelphia branch has formed twenty-five local centres, some of which another season will give a full year's work consisting of four unit courses.

Located in Philadelphia in the midst of colleges, this organization is purely national in its aims. It brings with it system out of chaos. While university extension was groping aimlessly about, it came to the attention of one of the leading educators of our country. As provost of the University of Pennsylvania, Dr. William Pepper has proved himself to be a man of great executive ability. Comprehending to the fullest extent the future of our educational system, with wonderful foresight, he saw in the extension movement a future far more important than for a mere matter of missionary diversion for certain charitably inclined professors. He at once suggested plans for uniting the efforts of those engaged in the work and of harmonizing them throughout the country. Accordingly Mr. George Henderson was sent to England to study the movement in all of its bearings, and to gain a thorough insight into the English system. Upon his return the American Society was organized with Dr. Pepper as president, and Mr. Henderson as Secretary. But Dr. Pepper, already burdened with the executive duties of a great university, as well as with the labors of an extensive profession, was soon obliged to withdraw from the active presidency, and Dr. Edmund J. James was elected to that office. Such, in brief, is the origin of the National Society.

This American Society comes in as a helpmate to the local centre, the branch, the college, and the university. Its functions are distinct and various. Coming forward with the accumulated experience of a quarter century in England, it can enable extension workers in this country to profit thereby. It has employed a corps of practical business men to systematize the work, and to attend to the necessary details; it is publishing a monthly journal called University Extension, for the purpose of gathering and disseminating information regarding the movement; it publishes syllabi and furnishes them to the student and to the public at the lowest possible cost; and employs organizers to help in the formation of local centres, and to get them in working order. It must be recognized at once that no single educational institution can do this general work, and that the American Society, instead of becoming a competitor with the university in extension work, renders it practical for even the smaller colleges to enter this field of usefulness.

In the performance of its functions, then, the National Society must ordinarily deal with the greater centres of organization; still when it is impracticable to form a branch, it may deal directly with the local centre. Nor is its influence bounded by any conventional barriers. It can enter the home where the solitary student sits by his evening lamp, and direct his work. In this home work, of course, the student rarely comes into direct contact with the educator, but through systematized correspondence his work may be directed and finally tested. It can thus be given a true educational value. It must not be ignored that a startling proportion of our great business men are what are termed self-educated. So will it be in the future; but it is far from visionary to believe that university extension will open paths whereby the solitary student need no longer employ an expensive tutor nor waste his time, groping in the labyrinth paths of knowledge, without a thread, at least, to direct his wanderings to pleasanter fields of light and learning.

While this system of study is popular, and has all the glitter of novelty, many insincere persons will enroll their names. Some will seek only entertainment, and will be satisfied with the popular lecture alone. Others, through timidity and lack of self-confidence, may attend the class but will not attempt the paper work or the examination. But in every community are scores of earnest, hungry students anxious to learn but knowing not how to get the knowledge that they crave,—mature students settled in homes and in business,—to such university extension offers chances for improvement and refreshing labor that were never known before. Then it is no longer imperative to reside in the vicinity of the university, or to forever remain ignorant of university learning, for wherever a score or more of students may congregate, there can be brought from college halls a master workman to direct the work.

It is easy, then, to realize the scope of the American society. It can stretch its influence into every corner of the country; it can enter every town and city; it can enter even the isolated home. Ordinarily colleges and universities of the country are anxious to work with the National Society, for in this way even the small college becomes a link in this great chain of organization, and the efforts of its faculty may bear fruit, whereas unsystematized work is little better than a failure. By such co-operation the work of extension teaching may have come to have such a positive educational value that its certificates, when awarded by the members of a college faculty, may, in that institution, at least, pass current for a definite amount of the work required for a degree. At Cambridge, England, students from centres that are in affiliation with that institution can thus save one year's residence at the university. Is it, then, visionary to expect as much here?

University extension, however, offers no royal road to learning; it is as yet, as it were, laying the ties for a broad gauge track where only those that have the strength to work their passage may travel. But when operated by the American Society, it is far in advance of the overland or Panama routes of the forty-niners in extension travel. This society seems to have solved the problem, and promises to become the great American University that Washington proposed, Jefferson planned, and scores have, since the founding of our government, prophesied and awaited.



POPE LEO ON LABOR.

BY THOMAS B. PRESTON.

In reading the encyclical letter of Pope Leo XIII. on the condition of labor, one is chiefly struck by his earnest desire for the welfare of all mankind, his clear recognition of the existence of a grave social problem, and the singular want of logic which he exhibits in his attempt to solve it. His views on this subject certainly deserve careful and thoughtful analysis on account of the influence which they are bound to exert in the world, owing to his peculiar position as head of the largest of the Christian churches. They should be read without bias, each argument being given its due weight irrespective of any conclusions but those of common sense and right reason. Unfortunately there is much division of opinion as to the value of the document. Those Catholics who are superstitious give to these opinions of the Pope the force of a revelation from God. And on the other hand there are many so-called liberals who regard these utterances as the words of a crafty old man, ambitious of acquiring wealth, power, and fame in the world for himself and for the hierarchy of his Church. Putting aside all prejudice of either kind, let us examine what Pope Leo says in the light of reason, having faith enough to believe that the interests of true religion cannot suffer in the slightest degree from such an examination.

In his opening sentences the Pope speaks in a tone of regret of the "spirit of revolutionary change" predominant in the nations, and seems to connect it with "a general moral deterioration." He does not appear to have considered that the change may be evolutionary rather than revolutionary, and that the "general moral deterioration" is quite as much due to the efforts of reactionary politicians and churchmen who aim to retain for the classes all the constantly increasing wealth-producing power of the world, keeping the masses down to the same bare level of subsistence as formerly, while their capacity for enjoyment has been vastly enlarged through the increased general average of civilization and refinement. This naturally produces on the one side the piled-up accumulations of individuals garnered by the few, an inordinate display of wealth and luxury, and the vices of intemperance and immorality; while on the other, maddened and starving crowds are likely to resort to violence, and the poorer population to indulge whenever they get a chance in the same pleasures as the rich. But with all these disadvantages in the modern economic situation it may fairly be questioned whether the general moral deterioration is as great as in the good old times, the "ages of faith," when the Inquisition flourished along with the Borgias, the droit du seigneur was a recognized custom, and bribery and violence were everywhere prevalent.

"Public institutions and the laws," says Pope Leo, "have repudiated the ancient religion." But is not this repudiation in large part due to the refusal of the ministers of the ancient religion to accommodate themselves to new conditions in the world's history, so that with the growth of modern civilization the world has moved more rapidly than the Church, and the latter has become dissociated from the masses, chiefly owing to the ignorance and intense conservatism of her rulers and their entirely unnecessary distrust of the discoveries of science? Pope Leo admits that this is "an age of greater instruction, of different customs, and of more numerous requirements in daily life," but he cannot divest himself of the trammels of ecclesiasticism which seem to mould his thoughts and lead him to consider it "essential in these times of covetous greed to keep the multitude within the line of duty." With him it is "the multitude" who seem possessed of an insane desire to break out of the line of duty. His theory is like that of the man who accounted for the overcrowding in large cities on the ground that the poor and unfortunate had a strange and uncontrollable propensity for swarming in tenement-houses. He does not give sufficient force to the influence of conditions upon human acts, and apparently is chiefly anxious that "strife should cease," forgetting that until justice be done the worst thing that could happen would be the cessation of strife.

The flattering surroundings and aristocratic training of Pope Leo cannot, however, dull the generous sympathies of his heart, or blind his clear vision of "the misery and wretchedness which press so heavily at this moment on the large majority of the very poor." He says: "The condition of the working population is the question of the hour." This will be a rude awakening to those conservative Catholic churchmen who have in recent years been insisting that things as they are were altogether lovely, and that the talk about the misery of the poor was only the exaggeration of a few cunning agitators who wanted to excite the people so that in a general upheaval these agitators themselves might personally profit. Pope Leo's voice of sympathy is heard declaring that there is a social problem, and that "it is shameful and inhuman to treat men like chattels to make money by or to look upon them merely as so much muscle or physical power."

Charity, as Pope Leo frequently understands it, would indeed effect a wonderful amelioration in the world. But it is that charity "which is always ready to sacrifice itself for others' sake" and the chief characteristic of which is the love of justice. It has been degraded in these later years into the sense of alms-giving, so that the Christian pulpits of every denomination have too often thus been preaching charity while ignoring justice.

Is it any wonder the world rebelled? The victories of the Church were won when she possessed the sublime strength of weakness, and when her martyrs and saints in language only matched by that of the radicals of to-day were proclaiming the essential liberty, fraternity, and equality of all men, and denouncing the iniquities of imperial Rome. But when she took the fatuous step, and placed on her own brow the crown of the Caesars, then she too became conservative, then the words of her popes began to be regulated by policy, then charity became alms-giving, and piety degenerated into ecclesiasticism. Authority was strained until it snapped, and a suffering world revolted from the outrageous assumptions of ecclesiastical power. A return to Christianity is, indeed, needed, but the Church will have quite as much of a journey to go as the world, so far as her methods are concerned.

With regard to the position of the family in the state, Pope Leo is the advocate of freedom as against the interference of public authority in domestic affairs. He admits, however, that the state should interfere in cases of family disturbance "to force each party to give the other what is due," herein differing from the philosophical anarchists. He discerns clearly that the interests of labor and of capital are not antagonistic, but what he does not see is that the interests of labor and capital may both be antagonistic to the interests of monopoly, and that until the latter is destroyed the two former will be continually forced into positions of seeming antagonism. He denounces "rapacious usury," and says that it was "more than once condemned by the Church," conveniently overlooking the fact that the usuria, which was condemned, was not only "rapacious" but was all taking of money for the use of money, all interest on loans—a condemnation which, if insisted upon by the Church to-day, would soon empty her sanctuaries. He refers to the "greed of unrestrained competition" but does not grasp the idea that under conditions of justice unrestrained competition would be an advantage, constantly leading men to emulate each other, and becoming a sure guarantee of progress. It is the competition of those who have nothing but their labor, or their brains, or their capital to sell with the owners of vast monopolies who exact from production an ever-increasing toll that needs to be restrained, and this not by abolishing "the custom of working by contract," or by state interference and legislative tinkering, to which the Pope leans in spite of his protests against socialism, but by the abolition of the monopolies or their absorption into the functions of the state.

The Pope is almost a Spencerian in his bias towards individualism, but he forgets that individualism can never be maintained in practice except through the assumption by the state of those monopolies which, if left in private hands, would benefit the few at the expense of the many. True individualism requires equality of opportunity. The instant the idea of monopoly enters, equality of opportunity becomes impossible, and individualism is destroyed. It is through want of seeing this fact that the Pope, in common with most political economists, goes floundering round in a sea of contradictions, now proclaiming principles almost like those of the anarchists, and again favoring extreme socialism, while all the time imagining himself an individualist. Their theories remind one of the labored attempts to explain the solar system by the old Ptolemaic method of epicycles and deferents, when the one simple law of centripetal and centrifugal force was enough to account for all the majestic movements of the universe. What other outcome can there be of this want of a regulator in economics—like a governor in machinery—than an endeavor to patch up the machine of humanity, adding a little here, taking off a little there, doing the best that occasion seems to allow, and all the while impressed with a profound and sad conviction that the machine is in a bad way, and certain to smash up, whatever is done? Consequently we have just such weak documents as this encyclical letter, emanating now from an eminent agnostic scientist, now from a millionnaire "philanthropist" and now from the Pope—all conflicting with each other, the first denying that man has any more rights than a rattlesnake, the second lauding a "triumphant democracy" which has not the courage to attack the monopolies through which he has acquired his millions, the third writing a long paper full of pious platitudes and injunctions to the rich to give to the poor, and to the poor to be contented, and then everything will be lovely.

The main portion of the encyclical letter is directed against "socialism," and the Pope's arguments are effective as against what he evidently means by socialism. They are sadly weakened, however, by his want of a logical conception of what constitutes private property. He shows in more than one place that he believes private property to be only the result of human labor, but when he comes to apply his ideas, he admits of its extension to land and other monopolies, without realizing that because such monopolies are not the creation of human labor they cannot therefore be rightfully considered as private property. He is like the man who would divide the human race into men, women, and poets, or in enumerating the New England States would include Boston after having mentioned Massachusetts. His arguments are still further weakened by his evident leaning towards compulsory Sunday rest, and an eight-hour day, trades-unionism, and regulation by church societies, all of which savor of the very socialism which he is combatting.

He argues well, however, against the theory which proposes that the state should administer individual property as common property for the benefit of all. This would be more correctly termed state socialism or, in its extreme form, communism. But the Pope fails to recognize that there is such a thing as public property, created by the mere presence of large communities, and which those communities have a perfect right to administer. While endeavoring to uphold the rights of private property, he impugns what Father William Barry called in a recent review article, "The Rights of Public Property." His Holiness' ignorance on this point can be best shown by a quotation:—

"If one man hires out to another his strength or his industry, he does this for the purpose of receiving in return what is necessary for food and living; he thereby expressly proposes to acquire a full and real right, not only to the remuneration, but also to the disposal of that remuneration as he pleases. Thus, if he lives sparingly, saves money, and invests his savings, for greater security, in land, the land in such a case is only his wages in another form; and, consequently, a workingman's little estate thus purchased should be as completely at his own disposal as the wages he receives for his labor."

It would be interesting to know what the Pope would say if the workingman invested his savings in a slave, and whether the Holy Father would consider the slave only the workingman's "wages in another form." Pope Leo certainly never could have intended to state that the mere purchase of a thing was sufficient to convey ownership. Yet that is just what the last sentence quoted amounts to. The justice of the ownership depends entirely upon whether the thing purchased be rightfully capable of ownership, in the first place, and whether it be obtained from the rightful owner, in the second.

"As effects follow their cause," Pope Leo says a little further on, "so it is just and right that the results of labor should belong to him who has labored."

There he strikes the key-note of the right of property upheld alike by the best churchmen and economists in all ages. That is the natural law of labor. It is opposed to the theory of State socialism, and to what many in this country understand by nationalism. If the Pope had adhered to that proposition, he would have been saved from his illogical position. It is undoubtedly true that a man is entitled to that of which he is the producing cause. And in some branches of labor which are more intimately associated with the earth than others, such as agricultural operations, it is true that the results of labor, and the improvements made upon land, become physically inseparable from the land itself, so that he who would own what his labor has produced must also have security of tenure, and exclusive possession of "that portion of nature's field which he cultivates."

It is for want of distinguishing carefully between possession and ownership that the Pope falls into his ludicrous economic blunders. This part of his encyclical is absolutely self-contradictory. He is arguing for the securing to the laborer of the fruits of his labor. The workman on land must have ownership of those things he has produced, and hence must have exclusive possession of that part of the earth which he tills. He must have such disposal of it as will enable him by the exertion of his labor to secure a proportionate reward. But this is not ownership. Ownership carries with it something more than this. Once "divide the earth among private owners," as the Pope puts it, and you have this condition of things: that those who do not happen to be among the private owners must compete for the privilege of living on the earth, they must pay a part of the results of their labor for permission to work, and on the other hand the fortunate owners receive something for which they themselves render no labor. It is strange that the Pope did not see the absurdities of his own propositions. He says:—

"Moreover the earth, though divided among private owners, ceases not thereby to minister to the needs of all; for there is no one who does not live on what the land brings forth. Those who do not possess the soil contribute their labor; so that it may be truly said that all human subsistence is derived either from labor on one's own land, or from some laborious industry which is paid for either in the produce of the land itself or in that which is exchanged for what the land brings forth."

Pope Leo is mistaken. All human subsistence is not derived either from labor on one's own land or from some laborious industry. Some human subsistence, as the Pope says, is derived from labor on one's own land. Some human subsistence is derived from laborious industry on the land of others. And—what the Pope seems to ignore—some human subsistence is derived by owning land and letting others work upon it, taking from them part of the fruits of their labor in exchange for the mere permission to labor. By no construction can such ownership be classed as a "laborious industry." Yet such owners generally enjoy the very best of "human subsistence."

Nevertheless, a few sentences further on, the Pope naively asks: "Is it just that the fruit of a man's sweat and labor should be enjoyed by another?" Had the Pope pondered over that question more profoundly, he might have come to far different conclusions from those which he seems to have reached.

It is unfortunate that the Pope through a desire to uphold the just rights of property should have been led to maintain the privileges of monopoly, and still more unfortunate that so many Catholics will consider his blunder an article of faith and feel it binding upon their consciences to oppose all further efforts to impair private ownership of land by taxation—the only way in which individual possession can be reconciled with the common right of all mankind to the earth.

In one place the Pope seems to doubt the extent to which the principle of private ownership is applicable to land, for he says: "The limits of private possession have been left to be fixed by man's own industry and the laws of individual peoples." But if the laws should tax the monopoly value out of land, then the holder of land would not be able to get any profit out of it except by his own labor. It would be no longer such ownership as exists to-day which allows private owners to confiscate the results of other's labor. The Pope here abandons the unqualified ownership which he elsewhere maintains. It might well be asked if he is prepared to excommunicate the legislators and assessors who, in nearly every civilized country to-day, do tax land, and thus to a certain extent impair ownership. And if the same principle were extended so that the tax would equal the entire rental value there would be no chance for the land monopolist to exploit the earnings of labor. Man's means should not be "drained and exhausted by excessive taxation," as the Pope seems to fear, showing that he has a vague idea of the method by which it is proposed to destroy ownership. But as the rental value to-day is already paid by labor, the proposed plan could not drain or exhaust labor any more than at present, while such a tax falling upon lands held for speculation would cause their abandonment, and thus open new fields for labor. Workingmen would then be really "encouraged to look forward to obtaining a share in the land," and that prosperity which the Pope hopes for would result. He seems to be ignorant of the fact that taxing land, unlike a tax upon any product of labor, makes it cheaper and easier to obtain for possession and use.

More than all does he forget that what labor needs is not the protecting arm of Church or State, but equal opportunity and the fullest possible freedom of access to Nature's bounties. He is untrue to himself and talks like the veriest socialist when he says: "Among the purposes of a society should be to try to arrange for a "continuous supply of work at all times and seasons." Bountiful nature in the great storehouse of the earth has provided a "continuous supply of work" for the whole human race for all future ages. Make monopoly, by taxation, loosen her grip upon the earth, and labor would have abundant opportunity for all time to come without the necessity for paternal, socialistic tinkering on the part of either State or Church.



THE AUSTRIAN POSTAL BANKING SYSTEM.

BY SYLVESTER BAXTER.

There is a possibility that the plan for the establishment of postal savings banks, so ably advocated by the postmaster-general, may result in a radical change in our entire banking system. The demand for postal savings-banks is so popular that it is not likely that there will be much further delay on the part of Congress in realizing the project. Now it happens that among the new political issues that have arisen, the question of the currency has assumed a most prominent place. There can be no doubt of the intensity of the feeling that has developed against the national banks, which have supplied a large proportion of the circulating medium since the war, and the demand for a currency issued directly by the government, without the intervention of the banks, is growing both in volume and in force.

The sense of the inadequacy of the national banks to the financial necessities of the country is by no means confined to those who, by theory or experience, have been made hostile to them, and regard them as detrimental to our institutions, and as dangerous instruments for the oppression of the common people. It extends to those who recognize that the national banks have been of invaluable service to the country, and are a vast improvement over the banking system that preceded them. Nevertheless they feel that grave defects are showing themselves, and that for the security of the community something better is needed. There is not the confidence on the part of the business community that there should be, and events like the recent occurrences in connection with the Keystone National Bank, in Philadelphia, are not likely to enhance that confidence. One of the most frequent of surmises is as to how many similar cases there may be, and a very commonly heard query is that as to the state of affairs that a general financial panic might reveal, with the banks loaded with collateral upon which it would be hardly possible to realize at such a time.

Then there is the moral aspect of the case, so well expressed in an essay[22] by one of the soundest philosophical and political thinkers whom America has known, the late David Atwood Wasson. Said he: "At present the government permits itself to become indirectly,—or, if we speak of the State governments, worse, sometimes, than indirectly,—confederate with those who amass fortunes by making credit precarious, and forcing the hazards of the gaming-table into all the legitimate operations of business. The comptroller of the currency has publicly said that about one half, on an average, of the means of the national banks, in one chief city—institutions, observe, created by government, and charged, in effect, with one of its most distinctive functions, that of supplying a medium of exchange—are loaned to speculators; that is, to men who subsist largely on artificial disturbances of credit, upon corners in the stock market and money market, upon alternations of inflation and stringency, the ups and downs of a disordered constitution. Without going into the matter closely, which is aside from my present purpose, I leave before the reader the main facts of the case: that the system of credit centred in the modern banking system plays a vast and increasing role in our civilization; that while of a utility not easily overstated, it affords peculiar opportunities of fraud and exaction; that aside from these, its unregulated condition is dangerous, resulting in alternations of inflation and depression, like the alternate extremes of fever and ague; that vast and growing combinations exist for producing artificially this disorder; that those institutions which credit has created under the express sanction of government, at once to supply its necessities and hold it healthily in check, are managed only as private property; that much oppression, alike of labor and capital, and also, I fear, much demoralization—which is an interior and worse oppression—are suffered in consequence; and that hitherto our statesmanship wants the studious leisure, and our method of government the stability and precision of operation, which these exigencies demand."

[22] "The New Type of Oppression," in "Essays: Religious, Social, Political." Lee & Shepard, Boston.

A truer statement of the case never was made, and these words should be well pondered by patriotic citizens.

Probably the reason why the feeling against our present banking system has not yet taken shape in legislation is because no sound constructive measures have been proposed. Faulty as the system is, what is there better that can take its place? is asked, and to this no satisfactory reply has been given. Even though the notes of the national banks should be retired, and currency issued directly from the national treasury should take their place, we must have banking facilities of some kind.

Absolute security of bank deposits is what is desired, and any measure that would secure that end could hardly fail to be joyfully welcomed by the business community, with the exception of the small minority either selfishly interested in present banking corporations, or whose prosperity is derived from operations based upon a state of insecurity. Powerful as these interests are, there is no reason why they should be permitted to stand in the way of the realization of a better condition of affairs, should that prove attainable.

The leading merit of the national banking system comes from the absolute security of its circulating medium, proceeding from the governmental guarantee. Meanwhile the interests of the depositors, in supplying whose convenience the bank derives its business, remain inadequately guarded. Is not some system possible whereby in place of this partial guarantee we may have a complete guarantee, covering both circulating medium and deposit?

Fortunately, with the experiences of other countries furnishing examples so available as they do nowadays, we are not left entirely to our own resources in devising solutions for problems that confront us. We have but to look to Austria for a most successful example of a truly national banking system, that completely meets the demand. When Austria established its postal savings bank, in 1882, a regular check and clearing system was made a feature thereof. This, offering substantially the same convenience as our ordinary private or national banks in this country, together with the additional advantages of absolute security of deposits, and checks good in all parts of the country, has become enormously popular with the mercantile public, so that the regular banking department has quite overshadowed the savings department, important as the latter is.

Every post-office in Austria, therefore, has the function of both a savings-bank and a bank of deposit. A permanent deposit of one hundred florins, or forty dollars, is sufficient to make a person a member of the check and clearing department. No limit is placed on the amount that may be deposited, but a single check cannot be drawn for more than ten thousand florins [four thousand dollars]. Interest is paid on deposits at a rate not exceeding two per cent., while the interest on savings may not exceed three per cent. A charge of two kreutzers [eight mills] is made for each entry, together with a commission of one fourth per mille. Another function of the postal bank is the buying and selling of government securities, for which a commission of two per mille is charged, with a commission of one per mille for the cashing of coupons.

It is interesting to learn that two years before the adoption of this system by Austria, a very similar plan was advocated by an able American student of finance, the Hon. L. V. Moulton, of Grand Rapids, Michigan. In his book, "The Science of Money and American Finances," published in 1880, he said: "The government ought to provide a deposit system of absolute safety to depositors for all who choose to avail themselves of it. A system of postal savings-banks somewhat similar to the British should be adopted. The government receiving a deposit, and allowing the depositor to check out at the same or any other office, paying no interest and doing no loaning, receiving the use of the funds while on deposit, as compensation for storage and transportation of funds. No actual transportation would, of course, be required, except to settle balances between offices. This would be the safest possible deposit and most convenient exchange system, and is quite as proper for the government to undertake as the postal or money-order business. As it is, the government coins money and transfers money, but will not take it on storage, which is absurd, and forces the people to deposit with loan and discount concerns, liable to explode at any time and leave them penniless."

Although interest on deposits is paid in Austria, there appears to be no good reason why it should be paid were the system adopted in this country. There is no need of it as an inducement, for the absolute security and the greatly increased convenience of the system would be sufficient for that. The present national banks pay no interest on deposits, the facilities afforded being adequate to secure all the deposits needed.

It appears desirable, however, to pay interest on deposits of savings. In the bill prepared by Postmaster-General Wanamaker, it is provided that this shall not exceed 2.4 per cent. This low rate is fixed upon in order that the interest may be considerably less than the average paid by private bankers to depositors. The great obstacle to the establishment of postal savings-banks in this country has been the lack of available means for the investment of the funds, the rapidly decreasing national debt making government bonds out of the question for the purpose. Mr. Wanamaker proposes to overcome this obstacle by loaning the funds to national banks within the State where the deposits are made. The objection to this course lies in the objection to the national banks themselves, as heretofore stated. To give them disposition over such a vast amount—it is estimated that the deposits in the postal savings-banks would soon reach $500,000,000—would be to increase vastly their power for harm.

Mr. Wanamaker's alternative proposition, to utilize the funds in the direction of greater and much needed expenditures for public buildings, particularly post-office structures, is, on the other hand, a sound one. They might also be employed to advantage in providing the means for the much needed extension of the postal service now so widely demanded, as in the adoption of a parcels post equal to that of Germany, England, and other countries, and in nationalizing the telegraph and telephone and incorporating them into the postal department.

The deposits in the proposed check and clearing department would place an enormous amount at the disposal of the government, in addition to the postal savings-bank funds. Paying no interest on these deposits, the government might utilize the money in its own expenditures, and thus to a considerable extent reduce taxation. Or, just as the ordinary banks loan their deposits, the government might loan this money for mortgages on land and on staple products, somewhat as demanded in recent agitations.

A person so eminent in the discussion of these questions as Mr. Edward Atkinson has recently stated, in substance, that, increase the volume of the currency as we may, still it would not be adequate to certain exigencies of regular recurrence, like the annual moving of the crops. He thus practically concedes the justice of the farmers' demand, as formulated in their "sub-treasury project," but he would supply this want through private banking institutions organized expressly to loan money for this purpose.

Such institutions would, however, naturally take advantage of the necessities of the farmers by obtaining the highest rates of interest possible, while the underlying purpose of the other plan would be that of making the loans at the lowest rates consistent with the expense of the transactions. Is it not better, it may be asked, and more in accordance with the principles of true self-help, for the people thus to supply their own financial needs in the cheapest way possible through the instrumentality of their governmental organization, rather than depend upon "private enterprise" organized to take advantage of their necessities for its own profit?

At first glance there might seem to be an objection in the fact that, while the government was lending money at two per cent. it was paying on savings deposits interest possibly as high as 2.4 per cent., which would appear to be an unbusiness-like and unprofitable proceeding. But on striking an average between the sums on which it was paying that rate and the large amounts on which it was paying no interest, but receiving two per cent., it would probably be found that it was getting the whole at a rate considerable less than two per cent.

A more valid objection to the lending of money by the government at a fixed low rate of interest, instead of at whatever rates it might obtain according to the state of the money market, as private banking institutions would do, might be found in the liability that the parties to whom it was loaned might reloan it at higher rates, and thus use the good offices of the government as a means of personal profit. The measure could hardly fail, however, to lower very greatly the general rate of interest in the business world. It would be important, of course, to keep this large sum in circulation, and thus avoid the evils arising from hoarding. Its utilization for the regular expenditures of the government would be likely to do this, and the consequent reduction of taxation would be a great public advantage. Although the idea of loaning money at fixed low rates upon certain securities, such as land and staple products, might prove impracticable from various considerations—such, for instance, as the injustice of discriminating in favor of any particular classes in the community, as such a scheme would appear to do—there should be no difficulty in devising some practicable system for using to the advantage of the entire public the extensive funds which thus would be placed at the disposal of the government.