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Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


April  3,  1920 


Announcement 


To  the  Alumni  of  Princeton: — 

Enclosed  is  a  document  which  we  believe 
every  Princeton  man  will  find  of  extra- 
ordinary interest. 

It  is  not  only  an  intensely  interesting 
lecture  by  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
members  of  the  Princeton  faculty,  it  is  also 
the  first  step  in  a  plan  to  make  every  one  of 
the  11,000  alumni  of  Princeton  once  again 
Princeton  students  and  continuously  active 
participants  in  the  work  of  the  university. 

It  embodies  the  beginnings  of  an  effort 
on  the  part  of  the  university  to  take 
Princeton  to  her  alumni;  to  do  something 
for  them  and  not  merely  to  be  asking  them 
to  do  something  for  Princeton. 


The  averagr  alumnus  in  the  past,  after 
his  four  delightful  and  memorable  years  at 
Princeton,  has  received  his  diploma,  and 
gone  out  into  the  world. 

'--^^        560405 


Thereafter  there  was  no  definite  and 
continuous  relationship  between  him  and 
his  alma  mater.  He  kept  in  touch  with  the 
University  through  reading  the  Alumni 
Weekly;  at  times  he  returned  to  take  part 
in  University  functions  or  alumni  re- 
unions, he  attended  commencement  base- 
ball games  or  the  annual  football  contests 
with  Yale  and  Harvard. 

Meanwhile  he  has  known  little  or 
nothing  of  the  progressive  life  of  the  Uni- 
versity and  of  the  contributions  members 
of  the  faculty  were  making  to  the  growing 
thought  of  the  world. 

Princeton's  mission  is  not  merely  to 
inform  and  train  the  undergraduate  mind, 
but  to  make  significant  contributions  to 
the  rapidly  developing  world  of  know- 
ledge. 

Professors  at  Princeton  are  constantly 
plowing  new  intellectual  ground,  but  there 
has    been    no    effective    means    whereby 


Princeton  might  share  her  intellectual  and 
spiritual  life  and  growth  with  the  great 
body  of  her  alumni. 

It  would  indeed  be  a  happy  consumma- 
tion if  it  were  possible  to  make  every  man 
feel  that  once  he  matriculated  at  Princeton 
he  became  a  Princeton  student  in  a  life- 
long course. 

It  is  therefore  our  purpose  to  endeavor 
to  carry  to  the  alumni  body,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  most  interesting  and  striking 
products  of  the  living  thought  of  Princeton 
of  today,  hoping  that  some  new  idea  thus 
gained  will  prove  a  stimulus  to  the  intellec- 
tual life  of  the  sons  of  Princeton. 

*         •):         « 

This  is  the  proposed  plan  of  operation: 

Stenographic  reports  will  be  taken  of  the 
most  interesting  lectures  delivered  during 
the  year  to  the  undergraduates  by  members 
of  the  Princeton  faculty.  Only  such  lec- 
tures will  be  selected  as  embody  new  ideas 
or  the  results  of  recent  research  having 
direct  relationship  with  current  events  or 
problems  of  high  present  interest. 

The  transcripts  of  the  lecture  will  be 
carefully  edited  with  a  view  of  making  them 
of  the  greatest  possible  interest  and  use  to 
the  alumni. 

They  will  then  be  printed  in  a  form 
easily  read,  and  distributed  at  frequent 
intervals  to  Princeton  alumni,  in  no 
matter  what  part  of  the  world  the  indi- 
vidual alumnus  may  be. 

The  printed  lectures  will  be  accompanied 
in  each  case  by  a  brief  biographical  sketch 


of  the  member  of  the  faculty  delivering 
them.  At  the  end  of  each  lecture  there  will 
be  a  short  bibliography  indicating  the  more 
important  recent  books  which  could  profit- 
ably be  read  as  shedding  light  upon  the 
subject  matter  of  the  lecture. 

Many  alumni  have  written  from  time  to 
time  to  the  university  asking  for  guidance 
in  the  conduct  of  their  reading.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  these  bibliographies  will  be  of 
real  value  in  that  direction. 

*  *     • 

This  plan  is  not  University  Extension 
in  the  usual  sense.  The  scheme  is 
addressed  to  those  who  have  actually 
been  in  attendance  in  the  classrooms  of 
Princeton. 

Each  field  of  university  activity  will  be 
covered  in  these  lectures.  We  wish  the 
alumni  to  have  a  more  personal  knowledge 
of  the  members  of  the  faculty  through  this 
intimate  contact  with  their  thoughts  and 
the  results  of  their  learning  and  research. 

*  *      * 

The  development  of  this  plan,  we  hope, 
will  mark  a  new  era  in  the  relations  between 
Princeton  and  her  alumni,  and  possibly,  in 
the  maintenance  of  such  relations,  con- 
tribute something  of  value  to  the  cause  of 
university  education  in  general. 


.^^ -^^«^^^i^A^c— , 


President 


Princeton  University 
April  J,  1920 


rrrs — t^ttt 


-TNirETON    N    ' 


Number  One 


Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


April  3,  1920 


NOTE 

These  pages  contain  the  first  0/  the  lectures  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Princeton  faculty,  which  are  to  be  distributed 
to  the  University  Alumm. 

This  lecture,  "Has  Human  Evolution  Come  To  An 
End?"  embodies  results  of  recent  scientific  researches 
and  reflections  upon  a  topic  of  universal  interest. 

The  lecture  comes  from  the  Biological  Department 

of  Princeton   at   the   head  of  which  is  Prof.   E.   G. 
Conklin,  of  whom  a  biographical  note  follows: 

CONKLIN,  EDWIN  GRANT,  Professor  of 
Biology,  Princeton  University,  was  born  in  Ohio  in 
1863.  He  has  the  degrees  of  B.S.,  A.B.  and  A.M. 
from  the  Ohio-VVesleyan  University,  Ph.D  from 
Johns  Hopkins,  honorary  ScD.  from  the  University 
of  Pennsylvania.  From  1891-94  he  was  professor  of 
biology  at  Ohio-VVesleyan  University;  1894-96 
professor  of  zoology  at  Northwestern  University; 
1896-1908  professor  of  zoology  at  University  of 
Pennsylvania,  since  which  time  he  has  occupied  the 
Chair  of  Biology  at  Princeton  University.  He  is  a 
trustee  of  the  Marine  Biological  Laboratory  at 
Woods  Hole,  Mass.  A  member  of  the  Advisory 
Board  of  the  Wistar  Institute  at  Philadelphia. 
Associate  Editor  of  the  Journal  of  Morphology,  the 
Biological  Bulletin  and  the  Journal  of  Experimental 
Zoology.  He  is  a  member  of  the  National  Academy 
of  Sciences;  American  Society  of  Zoologists  (Presi- 
dent 1899);  American  Society  of  Naturalists 
(President  1912);  Fellow  of  the  American  Associa- 
tion for  the  Advancement  of  Science  (Vice-President 
1907);  American  Philosophical  Society  (Secretary 
1901-08);  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences  of  Phila- 
delphia (Vice-President  since  1901).  Honorary 
member  of  K.  K.  Acad.  Wissenschaften  Prog.; 
Societe  Royale  Zoologique  de  Belgique;  Societe 
Royale  de  Sciences;  Medicals  et  Naturelles  da 
Bruxelles.  The  author  of  about  100  contributions 
to  our  knowledge  in  Heredity,  Development  and 
Evolution. 


Published  semi-monthly.     .4  pplication  pending  for  second  class 
mail  privilege. 


Has  Human  Evolution  Come  to 
An  End? 

A  LECTURE 

By  Edwin  Grant  Conklin 

Professor  of  Biology  in  Princeton  University 

The  doctrine  of  special  creation  taught 
ihat  man  was  perfect  when  he  issued  from 
the  hands  of  the  Creator,  but  that  his  dis- 
obedience brought  upon  him  imperfection, 
degeneracy  and  death. 

The  doctrine  of  evolution  teaches  that 
man  has  come  up  from  animal  ancestors, 
that  he  is  the  culmination  of  this  stupen- 
dous work  of  time,  and  that  he  is  becoming 
more  and  more  perfect.  Indeed  many 
evolutionists  assume  that  there  are  no 
limits  to  the  possible  evolution  of  man, 
that  we  began  in  primordial  protoplasm 
and  will  go  on  to 

"Some  far  off  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  Creation  moves." 

The  recent  cataclysm  which  has  over- 
whelmed the  world,  the  present  perils  of 
civilization,  the  threatenings  of  revolution, 
the  widespread  recrudescence  of  emotion- 
alism and  irrationalism  have  awakened  us 
from  this  roseate  dream. 

Let  us  consider  the  present  position  and 
the  future  prospects  of  the  human  race 
from  the  rational  rather  than  the  emotional, 
from  the  scientific  rather  than  the  poetic 
points  of  view. 


I 


The  Principles  of  Evolution 


There  is  no  longer  any  doubt  among 
scientists  that  man  is  descended  from  the 
animals,  that  he  is  a  vertebrate,  a  mammal, 
a  primate. 

Even  non-scientific  persons  generally 
recognize  this  animal  relationship  although 
John  Fiske  used  to  tell  of  a  man  who  be- 
came very  indignant  when  he  was  told  that 
he  was  a  mammal  and  replied  "  I  am  not  a 
mammal  nor  the  son  of  a  mammal."  He 
added  that  he  had  probably  been  brought 
up  on  a  bottle. 

There  is  no  longer  any  doubt  among 
leading  anthropologists  and  biologists  that 
not  only  the  body  but  also  the  mind  and 
society  of  man  are  the  products  of  evolu- 
tion and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
thn  great  principles  of  evolution  which  have 
operated  in  the  past  will  continue  to  act  in 

the  future. 

*  *      * 

What  are  these  principles? 

1.  Evolution  is  trans-formation  and  not 
new-formation;  it  consists  of  new  com- 
binations of  the  elements  of  which  organ- 
isms are  composed,  whether  those  elements 
be  organs  or  characters,  hereditary  units  or 
the  molecules  of  which  such  units  are  com- 
posed and  it  does  not  consist  in  the  creation 
de  novo  of  molecules,  units,  characters, 
organs  or  functions. 

2.  Evolution  can  take  place  only  by 
means  of  changes  in  the  germplasm — the 
material  basis  of  heredity.  The  only  living 
bond  between  successive  generations  is 
found  in  the  germ  cells  which  extend  back 
from   us  without  a  break   to  our  earliest 

progenitors. 

*  *       * 

The  body  is  mortal,  it  develops  and  dies 
in  each  generation,  but  the  germ  cells  are  at 
least  potentially  immortal. 

Changes  in  heredity  are  due  to  changes 
in  the  immortal  germplasm  rather  than  in 


mortal  bodies  and  evolution  consists  pri- 
marily in  the  evolution  of  germplasm  rather 
than  of  developed  organisms. 

In  spite  of  much  controversy,  due  largely 
to  lack  of  clear  thinking,  it  is  now  prac- 
tically certain  that  "acquired  characters" 
of  the  mortal  body  are  not  inherited,  that 
is  are  not  transmitted  to  the  germplasm 
and  evolutionary  changes  are  not  first 
wrought  in  developed  bodies  but  in  germ- 
plasm. The  "  New  Hope  of  Hereditary  and 
Evolution"  based  upon  the  supposed  in- 
heritance of  acquired  characters  has  led 
only  to  new  disappointments. 

The  Results  of  Evolution 

3.  The  results  of  evolution  may  be 
summarized  in  three  words — Diversity, 
Adaptation,  Progress. 

Diversity  is  seen  in  the  innumerable 
variations,  mutations  and  species  of  the 
living  world.  Most  of  these  are  no  more 
complex  or  perfect  than  the  stocks  from 
which  they  sprung  and  some  of  them  are 
degenerate  descendants  of  more  perfect 
ancestors.  Diversity  in  short  is  mere 
change,  whether  progressive  or  retrogres- 
sive, whether  useful,  indifferent  or  harmful. 

Adaptive  evolution  is  increasing  perfection 
of  adjustment  to  conditions  of  life.  The 
only  scientific  explanation  of  such  adjust- 
ment or  fitness  is  Darwin's  principle  of 
natural  selection  of  the  fit  and  elimination 
of  the  unfit  and  it  is  eloquent  testimony  to 
the  greatness  of  Darwin  that  more  and  more 
this  great  principle  is  being  recognized  as 
the  only  mechanistic  explanation  of  adapta- 
tion. 

Progressive  evolution  is  the  advance  in 
organization  from  the  simplest  to  the  most 
complex  organisms,  from  amoeba  to  man. 
Biological  progress  means  increasing  com- 
plexity   of    structures    and    functions,    in- 


creasing  specialization  and  co-operation  of 
the  parts  and  activities  of  organisms,  and 
human  progress,  whether  physical,  in- 
tellectual or  social,  means  no  more  and  no 
less  than  this. 

The  Limits  of  Progressive 
Evolution 

4.  The  limits  of  progress  are  fixed  by  its 
very  nature.  No  single  animal  or  plant, 
however  complex  it  may  be,  can  combine 
within  itself  all  the  complexities  of  all 
organisms.  Specialization  or  differentiation 
means  limitations  in  certain  directions  in 
order  to  advance  in  others. 

If  a  creature  have  wings  it  cannot  also 
have  hands  (except  in  art  where  angels  are 
given  an  extra  pair  of  appendages  and  hair 
and  feathers  are  mixed  regardless  of 
zoological  classification) ;  if  its  limbs  are 
differentiated  for  running  they  cannot  also 
be  specialized  for  swimming;  if  it  have 
enormous  strength  it  cannot  also  have  great 
delicacy  of  movement. 

Thus  while  certain  animals  are  special- 
ized in  one  direction  and  others  in  another 
no  one  animal  can  be  differentiated  in  all 
directions. 

Furthermore  increasing  specialization 
leads  to  lack  of  adaptability;  peculiar 
fitness  for  any  special  condition  of  life 
means  unfitness  for  other  and  different 
conditions. 

When  differentiations  in  any  one  direc- 
tion go  so  far  that  they  unfit  the  organism 
for  any  condition  of  life  except  a  single  and 
special  one  the  chances  for  survival  are 
greatly  reduced  and  sooner  or  later  this 
highly  differentiated  organism  becomes 
extinct  or  returns  to  a  more  generalized 
type. 


species  like  the  death  of  individuals  is  the 
price  that  is  paid  for  differentiation. 

One-celled  organisms  and  all  germ  cells 
are  potentially  immortal,  but  the  highly 
differentiated  bodies  of  animals  and  plants 
and  their  highly  differentiated  muscle, 
nerve  and  tissue  cells  are  mortal,  probably 
because  they  are  too  highly  specialized  to 
adjust  themselves  to  all  the  changing  con- 
ditions of  existence. 

Similarly  species  that  are  not  highly 
specialized  are  highly  adaptable,  and  have 
great  powers  of  survival  while  those  that 
are  highly  specialized  have  little  adapta- 
bility and  consequently  are  more  likely  to 
become  extinct. 

For  this  reason  new  paths  of  evolution 
usually  start  from  generalized  rather  than 
from  highly  specialized  types. 


The  Paths  of  Progress 

5.  Millions  of  diversities  exist  among 
organisms  and  they  are  appearing  con- 
tinually; thousands  of  adaptations  have 
arisen  during  the  course  of  evolution  and 
are  still  arising;  but  different  lines  of 
progress  have  been  relatively  few.  The 
most  important  paths  of  progress  through- 
out all  past  ages  have  been  in  the  direction 
of: 

(a)  bodily  complexity  or  the  multiplica- 
tion and  differentiation  of  cells,  tissues, 
organs  and  systems; 

{b)  society  or  the  differentiations  and  in- 
tegrations of  individuals  or  persons  whether 
among  ants,  bees  or  men; 

(c)  intelligence  or  the  capacity  of  profiting 
by  experience  which  comes  with  increasing 
organization  of  the  nervous  system. 


Paleontology  is  in  the  main  the  science 
of  organisms  that  were  too  highly  differ- 
entiated to  adjust  themselves  to  the  new 
conditions  that  came  upon  them  and  which 
therefore  became  extinct.     The  death  of 


a.  In  all  these  paths  of  evolution 
progress  is  most  rapid  at  first  and  it  then 
slows  down  until  it  stops. 

One-celled  organisms  reached  their 
utmost    limits    of    complexity    millions    of 


years  ago ;  since  then  they  have  shown  many 
diversities,  many  adaptations,  but  little  if 
any  progress. 

Many-celled  animals  and  plants  long  ago 
reached  the  limits  of  their  possible  progress 
in  almost  every  line. 

Many  new  species  have  evolved  and  are 
still  appearing,  there  has  been  diversifica- 
tion and  adaptation  almost  without  limit, 
but  progress  in  the  sense  of  increasing  com- 
plexity of  organization  has  practically  come 
to  an  end. 

b.  Animal  societies  represent  the  highest 
grade  of  organization  which  has  yet 
appeared  on  earth. 

Here  the  differentiations  and  integrations 
of  individuals  make  possible  this  higher 
degree  of  organization.  The  evolution  of 
animal  societies  may  be  traced  from  a  con- 
dition in  which  every  member  is  much  like 
every  other  and  the  bond  of  connection 
between  individuals  is  a  very  loose  one  up 
to  societies  of  ants,  bees  and  termites  in 
which  the  specialization  and  co-operation 
of  individuals  is  extraordinarily  developed. 

Already  differentiation  among  ants  and 
termites  has  gone  so  far  that  the  three 
principal  functions  of  life,  namely  nutrition, 
reproduction  and  defense,  are  no  longer 
found  in  the  same  individuals;  "workers" 
are  unable  to  reproduce  or  to  defend  the 
colony,  males  and  females  are  unable  to  get 
food  or  to  defend  themselves,  "soldiers" 
are  unable  to  reproduce  or  even  to  feed 
themselves.  At  the  same  time  co-oper- 
ation within  a  colony  is  practically  perfect. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  differentia- 
tion and  integration  can  go  farther  than 
this,  and  unless  it  does  go  farther  progress 
in  this  direction  has  come  to  an  end. 


The  Last  Stage  of 
Evolution 

c.  Intellectual  evolution  is  the  last  and, 
from  the  human  point  of  view,  the  most 
important  path  of  progress  which  has  ever 
been  discovered  by  organisms.  In  lower 
animals  intellect  is  either  lacking  or  is  but 
little  developed,  and  behavior  is  guided 
entirely  by  rigid  instincts;  in  higher  ani- 
mals it  is  more  fully  developed  but  instinct 
is  still  the  rule  of  life;  in  man  only  has 
intellect  become  to  a  certain  extent  the 
master  of  instinct. 

For  thousands  of  years  man  has  en- 
deavored to  improve  by  selective  breeding 
certain  qualities  of  domestic  animals,  and 
among  these  the  intelligence  of  dogs  and 
horses  especially.  Undoubtedly  much  im- 
provement has  been  made  but  in  intelli- 
gence as  in  other  qualities  a  limit  to 
improvement  is  sooner  or  later  reached 
beyond  which  it  is  not  possible  to  go. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  intellectual 
progress,  as  distinguished  from  diversity, 
is  still  going  on  among  animals  and  that 
they  will  ultimately  graduate  into  man's 
class. 


In  bodily  complexity,  social  organization 
and  intellectual  capacity  progressive  evolu- 
tion has  virtually  come  to  an  end  among 
organisms  below  man;  further  progress,  if 
it  occurs,  must  be  in  new  paths  and  from 
generalized  rather  than  highly  specialized 
types. 

Has  progressive  evolution  come  to  an  end 
in  the  case  of  man  also? 


II 

The  Successive  Steps  in  Human  Evolution 


Through  unnumbered  milhons  of  years 
evolution  has  moved  on  from  the  lowest 
form  of  life  to  the  highest,  from  amoeba  to 

man. 

About  half  a  million  years  ago  the  imme- 
diate progenitors  of  man  appeared  on  the 
earth. 

The  earliest  man-like  fossil  so  far  dis- 
coverd  is  the  Ape-man,  Pithecanthropus  erectus, 
of  Java. 

About  100,000  years  ago  the  Neanderthal 
man  appeared,  a  member  of  the  genus  Homo 
but  an  extinct  species,  neanderthalensis . 

Then  came,  about  2.5,000  years  ago, 
certain  races  of  the  existing  species,  Homo 
sapiens,  such  as  the  Cro-Magnon  and  the 
Grimatdi  races. 

Finally  at  the  beginning  of  the  historic 
era,  say  about  10,000  years  ago,  we  find  the 
white,  yellow  and  black  races  of  man,  with 
the  subdivisions  of  each  of  these,  much  as 
they  are  today. 

1.     Physical  Evolution  of  Man 

Since  the  beginnings  of  recorded  history 
there  have  been  very  few  and  wholly  minor 
evolutionary  changes  in  the  body  of  man. 
Chief  among  these  are  the  decreasing  size 
of  the  little  toe  and  perhaps  a  corresponding 
increase  in  the  size  of  the  great  toe;  de- 
creasing size  and  value  of  the  wisdom 
teeth;  and  probably  a  general  lowering  of 
the  perfection  of  sense  organs. 

These  changes  are  in  the  main  degenera- 
tive ones  due  to  the  less  rigid  elimination  of 
physical  imperfections  under  conditions  of 
civilization  than  in  a  state  of  barbarism  or 
savagery.  Such  changes  are  insignificant 
as  compared  with  the  enormous  changes 
which  led  to  the  evolution  of  man  from 
pre-human  ancestors. 

*       ie       * 

Individual  variations  due  to  new  hered- 
itary combinations  or  to  environmental 
influences  are  always  present  but  they  have 
little  or  no  evolutionary  value. 


By  hybridization  of  various  races  and 
stocks  there  has  come  to  be  a  complicated 
intermixture  of  racial  characters,  but  new 
characters  have  not  been  evolved  by 
hybridization;  by  changes  in  environment 
modifications  have  been  produced  in  de- 
velopment but  not  in  heredity,  these  are 
fluctuations  and  not  mutations. 

For  at  least  10,000  years  there  has  been  no 
7iotable  progress  in  the  evolution  of  the  human 
body.  The  limits  of  physical  evolution 
have  apparently  been  reached  in  the  most 
perfect  specimens  of  mankind. 

There  is  no  prospect  that  the  hand,  the 
eye  or  the  brain  of  man  will  ever  be  much 
more  complex  or  perfect  than  at  present. 

By  selective  breeding  the  general  level 
may  be  improved,  just  as  it  has  been  in 
domestic  animals,  but  there  are  no  indica- 
tions that  future  man  will  be  much  more 
perfect  in  body  than  the  most  perfect 
individuals  of  today. 

Intellectual  Evolution 

But  if  man  is  not  growing  more  perfect 
physically  surely,  it  will  be  said,  he  is 
growing  more  perfect  intellectually.  Let 
us  examine  somewhat  critically  this  claim. 

We  certainly  know  more  things  than  the 
ancients  did  and  we  are  proud  to  think 
that  "The  minds  of  men  are  widened  by 
the  process  of  the  suns."  But  it  is  most 
important  to  distinguish  between  knowl- 
edge and  intellect,  between  things  known 
and  the  capacity  for  knowing. 

By  means  of  language,  tradition,  writing 
the  experiences  of  past  generations  can  be 
handed  on  to  present  and  future  ones  and 
thus  each  generation  may  receive  the 
knowledge  accumulated  throughout  the 
past.  In  this  sense  we  are  "  the  heirs  of  all 
the  ages." 


Knowledge  is  certainly  growing,  but  is 
intellectual  capacity  increasing? 

Does  anyone  think  that  in  the  past  2,000 
or  3,000  years  there  has  been  any  increase 
in  human  intellect  comparable  with  the 
increase  in  knowledge?  Do  the  best  minds 
of  today  excel  the  minds  of  Socrates  and 
Plato  and  Aristotle? 

On  the  contrary  it  is  the  opinion  of  those 
who  have  studied  the  subject  most  that  no 
modern  race  of  men  is  the  equal  intellec- 
tually of  the  ancient  Greek  race. 

In  the  two  centuries  between  500  and  300 
B.  C.  the  small  and  relatively  barren  country 
of  Attica,  with  an  area  and  total  population 
about  equal  to  that  of  the  present  State  of 
Rhode  Island,  but  with  less  than  one-fifth  as 
many  free  persons,  produced  at  least  25 
illustrious  men. 

In  this  small  country  in  the  space  of  two 
centuries  there  appeared  such  a  galaxy  of 
illustrious  men  as  has  never  been  found  on 
the  whole  earth  in  any  two  centuries,  perhaps 
not  in  all  the  centuries,  since  that  time. 

Galton  concludes  that  the  average  ability 
of  the  Athenian  race  of  that  period  was,  on 
the  lowest  estimate,  as  much  greater  than 
that  of  the  English  race  of  the  present  day 
as  the  latter  is  above  that  of  the  African 
negro. 

There  has  been  no  progress  in  the  intellec- 
tual capacity  of  man  in  the  past  two  or  three 
thousajid  years,  and  it  seems  probable  that 
the  limits  of  intellectual  evolution  have 
been  reached  in  the  greatest  minds  of  the 
race. 

Increasing  size  of  brain  and  complexity 
of  nervous  organization  leads  to  mental 
and  physical  instability  and  disharmony', 
and  the  great  increase  in  nervous  and 
mental  diseases  in  modern  life  warns  us 
that  there  is  a  limit  to  intellectual  evolu- 
tion. 

Even  in  the  most  distant  future  there 
may  never  appear  greater  geniuses  than 
Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  Shakespeare, 
Newton,  Darwin. 

Undoubtedly  eugenics  and  education  can 
do  much  to  raise  the  intellectual  level  of 
the  general  mass,  but  it  cannot  create  a  new 
order  of  intellect. 


Social  Evolution 

But  if  the  evolution  of  the  human 
individual  has  come  to  an  end  certainly 
the  evolution  of  human  society  has  not. 
In  social  evolution  a  new  path  of  progress 
has  been  found  the  end  of  which  no  one 
can  forsee. 

Evolution  has  progressed  from  one- 
celled  organisms  to  many-celled,  from 
small  and  simple  organisms  to  larger  and 
more  complex  ones.  By  the  union  of  many 
individuals  into  a  society  a  still  larger  and 
more  complex  unit  of  organization  was 
formed  with  possibilities  of  almost  endless 
progress. 

Society  lasts  from  age  to  age,  while 
individuals  come  and  go;  society  preserves 
the  experiences,  acquirements,  wisdom  of 
the  past  and  hands  it  on  to  the  future  so 
that  each  age  builds  upon  the  preceding 
ones;  thus  society  has  advanced  from 
savagery  to  barbarism  and  then  to  civiliza- 
tion and  the  end  is  not  yet. 

At  present  social  evolution  is  proceeding 
at  a  rate  which  is  amazing  if  not  alarming. 

All  kinds  of  variations  and  mutations  of 
the  social  organization  are  occurring  and, 
if  only  we  have  the  wisdom  to  preserve  the 
good  and  eliminate  the  bad,  progress  will  be 
certain  and  rapid. 

Evolution  has  progressed  from  amoeba 
to  man;  from  reflexes  to  instincts,  intelli- 
gence and  reason;  from  the  solitary  indi- 
vidual to  the  family,  the  tribe,  the  modern 
state,  and  in  spite  of  narrow-minded 
politicians  and  reactionary  senators  we  or 
our  descendants  will  yet  see  the  whole 
human  race  brought  together  into  a  Society 
of  Nations. 

Man's  Conquest  of  Nature 

The  evolution  of  man  is  no  longer  limited 
to  his  body  or  mind  nor  even  to  society,  but 
by  adding  to  his  own  powers  the  forces  of 
nature  man  has  entered  upon  a  new  path  of 
progress. 


The  differentiations  of  various  members 
of  a  colony  of  ants  or  bees  are  limited  to 
their  bodies  and  are  fixed  and  irreversible; 
but  in  human  society  differentiations  are  no 
longer  confined  to  the  bodies  of  individuals 
but  have  become,  as  it  were,  extra-corporeal. 

By  his  control  over  nature  man  has  taken 
into  his  evolution  the  whole  of  his  environ- 
ment. 

Although  he  is  not  as  strong  as  the 
elephant  nor  as  deft  as  the  spider  nor  as 
swift  as  the  antelope  nor  as  powerful  in  the 


water  as  the  whale  or  in  the  air  as  the  eagle, 
yet  by  his  control  of  the  forces  of  nature 
outside  of  his  body  he  can  excel  all  animals 
in  strength  and  delicacy  of  movement,  in 
speed  and  power  on  land,  in  water  and  in 
air. 

This  new  path  of  progress  is  in  all 
respects  the  most  important  which  has  ever 
been  discovered  by  organisms  and  no  one 
can  foresee  the  end  of  this  process  of  annexing 
to  our  own  powers  the  illimitable  forces  of  the 
universe. 


Ill 

What  of  the  Future? 


There  is  no  probability  that  a  higher 
animal  than  man  will  ever  appear  on  the 
earth. 

The  only  reason  for  surmising  that  other 
species  of  the  genus  Homo  may  appear  in 
the  future  is  the  fact  that  there  have  been 
species  in  the  past  which  do  not  exist  at 
present.  These  prehistoric  species  have 
everywhere  been  replaced  by  the  existing 
species  probably  because  they  were  in- 
tellectually inferior. 

It  is  possible,  of  course,  that  similar 
causes  may  lead  to  the  elimination  of  the 
present  species  but  this  does  not  seem 
probable  for  the  following  reasons: 

(1)  All  races  of  man  may  and  do  inter- 
breed owing  to  fertility  inter  se  and  to  the 
lack  of  geographical  isolation ;  consequently 
there  is  a  growing  tendency  to  the  breaking 
down  of  racial  isolation  and  to  the  hybridi- 
zation of  existing  races. 

This  is  clearly  shown  in  all  countries  where 
races,  even  the  most  distinct,  have  been 
brought  together,  as  in  North  and  South 
America,  the  West  Indies,  Australasia, 
Polynesia,  Asia  and  Africa. 

Such  hybridization  may  possibly  lead  to 
the  production  of  new  types  or  mutants,  but 
these  would  probably  be  "swamped"  and 
lost  unless  they  were  isolated. 


All  present  signs  point  to  an  intimate 
commingling  of  all  existing  human  types 
within  the  next  two  or  three  thousand  years 
at  most. 

Even  if  new  races  may  be  developed  by 
psychological  or  social  selection  there  is  no 
likelihood  that  new  species  will  thus  arise 
which  will  supplant  the  existing  species. 


(2)  The  development  of  moral  and 
social  ideals  of  equal  justice  for  all  people 
will  prevent  the  extermination  of  inferior 
races,  and  the  democratic  ideals  of  self- 
government  and  majority  rule  will  neces- 
sarily prevent  even  the  merciful  elimina- 
tion of  all  except  the  most  perfect  types. 

The  majority  cannot  be  expected  to 
decree  its  own  effacement;  the  most  that 
can  be  expected  is  that  the  majority  will 
eliminate  from  reproduction  only  the  most 
inferior  and  defective  individuals.  By  this 
means  the  standards  of  the  race  may  be 
preserved  at  the  present  level  but  they 
cannot  be  greatly  advanced. 

No  great  improvement  in  domesticated 
animals  or  plants  would  be  possible  if 
breeders  were  able  to  eliminate  only  the 
most  inferior  individuals,  and  the  same  will 
certainly  be  true  of  human  breeds. 


Even  if  the  dreams  of  eugenicists  should 
come  true  the  most  that  could  be  expected 
would  be  that  the  standards  of  the  race  as 
a  whole  would  more  nearly  approach  the 
most  perfect  specimens  of  humanity  which 
now  exist. 

No  Likelihood  of  New  Species 

There  is  little  likelihood  therefore  that 
a  new  and  higher  species  of  man  will 
develop  on  the  earth. 

And  there  is  no  probability  that  some 
other  genus  or  class  or  phylum  may  give 
rise  to  an  animal  physically,  intellectually 
and  socially  superior  to  man. 


It  is  possible  but  not  probable  that  the 
entire  human  species  may  become  extinct, 
but  even  if  this  should  happen  from  what 
other  source  could  a  superior  animal  arise? 

No  other  animal  approaches  man  in 
intellectual  capacity,  upon  which  depends 
the  rational  organization  of  society  and 
the  conquest  of  all  nature. 

However  imperfect,  irrational  and  anti- 
social mankind  may  be;  however  much  we 
may  at  times  sympathize  with  Mark 
Twain's  comments  on  "the  damned  human 
race,"  we  may  feel  confident  that  in  the  long 
ages  of  future  evolution  no  greatly  superior 
species  will  appear  upon  this  planet. 


IV 

Conclusion 


The  human  race  has  come  up  through 
physical,  intellectual  and  social  evolution 
to  its  present  condition.  In  body  and  mind 
the  most  perfect  individuals  of  the  race 
have  probably  reached  the  limits  of  pos- 
sible progress. 

In  the  rational  organization  of  society 
and  in  the  conquest  of  nature  no  one  can 
foresee  the  end. 

This  is  now  the  main  path  of  human 
progress,  the  great  goal  toward  which  the 
human  race  must  continue  to  move  for 
ages  to  come.  By  rational  co-operation 
man  is  now  able  to  direct  and  hasten  his 
own  evolution. 

The  powers  and  emotions  and  intellects 
of  men  are  centered  in  the  three  greatest 


institutions  of  human  society,  namely  the 
State,  the  Church,  the  University. 

These  institutions  must  more  and  more 
devote  themselves  to  the  furthering  of 
human  evolution,  and  to  us  as  individuals 
is  given  the  opportunity  of  aiding  in  all 
this  work  of  time. 

What  other  aim  is  so  worthy  of  high 
endeavor  and  great  endowment?  In  the 
spirit  of  Ulysses  let  us  set  forth  on  this  new 
path  of  evolution: 

"Death  closes  all;  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 

'Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die." 


Bibliography 


Darwin,  Chas. — Descent  oj  Man,  etc.,  1871. 

Haeckel,  E.—The  Evolution  of  Man.  Translated 
by  J.  McCabe,  1905. 

Huxley,  T.  H.— Man's  Place  in  Nature.  Collected 
Essays. 

Keith,  Arthur — Man.  A  History  of  the  Human 
Body.    Henry  Holt  &  Company. 

Metschnikoff,  E.—The  Nature  of  Man.  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons,  1903. 


Osborn — Men  of  the  Old  Stone  Age.  Scribner's, 
1916. 

Scott,  W.  B.—The  Theory  of  Evolution.  Mac- 
MiUan's,  1917. 

Weisraann,  A. —  The  Evolution  Theory.     1904. 

Conklin,  E.  G. — Heredity  and  Environment.  Prince- 
ton University  Press,  1920. 


\M  8      M?0 


■f^'MrETON    N    ' 


Number  Two 


Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


May  I,  1920 


THE  LECTURER 


HENRY  NORRIS  RUSSELL,  Professor  of 
Astronomy,  Princeton  University,  was  born  in 
Oyster  Bay,  N.  Y.,  October  25,  1877.  He  has  the 
degrees  of  A.B.,  Princeton,  1897,  insigni  cum  laude 
and  Ph.  D.,  Princeton,  1900,  summa  cum  laude.  He 
was  Advanced  Student,  Kings  College,  Cambridge 
University,  England,  1902-03;  Research  Assistant  of 
the  Carnegie  Institution  of  Washington;  stationed 
at  the  Cambridge  Observatory,  England,  1903-05; 
Instructor  in  Astronomy,  Princeton,  1905-08;  Assist- 
ant Professor  in  Astronomy,  Princeton,  1908-11; 
Professor  of  Astronomy,  Princeton,  1911- — ; 
Director  of  the  Observatory,  1912 — .  His  war 
service,  1918-19,  was  as  civilian  engineer,  Bureau 
of  Aircraft  Production,  engaged  in  development  and 
testing  of  military  and  aeronautical  apparatus  in 
the  course  of  which  he  did  considerable  flying  as  an 
observer.  He  is  also  Foreign  Associate  of  Royal 
Astronomical  Society  of  London;  Member  of 
National  Academy  of  Sciences,  American  Astronom- 
ical Society,  American  Physical  Society  and  other 
learned  societies.  Author  of  many  papers  on  astro- 
nomical topics  published  in  technical  journals  in 
this  country  and  England. 


Published  semi-monthly.    Application  pending  for  second  class 
mail  privilege. 


Modifying  Our  Ideas  of 
Nature 

THE  EINSTEIN  THEORY 
OF  RELATIVITY 

Note 

This  is  the  second  lecture  of  the  series  by 
members  of  the  Princeton  faculty,  to  be 
distributed  to  the  University  Alumni. 

This  lecture  embodies  an  explanation  of 
the  elements  of  the  theory  of  relativity  and 
tells  how  our  conceptions  of  Nature  have 
been  modified  by  it. 

Dr.  Albert  Einstein,  whose  scientific 
discoveries  are  described  as  the  most 
remarkable  and  important  since  Newton's 
theory  of  gravitation  was  promulgated 
and  as  propounding  a  new  theory  of  the 
Universe,  is  a  Swiss  Jew,  45  years  of  age. 
He  was,  for  some  time,  a  professor  in 
mathematical  physics  at  Polytechnic  at 
Zurich,  and  later  professor  at  Prague. 
Afterward,  he  was  nominated  a  member  of 
the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  Academy  for  Research 
in  Berlin,  with  a  salary  of  eighteen  thousand 
marks^per  annum,  and  no  duties  so  that  he 
should  be  able  to  devote  himself  entirely  to 
research  work. 


It  was  approximately  fifteen  years  ago 
when  Dr.  Einstein  first  made  known  his 
"theory  of  relativity." 

The  present  revival  of  interest  in  the 
theory  is  due  to  the  remarkable  confirma- 
tion which  it  received  in  the  reports  of 
observation  made  during  the  sun's  eclipse 
last  May,  to  determine  whether  rays  of 
light  passing  close  to  the  sun  are  deflected 
from  their  course. 

The  actual  deflection  of  the  rays,  it  was 
discovered  by  the  astronomers,  was  exactly 
what  had  been  predicted  theoretically  by 
Einstein  many  years  since. 

Dr.  Einstein  is  a  physicist,  and  not  an 
astronomer.  He  developed  his  theory  by 
a  mathematical  formula.  Confirmation  of 
it  came  from  the  astronomers.  As  he 
himself  says,  the  crucial  test  was  supplied 
by  the  last  total  solar  eclipse. 

Observation  then  proved  that  the  rays 
of  fixed  stars,  having  to  pass  close  to  the 
sun  to  reach  the  earth  were  deflected  by  the 
exact  amount  demanded  by  Einstein's 
formula.  The  deflection  was  also  in  the 
direction  predicted  by  him. 

Asked  one  time  to  express  the  difference 
between  his  conception  and  the  law  of 
gravitation  in  terms  understandable  to  the 
layman.  Dr.  Einstein  stated: 

"Please  imagine  the  earth  removed,  and 
in  its  place  suspended  a  box  as  big  as  a 
room,  or  a  whole  house,  and  inside  a  man 
naturally  floating  in  the  center,  there  being 
no  force  whatever  pulling  him. 

"Imagine,  further,  this  box  being,  by  a 
rope  or  other  contrivance,  suddenly  jerked 


to  one  side,  which  is  scientifically  termed 
'accelerated  motion'.  The  person  would 
then  naturally  reach  bottom  on  the 
opposite  side. 

"The  result  would  consequently  be  the 
same  as  if  he  obeyed  Newton's  Law  of 
Gravitation,  while  in  fact,  there  is  no 
gravitation  exerted  whatever,  which  proves 
that  'accelerated  motion'  will  in  every  case 
produce  the  same  effects  as  gravitation. 

"I  have  applied  this  new  idea  to  every 
kind  of  'accelerated  motion' ;  and  have  thus 
developed  mathematical  formulas  which  I 
am  convinced  give  more  precise  results 
than  those  based  on  Newton's  Theory. 
Newton's  formulas,  however,  are  such  close 
approximations  that  it  was  difficult  to  find 
by  observation  any  obvious  disagreement 
with  experiments." 


Bibliography 

The  literature  of  Relativity  is  already 
extensive,  but  most  of  the  publications  are 
of  a  highly  technical  character,  and  intel- 
ligible only  to  experts.  Perhaps  the  best 
discussion  of  a  semi-popular  character  is  to 
be  found  in  the  Monthly  Notices  of  the 
Royal  Astronomical  Society,  of  London, 
for  December,  1919,  which  contains  an 
account  of  a  meeting  of  this  society  at 
which  the  theory  was  discussed  by  Pro- 
fessors   Eddington,    Varmor,    and    others. 


Modifying  Our  Ideas  of  Nature 


A  LECTURE 
By  Henry  Norms  Russell 
Professor  of  Astronomy  in  Princeton  University 


I 


It  is  probably  a  long  time  since  there  has 
been  any  occasion  on  which  a  matter  so 
definitely  belonging  to  pure  science  as  the 
"theory  of  Einstein"  has  excited  so  much 
popular  interest. 

Although  the  statements  in  the  news- 
papers concerning  "the  overthrow  of 
Newton's  Laws"  and  similar  "scare  heads" 
have  gone  beyond  the  more  sober  state- 
ments of  scientific  authorities,  it  is  never- 
theless true  that  the  theory  of  relativity,  of 
which  the  recent  work  of  Einstein  forms  an 
extension,  has  modified  our  conceptions  of 
Nature  in  a  very  remarkable  fashion. 

Einstein's  reported  statement  that  there 
were  not  more  than  twelve  men  in  the 
world  who  could  read  and  fully  understand 
his  book  was  probably  quite  within  the 
facts.  But  the  elementary  ideas  on  which 
the  theory  of  relativity  is  based  do  not 
involve  any  difficult  mathematics,  and  the 
only  obstacle  to  grasping  or  holding  them 
is  their  remarkable  novelty.  We  can  un- 
derstand them  easily  enough,  or  at  least 
understand  what  they  are  about,  if  only 
we  begin  at  the  beginning. 


It  probably  has  not  occurred  to  all  of 
you  that  while  I  was  speaking  the  last 
sentence  we  traveled  several  hundred 
miles.  Yet,  of  course,  we  did.  If  we  had 
not,  the  earth  would  have  left  us  behind  it 
somewhere  in  empty  space. 

In  fact,  we  are  undergoing  a  very  com- 
plicated series  of  motions,  carried  around 
with  the  rotating  earth  and  swinging  along 
much  more  rapidly  and  in  a  much  vaster 
curve  with  its  orbital  motion. 

But  of  this  fact  we  are  blissfully  un- 
conscious.    Why?     Because  the  motion  is 


perfectly  smooth,  without  jar  or  shock, 
and  in  particular  because  not  merely  we 
ourselves,  but  all  the  objects  that  con- 
stitute our  environment,  are  moving  to- 
gether. 

Motion  and  Distance  Ordinarily 
Measured  by  "Tying  Up"  to 
Definite  Objects 

So  we  come  to  one  of  the  main  concep- 
tions of  the  theory  of  relativity,  the 
moving  frame  of  reference. 

We  ordinarily  refer  our  measurements 
and  indeed  our  notions  of  distance  and  of 
motion  to  some  frame,  what  the  mathe- 
matician would  call  some  system  of  co- 
ordinates, which,  so  to  speak,  is  "tied"  to 
some  definite  objects — ordinarily  to  that 
portion  of  the  earth's  surface  on  which  we 
may  have  set  ourselves  or  over  which  we 
may  be  traveling  at  the  moment. 

Though  we  and  all  our  well-informed 
ancestors  for  two  centuries  have  known 
very  well  that  this  frame  of  reference  is 
not  at  rest  but  is  in  rapid  and  intricate 
motion,  we  are,  nevertheless,  still  accus- 
tomed to  referring  our  motions  to  this 
moving  frame  and  saying  that  a  thing  has 
not  budged  when  its  position  with  respect 
to  the  ground  has  not  altered. 

And  in  doing  this  we  not  only  follow 
the  promptings  of  common  sense,  but  find 
a  practical  and  working  basis  for  the  scien- 
tific description  of  almost  all  terrestrial 
affairs. 

But  the  moment  we  begin  to  look  off  the 
earth  into  space  things  are  different.  It 
then  becomes  obvious  that  the  earth  is  not 
at  rest  but  moving,  both  on  its  own  axis 
and  about  the  sun. 

I   say   "obvious";  but  it  is  worth   re- 


membering  that  these  facts — at  present  so 
famiHar  even  to  the  man  in  the  street — 
aroused,  when  their  truth  was  first  ad- 
vocated, the  most  violent  disbelief  and 
agitation,  and  that  it  took  a  century  or 
more  of  controversy  to  displace  the  old 
innate  belief  in  the  fixity  of  the  earth,  that 
is,  of  our  frame  of  reference,  and  substitute 
the  belief  that  it  was  in  motion. 

Necessity  of  Finding  Other  Means 
of  Measuring  Motion  and  Distance 

So  far  as  our  solar  system  goes  we  may 
comfortably  treat  the  Sun  as  being  at  rest 
and  attach  our  frame  of  reference  to  it. 
But  when  we  come  to  look  still  farther 
afield  at  the  stars  we  find  them  in  motion 
and  later  detect  a  drifting  tendency  among 
them  which  indicates  beyond  question  that 
our  Sun  itself  is  moving. 

So  next  we  hitch  our  frame  of  reference 
on  to  a  sort  of  average  position  of  all  the 
stars  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  find  that 
with  respect  to  this  new  frame  of  reference 
the  Sun  and  planets  are  moving  at  the  rate 
of  about  twelve  miles  per  second  in  a 
definitely  known  direction. 

We  were  content  with  this  until  within 
the  last  decade,  when  observations  upon 
the  nebulae,  which  we  know  now  to  be 
enormously  farther  off  than  the  naked  eye 
stars,   revealed   extremely  rapid   motions. 

If  we  try  now  to  hang  a  frame  of  refer- 
ence, so  to  speak,  to  the  average  of  these 
nebulae,  it  begins  to  look  as  if  our  Solar 
System  was  moving,  compared  with  this, 
at  a  speed  of  something  like  four  hundred 
miles  per  second,  which  motion  of  course 
the  system  of  stars  visible  to  the  naked  eye 
must  substantially  share. 

But  now,  which  of  all  these  systems  is 
really  moving? 

Are  the  stars  at  rest  and  the  nebulae 
moving,  or  are  the  nebulae  at  rest  and  the 
stars  moving,  or  are  they  both  moving  past 
each  other  in  different  directions,  and  is 
there  anything  at   rest?     Can   we  really 


find  anything  anywhere  in  the  material 
universe  upon  which  we  can  really  set  the 
feet  of  our  imagination  and  say  "J'y  suis, 
j'y  reste"  with  the  conviction  that  we  are 
at  last  upon  the  firm  rock  of  the  Absolutely 
Motionless? 


It  is  from  a  search  for  an  answer  to  this 
question  that  the  theory  of  relativity  grew. 

The  first  great  contribution  was  made 
by  Newton.  An  immediate  consequence 
of  his  fundamental  principles  of  physical 
science  is  that  if  we  have  a  number  of 
objects  moving  together  in  space,  which  we 
may  call  a  system,  acting  upon  one  another 
in  any  fashion,  however  complicated,  but 
free  from  outside  influence,  then  the 
relative  motions  of  the  bodies  in  that 
system  will  not  depend  at  all  upon  the  rate 
at  which  the  system  as  a  whole  is  moving 
through  space,  or  the  direction  of  its  motion, 
but  only  upon  the  mutual  interaction  of 
its  parts. 

Simple  uniform  motion  in  a  straight 
line,  what  we  technically  call  a  "motion  of 
translation,"  does  not  influence  the  things 
that  happen  in  the  system  at  all,  even  to 
the  minutest  degree.  Therefore  an  observer 
within  the  system  cannot  hope  to  detect  it 
unless  he  has  something  outside  to  observe. 
It  is  on  account  of  this  great  dynamic 
principle  that  we  are  unconscious  of  the 
motion  of  the  Earth  about  the  Sun. 

In  our  proposed  search,  then,  for  "abso- 
lute motion"  we  must  use  some  other 
means,  and  our  most  efficient  tools  are 
likely  to  be  the  waves  of  light.  We  know 
that  light  spreads  out  from  any  hot  body 
into  space  in  all  directions  and  at  the  great 
speed  of  186,000  miles  a  second. 

Taking  the  Ether  as  a  Basis  in  the 
Search  for  Absolute  Motion 

Despite  this  enormous  velocity,  something 
real  actually  travels  outward,  because  it 
carries  with   it   energy   which   is,    to   the 


modern  physicist,  one  of  the  most  funda- 
mental of  all  realities. 

This  energy  may  still  be  perceptible  to 
our  eyes  or  apparatus  when  reaching  us 
from  the  stars  after  a  journey  which  has 
consumed  many  thousands  of  years. 

We  know,  too,  that  this  energy,  while  it 
is  on  its  way,  travels  in  a  manner  strikingly 
similar  to  the  propagation  of  waves,  so 
much  so  that  we  feel  justified  in  describing 
light  as  consisting  of  waves  of  definite 
lengths  and  properties. 

Now  how  does  this  energy  travel  through 
apparently  empty  space  with  these  singular 
wave  properties?  The  natural  answer, 
almost  the  intuitive  answer,  is  to  say  that 
it  travels  through  a  medium,  and  so  we 
invent  the  "ether,"  simply  as  the  medium 
which  carries  the  light. 

But  if  there  is  such  a  medium  in  space, 
and  light  travels  through  it  in  every 
direction  at  the  same  speed,  it  would  seem 
as  if  here,  at  last,  in  this  undisturbed  ether, 
we  had  our  frame  of  reference  which  we 
could  use  as  our  basis  for  the  measurement 
of  all  other  motions. 

Detection  and  Measurement  of  Motion 
by  Liftht  Signals  Through  the  Ether 

If  this  be  true,  we  can  detect  whether 
this  world  of  ours  is  moving  through  the 
ether  or  not  by  sending  light  signals 
through  equal  distances  in  different  direc- 
tions and  seeing  whether  they  come  back 
to  us  at  the  same  interval  of  time. 

To  see  how  the  thing  works,  let  us  suppose 
first  that  we  have  an  observer  at  rest  with 
respect  to  the  ether  and  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  mirrors  set  in  various  directions 
from  him  but  all  at  a  distance  of  186,000 
miles. 

If  he  then  produces  a  flash  of  light  at  his 
own  position  this  light  will  travel  out  and  in 
one  second  will  reach  all  the  mirrors  simul- 
taneously, will  be  reflected  at  each  and  at  the 
end  of  another  second  will  come  back  to  him 
simultaneously  from  all  the  mirrors.  (If 
this  hypothetical  apparatus  appears  to  you 
inconveniently  large,  you  can  just  as  well 
imagine  one  a  million  times  smaller,  which 
would  make  the  radius  of  the  circle  about  a 
thousand  feet,  and  count  your  time  in  mil- 
lionths  of  a  second  instead  of  whole  seconds.) 


So  far  so  good.  But  now  suppose  that  the 
observer  and  his  whole  .  ircle  of  mirrors,  big 
or  small,  are  not  at  rest  but  are  all  moving 
together  uniformly  at  a  speed  of  half  the 
velocity  of  light. 

Now  let  the  observer  send  out  a  light  signal 
and  wait  for  its  reflection  from  that  mirror 
which  is  directly  on  the  line  of  his  track  and 
in  the  direction  toward  which  he  is  moving. 

The  light  traveling  out  toward  this  mirror 
would  itself  move  186,000  miles  a  second  but 
would  have  a  "stern  chase,"  since  the  mirror  is 
receding  half  as  fast  as  it  is  traveling,  and  it 
is  easy  to  see  that  it  would  take  two  whole 
seconds  to  reach  the  mirror. 

On  the  return  journey  the  observer  will  be 
advancing  to  meet  it  with  half  the  speed  of 
light,  and  this  part  of  the  process  will  take 
only  two-thirds  of  a  second.  The  elapsed 
time  for  the  round  trip  of  the  light  will  be 
two  and  two -thirds  seconds,  considerably 
longer  than  if  the  observer  was  at  rest. 

Consider  next  a  ray  of  light  which  gets 
reflected  in  the  mirror  whose  direction  from 
the  observer  is  at  right  angles  to  the  first. 

It  will  not  have  the  long  stern  chase  which 
the  first  ray  has,  but  nevertheless  it  will 
lose  something,  because  in  order  to  reach  the 
moving  mirror  it  will  have  to  travel  "on  the 
bias,"  so  to  speak,  through  space,  so  that  it 
will  reach  not  the  point  where  the  mirror  was 
when  the  light  started,  but  the  point  where 
it  will  be  when  it  gets  there,  and  something 
quite  similar  will  happen  on  the  return 
journey. 

When  this  is  calculated  it  is  found  that  the 
round  trip  will  in  this  case  take  about  two 
and  one-third  seconds.  (The  exact  amount 
involves  calculating  a  square  root  that  we 
need  not  bother  with  here.) 

The  important  point  is  that  in  this  case, 
where  the  observer  and  mirrors  are  moving 
through  the  ether,  the  ray  of  light  which  has 
traveled  up  and  down  the  direction  of  motion 
will  take  a  longer  time  f  r  the  round  trip  than 
the  ray  which  has  trav  -led  cross-wise  to  the 
motionoverapathof  exactly  the  same  length. 

We  should,  th  refore,  in  this  way  be  able 
to  detect  motion  of  our  own  system  through 
the  ether,  and  if  our  measurements  were 
sufficiently  accurate,  determine  its  direc- 
tion and  rate. 


Failure  of  Early  Experiments 

This  was  attempted  in  the  famous 
Michelson-Morley  experiment.  The  dis- 
tance of  the  round  trip  was  in  this  case 
only  a  few  feet,  and  the  difference  in  time 
over  the  two  paths  only  something  like  a 
millionth  part  of  one  billionth  of  a  second. 


But  this  nn'nute  interval  could  be 
measured  by  splitting  a  ray  of  light  into  two 
parts  by  letting  part  of  it  be  reflected  side- 
wise  from  a  transparent  mirror  and  the 
rest  go  through,  and  reuniting  the  parts 
after  their  trip. 

If  one  had  gained  on  the  other  by  even 
a  fraction  of  the  time  of  vibration  of  a 
single  light  wave  the  fact  could  be  de- 
tected, and  the  waves  which  we  ordinarily 
call  light  vibrate  at  the  rate  of  about  six 
hundred  thousand  billion  per  second. 

Michelson   and    Morley    tried    their   ex- 


periment, and  in  place  of  the  easily 
measurable  result  which  they  anticipated, 
they  got  nothing.  The  light  waves  came 
back  over  the  two  paths  in  exactly  the 
same  interval  of  time. 

They  tried  it  again  and  again  at  different 
times  of  the  year  when  the  earth  was 
moving  in  different  directions  around  the 
sun,  so  that  even  though  the  earth  might 
have  been  at  rest  in  space  on  some  one  of 
these  days  it  certainly  was  not  at  rest  on 
all  of  them.  But  they  always  met  the  same 
negative  result. 


II 


Einstein's  Assumption  that  only  Relative  Motion 
is  Possible  of  Study 


Other  optical  experiments  of  a  more 
intricate  nature  and  even  greater  delicacy 
were  attempted  with  the  same  object  of 
detecting  the  motion  of  the  earth  through 
the  ether  and  they  all  failed. 

After  it  became  clear  that  the  trouble 
was  not  in  the  apparatus  or  the  experiment, 
it  was  evidently  necessaty  to  account  for 
the  absence  of  tl  e  predicted  effect. 

After  various  minor  hypotheses  had  been 
tried,  Einstein  started  in  with  the  bold 
assumption  that  these  ( xperiments  had 
unveiled  a  new  law  of  nature,  viz.,  that  the 
universe  was  so  constructed  that  it  was  not 
possible  by  any  physical  experiment,  optical 
or  otherwise,  to  detect  the  existence  of  ab- 
solute, uniform,  straight-ahead  motion,  or 
indeed  to  determine  whether  the  observer's 
frame  of  reference  was  at  rest  or  in  such 
uniform    translational    motion. 

//  this  is  true,  it  follows  that  it  is  only  the 
RELA  TI VE  motions  of  material  bodies  in 
the  universe  which  we  can  study  at  all. 

Hence  the  name  of  the  ^^ Principle  of 
Relativity." 


A  second  principle  following  naturally 
from  the  experiments  which  led  to  the  first  is 
that  the  velocity  of  light  in  empty  space  will 
always  come  out  the  same,  whether  measured 
by  an  observer  moving,  with  his  apparatus , 
in  one  direction  at  one  rate  or  by  one  simi- 
larly moving  in  another  direction  and  at  a 
different  rate. 

Novel  Consequences  of  Einstein's 
Hypotliesis 

This  principle  sounds  harmless  enough, 
but  the  consequences  which  follow  from  it 
are  so  different  from  our  old  pre-conceived 
opinions  that  they  often  appear  to  us 
grotesque  to  a  degree. 

Take  one  of  the  simplest  ones.  Let  us  go 
back  to  the  observer  with  a  ring  of  mirrors 
surrounding  him,  from  all  of  which  the  re- 
flections of  his  flash  of  light  reach  him  at  the 
same  instant.  If  he  thinks  that  he  is  at  rest 
in  space  he  will  say  that  these  mirrors  are 
distributed  around  a  perfect  circle  with  his 
own  position  as  center. 

Now  suppose  he  chooses  a  dififerent  frame 
of  reference,  in  uniform  motion  compared 
with  his  original  one.    That  is,  suppose  that 


he  thinks  that  he  and  the  mirrors  together 
are  moving  uniformly  in  some  particular 
direction  and  at  a  high  velocity. 

He  will  now  say,  "If  these  mirrors  were 
really  on  a  circle  the  light  would  take  longer 
to  reach  me  from  those  which  were  in  the 
direction  of  my  path  than  from  those  at  right 
angles.  Since  the  light  returns  simultane- 
ously from  all,  the  mirrors  are  not  arranged 
on  a  circle  but  on  an  ellipse,  which  is  longer 
at  right  angles  to  the  direction  of  my  motion 
than  it  is  the  other  way." 

If,  as  in  the  case  previously  discussed,  he 
supposes  himself  to  be  moving  with  half  the 
speed  of  light,  he  will  conclude  that  the  longer 
diameter  of  this  ellipse  is  about  fifteen  per 
cent  greater  than  the  shorter  diameter.  If 
he  estimates  his  own  velocity  higher,  he  will 
regard  it  as  differing  still  more  from  a  circle. 

But  although  the  mirrors  in  this  case  are 
not  all  at  equal  distances  from  him,  he 
cannot  find  this  out  by  measuring  the  dis- 
tance with  a  measuring  rod.  In  fact,  if  he 
does  so,  their  distances  will  all  appear  to  be 
exactly  the  same,  if  the  principle  of  relativ- 
ity is  true.  For,  otherwise,  by  combining 
an  optical  experiment  and  a  direct  measure- 
ment he  would  have  a  method  by  which  he 
could  distinguish  between  rest  and  uniform 
motion;  and  this  is,  by  the  very  hypothesis, 
impossible. 

Hence  nature  must  be  so  constituted 
that  his  measuring  rod  would  automatically 
change  in  length  when  turned  from  a  posi- 
tion parallel  to  his  motion  to  one  at  right 
angles  to  it. 

This  sounds  strange  enough,  but  some- 
thing of  the  sort  is  entirely  necessary  in 
order  to  explain  the  Michelson-Morley  ex- 
periment. The  assumption  that  material 
bodies,  when  moving  through  space,  con- 
tract slightly  in  the  direction  of  motion 
was  made  by  Lorentz  in  order  to  explain 
this  experiment  before  the  more  general 
theory  had  been  developed.  At  such 
speeds  as  are  actually  reached  by  the 
planets  in  their  orbits,  the  contraction  is 
less  than  one  part  in  one  hundred  million 
and  beyond  detection  by  anything  except 
the  most  refined  investigations. 


We  have  now  seen  that,  according  to 
the  principle  of  relativity,  the  answer  to 


the  question  whether  two  material  rods 
laid  on  the  table  at  right  angles  to  one 
another  are  of  the  same  length  or  of  differ- 
ent lengths  depends  on  whether  we  choose 
to  think  that  we  and  the  room  in  which  the 
apparatus  is  situated  and  the  rest  of  the 
world,  are  at  rest  in  space  or  are  moving 
in  different  directions  with  high  uniform 
speeds. 

The  fact  that  when  the  two  rods  are  laid 
side  by  side  they  are  obviously  exactly 
equal  does  not  prove  that  they  are  the  same 
length  when  we  turn  them  so  that  they 
make  an  angle  with  one  another. 

So  much  for  the  measuring  of  distances 
and  the  measuring  of  the  lengths  of  things. 

Measurement  of  Time 
Also  only  Relative 


Now  how  about  measuring  times? 

Let  us  go  back  to  our  observer  with  his 
mirror  and  call  him  A,  and  suppose  that  at 
the  mirror  there  is  a  second  observer  whom 
we  will  call  B,  and  that  both  observers  have 
clocks  which  run  with  perfect  accuracy,  and 
are  able  to  observe  the  time  of  anything 
with  the  aid  of  their  clocks  as  precisely  as 
you  please. 

Now  let  us  suppose  that  e.xactly  at  twelve 
noon  A  sends  a  flash  of  light  out  toward  B. 
B  perceives  it  at  the  instant  when  it  is  re- 
flected by  his  mirror  and  notes  the  time  as 
exactly  one  second  past  twelve  o'clock.  A 
observes  the  reflected  signal  at  two  seconds 
past  twelve  o'clock. 

Repetitions  of  this  signal  on  successive  days 
give  exactly  the  same  result.  A  and  B  will 
conclude  that  the  distance  between  them  does 
not  change,  since  it  always  takes  light  the 
same  time  to  make  the  round  trip,  and  that 
their  clocks  are  running  at  the  same  rate. 

Now  suppose  that  A  and  B  regard  them- 
selves as  at  rest.  They  will  then  agree  that 
the  distance  between  them  is  186,000  miles, 
since  it  takes  light  one  second  to  go  each  way, 
and  they  will  also  agree  that  their  clocks  are 
not  merely  running  at  the  same  rate  but  are 
exactly  synchronized,  because  the  light  must 
have  reached  B  just  one  second  after  it  left  A. 

But  now  suppose  that  A  and  B  agree  in  the 
belief  that  they  are  moving  through  space 
with  half  the  speed  of  light,  so  that  they  are 
following  the  same  track  with  B  preceding  A. 

Using  the  same  principle  of  the  stern  chase 
of  which  we  have  spoken  before,  they  will 
now  figure  out  their  distance  apart  is  not 
186,000  miles,  but  just  three-fourths  as  much, 


or  139,500  miles,  and  also  that  the  light  in 
going  outward  over  this  distance  from  A  to 
B  on  the  stern  chase  took  one  and  a  half 
seconds,  whereas  in  coming  back  it  occupied 
only  one-half  second. 

This  change  in  the  distance  amounts  to 
exactly  the  same  thing  which  we  described  a 
few  moments  ago;  but  there  will  be  a  second 
interesting  change  with  respect  to  their 
measurement  of  time.  For  since  they  now 
believe  that  the  light  took  one  and  a  half 
seconds  to  go  out,  the  time  when  it  reached 
B  was  one  and  a  half  seconds  past  noon  by 
A's  clock  and  only  one  second  past  noon  by 
B's  clock. 

Hence  they  will  agree  that  B's  clock  is  half 
a  second  fast. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  easy  to  see  that,  if 
they  had  supposed  themselves  to  be  going 
along  the  same  line,  and  at  the  same  rate  of 
speed,  but  in  the  opposite  direction,  they 
would  have  concluded  that  B's  clock  was 
half  a  second  slow. 

We  reach,  therefore,  the  still  more  pic- 
turesque conclusion  that  the  question 
whether  or  not  two  events  which  take  place 
at  different  points  of  space  are  simultane- 
ous or  occur  at  different  times  cannot  be 
answered  until  we  have  defined  the  uni- 
formly moving  frame  of  reference  with 
respect  to  which  we  are  to  make  our 
measurements  and  reasoning. 

With  the  distance  that  we  have  assumed 
the  difference  between  the  two  clocks  would 
be  only  a  fraction  of  a  second  even  if  the 
assumed  speed  was  very  great.  But  if 
we  had  taken  a  distance  such  as  that 
between  the  remoter  stars,  whose  light 
takes  thousands  of  years  to  travel,  then, 
according  to  our  choice  of  a  frame  of  refer- 
ence, we  might  have  been  led  to  the  con- 
clusion that  A's  clock  was  either  in  agree- 
ment with  B's  or  fast  or  slow  by  several 
centuries. 

Once  again,  the  possible  difference  be- 
tween the  results  of  different  assumptions 
are  immeasurably  small  for  such  observa- 
tions as  could  be  made  upon  our  tiny  and 
slowly  moving  earth.  But  for  such  dis- 
tances as  separate  the  stars  and  for  greater 
assumed  speeds  they  may  become  ex- 
tremely large. 

I  might  go  on  to  describe  what  happens 
if  we  imagine  two  observers,  A  and  B, 
receding  from  one  another  with  half  the 


speed  of  light  and  exchanging  signals  by  a 
reflection  back  and  forward  from  mirrors 
carried  by  both.  As  I  have  not  a  black- 
board, I  will  spare  you  the  details,  which 
are  not  hard  for  anyone  to  work  out  who 
takes  a  pencil  and  piece  of  paper. 

New  Conclusions  About 
Space  and  Time 

I  will  simply  state  the  result  that,  given 
a  certain  set  of  definitely  observed  facts 
upon  which  both  observers  are  entirely  and 
perfectly  agreed,  it  is  possible  that  A,  if  he 
considers  himself  at  rest,  will  say  that  B  is 
receding  from  him  with  half  the  velocity  of 
light  and  carrying  a  clock  which  is  running 
at  exactly  the  same  rate  as  his  own;  while 
B,  who  naturally  may  prefer  to  think  of 
himself  as  at  rest  and  the  other  fellow 
moving,  will  believe  that  A  is  receding 
from  him  with  half  the  speed  of  light,  but 
will  insist  that  his  clock  and  A's  are  not 
keeping  together  but  are  running  at  differ- 
ent rates. 

The  root  of  this  extraordinary  dis- 
crepancy between  their  opinions  will  lie  in 
the  fact  that  they  divide  up  the  round  trip 
time  interval  for  the  reflected  light  waves  in 
different  manners  on  account  of  their 
different  assumptions  as  to  whether  the 
reflecting  mirrors  are  at  rest  or  being 
chased  by  the  light,  thereby  introducing  a 
difference  into  their  methods  of  comparing 
one  another's  clocks  which  continually 
increases  as  the  distance  between  them 
increases,  and  the  round  trip  time  for  the 
light  with  it. 

I  have  certainly  gone  far  enough  now  to 
show  you  how  we  are  led,  if  we  stick  to 
these  apparently  simple  and  harmless 
principles  of  relativity,  into  the  most 
extraordinary  conclusions  with  respect  to 
space  and  time. 

As  someone  has  well  put  it,  "when-ness" 
and  "where-ness"  are  all  mixed  up  to- 
gether. You  can't  say  just  when  a  thing 
happened   without   saying  where   it   hap- 


pened,  and  also  with  respect  to  what  frame 
of  reference  you  define  both  when  and  where. 
All  these  spectacular  changes,  however, 
reach  perceptible  amounts  only  for  objects 
which  are  moving  with  at  least  a  moderate 
fraction  of  the  velocity  of  light;  and  the 


actual  motion  of  the  planets  is  so  much 
slower  than  this  that  no  perceptible 
differences  will  be  introduced  by  our 
choosing  frames  of  reference  which  are 
attached  to  the  earth,  the  sun,  the  planets, 
or  the  stars. 


Ill 

Recent  Astronomical  Experiments  Confirm 
Einstein's  Hypothesis 


Not  content  with  these  remarkable 
results,  Einstein  proceeded  a  few  years  ago 
to  generalize  his  theory  further,  in  imagin- 
ing another  type  of  question  which  did  not 
come  within  even  the  wide  view  of  the 
older  relativity  theory. 

To  make  this  idea  clear  let  us  imagine 
two  observers,  each  with  his  measuring 
instruments,  means  of  subsistence,  et 
cetera,  in  a  large  and  perfectly  impervious 
box,  which  forms  his  "closed  system." 

The  first  observer,  with  his  box  and  its 
contents,  alone  in  space,  very  remote  from 
all  gravitating  bodies  and  entirely  at  rest. 

The  second  observer,  with  his  box  and  its 
contents,  is,  it  may  be  imagined,  near  the 
earth  or  the  sun  or  some  star  and  falling 
freely  under  the  influence  of  its  gravitation. 

To  be  more  precise,  we  imagine  him  in  what 
is  called  a  "uniform  gravitational  field," 
where  the  gravitational  force  is  exerted  on  all 
objects  in  exactly  the  same  direction  and  is 
not  converging  toward  the  center  of  the 
attracting  body,  where  it  is  always  of  exactly 
the  same  amount,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
interfere  with  an  indefinitely  long  fall. 

This  second  box  and  its  contents,  including 
the  observer,  will  then  fall  under  the  gravita- 
tional force,  that  is,  get  up  an  ever  increasing 
speed,  but  at  exactly  the  same  rate,  so  that 
there  will  be  no  tendency  for  their  relative 
positions  to  be  altered. 

According  to  Newton's  principles,  this 
will  make  not  the  slightest  difference  in 
motions  of  the  physical  objects  comprising 
the  system  or  their  attractions  on  one  an- 
other, so  that  no  dynamical  experiment 
can  distinguish  between  the  condition  of 
the  freely  falling  observer  in  the  second 


box  and  the  observer  at  rest  in  the  first. 

But  once  more  the  question  arises,  what 
could  be  done  by  an  optical  experiment? 

According  to  the  beliefs  which  have  been 
held  from  the  time  of  Maxwell,  who  first 
developed  the  electro-magnetic  theory  of 
light,  until  the  present,  it  has  generally  been 
believed  that  gravitation,  however  power- 
ful, has  no  effect  whatever  upon  light,  and 
that  light  would  therefore  travel  in  a 
straight  line  through  a  field  of  gravitational 
attraction  exactly  as  it  would  through 
empty  space. 

Einstein  Concluded  Light 
Does  Not  Travel  in  a 
Straight  Line 

Einstein,  on  the  other  hand,  assumed, 
just  for  the  fun  of  seeing  what  would  come 
of  it,  that  the  principle  of  relativity  still 
applied  in  this  case,  so  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  distinguish  between  the  con- 
ditions of  the  observers  in  the  two  boxes  by 
any  optical  experiment. 

It  can  easily  be  seen  that  it  follows  from 
this  new  generalized  relativity  of  Einstein 
that  light  cannot  travel  in  a  straight  line  in 
a  gravitational  field. 

Imagine  that  the  first  observer  sets  up 
three  slits,  all  in  a  straight  line,  at  consider- 
able distances  apart.  A  ray  of  light  which 
passes  through  the  first  and  second  will  ob- 
viously pass  exactly  through  the  third. 

Suppose  the  observer  in  the  freely  falling 
system     attempts     the     same     experiment, 


placing  the  line  of  his  three  slits  at  right 
angles  to  the  direction  in  which  he  is  falling 
and  having  them  equally  spaced. 

The  ray  of  light  which  has  passed  the  first 
slit,  must,  in  order  to  get  through  the  second, 
move  not  toward  the  point  where  that  slit 
was  when  it  emerged  from  the  first,  but 
toward  the  point  where  the  second  slit  will 
be  when  the  light  reaches  it. 

It  will,  therefore,  be  moving  not  at  right 
angles  to  the  direction  in  which  the  system 
is  falling,  but  at  a  slant,  so  that  during  the 
interval  in  which  it  has  traveled  laterally 
from  the  first  slit  to  the  second,  it  will  have 
moved  downward  by  a  certain  fixed  amount, 
namely  by  the  amount  through  which  the 
system  fell  in  that  interval. 

In  moving  from  the  second  to  the  third 
slit,  the  light  will  occupy  the  same  interval 
of  time,  and,  if  it  moves  in  a  straight  line, 
will  go  downward  by  the  same  amount  as 
before. 

But  since  the  system  is  falling  ever  faster 
and  faster,  it  will  during  this  time  interval 
have  dropped  farther  than  it  did  in  the  pre- 
ceding time  interval,  and  carried  the  third 
slit  with  it. 

Hence  the  ray  of  light  will  strike  above  the 
third  slit  and  fail  to  go  through  it,  provided 
it  travel  in  a  straight  line  in  space. 

But  on  Einstein's  assumption  it  must  go 
through  the  third  slit,  since  the  two  condi- 
tions are  indistinguishable. 

In  consequence,  the  path  of  the  light  in 
space  must  be  cuiA'ed  and  not  straight 
when  gravitation  is  present,  and  the  ray  of 
light  must  bend  downward,  that  is,  in  the 
direction  of  the  gravitational  force. 


Deflection  of  Light  Effected 
by  Gravitation 

This  deduction  from  Einstein's  new 
principle  may  thus  be  reached  in  a  very 
simple  fashion,  but  the  further  following  out 
of  the  principle,  and  the  exact  calculation 
of  its  consequences  is  far  too  intricate  a 
matter  for  me  to  speak  of  here. 

The  results,  however,  are  not  difficult 
to  understand.  The  principal  ones  are 
these : 

1.  A  ray  of  light  passing  near  a  gravi- 
tating body  like  the  sun  will  not  travel  in  a 
straight  line,  but  will  be  deflected  slightly 
downward  toward  the  gravitating  body, 
much  as  a  very  rapidly  moving  projectile 
would  be  deviated. 

Calculation  shows  that  the  amount  of 
deviation  would  be  quite  too  small  to  measure 
for  a  ray  of  light  that  has  passed  near  the 
moon  or  planets,  but  that  for  light  that  has 


passed  near  the  sun  the  deviation  reaches 
nearly  two  seconds  of  arc,  which  the  modern 
astronomer,  accustomed  to  accurate  measure- 
ments, considers  a  large  and  very  easily 
measurable  quantity. 

2.  Newton's  law  of  gravitation,  on  Ein- 
stein's principle,  appears  to  be  only  an  ap- 
proximation to  the  true  law,  but  an  exceed- 
ingly good  approximation — so  much  so  that 
among  all  the  intricate  motions  of  the  planets 
there  is  but  a  single  case  in  which  the  intro- 
duction of  the  new  law  instead  of  Newton's 
principle  produces  perceptibly  different  con- 
sequences. 

*       *       * 

We  all  know  the  planets  are  moving  in 
elliptical  orbits  about  the  sun  and  that  the 
line  joining  the  sun  to  the  nearest  point  of 
the  orbit  has  a  certain  definite  position. 

On  Newton's  theory  this  line  would  remain 
permanently  fixed  in  space — always  in  the 
same  direction — if  it  were  not  for  the  fact 
that  the  orbits  of  the  planets  are  slightly  but 
continually  modified  by  their  mutual  attrac- 
tion. These  influences,  or  so-called  perturba- 
tions, can,  however,  be  accurately  calculated 
and  allowed  for,  so  that  they  need  not  worry 
us  here. 

On  the  Einstein  hypothesis  this  line  to  the 
nearest  point  in  the  orbit,  or  the  perihelion, 
should  not  remain  fixed,  but  should  move 
slowly  forward  in  the  direction  in  which  the 
planet  is  moving  around  the  sun.  The  rate 
of  its  motion  can  be  calculated  from 
the  theory  when  the  distance  and  period  of 
the  planet  are  known.  To  this  effect  are 
added  the  influences  of  the  attraction  of  the 
other  planets  as  before. 


It  has  been  known  for  some  thirty  or 
forty  years  that  the  perihelion  of  the  planet 
Mercury,  after  allowance  had  been  made  for 
the  perturbations  due  to  the  attraction  of 
the  other  planets,  was  actually  moving 
slowly  forward  in  a  manner  which  was  very 
difficult  to  explain.  Attempts  to  account 
for  it  have  failed. 

For  example,  the  attraction  of  an  un- 
known planet  between  Mercury  and  the 
sun  would  do  the  trick,  but  observations 
made  during  eclipses  of  the  sun  show  that 
there  is  no  planet  there.  Nor  can  there  be 
a  great  number  of  small  bodies  whose  com- 
bined attraction  would  do  it,  for  these 
would  reflect  so  much  sunlight  as  to  pro- 
duce a  bright  region  in  the  sky,  which 
again  would  have  been  observed  during 
eclipses. 

The  discrepancy  remained  very  puzzling 
until  Einstein's  theory  appeared — and  this 


theory  predicts  not  only  the  fact  and  the 
direction  of  the  discrepancy,  but  its  exact 
amount,  bringing  observation  and  calcula- 
tion into  beautiful  accordance. 

The  similar  effects  for  the  other  planets 
are  so  small  that  they  are  at  the  very  limit 
of  measurement,  but  even  so,  the  Einstein 
theory  appears  to  fit  the  facts  better  than 
the   old    theory. 

Results  of  Recent  Experiments 
of  Astronomers 

This  remarkable  success  deeply  impressed 
astronomers,  and  set  everyone  waiting  with 
keen  interest  the  result  of  the  observations 
made  to  determine  whether  rays  of  light 
passing  near  the  Sun  were  deflected. 

To  settle  this  question  it  is  necessary  to 
photograph  stars  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  the  Sun,  and  this  can  be  done 
only  at  the  time  of  a  total  eclipse,  when  the 
Moon  completely  hides  the  Sun  and  enables 
us  to  observe  the  stars  on  a  nearly  dark  sky. 

Fortunately,  the  eclipse  of  May,  1919, 
afforded  a  very  favorable  opportunity  for 
such  observations.  The  Sun  was  eclipsed 
for  more  than  four  minutes  and  was 
situated  at  the  time  in  a  region  of  the 
heavens  remarkably  full  of  stars  bright 
enough  to  be  easily  photographed. 

In  spite  of  the  short  interval  since  the 
conclusion  of  the  war  English  astronomers 


rose  to  the  occasion  and  sent  two  expedi- 
tions, one  to  Brazil  and  the  other  to  an 
island  off  the  African  coast,  equipped  with 
photographic  instruments  of  high  power 
and  especially  suited  for  the  work.  By 
extraordinary  good  fortune  the  weather 
was  clear  enough  at  both  stations  to  allow 
the  obtaining  of  valuable  results. 

Every  precaution  was  taken  to  secure 
accuracy.  For  example,  after  the  eclipse 
the  telescope  was  left  in  place  for  nearly 
two  months  so  that  the  same  stars  might 
be  photographed  upon  a  dark  sky,  after  the 
Sun  had  moved  out  of  the  way,  to  obtain 
plates  showing  their  ordinary  positions  to 
use  for  comparison  with  the  eclipse  plates. 

The  photographs  were  brought  to  Eng- 
land and  measured  with  the  greatest  care, 
and  the  result  indicates  that  the  apparent 
shift  of  the  stars  due  to  the  deviation  of  the 
light  is  unquestionably  present  and  is  of 
very  nearly,  if  not  exactly,  the  amount 
predicted  by  Einstein,  the  difference  be- 
tween the  observed  and  calculated  amounts 
being  hardly  greater  than  the  very  small 
error  which  is  still  inherent  even  in  these 
precise   observations. 

The  observers.  Professor  Eddington  of 
Cambridge  and  Dr.  Crommelin  of  the 
Greenwich  Observatory,  are  men  of  the 
highest  standing,  and  their  results  prove 
beyond  a  doubt  the  reality  of  the  predicted 
effect. 


IV 

New  Theory  Based  on  Positive  Results 


The  older  form  of  the  theory  of  relativity 
was  based  upon  the  result  of  very  precise 
observations,  but  upon  negative  results — 
upon  the  failure  to  find  things  which  ought 
to  have  been  found,  and  easily  found,  pro- 
vided that  the  older  theories  had  been  correct. 

But  the  new  extension  of  the  theory  is 
based  upon  positive  results — the  presence 
of  an  effect,  in  the  case  of  the  planet  Mer- 


cury, which  though  long  known  baffled  all 
explanation,  and  in  the  case  of  the  eclipse 
observations,  upon  the  presence  of  an  un- 
questionable and  very  remarkable  influence 
whose  existence  no  one  anticipated  or 
imagined  until  it  was  predicted  by  the 
theory. 

It  therefore  appears  to  be  very  strongly 
established. 


It  is  true  that  the  original  form  of  Ein- 
stein's theory  also  predicted  that  the  posi- 
tion of  the  lines  of  any  element,  such  as 
iron,  in  the  solar  spectrum  should  be 
slightly  different  from  those  produced  by 
the  same  element  in  the  laboratory.  At  the 
present  time  it  is  very  hard  to  say  whether 
this  efTect  has  been  observed  or  not. 

The  positions  of  the  lines  in  the  spectrum 
can  indeed  be  measured  very  accurately. 
But  there  are  a  variety  of  influences  at 
work  on  the  Sun's  surface  which  may 
shift  the  positions  of  these  lines,  such  as 
the  pressure  in  the  Sun's  atmosphere,  actual 
motion  of  this  atmosphere,  and  possibly  a 
host  of  other  things,  so  that  different  lines 
of  the  same  element  are  shifted  by  different 
amounts  and  in  spite  of  years  of  investiga- 
tion of  this  exceedingly  complex  problem 
it  is  not  possible  yet  to  explain  all  the 
things  that  have  been  observed. 

It  is,  therefore,  still  uncertain  whether, 
after  these  other  causes  are  allowed  for,  it 
would  be  found  that  the  lines  in  the  Sun's 
spectrum  wer^  shifted  or  not.  It  seems 
probable,  however,  that  Einstein's  theory 
could  be  modified  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
account  for  the  other  effects  already 
observed  without  demanding  the  existence 
of  this  one.  Hence  this  can  hardly  be 
called  at  the  present  time  a  failure  of  the 
Einstein  theory. 

The  mathematical  expression  of  this  last 
portion  of  Einstein's  theory  is  the  part 
which  is  so  intricate  and  difficult. 

Mathematicians  whose  minds  are  satu- 
rated with  conceptions  with  which  the 
layman  is  utterly  unfamiliar  find  that  these 
mathematical  expressions  may  be  (to  them 
at  least)  most  simply  described  in  terms  of 
space  of  four  dimensions,  or  even  of  five 
dimensions  in  certain  cases. 

This  side  of  the  subject,  although  deeply 
interesting  to  the  mathematician,  and  also 
to  the  philosopher,  is  not  a  matter  of 
practical  concern,  principally  for  the  reason 
that  it  does  not  deal  with  the  facts  of 
nature  themselves,  but  entirely  with  the 


mathematical  language  which  we  employ 
in  describing  them. 

Fundamentals  of  Einstein's 
Theory  Summarized 

The  fundamental  physical  facts  concern- 
ing nature  which  have  developed  in  con- 
nection with  the  theory  of  relativity  may 
be  briefly  and  somewhat  crudely  stated  in 
this  fashion: 

1.  Our  methods  of  measuring  space  and 
time  are  tied  up  with  our  assumption  as  to 
whether  and  in  what  direction  we  are  moving 
in  a  manner  which,  if  we  assume  our  motion 
to  be  very  rapid,  greatly  modifies  the  results 
of  these  measurements,  but  which,  for 
motions  which  are  not  more  rapid  than  those 
of  the  planets  or  most  of  the  stars,  produce 
no  difference  in  these  measurements  which 
could  be  detected  except  by  the  most  delicate 
and  refined  methods  of  observation,  and 
usually  not  even  a  difference  great  enough  to 
be  so  detected. 

2.  The  new  conceptions  are,  therefore, 
of  very  little  or  no  importance  to  the  prac- 
tical man,  but  are  of  very  great  interest  to 
the  philosopher,  since  they  indicate  that  the 
old  traditional  conceptions  of  space  and  time 
are  not  the  only  conceptions  of  this  sort 
which  the  human  mind  is  capable  of  forming, 
and,  what  is  more,  that  when  the  comparison 
is  made  very  precise  these  newer  and  ap- 
parently bizarre  conceptions  of  space  and 
time  fit  the  facts  of  nature  more  closely  than 
the  simple  common  sense  ones. 

3.  It  has  more  recently  been  shown  that 
the  previous  assumption  that  gravitation  and 
the  motion  of  material  bodies  on  the  one 
hand,  and  electricity,  magnetism  and  light 
on  the  other,  formed  two  separate  sides  of 
nature,  not  connected  with  one  another,  is 
incorrect.  These  two  great  complexes  of 
natural  phenomena  and  forces  are  actually 
parts  of  one  still  greater  whole,  although  the 
connection  between  them  is  of  such  a  charac- 
ter that  it  produces  measurable  results  in  only 
a  very  few  cases. 

The  theory  of  relativity  does  not  super- 
sede the  older  scientific  conceptions  or 
destroy  them,  but  leaves  them  as  very 
close  and  very  useful  approximations  to  the 
facts  of  nature.  As  is  usually  the  case  with 
great  scientific  advances,  it  leaves  us  with 
a  view  of  nature  which  is  more  complex  and 
harder  to  understand  and  to  work  with 
than  our  previous  conceptions,  but  which 
at  the  same  time  reduces  what  previously 
appeared  to  be  disconnected  things  to 
manifestations  of  a  single  underlying  unity 
of  principle. 


1.1"  "^ft  :irt  LiyF^..,t-.ii: 


■viAY  i:  iq?o 


Number  Three 


Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


May  8,  1920 


NOTE 

This  is  the  third  lecture  in  the  series  by  members  ef 
the  Princeton  faculty  to  be  distributed  to  the  University 
Alumni.  It  is  especially  timely  and  interesting  in  view 
of  the  present  efforts  of  both  the  railroad  and  the  govern- 
ment to  meet  the  problem  of  supplying  the  country's 
necessary  transportation  facilities. 

THE  LECTURER 
DIXON,  FRANK  HAIGH,  Professor  of  Economics 
in  Princeton  University,  was  bom  at  Winona,  Minn., 
October  8,  1869.  He  is  a  graduate  of  the  University  of 
Michigan,  Ph.B.,  1892;  Ph.D.,  1895.  He  was  instruc- 
tor of  history,  1896-1897;  assistant  professor,  political 
economy,  1897-1898,  University  of  Michigan;  assist- 
ant professor  and  professor,  economics,  Dartmouth 
College,  1898-1919;  professor  of  economics,  Princeton 
University,  1919;  expert  for  Interstate  Commerce 
Commission,  1907-1908;  and  National  Waterways 
Commission,  1909;  chief  statistician.  Bureau  of  Rail- 
way Economics,  1910-1918.  He  is  a  member  of  the 
American  Economic  Association.  American  StatisticaK 
Association,  American  Association  for  Labor  Legisla- 
tion, American  Association  of  University  Professors. 
He  is  also  author  of  "State  Railroad  Control"  published 
in  1896,  and  frequent  contributor  to  various  economic 
magazines. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Discussion  of  this  problem  must  largely  be  sought  in 
current  financial  and  railroad  journals,  addresses  of 
railroad  men,  and  the  like.  The  following  references 
are  especially  suggested: 

Files  of  the  Railway  Age. 

Proceedings  of  the  Academy  of  Political  Science, 
New  York,  January,  1920,  "Railroad  Legislation." 

Annals  of  the  American  Academy  of  Political  and 
Social  Science,  November,  1919,  "The  Railroad  Prob- 
lem." 

Hearings  on  Return  of  Railroads  to  Private  Owner- 
ship, U.  S.  House  of  Representatives,  Committee  on 
Interstate  and  Foreign  Commerce,  66th  Congress, 
1st  Session,  H.  R.  4378. 

Hearings  on  E.xtension  of  Tenure  of  Government 
Control  of  Railroads,  U.  S.  Senate  Committee  on  Inter- 
state Commerce,  65th  Congress,  3d  Session. 


Published  semi-monthly.  Application  pending  for  second  class 
mail  privilege. 


Private  Ownership  on  Trial 

Some  Problems  Facing  the  Railroads 

A  LECTURE 

By  Frank  Haigh  Dixon 

Professor  of  Economics  in  Princeton  University 

On  March  1st  last  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment relinquished  its  control  of  the  railways 
of  the  country  and  returned  them  to  the  pos- 
session of  their  owners.  This  step  was  taken 
in  response  to  an  unmistakable  mandate  of  the 
American  people,  who  for  the  present  at  least 
have  no  desire  for  a  continuation  of  govern- 
ment operation. 

This  step  was  taken  in  conformity  with  the 
so-called  Federal  Control  Act,  under  which 
the  roads  were  originally  nationalized.  This 
act  Hmited  the  period  of  federal  control  to 
twenty-one  months  after  "the  date  of  the 
proclamation  by  the  President  of  the  exchange 
of  ratifications  of  the  treaty  of  peace."  This 
limitation  would  apparently  have  permitted 
an  indefinite  continuation  of  federal  operation, 
but  the  law  also  provides  that  the  President 
may  relinquish  control  at  any  time  that  he 
shall  deem  such  action  needful  or  desirable. 

With  the  recovery  of  physical  possession  of 
their  properties,  the  railroads  become  the  re- 
cipients of  a  sheaf  of  unsolved  problems,  some 
of  which  have  sprung  inevitably  from  the 
transfer  to  private  control,  some  of  which 
have  been  passed  on  to  them  by  the  Federal 
Administration,  which  had  no  enthusiasm  for 
the  solution  of  new  problems  during  its  de- 
cHning  days,  and  which  properly  felt  that  any 
decisions  on  its  part  might  only  prove  an  em- 
barrassment and  obstruction  later. 


Threefold  Aspect  of  the  Railroad  Problem 

I 

Credit 


Without  entering  into  all  of  the  details  of 
these  various  problems  that  now  face  the  rail- 
roads, it  may  be  possible  to  summarize  the 
present  situation  by  considering  it  in  three  of 
its  aspects:  namely,  the  financial  problem,  the 
labor  problem,  and  the  problem  of  public 
ser\ice. 

Bulking  large  in  the  mind  of  every  railroad 
executive  is  the  problem  of  credit — when  and 
how  to  secure  the  funds  immediately  necessary 
at  rates  of  interest  that  will  justify  investment. 

That  the  need  for  investment  funds  is  in- 
sistent, none  would  deny  who  has  given  more 
than  a  superficial  examination  to  the  present 
situation.  This  can  be  most  readily  demon- 
strated by  a  statistical  survey  of  the  physical 
development  of  the  railroads  over  the  past 
few  years,  which  will  bring  out  their  present 
capacity  or  lack  of  capacity  for  handling  pres- 
ent business. 

Steady  Increase  in  Traffic 

Let  us  look  first  at  the  traffic  situation. 
The  striking  fact  in  this  regard  is  that 
trafl&c,  both  passenger  and  freight,  has,  in 
spite  of  the  war,  kept  up  its  steady  increase. 
In  the  face  of  all  the  discouragements  set  up 
by  increased  rates  and  inferior  service,  passen- 
ger travel  has  steadily  grown  and  in  1919  ex- 
ceeded all  former  records. 

To  be  sure,  the  troop  movement  was  in  part 
responsible,  but  this  had  largely  disappeared 
by  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1919;  yet  passen- 
ger traffic  has  continued  in  a  volume  wholly 
unprecedented  since  that  time. 

The  total  passenger  miles  of  service  during 
1919  will  reach  46,200,000,000,  which  is  35  % 
in  excess  of  the  highest  figure  before  the  war. 
Freight  traffic  is  more  directly  subject  to 
industrial  influences,  and  hence  does  not  show 
so  continuous  a  trend,  yet  its  progress  is  un- 
mistakable.   The  highest  record  reached  be- 


fore the  war  for  the  country  as  a  whole  was 
about  300,000,000,000  ton  miles  in  1913. 

The  total  exceeded  400  billions  in  1918, 
and  would  have  reached  or  have  passed  this 
figure  in  1919  but  for  the  serious  interruptions 
to  traiSc  due  to  labor  and  weather  conditions. 
Reports  for  January  and  February  of  this  year 
indicate  the  heaviest  traffic  for  these  months 
in  the  history  of  the  country. 

It  has  been  the  policy  of  railroad  executives 
in  the  past  to  accept  this  steady  increase  as 
an  axiom,  and  to  plan  as  far  ahead  as  financial 
conditions  would  permit  to  meet  the  "costs 
of  progress."  The  programme  of  the  more 
prosperous  roads  has  been  always  to  have  a 
surplus  capacity  available. 

Investment  Not  Equal 

to  Traffic  Requirements 

But  this  program  has  been  for  some  years 
an  unrealized  ideal.  For  several  years  before 
the  war,  investment  had  not  kept  pace  with 
traffic  requirements,  or  at  any  rate  had  not 
kept  a  safe  distance  ahead.  Many  reasons 
are  given  for  this — some  of  them  the  subject 
of  considerable  controversy.  Unquestionably 
the  increasing  demands  for  capital  in  other 
and  more  attractive  fields  created  a  competi- 
tion that  railroads  found  it  difficult  to  meet. 

It  is  charged  that  the  Commission  had  not 
sufficiently  recognized  the  pubUc  need  and 
had  been  niggardly  in  its  favors.  Doubtless 
the  meager  results  that  the  railways  have 
obtained  from  their  more  important  recent  re- 
quests for  rate  increases  created  an  imcer- 
tainty  concerning  the  future  value  of  railroad 
securities  among  investors,  and  made  the 
securing  of  capital  more  difficult. 

But  whatever  the  cause,  the  fact  is  undis- 
puted that  during  the  period  preceding  the 
war  there  was  a  decided  falling  off  in  the 
generosity    of    provision    for    future    needs, 


accompanied  by  and  doubtless  In  part  caused 
by  a  decline  in  the  rate  of  return  upon  the 
railway  investment.  Railroad  managements 
were  already  aware,  before  the  war,  of  the 
declining  support  of  the  investment  market. 

During  the  abnormal  war  period,  new  invest- 
ment was  cut  to  the  bone.  Capital  and  labor 
were  needed  primarily  for  war  purposes  and 
only  such  additions  to  capital  investment  were 
imdertaken  as  were  imperatively  necessary. 

Even  this  programme  was  further  restricted 
by  the  delay  of  Congress  in  passing  the  neces- 
sary appropriations  in  March,  1919,  and  by 
the  decision  of  the  Administration,  later  in  the 
year,  to  turn  the  roads  back  to  their  owners, 
which  made  impracticable  the  undertaking  of 
any  long  time  poHcy  of  capital  investment 
by  the  Government. 

Need  2,000  Miles 
More  Yearly 

The  results  of  this  policy  of  semi-starvation 
are  evident,  and  may  be  best  shown  statis- 
tically. In  the  ten-year  period  from  1905  to 
1915,  there  were  constructed  annually  an 
average  of  3,500  miles  of  line,  and  in  the  pre- 
vious five  years  an  average  of  nearly  5,000 
miles  per  year. 

The  figures  for  recent  years  are  as  follows: 

MnjES   OF  LINE    CONSTRUCTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES: 

Year  Mileage 

1914 1532 

1915 933 

1916 1098 

1917 979 

1918 722 

1919 686 

No  other  such  low  record  as  the  last  five 
years  disclose  can  be  found  in  our  statistics 
since  1864.  Of  course  war  conditions  are 
immediately  responsible.  Moreover,  we  should 
of  course  expect  a  declining  amount  of  new 
mileage  as  the  country  grows  up  to  itself;  but 
we  have  not  yet  reached  the  point  for  the  coun- 
try as  a  whole  when  railway  building  can  stop. 
Experts  declare  that  we  should  build  for 
many  years  to  come  at  an  average  of  2,000 
miles  a  year. 


Equipment  Situation 
Extremely  Acute 

Let  us  turn  now  to  equipment.  The  extraor- 
dinary development  of  passenger  travel  has 
already  been  referred  to. 

During  the  ten-year  period  1905-1915  pas- 
senger traffic  increased  48  % ,  and  while  the  in- 
crease in  passenger  equipment  was  not  in  pro- 
portion, a  sharp  decline  having  set  in  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  period,  yet  the  increase 
in  cars  was  35  %  for  that  decade,  26,800  new 
cars  being  added.  The  average  number  of 
passengers  per  car  was  about  15  during  this 
period. 

Since  June,  1915,  passenger  traffic  has  in- 
creased 43  %,  and  equipment  2^%-  During 
the  last  two  years  of  federal  administration 
there  were  virtually  no  additions  to  passenger 
or  sleeping  car  equipment,  and  the  number  of 
passengers  per  car,  influenced  in  part  by  the 
troop  movement,  jumped  from  15  to  21. 

Since  1915  the  additions  to  equipment  have 
not  been  sufficient  to  cover  the  minimum  re- 
quirements of  a  sound  retirement  policy. 

A  similar  situation,  more  acute  because  of 
its  greater  importance  industrially,  is  the  con- 
dition in  respect  to  freight  cars.  Car  shortages 
have  been  a  common  phenomenon  since  1916. 

The  only  factor  that  has  saved  the  situation 
from  a  complete  breakdown  during  the  last 
two  years  has  been  the  unified  handUng  of 
equipment  under  the  direction  of  the  Car  Serv- 
ice Bureau  of  the  Federal  Railroad  Adminis- 
tration, which  has  introduced  such  measures 
as  the  "permit  system,"  the  zoning  of  certain 
kinds  of  traffic,  the  Uberal  use  of  the  embargo, 
the  disregard  of  corporate  ownership  in  the 
routing  of  freight  and  the  like. 

Freight  traffic  increased  during  the  decade 
1905  to  1915  by  61%  and  freight  cars  by  36%. 

From  1915  to  1918  traffic  increased  45% 
and  cars  in  service  1.6%. 

Even  assuming  an  increase  in  capacity  of 
cars,  this  situation  is  alarming.  Had  retire- 
ments taken  place  during  this  war  period  as 
rapidly  as  in  normal  times,  there  would  have 
been  an  actual  decline  in  the  freight  carrying 
capacity  of  the  railroads. 

Locomotive  figures  tell  the  same  story.  A 
steady  increase  not  only  in  number  of  loco- 
motives but  in  tractive  power  is  necessary  to 
meet  the  increased  density  of  railroad  traffic. 


One  expert  has  estimated  that  with  the 
retirement  of  locomotives  long  overdue  there 
will  be  required  to  meet  the  traffic  needs  of 
the  next  three  years  an  addition  of  over  13,- 
000  locomotives  of  modern  design.  This  in 
face  of  the  fact  that  for  the  ten  years  1905- 
1915  the  average  increase  was  less  than  2,000 
per  year. 

But  these  figures  concerning  rolling  stock 
by  no  means  tell  the  whole  story.  Every  op- 
erating man  appreciates  that  in  most  cases  the 
terminal  facilities  constitute  the  "neck  of  the 
bottle,"  and  that  it  is  of  little  use  to  increase 
trackage  and  equipment  if  there  is  not  ade- 
quate yardage  for  efficient  handling.  The 
cost  of  securing  the  terminal  facilities  needed 
right  now  is  anyone's  guess,  but  the  sum  is 
enormous. 

And  then  there  are  demands  which  have 
awaited  the  return  of  normal  conditions  and 
which  now  press  for  solution,  such  as  grade 
revision,  elimination  of  curves,  cut-oSs,  engine 
houses  and  shops,  and  the  installation  of  im- 
proved shop  equipment.  There  is  the  whole 
problem  of  signalUng,  in  which  only  a  begin- 
ning has  been  made ;  there  is  the  work  of  elec- 
trification, which  will  in  many  cases  repay 
handsomely  the  investment,  but  for  which  the 
initial  capital  must  be  found.  To  attempt  to 
express  the  aggregate  in  exact  figures  would 
be  idle  for  our  purposes. 

Capital  Requirement  of 

$6.000.000.000  in  Next  3  Years 

This  much,  however,  might  be  said.  As  far 
back  as  1907  Mr.  James  J.  Hill  estimated  that 
the  capital  needs  of  the  railways  demanded  an 
investment  of  a  billion  dollars  a  year  for  five 
years.  No  such  additions  have  been  made 
during  the  intervening  years.  In  fact,  the 
railroads  have  fallen  far  short  of  this  figure. 

The  Railroad  Administration  reports  capital 
expenditures  during  the  two  years  of  federal 
control  of  $1,200,000,000.  Executives  dis- 
agree as  to  the  total  needed  at  present;  in  fact 
few  have  ventured  any  estimate. 

The  expert  investigators  on  the  staff  of  the 
Railway  Age  have  estimated  the  capital  needs 
of  the  railroads  for  the  next  three  years,  omit- 


ting new  terminal  facilities  and  electrification, 
at  over  six  billions  of  dollars. 

Then  there  is  the  much  discussed  question 
of  deferred  maintenance.  Due  to  the  shortage 
of  labor,  during  the  early  part  of  the  war,  while 
the  raUroads  were  still  in  private  hands,  there 
was  unquestionably  a  falling  off  in  the  stand- 
ards of  maintenance  of  track  and  equipment. 
Director  General  Hines  insists  that  the  Federal 
Administration  "has  closely  approximated 
compliance  with  its  contract  obligations  to  re- 
turn the  properties  in  substantially  as  good 
condition  as  when  received." 

Railroad  executives  take  direct  issue  with 
this  statement.  Professor  Cunningham,  who 
was  connected  with  the  Operating  Division  of 
the  Railroad  Administration  during  the  war, 
and  whose  opportunities  of  obser\'ation  were 
therefore  unusual,  is  of  the  opinion  that  the 
claims  of  the  railroads  against  the  government 
for  undermaintenance  may  amount  to  $100,- 
000,000. 

This  claim,  if  allowed,  will  eventually  reach 
the  railroad  treasuries,  but  the  demands  of 
track  and  equipment  maintenance  cannot  wait 
upon  the  snail-speed  of  a  government  settle- 
ment.   Fimds  are  needed  at  once. 


Sources  of  Capital  Funds 

This  rough  picture  shows  why  the  railroads 
need  capital.    What  are  their  sources  of  funds? 

There  is  first  the  open  market. 

Two  of  the  largest  railroads  of  the  coimtry 
with  imquestioned  credit  have  just  placed 
issues  of  securities  on  the  market,  the  Penn- 
sylvania and  the  New  York  Central.  Both 
issues  are  attractive  in  their  terms,  short  time, 
the  one  being  a  collateral  trust  issue  backed 
by  mortgage  bonds,  the  other  an  equipment 
trust.    Both  had  to  offer  7%  to  command  par. 

Under  such  conditions  there  is  little  hope 
for  the  smaller  or  less  prosperous  road.  More- 
over it  is  to  be  noted  in  this  connection  thai 
this  unprecedented  rate  for  bonds  means  that 
the  floating  of  stock  is  probably  impossible. 

Already  the  amount  of  funded  debtoutstand- 
ing  in  the  hands  of  the  pubUc  is  over  60%  of 


the  total  net  capitalization,  and  on  many  roads 
it  is  far  in  excess  of  this  figure. 

The  financial  standing  of  railroads  in  the 
investment  market  should  be  such  as  to  per- 
mit them  to  maintain  a  sound  relationship 
between  stock  and  bond  capitahzation.  At 
present  the  inevitable  tendency  is  in  the  wrong 
direction. 

Another  source  of  capital  fimds  is  to  be 
found  in  the  provision  of  the  recent  transporta- 
tion act  under  which  $300,000,000  is  appro- 
priated as  a  revolving  fund,  to  be  used  for  the 
purpose  of  making  loans  to  railroads  during 
the  transition  period  following  the  termina- 
tion of  federal  control. 

But  in  the  face  of  the  enormous  capital 
needs,  this  sxmi  is  a  miserable  pittance.  More- 
over, it  will  doubtless  be  conserved  in  the 
interest  of  those  roads  whose  credit  is  so 
doubtful  that  they  can  obtain  capital  nowhere 
else. 


No  Alternative  to 
Increased  Rates 

This  leaves  but  one  further  source  of  capital 
fimds,  and  that  is  surplus  earnings.  What  is 
the  probability  that  there  will  be  surplus  earn- 
ings from  railroad  operation? 

At  present  rates,  none  at  all.  The  govern- 
ment operating  the  railroad  system  as  a  unit, 
putting  into  use  many  methods  of  economy 
not  available  under  private  operation,  and 
paring  down  maintenance  expenditures  to  a 
point  not  justified  as  a  continuous  policy  in 
time  of  peace,  has  ended  its  stewardship  with 
an  operating  deficit  of  $903,000,000,  which 
should  probably  be  increased  to  about  a  biUion 
dollars  by  adding  claims  for  under-mainte- 
nance. 

This  deplorable  state  of  affairs  was  in  httle 
if  any  degree  the  fault  of  the  Railroad  Adminis- 
tration. The  situation  cannot  be  analyzed 
here  in  detail.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  is  the 
outcome  of  increased  wage,  fuel  and  material 
costs,  combined  with  an  insufficient  increase 
in  rates.  Increases  in  wages  alone  were  over 
a  billion  dollars  a  year,  in  excess  by  over 


$100,000,000  of  the  total  guarantee  of  net 
return  to  the  railroads  by  the  government. 
This  situation  the  railroads  have  inherited. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  chance  that  their 
expenses  will  decline;    on  the  contrary  they 
are  likely  to  increase. 

There  is  a  strong  probability  that  they  will 
be  forced  to  concede  a  considerable  increase 
in  wages  £ill  along  the  line. 

Fuel  costs  will  go  up  rather  than  down; 
there  is  no  immediate  likelihood  of  a  fall  in  the 
prices  of  other  needed  materials. 

Maintenance  accounts  need  to  be  fattened 
up  rather  than  skinned. 

There  seems  to  be  no  alternative  to  an  in- 
crease in  freight  rates,  and  an  increase  of 
very  considerable  amount.  Yet  even  this  is  not 
likely  to  bring  directly  the  funds  needed  for 
capital  investment;  the  public  would  hardly 
stand  for  the  rates  required  to  meet  the  oper- 
ating expense  situation,  and  a  surplus  for 
betterments. 

All  that  can  be  hoped  for,  or  properly  asked 
for,  are  rates  sufficient  to  reestablish  the  credit 
of  the  railroads,  as  a  result  of  which  they  may 
secure  funds  in  the  open  market  properly  dis- 
tributed between  stock  and  funded  debt. 

To  establish  such  credit  it  is  necessary  that 
rates  be  sufficiently  high  to  guarantee  a  reve- 
nue that  will  cover  operating  expenses,  includ- 
ing generous  maintenance,  and  a  reasonable 
return  on  a  fair  value  of  the  property.  Such 
net  return  should  be  adequate  to  pay  a  fair 
dividend  on  a  conservative  stock  capitaliza- 
tion, and  leave  some  surplus  as  a  safety  fund 
against  revenue  fluctuations. 

New  Transportation  Act  Intended 
to  Restore  Confidence 

What  aid  does  the  new  law  give  toward  re- 
storing the  confidence  of  the  investor? 

The  Commission  is  instructed  to  prescribe 
rates  so  that  the  carriers  as  a  whole  in  such 
groups  as  the  Commission  may  designate, 
"will  under  honest,  efficient,  and  economical 
management  and  reasonable  expenditures  for 
maintenance  of  way,  structures  and  equipment, 
earn  an  aggregate  annual  net  railway  operating 
income  equal  as  nearly  as  may  be  to  a  fair  re- 


turn  upon  the  aggregate  value  of  the  railway 
property  of  such  carriers  held  for  and  used  in 
the  service  of  transportation." 

For  the  first  two  years,  this  rate  of  return  is 
to  be  5}4%,  mth  an  additional  3^%  at  the 
discretion  of  the  Commission  for  improve- 
ments and  betterments.  One-half  of  the  ex- 
cess of  the  earnings  of  any  individual  carrier 
above  6%  are  to  be  paid  over  to  the  govern- 
ment, and  deposited  in  a  general  railroad  con- 
tingent fund  to  be  used  as  a  revohing  fund. 
From  it  loans  may  be  made  to  carriers,  or 
equipment  may  be  purchased  by  the  govern- 
ment and  leased  to  the  carriers. 

The  other  half  of  the  excess  over  6%  is  to  be 
carried  by  the  individual  railroad  to  a  reserve 
fund  for  interest  and  dividends  imtil  it  amounts 


to  5%  of  the  value  of  its  property;  thereafter 
the  railroad  may  use  any  further  surplus  "for 
any  lawful  purpose." 

So  much  depends  upon  the  method  of  group- 
ing adopted  by  the  Commission,  and  the  basis 
upon  which  the  value  of  railroad  property  is  to 
be  determined,  that  it  is  impossible  to  predict 
at  this  time  whether  these  provisions  of  law 
will  prove  adequate  to  restore  railroad  credit, 
and  to  carry  the  railroads  safely  through  the 
next  year  or  two  of  financial  difficulty.  At 
present  it  is  a  matter  of  opinion. 

My  own  opinion  is  that  the  aid  of  the  govern- 
ment will  prove  insufficient,  and  that  unless  the 
government  comes  more  whole-heartedly  to 
the  support  of  the  railroads,  it  may  have  them 
on  its  hands  again. 


II 

Labor 


So  much  for  the  problem  of  credit;  the  other 
two  questions  may  be  more  speedily  disposed 
of. 

In  the  solution  of  the  labor  problem  in  its 
broader  aspects,  the  pubhc  must  take  a  hand. 
The  growing  power  of  organized  labor  on  rail- 
roads, and  the  public  necessity  for  uninter- 
rupted transportation,  have  taken  the  question 
out  of  the  category  of  private  disputes  between 
capital  and  labor.  The  utter  dependence  of 
the  pubhc  upon  the  product  of  this  industry 
makes  it  impossible  for  the  pubhc  to  confine 
itself  to  assuring  the  contestants  a  free  field 
and  fair  play. 

This  was  recognized  in  the  Senate  bill  which 
forbade  employees  to  enter  into  a  combination, 
with  the  intent  to  hinder  or  prevent  the  opera- 
tion of  trains  or  the  movement  of  commodities 
in  interstate  commerce.  This  went  a  long 
way  and  a  httle  too  rapidly,  and  when  the  bill 
emerged  from  conference,  the  anti-strike  pro- 
vision had  disappeared,  and  a  permanent  Ar- 
bitration Board  set  up,  with  no  power  to  en- 


force its  findings  except  the  power  of  public 
opinion. 

I  doubt  very  much  whether  the  American 
people  are  yet  ready  to  endorse  the  drasric 
plan  of  the  Senate  Committee.  There  is 
much  force  in  the  argimient  that  a  pubhc  serv- 
ice should  be  uninterrupted,  and  that  both 
capital  and  labor  should  accept  service  in  this 
tjpe  of  industry  subject  to  this  hmitation. 

But  it  is  quite  a  diSerent  thing  to  incor- 
porate this  principle  suddenly  into  law,  and 
impose  it  upon  a  group  of  employees  just 
emerging  from  the  restrictions  of  government 
employment  into  which  they  were  drafted  for 
war  purposes — a  group  of  men  which  has  long 
been  in  service,  has  acquired  many  valuable 
seniority  rights,  and  is  in  considerable  degree 
unfitted  by  age  and  service  to  seek  an  alterna- 
tive employment. 

We  should  work  toward  the  ideal  of  the  set- 
tlement of  disputes  in  pubhc  industries  by 
arbitration,  but  we  must  accomphsh  it  with- 
out doing  violence  to  the  rights  of  labor. 


Organization  and  Discipline 
the  Immediate  Problem 

The  immediate  problem  of  the  railroads  is 
one  of  organization  and  discipline. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  morale  of  rail- 
road labor  is  at  a  low  ebb.  The  main  reason 
for  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  centralizing  and 
standardizing  poHcy  of  the  Federal  Railroad 
Administration.  Standardization  was  rapidly 
extended  during  the  war,  imtil  now  the  individ- 
ual employee  to  an  almost  complete  extent  is 
receiving  the  same  pay  for  the  same  type  of 
work  everywhere  throughout  the  country,  ir- 
respective of  local  conditions  and  cost  of 
living. 

This  boon  has  come  from  Washington.  Or- 
ganization has  been  rapidly  extended  into  sec- 
tions of  the  country  and  on  to  railroads  here- 
tofore not  unionized,  and  groups  of  employees 
not  before  organized  have  created  national 
unions. 

This  has  given  labor  an  immense  increase 
in  its  strategic  power.  But  more  than  all 
else,  the  habit  of  disregarding  local  machinery 


for  settlement  of  disputes,  and  looking  to 
Washington,  which  began  with  the  passage  of 
the  Adamson  Act  in  1916,  has  increased  to  an 
extraordinary  degree,  and  has  correspondingly 
weakened  the  power  of  the  manager  of  the 
individual  railroad. 

Executives  fully  realize  the  seriousness  of 
the  situation,  and  are  bending  all  their  efforts 
to  a  restoration  of  morale  and  the  building  up 
of  an  eflScient  working  organization. 

The  size  of  the  task  is  indicated  by  the  pres- 
ent strike,  which,  however  much  it  may  be  due 
to  radical  propaganda — and  I  think  this  influ- 
ence has  been  exaggerated — and  however 
much  it  may  be  due  to  the  exasperating 
deliberation  of  the  Federal  Administration  in 
responding  to  the  requests  of  the  employees  for 
a  hearing  on  their  demands  for  wage  increases, 
nevertheless  reveals  not  only  a  breakdown  in 
the  operating  organization  of  the  railroads,  but 
a  serious  disorganization  within  the  ranks  of 
railroad  unionism,  upon  the  orderly  working 
of  which  efficient  railroading  to  a  large  degree 
depends. 


Ill 

Service 


,  The  problem  of  credit  having  been  solved 
and  the  funds  secured  with  which  the  needed 
capital  expenditures  may  be  made,  and  the 
labor  force  of  the  railroads  having  been  once 
more  developed  into  an  efficient  working  or- 
ganization, there  remains  for  the  railroads  to 
provide  the  public  with  the  most  efficient 
service  possible. 

This  problem  has  no  terrors  for  the  railroad 
executive  if  the  other  two  conditions  are  fulfilled. 

It  demands  on  the  part  of  the  public  whole- 
hearted support  in  assuring  to  the  carriers 
revenue  adequate  for  its  accomplishment. 

It  demands  on  the  part  of  railroad  manage- 
ment— and  I  have  in  mind  here  particularly 


financial  management — a  poUcy  that  shall  sub- 
ordinate everything  to  the  one  object  of  giving 
the  pubUc  the  service  it  reqviires.  Beyond  a 
reasonable  return  upon  the  investment,  rail- 
road capital  is  entitled  to  nothing. 

It  should  have  no  melons,  no  opportunity 
for  speculative  gains. 

It  is  entitled  to  that  reward,  and  that  only, 
which  will  obtain  the  capital  necessary  to  as- 
sure the  service. 

The  problem  is  critical  in  this  sense,  that  if 
private  management  fails  in  this  undertaking, 
government  ownership  is  inevitable. 

The  pubhc  has  put  private  railroad  operation 
on  trial. 


Number  Ftur 


Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


May  22,  1920 


Bolshevism  in  Literature 

Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Poetry 


NOTE 

This  is  the  Fourth  Lecture  in  the  series  by 
members  of  the  Princeton  faculty  distributed  to 
the  University  alumni. 

THE  LECTURER 

ALFRED  NOYES,  poet  and  critic,  and 
Visiting  Professor  of  English  at  Princeton,  was 
born  in'  the  county  of  Staffordshire  in  Eng- 
land not  quite  forty  years  ago.  Just  twenty- 
seven  years  later,  he  married  a  very  charming 
American  wife,  Miss  Garnett  Daniels,  a  daugh- 
ter of  Col.  B.  G.  Daniels  of  the  United  States 
Army.  In  1913  Mr.  Noyes,  already  widely 
known  in  this  country  by  his  poetry,  came  to 
America  as  lecturer  on  the  famous  Lowell 
Foundation  at  Boston.  During  this  visit,  he 
also  lectured  at  various  universities  and  col- 
leges, including  Princeton.  He  was  given  the 
honorary  degree  of  Litt.D.  by  Yale.  In  the 
following  year  he  was  made  Visiting  Professor 
at  Princeton.  The  O.xford  man  has  already 
become  a  loyal  Princetonian;  and  the  EngUsh- 
man  seems  quite  content  to  spend  half  of  every 
year  in  an  American  college  town. 

During  the  war,  Mr.  Noyes,  unable  because 
of  defective  eyes  to  get  into  miUtary  service, 
worked  untiringly  for  his  country  with  his  pen 


and  on  the  lecture  platform.  In  1916  he  was 
attached  to  the  Foreign  Office  of  the  British 
government;  and  in  1918  the  value  of  his  work 
was  recognized  by  the  great  honor  of  an  ap- 
pointment as  Commander  of  the  Order  of  the 
British  Empire. 

Mr.  Noyes's  first  book  of  verse.  The  Loom 
of  Years,  was  pubUshed  in  1902;  other  volumes 
succeeded  it  in  1903  and  1904.  In  1908  ap- 
peared the  epic,  Drake,  and  a  critical  study  of 
William  Morris  in  the  Enghsh  Men  of  Letters 
Series.  In  1910  was  pubHshed  the  first  col- 
lected edition  of  his  poems  in  two  volumes 
Among  his  more  recent  works  may  be  men- 
tioned A  Salute  from  the  Fleet,  1915,  and  The 
New  Morning,  published  in  1919.  This  includes 
his  poem  on  Princeton,  and  other  American 
poems. 

In  his  poetry  and  his  criticism  Mr.  Noyes  is 
a  loyal  adherent  to  the  great  tradition  of  Eng- 
Ush  poetry.  For  the  anarchy  of  form  and  of 
thought  which  calls  itself  "free  verse"  he  has 
small  sympathy.  He  has  still  less  patience 
with  the  attitude  of  contemptuous  conde- 
scension assumed  by  a  certain  school  of  pres- 
ent-day critics  toward  everything  Victorian. 
He  confidently  asserts  the  enduring  greatness 
of  the  Victorian  laureate,  Alfred  Tennyson. 

R.  K.  R. 


Entered  as  second  class  matter  at  the  Post  office,  Princeton,  N.  J. 


Bolshevism  in  Literature 

Some  Aspects  of  Modi;rn  Poetry 

A   LECTURE 

By   Alfred   No  yes 
Visiting  Professor  of  English  in  Princeton  University 

I 

Tendencies  Toward  Lower  Intellectual  Standards 


One  of  the  results  of  the  vast  broadening 
of  the  field  of  thought  in  the  beginning  of  the 
twentieth  centurj'  was  the  increasing  tend- 
ency among  modern  wTiters  to  lose  their  hold  on 
any  central  and  unifying  principle ;  to  treat  all 
kinds  of  complex  matters  as  if  they  were  quite 
simple,  and  where  a  hundred  factors  were  in- 
volved, to  treat  a  problem  as  if  it  involved  the 
consideration  of  only  two  or  three. 

Literature  tended  more  and  more  to  enun- 
ciate what  might  be  called  the  gospel  of  the 
half-truth. 

Jaunty  solutions  of  problems  invohdng  the 
whole  of  civilization  were  obtained  by  the  \exy 
simple  process  of  considering  only  one  or  two 
factors,  sometimes  only  one  or  two  indi\'iduals 
who,  more  often  than  not,  were  ob\'iously 
super-indi\iduals,  made  in  the  image  of  the 
author  himself. 

Paradox  began  to  lose  the  real  value  which 
it  once  had  as  an  occasional  weapon  in  the 
hands  of  truth,  for  it  became  the  rule  rather 
than  the  exception. 

The  fiery  rebellion  of  a  Shelley  against  those 
conventions,  those  rules  of  the  road  (which, 
accepted  more  practically  by  the  average  man, 
have  at  any  rate  saved  our  traffic  from  chaos 
hitherto),  that  occasionally  splendid  rebellion, 
having  been  observed  to  be  splendid  by  a  thou- 
sand critics,  became  a  kind  of  artistic  conven- 
tion for  use  on  all  occasions. 

We  were  confronted  by  the  strange  spec- 
tacle of  something  like  ten  thousand  lonely 
literary  rebels,  each  chained  to  his  most  com- 
fortable peak  and  all  chanting  in  perfect  union 


a  perennial  song  of  hate  against  all  institutions. 
The  strangest  part  of  the  spectacle  was  that 
the  world  was  practically  unanimous  in  ap- 
plauding them. 

Each  believed  that  he  was  entirely  original 
and  "thinking  for  himself,"  though  their  sub- 
Hme  defiance  of  what  they  called  the  early 
Victorian  period  had  long  been  the  estabHshed 
convention  of  every  popular  magazine  and 
every  girls'  school  in  the  country. 


If,  then,  the  name  of  rebel  was  to  be  given 
to  each  member  of  this  unanimous  multitude, 
it  was  quite  ob\ious  that  the  whole  ground 
had  shifted  and  that  the  name  no  longer  meant 
what  it  did  in  Shelley's  day.  Names  are  not 
exempt  from  that  change  which  has  been  de- 
scribed as  the  pulse  of  Hfe. 

The  real  rebel  of  to-day  in  the  Shelleyan 
sense  is  not  to  be  found  in  those  serried  ranks; 
he  is  to  be  found  standing  by  the  merely  un- 
popular truth,  which  of  course  is  no  longer 
called  'truth',  for  the  mere  name  has  become 
popular.  To-day  the  real  truth  is  called  'com- 
monplace' or  'platitude',  but  it  is  still  the  prop- 
erty of  a  very  small  minority. 

The  real  rebel,  the  follower  of  the  real  truth, 
will  be  found  obeying  or  tr}dng  to  obey  those 
laws  of  life,  thought,  art,  in  which  there  may 
be  no  more  originality  (in  the  fashionable 
sense)  than  in  the  laws  that  govern  the  courses 
of  the  sun.  Yet,  in  their  ser\'ice  still,  to-day 
as  yesterday  and  forever,  we  enter  into  our 
perfect  freedom. 


Intellectual  Bolshevism  a  Cause 
of  the  Great  War 

I  suppose  we  are  all  very  grateful,  if  we  ever 
have  time  to  think  about  it,  that  the  sun  shows 
little  tendency  to  originahty  or  eccentricity. 
It  would  be  more  than  a  little  disturbing,  if, 
instead  of  rising  at  its  appointed  time  to-mor- 
row, it  were  to  repudiate  its  "early  Victorian" 
methods  and  rise  at  noon  in  three  sections  of  a 
livid  green. 

Yet  that  is  what  has  been  happening  in  the 
world  of  literature  and  art,  and  it  may  be  said 
with  the  utmost  seriousness  that  the  intellec- 
tual Bolshevism  which  has  been  prevalent 
during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  has  been 
more  responsible  both  for  the  Great  War  and 
for  the  present  peril  of  civihzation  than  has 
yet  been  properly  reaKzed. 

You  cannot  treat  all  the  laws  that  keep  us 
from  chaos,  even  the  law  of  individual  honor, 
as  if  they  were  scraps  of  paper  to  be  altered 
at  the  caprice  of  the  individual,  without  a  ter- 
rible reckoning.  Yet  this  is  what  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  so-called  intellectuals  of  Europe 
have  been  doing  for  half  a  century  in  their 
novels,  and  plays,  and  poems. 

There  has  been  a  lowering  of  the  standards 
everywhere;  I  am  not  speaking  merely  of 
moral  standards,  for  I  do  not  profess  to  be  a 
moralist,  but  of  intellectual  and  aesthetic 
standards  also.  Their  downfall  has  led  us  to 
the  brink  of  greater  dangers  than  our  practical 
men  seemed  to  realize  vmtil  they  were  con- 
fronted by  this  incomprehensible  spectre  which 
they  call  Bolshevism. 

But  our  European  art  and  literature,  and 
latterly,  certain  sections  of  American  hterature, 
have  been  increasingly  Bolshevistic  during  the 
last  thirty  years. 

Whatever  may  be  the  subtle  reservations  in 
the  following  passage  from  one  of  the  most 
widely  read  rebels  of  the  present  day,  there  is 
no  question  whatever  that  nine-tenths  of  his 
readers  would  believe  it  to  mean  neither  more 
nor  less  than  what  Lenin  and  Trotsky  mean: 

"Self-worship  is  the  last  step  in  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  conception  of  duty.  .  .  .  The 
evangelist  of  this  last  step  must   therefore 


preach  the  repudiation  of  duty.  This,  to  the 
unprepared  of  his  generation,  is  indeed  the 
wanton  masterpiece  of  parado.x.  What! 
After  all  that  has  been  said  by  men  of  noble 
life  as  to  the  secret  of  all  right  conduct  being 
only  'Duty,  duty,  duty,'  is  he  to  be  told  now 
that  duty  is  the  primal  curse  from  which  we 
must  redeem  ourselves  before  we  can  advance 
another  step  along  the  road  which,  as  we 
imagine — having  forgotten  the  repudiations 
made  by  our  fathers — duty  and  duty  alone 
has  brought  us  thus  far?  But  why  not?  God 
was  once  the  most  sacred  of  our  conceptions; 
and  he  had  to  be  denied.  Then  Reason  be- 
came the  Infallible  Pope,  only  to  be  deposed 
in  turn.  Is  Duty  more  sacred  than  God  or 
Reason?" 

Spread  of  False  Literary  and 
Artistic  Standards 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  spirit  of 
this  evil,  which  in  the  political  world  has  been 
called  Bolshevism,  is  an  isolated  phenomenon. 
It  is  active  everywhere,  and  nowhere  more 
active  than  in  our  art  and  Hterature,  where  it 
has  gone  far  toward  viciously  perverting  the 
whole  reading  public. 

This  aspect  of  the  matter  has  not  been  re- 
garded seriously  enough  by  those  practical 
men  who  think  that  ideas  and  intellectual  con- 
ditions are  of  no  account.  Practical  men 
thought  the  same  of  the  destructive  ideas  that 
has  gone  were  born  before  the  Reign  of 
Terror  in  Russia. 

It  has  become  the  fashion  to  praise  these 
manifestations  of  the  merely  destructive 
spirit  in  the  literary  columns  of  the  news 
papers  whose  poUtical  editors  are  desper- 
ately striving  to  fight  it.  The  fashion  has 
established  absolutely  false  artistic  and  lit- 
erary standards  amongst  us,  and  it  has  become 
difficult  at  the  present  time  for  any  mere  man 
of  letters  to  maintain  the  true  standards. 

It  is  as  much  as  any  critic's  reputation  is 
worth,  for  instance,  to  assert  that  there  is  any 
merit  whatsoever  in  the  finest  artist  in  verse 
in  the  last  century.  You  know  who  he  is,  and 
I  know  who  he  is,  but  we  must  not  say  so, 
because  it  is  alleged  that  once  upon  a  time  he 
shook  hands  with  Her  late  Majesty  Queen 
Victoria. 


Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves  about  the  pres- 
ent position.  The  intellectual  world  of  to-day 
is  almost  completely  in  the  dark  with  regard 
to  fundamental  principles  of  any  kind. 

The  nations  that  won  the  war  were  saved 
from  the  intellectual  ruin  of  Germany  partly 
because  of  their  instinctive  cleaving  to  certain 
traditional  codes  of  honour,  but  in  the  almost 
complete  agnosticism  of  intellectual  Europe 
how  long  can  we  trust  to  customs  and  con- 
ventions, already  in  process  of  rapid  disin- 
tegration? 

How  long  can  we  hope  that  the  truth  shall 
be  maintained  by  those  who  have  retained  one 
sentence  and  one  alone  from  all  that  used  to 
echo  in  their  temples,  and  even  that  single 
sentence  only  an  echo  of  Pilate — what  is  truth? 

Losing  Our  Sense  of 
World  Unity 

The  reply  has  been  left  to  specialists,  who, 
as  Professor  Caird  said,  have  lost  their  sense 
of  totality,  the  sense  of  the  value  of  their  par- 
ticular studies  in  relation  to  the  whole. 

The  old  completeness  of  view,  the  old  sin- 
gle-hearted synthesis  which  saw  the  complex 
world  in  its  essential  unity,  saw  it  steadily 
and  saw  it  whole,  man  as  a  soul  and  body,  Hfe 
and  death  as  a  march  to  immortaUty,  all  that 
white  light  of  vision  has  been  broken  up  into 
a  thousand  prismatic  and  shifting  reflections. 
We  are  in  danger  of  losing  the  white  Hght,  not 
because  it  is  not  there,  but  because  the  age  has 
grown  so  vast  that  we  cannot  co-ordinate  its 
multi-colored  rays. 

Analysis  has  gone  so  far  that  we  are  in  dan- 
ger of  intellectual  disintegration.  It  is  time 
to  make  some  synthesis,  or  we  shall  find  our- 
selves wandering  through  a  world  without 
meaning.  We  are  already  in  such  a  position 
that  our  eagerness  to  accept  new  and  often 
doubtful  gains  makes  us  drop  our  old  cer- 
tainties out  of  both  hands.  Some  of  the  arts 
have  grown  so  wealthy  that  we  think  we  can 
afford  to  accept  the  latest  freak  of  fashion  and 
reject  the  old  immortals.  .  .  . 

In  every  age  there  has  always  been  a  ten- 


dency to  belittle  the  work  of  its  immediate 
forerunners. 

But  quite  apart  from  the  perhaps  natural 
desire  to  seize  the  torch  from  the  hands  of  our 
predecessors  and  to  belabour  them  about  the 
head  with  it,  there  is  a  tendency  to  throw  away 
the  torch  altogether,  into  a  hay-rick,  or  a  fine 
inflammable  old  library  for  preference,  and  to 
go  on  our  way  tossing  up  coloured  Chinese 
crackers;  to  throw  the  torch  of  Wordsworth 
into  the  gutter  and  proceed  with  a  meaningless 
splutter  of  epigrammatic  squibs  whose  charm 
is  in  the  unexpectedness  of  such  explosions  as 
even  their  holders  cannot  foretell  or  direct;  to 
throw  away  the  torch  of  Turner  and  dance 
down  to  posterity  in  a  blaze  of  post-impres- 
sionist Bengal  Ughts. 

Certainly,  we  want  our  new  little  discoveries; 
but  we  do  not  want  to  kick  away  the  ladder, 
nay,  kick  away  the  whole  world  from  under 
our  feet,  as  soon  as  our  fingers  have  touched 
the  new  toy.  There  are  certain  possessions 
of  ours,  certain  heirlooms  which  we  must  ac- 
cept from  the  past,  or  perish  through  a  uni- 
versal aphasia. 

Our  reactions  and  our  rushes  after  novelty 
(for  it  is  the  novelty-hunter  who  is  really  the 
reactionary)  did  not  matter  very  much  so  long 
as  we  accepted  that  essential  heritage.  There 
are  perhaps  not  very  many  truths,  but  there 
are  certainly  some  which  must  be  regarded  as 
axiomatic . 

So-called  Intellectuals  Rejecting 
Fundamentals  of  Civilization 

There  are  certain  postulates  of  our  civih- 
zations,  indeed,  of  our  very  existence,  the 
basic  elements  of  life,  thought,  art,  hterature, 
and  rehgion,  for  all  time. 

These  basic  elements,  these  postulates,  a 
large  section  of  our  recent  literature  has  been 
in  the  habit  of  accepting  tacitly  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  books  which  could  not  other- 
wise be  made  at  all,  and  at  the  same  time,  re- 
jecting them  and  forgetting  them  in  its  rush 
after  novelties,  which,  unless  they  could  be 
brought  into  harmony  with  those  broad  pri- 


mary  postulates,  it  was  the  business  of  lit- 
erature to  wave  aside  as  chimerical  and  false. 
By  this  simultaneous  acceptance  and  rejection, 
certain  modern  works  of  superficial  brilliancy 
are  turned  into  complex  examples  of  logical 
fallacy.* 

See  what  play  some  of  our  modern  pessi- 
mistic writers  have  made  with  the  pain  and 
suffering  of  the  world,  how  they  will  affirm 
at  one  moment,  especially  if  they  are  deaUng 
with  some  pet  poHtical  theory,  that  human  life 
has  some  divine  meaning  of  its  own;  and  how, 
in  the  very  next  chapter,  they  will  adduce 
some  disaster  on  this  planet  as  proof  that  the 
whole  world  is  a  meaningless  bubble,  and  the 
power  behind  it  is  an  eyeless,  blundering  ex- 
perimentalist ;  showing  us  again  and  again  that 

*  Even  in  their  technical  theories,  they  are  often  a  mass  of 
contradictions.  In  a  volume  on  "new"  tendencies  of  poetry, 
a  recent  author  praised  a  "new"  poet  for  his  complete  disregard 
of  what  were  quite  erroneously  supposed  to  be  the  traditional 
methods  of  scansion;  and,  on  a  subsequent  page,  mildly  criticized 
him  for  mispronouncing  a  certain  word.  The  proof  of  the 
mispronunciation  was  given  by  applying  the  very  methods 
(false  in  themselves)  which  the  "new"  poet  was  supposed  to 
have  overthrown. 


they  beHeve  the  whole  to  be  considerably  less 
than  that  very  small  part  of  the  Universe  which 
writes  pessimistic  novels. 

It  is  not  enough  that  in  the  next  chapter 
they  should  again  contradict  themselves,  and, 
at  the  sight  of  a  sunset,  or  some  triumphant 
human  accomplishment,  or  at  a  mere  phrase, 
like  the  progress  of  democracy  (progress  ad- 
mittedly only  until  the  death  of  the  sun)  break 
out  into  ecstasies  and  say  something  else. 

Our  so-called  intellectuals  have  not  the 
courage  to  accept  all  the  facts  simultaneously. 
They  have  lost  their  hold  on  any  central  and 
unifying  principle. 

In  the  most  literal  sense  they  have  become 
eccentrics,  for  again,  to  quote  Professor  Caird, 
"to  see  that  we  are  ruled  from  the  centre,  not 
from  the  circumference,"  to  find  and  maintain 
our  hold  on  some  central  principle  of  imity  is 
the  whole  salvation  of  man.  All  social  work, 
all  material  progress,  all  science,  all  art,  all 
literature  are  vain  unless  they  be  inspired  and 
directed  from  thence. 


II 

Faith   in    the    Order   and    Harmony   of  the  Universe  the 

Basis  of  All  Art 


In  all  great  literature,  in  all  great  poetry, 
in  all  great  art,  we  do  obtain  that  central 
position  and  that  white  light  of  vision  whereby 
we  may  see  this  vast  and  compHcated  modern 
universe  in  its  essential  vmity  and  harmony 
as  clearly  as  ever  Thomas  A,  Kempis  could  see 
all  things  in  one.  Are  we  to  abandon  that 
great  literary  heritage? 

Let  me  remind  you  of  those  remarkable 
words  of  Matthew  Arnold,  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  in  the  whole  history  of  criticism 
when  one  remembers  the  very  precise  and 
temperate  mind  of  their  author: 

"The  future  of  poetry,"  he  said,  "is  im- 
mense, because  in  poetry,  where  it  is  worthy 
of  its  high  destinies,  our  race  will  come  to  find 
a  surer  and  ever-surer  stay." 


The  reasons  he  gave  for  that  remarkable  ut- 
terance were  the  subject  of  great  controversy 
in  his  own  day,  but  at  the  present  time  they 
have  come  to  be  regarded  almost  as  platitudes, 
and  this  should  surely  give  an  additional  in- 
terest to  that  remarkable  piece  of  literary 
prophecy : 

"There  is  not  a  creed  which  is  not  shaken, 
nor  an  accredited  dogma  which  is  not  shown 
to  be  questionable,  not  a  received  tradition 
which  does  not  threaten  to  dissolve.  Our  re- 
ligion has  materialized  itself  in  the  fact,  and 
now  the  fact  is  failing  it.  But  for  poetry 
the  idea  is  everything,  poetry  attaches  its 
emotion  to  the  idea,  the  idea  is  the  fact.  The 
rest  is  a  world  of  illusion.  The  strongest  part 
of  our  religion  to-day  is  its  unconscious  poe- 
try." 


Kipling  and   Danvin   on  the 
Foundations  of  Poetry 

But  we  may  go  further  to-day  than  Matthew 
Arnold  could  foresee.  Materialistic  science 
itseK  has  been  confronted  with  its  own  old 
question,  what  is  truth?  To-day  there  is  not 
an  accredited  dogma  of  materiahsm  which  is 
not  showTi  to  be  questionable,  not  a  received 
tradition  of  the  kind  of  rationalism  that  we 
were  told  was  to  destroy  poetry,  that  does  not 
threaten  to  dissolve. 

Mr.  Rudyard  KipUng  has  summed  up  the 
whole  position  of  conventional  materialism 
and  conventional  religion  in  four  Unes: 

"We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  tree  to 
the  shape  of  a  surplice  peg, 
We  have  learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain 

in  the  yolk  of  an  addled  egg, 
We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,  for 

the  horse  is  drawn  by  the  cart, 
But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old: 
It's  clever,  but  is  it  Art?" 
*       *       * 

Materialism  of  all  kinds,  we  may  say,  has 
placed  its  faith  in  the  fact,  and  now  the  fact 
is  faihng  it.  Wherever  men  of  science  thought 
they  had  a  fundamental  fact,  a  material  basis 
for  their  systems  of  thought,  they  have  to-day 
on  every  side  an  immeasurable  and  incom- 
prehensible miracle. 

On  every  side,  more  silently  than  in  temples 
made  with  hands,  all  true  men  of  science  are 
bowing  the  head  before  that  grand  sequence 
of  events  which,  as  Darwin  himself  said,  defi- 
nitely and  emphatically,  our  minds  refuse  to 
accept  as  the  result  of  bhnd  chance. 

"The  understanding,"  he  wrote  in  the 
"Descent  of  Man,"  "revolts  from  such  a  con- 
clusion." 

The  understanding  revolts!  In  that  short, 
sharp  summarj'  of  the  attitude  of  Darwin 
toward  the  bUnd  chance  systems  of  the  modern 
scioUsts,  we  have  the  testimony  of  one  of  the 
greatest  men  of  science  to  the  reahty  of  what 
may  be  called  the  foundations  of  poetry. 

The  understanding  revolts  from  doubt  of 
what  must  be  the  basis  of  all  creative  art,  a 
condition  of  all  thought,  namely,  an  unhesi- 


tating assumption  of  the  ultimate  order  and 
harmony  of  the  universe,  a  faith  as  implicit 
as  our  much  less  logical  certainty  that  the  sun 
■nill  rise  to-morrow. 

All  Great  Poetry  Based  on 
Harmony  of  the  Universe 

That  basis  of  the  universe  in  an  ultimate 
harmony  is  the  first  postidate  of  all  thought, 
all  science,  all  art,  all  hterature.  Without  it 
there  is  nothing  left  to  us  that  has  the  sUghtest 
meaning.  And  indeed,  a  large  part  of  our 
recent  Hterature  does  seem  to  have  reached 
that  final  stage  of. negation.  It  has  reduced 
the  world  to  dust  and  ashes  and  left  it  there. 
It  has  turned  from  the  world  in  its  complete- 
ness, turned  from  the  world  that  contains  love 
and  faith,  and  insisted  on  pointing  us  to  the 
dust  and  ashes  in  which  it  says  these  things 
end. 

In  other  words,  it  has  turned  from  the  things 
which  we  do  know  about  the  greatness  of  hu- 
man hfe,  those  great  factors  which  can  only 
be  referred  to  something  greater  than  them- 
selves, some  divine  power  at  the  heart  of  the 
universe,  and  has  declared  that  all  these  things 
are  illusion;  while,  in  the  name  of  realism,  it 
has  occupied  itself  with  the  dust  of  which  we 
know  nothing,  except  that,  under  the  scrutiny 
of  science,  it  does  indeed  become  an  insub- 
stantial pageant. 

»      *      * 

So  in  the  name  of  reahty  many  of  our  writers 
have  been  indulging  in  a  most  shadowy  kind 
of  make-beheve,  and  have  dropped  the  sub- 
stance of  beauty  for  the  shadow  of  a  mud 
pie. 

Some  of  the  most  notable  figiu'es  in  contem- 
porary hterature  have  been  telling  us  the  world 
is  an  accident.  For  such  writers  as  these  the 
secret  of  great  poetrj',  the  poetry  in  which 
Matthew  Arnold  could  affirm  that  our  race 
would  come  to  find  a  siurer  and  surer  stay, 
would  seem  to  be  lost. 

And  what  is  that  secret?  It  is  simply  this — 
that  all  great  poetry,  all  great  art,  brings  us 
into  communion  with  that  ultimate  harmony 
of  the  Universe. 


Art's  Business  to  Relate  the 

Isolated  Incident  to  the  Whole 

The  business  of  art  is  to  take  the  isolated 
incident  and  relate  it  to  the  whole,  to  set  the 
temporal  fact  in  relation  to  the  eternal.  Poe- 
try is  the  strongest  part  of  oiu:  religion  to-day, 
because,  in  the  very  simplest  and  noblest  sense, 
poetry  is  rehgion. 

The  greatest  of  American  poets — Emerson — 

has  said: 

"It  is  a  secret  which  every  intellectual  man 
quickly  learns,  that,  beyond  the  energy  of  his 
possessed  and  conscious  intellect,  he  is  cap- 
able of  a  new  energy  (as  of  an  intellect  doubled 
on  itself),  by  abandonment  to  the  nature  of 
things;  that,  beside  his  privacy  of  power  on 
which  he  can  draw,  by  unlocking,  at  all  risks, 
his  human  doors,  and  suffering  the  ethereal 
tides  to  roll  and  circulate  through  him:  then 
he  is  caught  up  into  the  life  of  the  Universe, 
his  speech  is  thunder,  his  thought  is  law,  and 
his  words  are  universally  intelligible  as  the 
plants  and  animals. 

"The  poet  knows  that  he  speaks  adequately, 
then,  only  when  he  speaks  somewhat  wildly, 
or  'with  the  flower  of  the  mind,'  not  with  the 
intellect  used  as  an  organ  but  with  the  intel- 
lect released  from  all  service,  and  suffered 
to  take  its  direction  from  its  celestial  life; 
or,  as  the  ancients  were  wont  to  express  them- 
selves, not  with  the  intellect  alone,  but  with 
the  intellect  inebriated  by  nectar. 

"As  the  traveler  who  has  lost  his  way 
throws  his  reins  on  his  horse's  neck  and  trusts 
to  the  instinct  of  the  animal  to  find  his  road, 
so  must  we  do  with  the  divine  animal  who 
carries  us  through  this  world.  For  if  in  any 
manner  we  can  stimulate  this  instinct,  new 
passages  are  opened  for  us  into  nature,  the 
mind  flows  into  and  through  things  hardest 
and  highest,  and  the  metamorphosis  is  pos- 
sible." 

This  way  of  stating  it,  of  course,  will  not 
please  many  modem  critics,  for  at  first  sight 
it  may  seem  to  narrow  the  field  of  poetry  and 
prevent  some  of  our  modems,  for  instance, 
from  deaUng  with  their  favorite  unpleasant 
subjects.  But  a  little  reflection  will  show  that 
this  theory  of  poetry  affords  the  only  possible 
justification  for  their  claim  that  all  subjects 
may  be  treated  by  the  artist. 

They  may.     A  broken  boot  or  an  old  tree 


stump  is  subject  enough,  but  only  on  the  con- 
dition that  the  artist  can  relate  it  to  the  eternal 
harmonies. 

Most  of  the  very  greatest  poems,  of  course, 
are  tragic  in  substance;  but  what  is  tragedy? 
It  is  not  a  declaration  of  imiversal  futility. 
It  is  the  casting  off  of  the  temporal  for  the 
eternal.  All  great  tragedy  surveys  the  world 
under  the  "eternal  aspect."  Or,  take  one  of 
the  very  slightest  snatches  of  song  in  a  certain 
Ehzabethan  comedy.  You  remember  the 
scene  where  Toby  Belch  and  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek  call  on  the  Fool  to  give  them  a  song, 
and  the  Fool  suddenly  lifts  above  their  half- 
witted and  half-drunken  mirth  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  of  all  the  brief  songs  of  youth  and 
love  in  the  whole  range  of  literature, 

"O  Mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming, 
O  stay  and  hear.     Your  true  love's  coming. 
That  can  sing  both  high  and  low, 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting. 
Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting, 
Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know." 

Poetry's  Undertone 
of  Music 

"Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting."  The 
poet  is  not  speaking  here  of  the  kind  of  jour- 
ney to  which  some  of  our  reahstic  novehsts 
would  devote  their  art. 

There  is  a  deep  undertone  of  music  which 
conveys  more  than  the  superficial  meaning. 
It  is  an  instance  of  how  the  poet  can  take  three 
sounds  and  make  of  them,  not  a  fourth  sotmd, 
but  a  star.  He  is  deahng  with  that  land  be- 
yond our  world,  the  land  where  all  roads  meet. 
It  has  a  profound  metaphysical  meaning, 
though  it  is  touched  in  as  lightly  by  the  hand 
of  the  master  as  a  butterfly  settles  on  a  flower. 

It  is  this  undertone  of  music  that  differ- 
entiates this  poem  from  the  mere  drawing- 
room  ballad,  and  exalts  it  to  the  realms  of 
great  art,  and  it  is  this  undertone  of  music 
that  the  destructive  influences  in  modern  lit- 
eratiu-e  have  never  been  able  to  create,  to  im- 
derstand,  or  even  to  hear. 

This  music  almost  vanished  from  our  lit- 
erature during  that  other  age  of  scepticism, 


the  eighteenth  century,  when  poets  Hke  Fal- 
coner implored  the  help  of  the  Muses  so  that 
in  a  world  of  teacups  and  clouded  canes  they 

might 

"In  unrivaled  strains  deplore 
The  impervious  horrors  of  a  leeward  shore." 

But  it  has  been  well  said  that  one  of  the  most 
dramatic  moments  of  our  literature  is  marked 
by  the  sudden  transition  from  the  last  of  the 
poems  that  were  written  before  the  French 
Revolution  to  the  first  of  those  that  were 
written  after  it. 

"Ye  banks  and  braes  of  bonny  Doon, 
How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fair?" 

ReUgion  and  poetry  during  the  eighteenth 
century  had  been  buried  in  narrow  forms  and 
conventions,  and  the  great  awakening  that 
followed  the  thunder-peal  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, the  Renascence  of  Wonder,  as  it  has 
been  called,  was  nothing  less  than  the  resur- 
rection of  poetry  and  religion  in  one,  a  move- 
ment as  wide  and  unfettered  as  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  spring. 

It  was  the  rediscovery  of  the  real  world 
(which  has  never  been  the  world  of  the  scep- 
tics and  the  superficial  realists),  and  it  was 
the  rediscovery  of  the  living  God. 

The  Faith  of  Shelley,  Wordsworth 
and  Browning 

Shelley  was  expelled  from  Oxford  for  atheism 
by  the  orthodoxy  of  the  age  of  scepticism.  He 
was  expelled  from  a  community  in  which  faith 
was  dead,  only  to  make  one  of  the  most  trium- 
phant declarations  of  faith  that  ever  rang  from 
the  lips  of  man;  faith,  not  in  any  narrow, 
pietistic  system,  but  in 

"That  Light  whose  smile  kindles  the  imiverse, 
That  beauty  in  which  all  things  live  and  move." 

It  was  the  same  faith  that  was  enunciated 
by  Wordsworth  in  poem  after  poem,  equally 
free  from  the  shackles  of  mere  pietism,  indeed, 
it  was  Wordsworth  that  first  struck  the  note 
of  that  neo-paganism  which  developed  later 
into  the  religion  of  beauty  of  Swinburne  and 
his  fellow  pre-Raphaelites. 


He  summed  it  all  up  in  one  of  those  great 
httle  masterpieces  in  sonnet  form: 

"The  world  is  too  much  with  us,  late  and  soon 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers. 
Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours, 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon. 
The  sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  Moon, 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours 
And  are  upgathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers. 
For  this,  for  everything,  we  are  out  of  tune. 
It  moves  us  not.    Great  God,  I'd  rather  be 
A  pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn. 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea. 
Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn, 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea, 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn." 

The  torch  was  caught  from  the  hands  of 
Wordsworth  by  that  greatest  artist  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  (whose  name  we  must  not  men- 
tion) and  in  In  Memoriatn  he  gave  us  the  great- 
est elegy,  not  only  in  the  English  language 
but  in  any  language. 

It  is  the  greatest  because  there  is  no  other 
to  compare  with  it  in  range  of  thought,  in  the 
exquisite  dehcacy  of  its  craftsmanship,  and  the 
unfailing  pulse  of  that  profoimd  music  which 
flows  from  the  source  of  all  great  poetry: 

"O  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sinj  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroy'd. 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void. 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivell'd  in  a  fruitless  fire. 
Or  but  subserves  another's  gain." 

The  same  spirit  manifested  itself  in 
Browning.  He  dealt  with  the  theory  of  his 
art  in  poem  after  poem,  affirming  that  "the 
rest  may  reason  and  welcome,  'Tis  we  musicians 
know";  and  illustrating  it  most  significantly 
perhaps  in  his  most  famous  lyric,  where  the 
little  Italian  silk-weaver,  passing  a  house 
that  has  been  the  scene  of  a  foul  crime,  is 
made  to  sing: 


"The  year's  at  the  spring, 
The  day's  at  the  morn, 
Morning's  at  seven, 
The  hillside's  dew  pearled; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing. 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn, 
God's  in  His  Heaven, 
All's  right  with  the  world." 

A  good  deal  of  scorn  has  been  poured  on 
the  last  two  lines  of  this  poem  by  those  who 
have  forgotten  or  never  known  that  it  had  any 
context. 


And  this  spirit  continued  to  manifest  itself 
in  English  poetry  in  ever  new  ways  right  down 
to  the  present  moment.  One  of  the  most 
remarkable  aspects  of  this  manifestation  is  the 
fact  that  the  same  writer  will  often  in  his 
poetical  works  express  this  spirit  while  in  his 
prose  he  will  sometimes  apparently  deny  it 
completely. 

An  example  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  case 
of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  that  most  typical 
of  modern  artists,  who  in  his  Pulvis  et  Umbra, 
enunciates  (very  nobly,  of  course),  what  might 
be  called  a  philosophy  of  despair,  while  in  a 
wonderful  Uttle  prose-poem  to  be  found  in  a 
letter  to  W.  E.  Henley,  he  sums  up  the  whole 
philosophy  of  art  and  reaches  the  same  con- 
clusion as  Browning  and  Tennyson, 

"Sursum  cordal 
Heave  ahead; 
Here's  luck! 
Art,  and  blue  Heaven, 
April  and  God's  larks. 
Green  reeds  and  the  sky-scattering  river, 
A  stately  music 
Enter  God." 

"Ah,  but  you  know,"  he  continued,  "imtil 
a  man  can  write  that  'Enter  God'  he  has 
made  no  art,  none !  Come,  let  us  take  counsel 
together  and  make  some." 


There  have  been  moments,  even  in  EngUsh 
poetry,  of  decadence,  moments  when  it  has 
seemed  to  be  the  poet's  chief  aim  to  display 


the  mud  upon  his  garments  as  evidence  that 
he  has  fallen  from  Heaven.  But  even  there 
the  important  thing  has  been  the  fall  which  the 
poet  desired  to  prove. 

There  have  always  been  great  voices  to 
sound  the  rallying  cry  of  major  poetry  and  to 
carry  on  the  torch.  Swinburne,  using  the  sea 
as  an  image  of  the  eternal;  Francis  Thompson, 
inspired  by  the  great  ritual  of  a  historic 
reUgion,  and  crying, 

"Not  where  the  wheeling  systems  darken, 

And  our  benumbed  conceiving  soars. 
The  drift  of  pinions  would  ye  harken 
Beats  at  our  own  clay-shuttered  doors. 

The  angels  keep  their  ancient  places. 

Stir  but  a  stone,  and  start  a  wing 
'Tis  ye,  'tis  your  estranged  faces 

That  hide  the  many-splendored  thing." 


A  still  more  recent  poet  has  shown  us  how 
even  our  modern  machinery  lends  itself  to  the 
uses  of  poetry,  how  indeed  it  may  be  treated 
as  a  kind  of  micro-cosmic  symbol  of  the  uni- 
versal processes. 

As  in  McAndrew's  hymn: 

"They're  all  awa',  full  power,  true  beat,  the 

clangin'  chorus  goes 
Clear  to  the  tunnel  where  they  sit,  my  purrin' 

dynamos, 
Interdependence  absolute,  foreseen,  ordained, 

decreed, 
To  work,  ye'll  note,  at  any  tilt'  an'  every  rate 

of  speed. 
Fra    sky-light-lift    to    furnace-bars,    backed, 

bolted,  braced  and  stayed. 
And  singing  like  the  Mornin'  Stars  for  joy  that 

they  are  made. 
While,  out  o'  touch  o'  vanity,  the  sweatin' 

thrust-block  says, 
'Not  unto  us  the  praise,  or  man — not  unto  us 

the  praise'. 
Now  a'  together,  hear  them  lift  their  lesson — 

theirs  and  mine — 
Law,  order,  duty  and   restraint,  obedience,  dis- 
cipline." 

Even  more  to  the  point  is  that  most  beautiful 
of  all  his  lyrics.  To  the  True  Romance,  where  he 


describes  various  funcrions  of  poetry  and 
romance  in  life,  and  comes  to  precisely  the 
same  conclusion, 

"O,  charity,  all  patiently 

Abiding  wrack  and  scaith; 
O,  faith  that  meets  ten 'thousand  cheats. 

Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith. 
Devil  and  brute  thou  dost  transmute. 


To  higher,  lordlier  show; 
VVTio  art,  in  sooth,  that  lovely  truth 
The  careless  angels  know." 

Again  and  again,  during  the  course  of  the 
war,  a  still  later  generation  of  poets  has  proved 
the  truth  of  Matthew  Arnold's  assertion  that 
the  strongest  part  of  our  religion  to-day  is  its 
unconscious  poetry. 


Ill 

Valuable  Heritage  of  the   Past  vs.  a  Mess  of  Bolshevistic 

Pottage 


We  have  come  now  to  the  parting  of  the 
ways.  At  this  moment  the  world  is  beginning 
to  discover  (even  some  of  the  realistic  novelists 
have  begun  to  discover),  that  unless  it  can  regain 
that  white  light  of  vision  which  hitherto  our 
poetry  has  never  lost,  our  civilization  itself  is 
in  deadly  peril. 

Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  those  who  are 
concerned  to  guard  the  true  fire  of  literature 
will  be  very  careful  in  the  days  before  us,  not 
only  to  welcome  every  true  attempt  to  give  us 
new  manifestations  of  the  spirit  of  poetry,  but 
also  to  set  their  faces  absolutely  against  every 
attempt  to  destroy  what  is  good  in  the  heritage 
of  the  past? 

Those  who,  even  in  poetry,  are  attempting 
to  destroy  this  are  attempting  the  wildest  of 
all  paradoxes;  for  the  literal  meaning  of 
poetry  is  "creation";  and  we  shall  not  build 
our  new  towers  more  efficiently  if  we  waste 
energy  in  attempting  to  destroy  what  was 
really  valuable  in  our  heritage  from  the  past. 

Even  in  poetry,  here  and  there,  we  see  the 
signs  of  an  ignorant  Bolshevism,  often— as  one] 
of  its  exponents  has  confessed — crudely  un- 
grammatical,  taking  upon  itself  to  dismiss  not 
only  all  former  English  metrical  poetry,  but 
the  metrical  poetry  of  all  the  ages  from  Homer 
and  Sophocles  down  to  the  present  day,  on 
the  ground  that  those  who  cannot  spell  or 
master  the  elementary  technique  of  their  aVt 


have  nevertheless  attained  to  a  subtler  truth  of 
expression. 

Again  and  again  it  is  affirmed  by  superficial 
critics  that  the  crude  language  of  a  drunkard 
in  a  pot-house  is  a  more  vital  and  subtle  means 
of  expression  than  the  English  language  as 
used  by  masters  like  Tennyson,  with  their 
exquisitely  delicate  shades  of  meaning. 

Nobody  wants  mere  repetition  of  the  old; 
but  the  true  advance  is  along  the  lines  of 
development,  not  along  those  of  destruction, 
and  the  foolish  attempt  to  begin  again  from 
the  beginning. 

It  is  only  one  more  symptom  of  the  Bolshevis- 
tic conceit,  a  conceit  so  overwhelming  as  to 
amount  to  insanity,  that  has  been  displayed  in 
aU  the  arts  during  the  last  few  years;  but  the 
crudest  amateurs  have  been  encouraged  to 
believe  their  five-finger  exercises  better  than 
the  symphonies  of  the  masters. 


College  Men   Must   Meet  New 
Literary   Barbarism 

And  unless  democracy  is  to  fulfil  the  worst 
prophecy  of  the  pessimists  and  submerge  all 
the  finer  shades  of  thought,  all  the  subtler 
tones  of  beauty,  in  the  general  flood  of  half- 
educated  mediocrity,  tyrannously  ruled  by 
little  Soviets  of  the  various  Bolshe\istic  and 
pseudo-literary  coteries,  it  behoves    all    our 


college  men  to  meet  this  new  threat  of  bar- 
barism, and  to  carry  on  the  torch  of  the  true 
traditions  of  hterature  and  art. 

It  behoves  the  editors  of  the  journals  that 
deal  with  books  to  do  their  utmost  to  counter- 
act the  tendency  of  the  publishers  to  swamp 
good  literature  in  the  rubbish  that  they  delight 
to  boom;  those  novelties  for  novelty's  sake 
that  are  issued  to  catch  the  more  gullible 
members  of  women's  clubs;  novelties  that  are 
advertised  in  terms  that  would  make  Tennyson 
turn  "in  his  marble  slumbers"  and  would  be 
exaggerated  if  they  were  applied  to  Dante  or 
Shakespeare. 

If  this  threat  to  good  literature  is  not  met, 


we  shall  soon  be  in  the  thick  of  a  chaos  where 
any  "bluff"  will  succeed.  I  have  read  very 
carefully  some  of  the  manifestoes  of  "new 
schools"  that  succeeded  temporarily,  but 
already  are  beginning  to  be  found  out  by  their 
\dctims;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  the  theorists  do  not  even 
understand  their  own  theories,  and  have  only 
the  most  elementary  acquaintance  with  the 
art  which  they  profess. 

Is  the  America  of  Emerson,  her  subtlest  poet, 
going  to  surrender  her  glorious  birthright  for  a 
mess  of  Bolshevistic  literary  pottage? 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  colleges,  at  least, 
will  answer  "NO!" 


Number  Five 


Die  13  1921 


Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


June  12,  1920 


NOTE 
This  is  the  fifth  lecture  of  the  series  by  members  of  the 
Princeton  faculty  distributed  to  the  University  Alumni. 


THE  LECTURER 

PROFESSOR  FRANK  FROST  ABBOTT  was 
called  to  Princeton  as  Kennedy  Professor  of  Latin  in 
1908,  being  at  the  time  Professor  in  the  University  of 
Chicago.  He  was  graduated  from  Yale  in  1882  with 
distinguished  honors,  and  after  pursuing  graduate 
studies  there  waS  appointed  Tutor  in  Latin  in  1884. 

In  1891,  when  President  W.  R.  Harper,  until  then  a 
Professor  at  Yale,  was  organizing  the  new  University 
of  Chicago,  the  first  scholar  whom  he  summoned  to  his 
faculty  was  Professor  Abbott. 

During  his  connection  of  seventeen  years  with  the 
University  of  Chicago,  Professor  Abbott  npt  only  re- 
vealed unusual  gifts  as  an  administrative  officer,  but 
also  won  a  commanding  place  among  scholars.  His 
interests  led  him  to  devote  especial  attention  to  Roman 
History  and  PoUtical  Institutions — a  field  which  he 
has  emphasized  since  his  connection  with  Princeton. 
It  is  safe  to  say  that  he  has  sent  out  more  Doctors  of 
Philosophy  in  Roman  History  than  any  other  Ameri- 
can scholar;  and  his  pupils  fill  a  very  large  number  of 
the  most  important  chairs  in  the  country. 

He  has  been  a  very  prolific  writer.  All  scholars  know 
his  History  of  Rome,  his  History  and  Description  of 
Roman  Political  Institutions,  and  his  Handbook  for  the 
Study  of  Roman  History;  and  his  literary  essays,  which 
have  appeared  in  the  magazines,  have  brought  the  re- 
sults of  his  studies  on  Roman  society  and  politics  to  a 
wide  circle  of  general  readers. 

Special  mention  should  be  made  of  the  two  volumes, 
published  by  Scribner's,  which  appeared  soon  after 
he  came  to  Princeton — Society  and  Politics  in  Ancient 
Rome  (1909)  and  The  Common  People  of  Ancient  Rome 
(1911). 

Professor  Abbott  has  been  the  recipient  of  many 
honors,  among  which  may  be  mentioned  the  Presidency 
of  the  American  Philological  Association  in  1918.  He 
is  also  a  Trustee  of  the  American  Academy  in  Rome. 


Local  Government  vs. 
Paternalism 

Municipal  Government  and  Finance  in 
THE  Roman  Empire 


A  LECTURE 

By  Frank  Frost  Abbott 

Professor  of  Latin  Language  and  Literature 

in  Princeton  University 

The  history  of  the  cities  under  the  Roman 
Empire  furnishes  us  perhaps  with  the  longest 
experiment  in  municipal  government  under 
one  sovereign  power  which  the  world  has  ever 
known.  It  should  have  an  intrinsic  historic 
interest  therefore.  It  is  essentially  a  struggle 
between  local  self-government  and  a  central 
authority. 

During  these  years  of  stress  through  which 
we  have  lately  gone,  when,  under  the  exigen- 
cies of  war  we  have  willingly  allowed  the  cen- 
tral government  to  reach  down  into  our  every- 
day life  in  Princeton  and  Trenton  and  tell  us 
what  we  may  eat  and  drink  and  wear,  what 
we  may  make  or  build,  the  experience  of  an- 
other people  imder  similar  conditions  may  be 
suggestive  and  even  helpful,  unless  the  pessi- 
mistic remark  which  some  one  has  lately  made 
be  true,  "that  the  only  thing  which  we  learn 
from  history  is  that  no  one  learns  anything 
from  liistory."  Let  us  hope  that  even  the 
Modern  School  will  not  make  that  statement 
a  reality  for  many  of  us. 


Entered  as  second  class  matter  at  the  post  ojjice,  Princeton,  N.  J. 


I 

Development  and  Characteristics  of  Roman  City  Governments 


In  thinking  over  the  history  of  ancient 
times,  I  have  sometimes  felt  that  our  concep- 
tion of  the  Roman  world  as  a  vast  empire  ex- 
tending from  the  Sahara  to  the  Rhine,  from 
the  Euphrates  to  the  Atlantic,  has  prevented 
us  from  appreciating  fully  some  of  the  most 
characteristic  features  of  life  in  the  ancient 
world.  It  is  true  that  Roman  arms  and  Roman 
governors  maintained  order,  and  Roman  law 
was  observed,  and  the  Latin  language  was 
spoken  throughout  this  great  stretch  of  terri- 
tory. 

But  the  average  Roman  subject,  the  Sicilian 
or  the  African,  for  instance,  was  little  concerned 
with  Rome  or  the  Empire.  Even  the  province 
of  Sicily  or  Africa  meant  little  to  him.  He  en- 
joyed his  rights  and  privileges,  not  because  he 
was  a  Sicilian  or  an  African,  but  because  he 
was  a  citizen  of  Syracuse  or  Carthage,  and  the 
taxes  assessed  upon  him  he  paid  as  a  resident 
of  Syracuse  or  Carthage. 

Independence  of 
City-states 

His  native  city  had  been  in  existence  long 
before  the  Romans  had  arrived,  and  the  com- 
ing of  the  Romans  had  made  little  change  in 
the  course  of  his  daily  Hfe,  except  in  the  way 
of  ensuring  him  better  protection  for  his  life 
and  property.  His  religion,  his  business,  his 
everyday  hfe,  his  amusements,  were  un- 
touched, and  even  the  city  government  under 
which  he  lived  and  the  old  practices  which 
had  come  down  from  time  immemorial  were 
left  intact.  The  city  had  led  a  life  of  its  own 
— it  had  been  self-sufficient — for  generations. 

It  continued  to  be  so.  His  sentiment  of 
patriotism  went  out,  not  to  Rome  or  the  Em- 
pire, but  to  this  city.  We  need  to  think 
only  of  the  devotion  of  the  Florentine  or  the 
Venetian  to  his  native  city  in  the  period  of  the 
Renaissance  to  understand  his  feelings.    It  is 


not  hard  to  explain  this  sentiment.    The  city- 
state  stands  against  the  world. 

It  must  fight  for  its  privileges,  its  liberty, 
and  its  life.  All  of  its  citizens  are  known  to  one 
another,  and  all  that  they  have  and  are  is 
present  before  their  eyes  in  their  temples  or 
churches,  in  their  fora  or  marketplaces,  and  the 
sense  of  imity,  the  feeHng  that  they  stand  or 
fall  by  themselves  is  brought  home  to  them 
by  the  presence  of  other  city-states  ten  or 
twenty  miles  away,  their  natural  rivals,  and 
possibly  their  enemies.  These  are  some  of  the 
reasons  that  account  for  the  intensity  of  the 
feeling  which  the  people  of  Rome  and  other 
communities  felt  for  their  native  cities. 

Rome  Followed  "Divide  and 
Rule"  Policy 

It  was  to  the  advantage  of  the  Romans  dur- 
ing the  early  stages  of  their  occupation  of  a  new 
territory  to  foster  this  feeHng,  to  keep  the 
cities  of  the  Empire  from  coming  into  closer 
relations  with  one  another,  and  not  to  oblit- 
erate their  characteristic  features.  This  same 
poHcy  of  "divide  and  rule"  Rome  had  carried 
out  consistently  and  with  great  success  in  her 
early  history,  in  dealing  with  the  cities  of 
Italy.     She  now  carried  it  into  the  provinces. 

The  truth  is  also  that  the  Roman  shrank 
from  the  intellectual  labor  of  thinking  out  a 
new  system  in  its  entirety  at  home  or  abroad. 
He  found  it  easier  to  keep  up  the  old  institu- 
tions, modifying  them  only  when  a  change  in 
the  situation  forced  him  to  do  so.  In  this  way 
the  cities  in  the  conquered  civilized  regions 
kept  their  individuahty,  and  the  old  Ufe  went 
on  in  them  without  serious  change. 

I  wish  to  say  a  few  words  here  about  some 
of  the  characteristic  features  of  that  life. 
The  feeling  of  independence  and  self-sufficiency 
which  we  have  found  in  these  cities,  is  brought 
out  in  no  more  convincing  way  than  in  the 


bitter  rivalries  and  hostility  which  we  see 
springing  up  between  them,  and  no  small  part 
of  the  duty  of  a  Roman  governor  lay  in  com- 
posing these  differences.  It  is  the  same  sit- 
uation which  we  find  in  the  ItaUan  cities  in 
the  Renaissance. 

Both  inscriptions  and  ancient  literature 
have  preserved  to  us  the  stories  of  these  quar- 
rels and  of  their  settlement  by  Roman  Com- 
missioners. 

These  incidents  point  to  the  strong  feeling 
of  individuaHty  which  the  cities  had  and  to 
the  civic  pride  of  their  citizens. 

A  greater  degree  of  uniformity,  however, 
prevailed  in  the  government  of  the  cities  than 
we  should  expect.  Most  of  them  had  execu- 
tive officers  and  a  senate,  or  common  council, 
as  we  should  call  it.  Our  fullest  information 
about  their  municipal  system  has  come  to  us 
in  recent  years,  through  the  three  municipal 
charters  discovered  on  bronze  tablets  in  Spain. 

The  two  most  famous  of  these  tables  were 
found  not  in  situ,  nor  buried  by  the  earth 
which  had  settled  upon  them  in  the  course  of 
the  centuries,  but  carefully  deposited  in  the 
ground,  encased  in  tiles  for  protection,  and  I 
like  to  think  of  the  burgesses  of  Salpensa  and 
Malaca  as  hiding  their  charters  from  some 
autocratic  Roman  governor,  just  as  my  an- 
cestors in  Connecticut  are  said  to  have  hid 
their  charter  in  the  old  oak  near  Hartford, 
to  protect  it  from  the  intolerant  Governor 
Andrus. 

Comparison  of 

Political  Customs 

From  these  charters  it  is  clear  that  most 
cities  in  the  West  had  a  board  of  two  or  four 
magistrates,  so  that  the  Roman  system  was 
somewhat  like  our  lately  developed  commission 
method  of  city  government.  The  magis- 
trates were  chosen  by  popular  ballot,  as  long  as 
the  popular  assembly  existed,  and  must  be 
free-born  citizens  of  at  least  twenty-five  years 
of  age.  No  pohtical  conventions  were  called 
for  the  purpose  of  nominating  them,  but  can- 
didates  presented   their   own   names   to   the 


voters,  just  as  candidates  for  the  House  of 
Commons  do. 

We  get  a  clear  idea  of  Roman  electioneering 
methods  from  certain  extant  corrupt-prac- 
tices acts,  from  the  pamphlet  "On  Running 
for  the  Consulship,"  which  Quintus  Cicero 
addressed  to  his  brother,  Marcus,  and  from 
the  pohtical  posters  at  Pompeii.  The  absence 
of  compact  party  organizations  in  the  Roman 
political  system  deprived  candidates  of  the 
organized  support  which  aspirants  for  office 
enjoy  to-day.  For  the  same  reason  pohtical 
platforms  were  unknown. 

Many  of  our  present  day  methods  of  secur- 
ing votes  were,  however,  in  vogue.  In  Rome 
itself  the  candidates  and  their  supporters  made 
pohtical  speeches,  and  posters  were  freely 
used.  The  most  effective  support,  however, 
in  Rome,  at  least  was  to  be  had  from  the  per- 
manently organized  political  clubs,  of  which 
we  hear  a  great  deal  in  Quintus'  pamphlet. 

These  clubs  were  brought  to  a  high  state  of 
efficiency,  as  you  will  remember,  by  Cicero's 
pohtical  enemy,  Clodius,  and  by  Cicero's 
friend,  Milo.  They  served  practically  as 
guards  of  honor  and  as  bands  to  protect 
friendly  political  meetings,  and  to  break  up 
the  meetings  held  in  the  interest  of  the  oppo- 
sition candidate.  Of  course  in  the  smaller 
cities  pohtics  had  not  developed  to  as  high  a 
point  of  perfection  as  they  had  in  Rome  or 
Alexandria. 

The  most  noteworthy  difference  between  the 
ancient  and  modern  pohtical  poster  is  the 
absence  on  the  Roman  placard  of  any  refer- 
ence to  pohtical  issues.  No  candidate  prom- 
ises cleaner  streets,  better  pohce  protection, 
more  elaborate  games  in  the  circus,  and  none 
of  them  agrees  "to  turn  the  rascals  out." 
Even  experience  in  the  management  of  pubhc 
affairs  is  not  mentioned.  An  upright  hfe  and 
honesty  in  business  are  the  only  quahfications 
spoken  of.  One  man,  we  are  told  in  a  poster, 
furnishes  his  customers  with  good  bread. 


Municipal  Officers  Paid  for  Election 
in  Public  Benefactions 

Instead  of  receiving  a  salary  municipal  offi- 
cials were  actually  out  of  pocket  for  the  privi- 
lege of  holding  office.  One  of  the  municipal 
charters  of  which  we  were  speaking  a  moment 
ago  reads: 

"All  duoviri  shall  .  .  .  celebrate  a  gladia- 
torial show  or  dramatic  spectacles  to  Jupiter, 
Juno,  and  Minerva,  and  to  the  gods  and  god- 
desses, or  such  part  of  the  said  shows  as  shall 
be  possible,  during  four  days,  for  the  greater 
part  of  each  day,  and  on  the  said  spectacles 
and  the  said  shows  each  of  the  same  persons 
shall  expend  of  his  own  money  not  less  than 
2,000  sesterces."! 

The  law  fixed  the  minimum  amount  which 
the  newly  elected  magistrate  was  called  on  to 
spend,  but  memorial  tablets  in  towns  all  over 
the  Empire  show  us  that  sums  far  in  excess  of 
2,000  sesterces  were  spent  by  grateful  officials 
on  their  supporters  at  the  polls.  On  the  epi- 
taph of  a  chief  magistrate  of  Pompeii  we  read : 
"He  gave  10,000  sesterces  to  public  causes 
in  return  for  the  duumvirate,"^  and  of  a  mag- 
istrate in  the  village  of  Turris  Libisonis  in 
Sardinia  we  hear  that 

"Besides  the  promised  sum  of  35,000  sesterces, 
or  $1,400,  which  he  contributed  to  the  city  in 
cash  in  return  for  the  quinquennial  office  con- 
ferred upon  him,  he  constructed  a  reservoir 
and  brought  in  the  water  at  his  own  expense."^ 

I  have  mentioned  these  post-election  con- 
tributions, not  simply  for  the  purpose  of  not- 
ing a  chfference  between  our  poHtical  practices 
and  those  of  the  Romans,  but  because  this 
custom  helps  us  to  understand  what  would 
otherwise  be  a  puzzhng  characteristic  of  the 
ancient  city.  It  is  clear  that  a  very  large 
number  of  the  public  structures  in  these  cities 
were  not  put  up  at  pubHc  expense,  but  they 
were  built  from  the  gifts  made  by  generations 
of  newly  elected  magistrates  and  of  ambi- 
tious or  patriotic  private  citizens. 

The  form  which  the  munificence  of  the  don- 
ors in  these  cases  often  took  is  surj)rising.    We 


1  C  /.  L.  II,  5439. 

2  C.  /.  L.  X.  1074, 

3  C.  /.  L.  X.  7954. 


can  understand  the  satisfaction  which  a  public 
spirited  citizen  of  Princeton  might  take  in 
erecting  a  foimtain  on  Nassau  street  with  a 
suitable  inscription  on  it  to  the  giver,  but  it 
strains  the  imagination  to  think  of  him  as 
giving  a  large  sum  to  pave  Mercer  street  or 
lay  a  water  main  on  Bayard  lane,  but  gifts 
for  such  purposes  as  these  were  not  at  all  un- 
common in  the  cities  of  the  Empire. 

But  the  pleasure-loving  citizen  of  the  an- 
cient world  could  not  content  himself  wth 
such  matter-of-fact  gifts,  and  the  successful 
candidate  understood  his  fellow-townsmen. 
He  had  to  remember  their  love  of  amusement 
and  of  the  good  things  of  this  world.  This 
weakness  a  citizen  of  Sinuessa  had  in  mind 
when  he  left  this  record: 

"Lucius  Papius  Pollio,  the  mayor,  to  his 
father,  Lucius  Papius.    Cakes  and  mead  to  all 
citizens  of  Sinuessa  and  Caedici;   gladiatorial 
games  and  a  diimer  for  the  people  of  Sinuessa 
and  the  Papians;    a  monument  at  a  cost  of 
12,000  sesterces."! 
The  distinction  of  being  a  magistrate  was 
so  much  coveted  that  a  citizen  was  rarely 
lucky  enough  to  hold  it  more  than  once.  When 
he  did,  he  had  to  open  his  purse  very  wide. 
This  good  fortune  came  to  a  certain  Aulus 
Clodius  Flaccus  in  Pompeii.    What  he  did  to 
show  his  appreciation  of  the  honors  heaped 
upon  him  is  recorded  in  an  inscription  found 
in  that  city.^ 

All  these  benefactions  contributed  to  the 
comfort  and  pleasure  of  the  citizens,  and  re- 
lieved them  from  the  payment  of  taxes,  but 
the  practice  of  making  such  gifts  brought  dis- 
aster in  the  end  to  the  givers,  and  was  fatal  to 
the  integrity  of  town  Ufe,  as  we  shall  have 
occasion  to  notice  in  a  moment. 

Items  in  a  Roman 
City  Budget 

This  method  of  meeting  part  of  the  cost  of 
public  improvements  and  amusements,  which 
was  so  characteristic  of  the  ancient  world, 
naturally  leads  us  to  ask  what  charges  there 

1  Wilmanns,  Exempla  Inscriptionum  Lalinantm,  2037. 

2  Wilmanns,  No.  1917 


actually  were  on  the  public  budget,  and  how 
the  ancient  city  budget  was  made  up.  Unfor- 
tunately no  city  ledgers  of  the  ancient  world 
have  come  down  to  us,  but  painstaking  stu- 
dents have  brought  together  from  literature 
and  the  inscriptions  so  many  items  bearing  on 
the  subject  that  we  have  a  fair  idea  of  ancient 
municipal  finance. 

A  modem  city  gets  its  income  by  ta.xing  its 
citizens.  The  residents  in  an  ancient  city,  as 
a  rule,  paid  no  taxes  at  all.  Some  of  our 
heaviest  expenses  are  for  the  payment  of  the 
salaries  of  city  officials,  for  the  pohce  and  fire 
departments,  for  hghting  the  streets,  for 
schools,  asylums  and  hospitals.  No  one  of 
these  items  would  appear  in  the  expense  ac- 
count of  the  average  city  in  the  Roman  Em- 
pire. 

Earliest  Form  of 
Single  Tax 

On  the  receipt  side  of  the  ledger  for  an  an- 
cient city  we  should  find  such  donations  from 
newly  elected  officials  and  wealthy  private 
citizens  as  we  were  discussing  a  few  minutes 
ago;  we  should  find  interest  set  down  from  in- 
vested funds  which  had  come  to  the  city  from 
legacies.  Another  large  item  would  be  the 
rental  from  lands  which  the  city  owned  outside 
its  walls. 

The  colonies  always  had  land  assigned  to 
them  for  the  support  of  the  communal  hfe,  and 
other  cities  had  acquired  theirs  by  conquest  or 
private  gift.  You  might  call  this  last  item 
the  single  tax  in  its  earhest  form  of  develop)- 
ment. 

Sometimes  this  territoriutn  was  close  to  the 
city,  but  not  always.  Cicero  in  one  of  his 
letters'  speaks  of  the  district  which  his  native 
town,  Arpinum  in  central  Italy,  owned  in  Cisal- 
pine Gaul — almost  as  far  away  as  Connecti- 
cut's lerritoriiim,  the  Western  Reserve,  was. 
The  city  of  Nimes,  or  Nemausus,  in  Gaul 
owned  twenty-four  outlying  villages  which 
paid  tribute  to  it. 

The  other  two  important  items  of  income 

'Cicero,  Epistulae  ad  Familiares,  13.7. 


were  fines  and  receipts  from  the  octroi.  We 
can't  say  how  generally  octroi  were  collected, 
but  we  know  of  several  cases,  and  the  hst  of 
dutiable  articles  in  the  case  of  two  cities.  Pal- 
myra and  Zaral  in  Northern  Africa,  have  come 
down  to  us.  The  Palmyra  Hst  includes 
mainly,  as  do  the  hsts  in  European  cities  to- 
day, articles  of  food.  The  Zarai  hst  of  duti- 
able articles  covers  not  only  food  but  animals, 
and  certain  raw  materials  and  manufactured 
wares,  Hke  sponges,  skins  and  clothing. 

Ancient  Municipal 
Expenses 

The  expense  side  of  an  ancient  municipal 
budget  had  in  common  with  a  modern  one 
items  to  cover  the  cost  of  paving  the  streets, 
laj-ing  drains,  and  suppl>-ing  water.  Very  few 
cities  outside  of  Rome  had  a  pohce  or  fire  de- 
partment. Even  the  streets  in  Rome  were 
not  hghted,  and  Antioch  held  the  unique  po- 
sition of  "a  city  in  which  the  bright  hghts 
throughout  the  night  call  to  mind  the  brilUance 
of  the  day." 

If  the  style  of  architecture  at  Pompeii, 
where  the  houses  have  few  openings  on  the 
street,  and  the  shop  fronts  close,  was  charac- 
teristic of  the  Empire,  walking  on  the  streets 
of  an  ancient  city  at  night  where  there  were  no 
lights  and  little  if  any  police  protection  must 
have  been  a  hazardous  enterprise.  The  rich 
man  might  return  at  night  from  a  late  supper, 
carried  safely  through  the  streets  in  his  sedan 
chair,  preceded  by  torch  bearers  and  protected 
by  clients  or  slaves,  but  the  shopkeeper  or  ar- 
tisan, with  a  few  sesterces  in  his  purse,  would 
avoid  many  of  the  streets  after  nightfall. 

A  Roman  city  needed  no  street-cleaning 
department,  because  this  work,  as  well  as  the 
care  of  the  pubUc  buildings,  was  taken  charge 
of  by  the  slaves  which  it  owned.  The  absence 
of  any  pubHc  charge  for  such  institutions  as 
schools,  asylums,  and  hospitals  is  character- 
istic of  the  ancient  world. 

The  cities  rarely  assumed  any  responsibil- 
ity for  education,  and  generally  no  provision 
was  made  by  them  for  the  sick  and  the  needy. 


Perhaps  this  latter  fact  accounts  in  part  for 
the  terrible  devastation  which  plagues  and 
epidemics  made  in  the  later  centuries.  In  a 
few  cases  there  were  physicians  paid  out  of  the 
pubhc  treasury,  but  such  cases  were  rare. 
Indeed  pubhc  charity  would  seem  to  have 
come  in  with  Christianity. 

Little  Spent  for  Education 
and  Charity 

If  none  of  these  items  which  bulk  so  large  in 
a  modem  municipal  budget  found  a  place  in 
the  expense  account  of  a  Roman  city,  for  what 
objects  did  it  spend  its  money?  For  the  main- 
tenance of  public  baths,  temples,  theatres  and 
the  city  walls,  for  drainage  and  a  water  sup- 
ply, for  the  care  of  roads  leading  to  the  city, 
for  festivals,  dramatic  entertainments,  gladia- 
torial contests  and  games  in  the  circus,  and 
for  delegations  to  Rome  and  the  provincial 
assembly. 

We  may  leave  this  hasty  comparison  of  an 
ancient  and  a  modem  municipal  budget  with 
one  or  two  general  reflections.  One  of  the 
points  which  I  have  in  mind  will  already  have 
occurred  to  you — I  mean  the  striking  differ- 
ence which  one  notices  between  the  objects 
for  which  ancient  and  modern  cities  make 
appropriations. 

Leaving  out  of  account  such  practical  mat- 
ters as  pa\ing  the  streets  and  providing  a 
water  supply,  the  Roman  city  gave  little  if 
anything  to  education  and  charity,  but  spent 
'immense  sums  on  those  things  which  appeal 
to  the  aesthetic  taste  and  to  the  pleasures  of 
the  senses — to  porticoes,  fountains,  baths, 
temples,  theatres,  to  rehgious  festivals,  to 
dramatic  and  gladiatorial  contests. 

We  had  occasion  to  notice  a  few  minutes 
ago  the  intense  civic  patriotism  which  devel- 
oped in  the  municipalities  of  the  Empire.  The 
beautiful  pubhc  buildings  which  they  con- 
structed in  the  early  centuries  of  our  era  are 
at  the  same  time  a  tribute  to  it  and  a  result  of 
it.  The  citizens  of  Antioch  or  Lugudunum 
felt  the  same  strong  desire  to  make  their  city 


the  most  beautiful  place  in  the  world  which 
the  city-states  of  Florence  and  Siena  felt  at  a 
later  date. 

The  heav'y  charges  which  were  put  on  the 
budget  for  popular  amusement  need  not  sur- 
prise us  when  we  recall  the  large  sums  which 
are  paid  out  by  continental  cities  every  year 
for  the  theatre,  the  opera,  and  pubhc  music. 
Many  of  our  own  cities  are  yielding  to  the  same 
popular  demand,  by  estabhshing  pubhc  play- 
groimds  and  municipal  golf  courses,  and  by 
furnishing  music  in  the  parks. 

Public  Improvements  Depended  Largely 
on  Private  Benevolence 

It  is  clear  also  that  cities  in  the  ancient 
world  depended  much  more  largely  uponprivate 
benefactions  to  meet  their  running  expenses 
and  the  cost  of  permanent  improvements  than 
modern  cities  do.  This  method  of  meeting 
municipal  charges  worked  well  in  times  of 
prosperity  and  civic  patriotism,  but  it  had 
great  elements  of  danger  in  it,  if  these  condi- 
tions should  change.  And  if  private  benevo- 
lence should  die  out,  no  system  of  financing 
could  be  found  to  take  its  place. 

Local  taxation  could  not  be  introduced,  be- 
cause in  the  ancient  world  the  tax  was  a  sign 
of  servitude.  Rome  could  exact  taxes  because 
she  was  mistress  of  the  world,  but  for  citizens 
to  pay  taxes  to  governments  which  they  them- 
selves had  estabUshed  was  not  in  harmony 
with  the  ancient  way  of  thinking.  Fortunately 
the  Early  Empire  was  a  period  of  unexampled 
prosperity. 

You  will  recall  Gibbon's  famous  tribute  to 
it  in  the  third  chapter  of  his  history: 

"If  a  man  were  called  to  fix  the  period  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  during  which  the 
condilion  of  the  human  race  was  most  happy 
and  prosperous,  he  would,  without  hesitation, 
name  that  which  elapsed  from  the  death  of 
Domitian  to  the  accession  of  Commodus," 

that  is  from  the  close  of  the  first  to  the  close 
of  the  second  century  of  our  era.  This  eulogy 
of  Gibbon's  was  an  unconscious  echo  of  the 
confession   which   the  Christian  writer,  Ter- 


tullian,  was  forced  to  make  in  the  early  years 
of  the  third  century,*  and  toward  the  end  of 
his  long  study  of  Roman  history  and  institu- 
tions, Mommsen  in  contemplating  this  period 
writes:^ 

"If  an  angel  of  the  Lord  were  to  strike  the 
balance  whether  the  domain  ruled  by  Severus 
Antoninus  was  governed  with  the  greater  in- 
telligence and  the  greater  humanity  at  that 
time  or  in  the  present  day,  whether  civilization 
and  national  prosperity  generally  have  since 
that  time  advanced  or  retrograded,  it  is  very 
doubtful  whether  the  decision  would  prove  in 
favor  of  the  present." 


It  may  be  noted  in  passing  that  Mommsen 
speaks  not  only  of  the  prosperity  of  the  world 
under  the  Early  Empire,  but  also  of  the  wisdom 
with  which  it  was  governed.  This  wisdom 
showed  itself  above  all  in  the  practice  which 
the  Early  Empire  followed  of  allowing  the 
cities  a  large  measure  of  autonomy  and  in  per- 
mitting them  to  lead  their  own  lives.  This 
wise  poHcy  is  reflected  in  the  extant  municipal 
charters,  in  literature,  and  in  official  docu- 
ments, and  was  the  source  from  which  munici- 
pal Ufe  drew  its  vigor. 


11 

Loss  of  Independence  and  Economic  Decline 
Causes  of  Ancient  Municipal  Failures 


When  and  why  the  amazing  prosperity 
which  aroused  the  enthusiasm  of  TertuUian, 
Gibbon,  and  Mommsen  declined  is  a  matter  of 
high  dispute. 

Perhaps  we  may  find  one  explanation  of  the 
dechne  in  the  civil  wars  and  the  raids  of  the 
barbarians  throughout  the  third  century  which 
left  no  part  of  the  Empire,  except  Africa  and 
the  islands,  untouched.  We  may  find  it  in  the 
natural  exhaustion  of  the  soil,  in  the  spread  of 
malaria,  in  the  prevalence  of  plagues  and  epi- 
demics, and  the  consequent  decrease  in  the 
size  of  the  population. 

Effect  of  Imperial 
Interference 

Farms  were  being  abandoned,  and  farmers 
were  flocking  into  the  cities  to  hve,  partly  for 
protection,  but  more  especially  to  enjoy  the 
pleasures,  the  society,  and  the  comforts  which 
the  city  could  offer.  In  fact  there  was  the  same 
movement  away  from  the  land  which  we  de- 
plore to-day.  The  cities  themselves  began  to 
stiffer  from  the  heavy  debts  which  they  had 
incurred  for  temples,  theatres,  aqueducts  and 
stadia. 

The  imperial  government  was  by  no  means 


ID«  Anima,  30. 

2Roman  Provinces,  vol.  I.  Introd.  5. 


blameless.  It  introduced  a  vicious  system  of 
taxation,  and  an  expensive  bureaucracy,  and  it 
tried  to  meet  the  situation  by  debasing  the 
coinage.  But  perhaps  after  all,  these  were  only 
symptoms  of  a  more  deep-seated  trouble. 
When  a  civilization  has  reached  its  highest 
point  the  upper,  intellectual  classes  suffer  nerv- 
ous exhaustion,  and  the  reins  drop  from  their 
trembhng  hands. 

This  high  point  Rome  had  reached,  and  from 
it  she  fell.  It  is  not  essential  to  our  purpose  to 
analyze  the  causes  of  the  decHne,  but  only  to 
record  the  fact  and  to  note  the  symptoms  with 
a  view  to  observe  briefly  some  of  the  effects 
which  the  dowTifall  brought  in  its  train  on 
municipal  Hfe  and  municipal  finance. 

In  particular  I  would  invite  your  attention 
to  two  questions. 

How  did  it  come  about  that  these  cities, 
many  of  which  had  gloried  in  a  long  tradition 
and  a  large  measure  of  self-government,  lost 
almost  all  control  over  their  own  affairs? 

What  made  the  title  of  duovir  and  decurion, 
or  Common  Cotmcillor,  a  hissing  and  byname 
and  these  positions  penalties? 

We  shall  find  a  sufficient  answer  to  both 
questions,  I  think,  in  two  movements  which 
were  at  work  at  the  same  time — the  benevo- 
lent interference  of  the  imperial  government  in 


local  affairs,  and  the  economic  decline  of  the 
Empire. 

Under  almost  every  emperor  of  the  first  and 
second  centuries  we  hear  of  measures  of  relief 
in  time  of  disaster,  and  probably  an  imperial 
commission  was  sent  out  to  each  of  the  un- 
fortimate  cities  to  examine  the  local  situation 
and  restore  normal  conditions.  This  was  a 
philanthropic  step  to  take  and  it  was  the  only 
way  in  which  the  suffering  could  be  relieved, 
but  it  set  an  unfortunate  precedent. 

Imperial  Supervision  of 
Municipal  Finances 

If  the  central  government  was  to  bring  re- 
lief and  assume  some  control  of  local  affairs 
when  the  property  of  a  city  had  been  lost  in  a 
fire  or  through  an  earthquake,  why  shouldn't 
it  take  some  responsibihty  for  the  finances  of 
a  city  which  had  become  bankrupt  by  building 
expensive  theatres  or  aqueducts? 

Still  better,  why  shouldn't  it  anticipate  the 
evil  by  interfering  to  prevent  the  local  of3&cials 
from  putting  too  much  money  into  elaborate 
stadia  or  improperly  constructed  aqueducts? 

This  was  the  question  which  confronted 
kind-hearted  Pliny  when  he  was  governor  of 
Bithynia  in  the  early  part  of  the  second  cen- 
tury. In  one  of  his  letters  to  Trajan  he  writes 
anxiously  that  the  people  of  Nicaea  have  spent 
10,000,000  sesterces  on  a  theatre,  and  that  the 
walls  have  already  begun  to  crack.  Shall  it  be 
completed,  abandoned,  or  pulled  down?  An 
immense  gymnasium  is  being  built,  but  the 
plan  is  so  confused  that  the  money  is  Ukely  to 
be  wasted.* 

The  next  step  forward  toward  imperial 
supervision  of  municipal  finances  was  to  have 
a  city  ask  permission  of  the  Emperor  before 
undertaking  the  construction  of  any  important 
public  work.  This  the  people  of  Prusa  did 
before  restoring  their  public  baths. ^ 

The  same  fatherly  motive  which  had  in- 
fluenced PUny  in  the  case  of  Prusa,  led  him  to 
propose  to  the  people  of  Apamea  the  inspec- 


1  Epislulae  ad  Troianum,  39 

2  Pliny,  No.  23. 


tion  of  their  financial  accounts.  Their  reply 
is  instructive.  They  expressed  a  desire  to 
have  him  scrutinize  their  accoimts,  but  their 
books  had  never  been  submitted  to  a  procon- 
sul before,  since  they  had  enjoyed  the  privilege 
from  time  immemorial  of  managing  their  own 
affairs. 

Here  the  dilemma  presents  itself  in  its  naked 
form.  It  is  centraUzed  efficiency  versus  lax 
self-government. 

But  financial  questions  are  inextricably  re- 
lated to  all  sorts  of  administrative  questions. 
One  source  of  income  in  many  cities  was  the 
initiation  fee  required  of  members  of  the  local 
senate.  It  is  a  matter  of  dispute  in  certain 
Bithynian  towns  whether  this  fee  shall  be  re- 
quired of  all  members  of  the  Common  Council. 
The  question,  which  involves  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  provincial  charter,  is  referred  to 
the  proconsul  for  adjudication. 

And  so  it  goes  from  one  local  question  to  an- 
other, until,  in  one  of  his  latest  letters,  Pliny 
writes  Trajan : 

"Those  who  put  on  the  toga  virilis  or  cele- 
brate a  wedding,  or  take  up  a  magistracy,  or 
dedicate  a  public  work,  usually  invite  the 
whole  senate  and  no  small  part  of  the  plebe- 
ians, and  give  each  a  present  of  one  or  two 
denarii.  I  beg  you  to  write  me  how  far  this 
practice  should  be  allowed  to  go."  ^ 

Paternal  Attitude  of 
Central  Government 

I  have  followed  the  poUcy  of  Pliny  in  some 
detail  because  the  development  of  it  illustrates 
the  paternal  motives  wliich  actuated  the  im- 
perial government.  Under  the  Republic  the 
central  government  and  the  provincial  gov- 
ernor cared  little  for  the  welfare  of  the  cities. 
They  were  objects  of  taxation  for  the  govern- 
ment and  sources  of  profit  for  the  capitaUst. 
In  the  management  of  their  affairs  they  were 
allowed  to  go  their  o\vn  way. 

But  with  the  coming  of  the  Empire  a  new 
spirit  of  sympathy,  of  helpfuhiess,  and  brother- 
hood comes  in,  a  spirit  which  in  the  end  finds 
its  fit  expression   in   the  edict  of   Caracalla 

1  Pliny.  No.  116. 


granting  citizenship  to  all  freemen  in  the  Em- 
pire. It  was  this  spirit  of  kindness  which 
killed  the  cities. 

The  reorganization  of  the  imperial  system, 
especially  under  such  efficient  emperors  as 
Trajan  and  Hadrian  in  the  second  century  of 
our  era,  made  the  carrying  out  of  imperial  re- 
forms in  the  cities  feasible.  Probably  even 
our  late  Teutonic  enemies  did  not  develop  so 
elaborate  and  complete  a  bureaucratic  system 
as  grew  up  in  the  Roman  Empire.  The  ma- 
chinery provided,  for  instance,  even  for  the 
settlement  at  Rome  of  so  trivial  a  question  as 
the  covering  of  an  open  drain  in  the  remote 
city  of  Amastris  in  Asia  Minor.' 

Oriental  Influences 
On  the  Empire 

I  have  often  thought  also  that  this  imperial 
desire  to  have  a  larger  share  in  directing  af- 
fairs in  the  cities  may  well  reflect  the  Orien- 
talizing tendencies  of  many  of  the  Emperors. 
Under  the  Oriental  theory  a  kingdom  was  a 
domain,  the  land  belonged  to  the  king,  and  the 
king  could  deal  directly  with  each  subject. 
This  theory  was  in  direct  opposition  to  that 
on  which  the  civitas  or  city  rested. 

Incidentally  the  transplanting  in  Italy  and 
other  parts  of  Europe  of  theories  of  govern- 
ment which  the  Romans  had  found  in  Egypt 
and  the  Orient  furnishes  an  interesting  illus- 
tration of  the  poHtical  and  social  influence 
which  a  conquered  people  may  in  course  of 
time  exert  on  their  conquerors. 

The  Oriental  theory  was  exemplified  in  the 
government  of  the  large  imperial  estates  which 
come  into  existence  from  the  first  century  on. 
On  these  domains  there  is  no  city  organization, 
but  the  Emperor  governs  directly  through  his 
appointed  representatives.  The  land  belongs 
to  the  crown,  and  the  residents  are  tenants 
upon  it.  These  autocratically  governed  com- 
munities alongside  the  self-go\'eming  cities 
must  have  exerted  a  baneful  influence  on  the 
latter  and  must  have  hastened  their  downfall. 


Cities  Gradually  Lost  Financial 
and  Judicial  Powers 

We  observed  a  few  minutes  ago  the  benevo- 
lent efforts  of  provincial  governors  to  improve 
financial  conditions  in  the  cities.  This  move- 
ment to  control  municipal  finances  was  given 
a  systematic  form  from  the  time  of  Trajan  by 
the  establishment  of  a  new  imperial  office, 
that  of  curator. 

The  official  who  held  this  position  was  re- 
sponsible, not  to  the  citizens  of  the  town  to 
which  he  was  sent,  but  to  the  governor  of  the 
province,  and  took  entire  charge  of  all  the  land 
and  other  property  belonging  to  the  city,  and 
paid  all  the  pubUc  charges.  In  this  way 
municipal  officials  lost  their  financial  powers. 
When  later  the  right  of  citizens  to  appeal  to 
the  governor  from  the  decisions  of  local  magis- 
trates was  freely  recognized,  the  city  officials 
lost  their  judicial  functions  also,  and  their 
offices  became  meaningless. 
*       *       * 

In  speaking  of  the  decay  of  self-government 
in  Roman  cities,  we  noticed  that  a  second  in- 
fluence at  work  was  the  economic  decline  of 
the  Roman  world. 

We  have  seen  that  one  important  source  of 
mimicipal  revenue  consisted  in  private  bene- 
factions and  in  the  contributions  made  by 
newly  elected  officials.  As  soon  as  financial 
conditions  became  bad,  gifts  from  private 
citizens  ceased  and  residents  in  the  cities  were 
less  eager  to  hold  the  offices.  There  are  pre- 
monitions of  both  these  conditions  under  the 
Early  Empire. 

PHny  in  one  of  his  letters'  hints  at  the  fail- 
ure of  certain  citizens  of  Nicaea  to  make  dona- 
tions which  they  had  promised,  and  in  illus- 
tration of  the  second  point  there  is  a  strange 
and  amusing  provision  in  the  charter  of 
Malaca,^  of  81-84  A.D.,  to  the  effect  that  if 
there  are  not  candidates  enough  for  the  offices 
the  magistrate  who  is  to  preside  at  the  election 
may  on  his  own  authority  post  the  names  of 
eligible  citizens,  who  can  only  escape  office  by 
nominating  somebody  else. 


I  Pliny.  No.  98. 


1  No.  39.     2  C.  I.  L..  11,  1964,  Chap.  51. 


Loss  of  Sources 
of  Revenue 

Outside  the  walls  of  each  city,  as  we  noticed, 
there  was  usually  a  large  district  owned  by  it. 
This  outlying  region  contributed  largely  to 
the  payment  of  the  imperial  taxes.  As  the 
soil  became  exhausted,  the  country  devastated 
by  civil  war  and  by  the  barbarians,  farm  after 
farm  was  abandoned,  and  this  source  of  taxa- 
tion dried  up. 

Now  it  had  become  the  practice  of  the  cen- 
tral government  not  to  collect  ta.xes  from  the 
individual,  but  to  exact  a  lump  sum  from  a 
community,  and  it  was  a  very  natural  thing 
for  it  to  hold  the  curiales,  that  is  the  members 
of  the  local  senate  and  those  eligible  to  it, 
responsible  for  the  payment  of  the  amount 
fixed  for  the  city.  The  burden  became  intoler- 
able, as  conditions  grew  worse,  and  those 
whose  property  rendered  them  eligible  to  a 
magistracy,  or  to  the  local  senate,  made  frantic 
efforts  to  escape  the  honor  thrust  upon  them. 

Public  Office  Shunned 

The  two  codes  of  Justinian  and  Theodosius 
furnish  us  with  amusing  yet  pathetic  records  of 
the  struggle  between  them  and  the  govern- 
ment. It  is  Uke  a  game  of  chess  with  clever 
moves  by  the  citizen  checkmated  by  the  gov- 
ernment. I  wish  the  time  at  my  disposal 
would  allow  me  to  read  some  of  the  pertinent 
titles  from  the  Theodosian  Code,  but  I  must 
content  myself  with  mentioning  a  few  of  the 
regulations  to  show  the  means  to  which  men 
had  recourse  to  avoid  municipal  office. 

Some  men  gave  up  their  residence  in  a  city, 
or  moved  into  another  province,  but  they  were 


brought  back.  When  they  transferred  their 
property  to  someone  else,  so  as  to  become  in- 
eligible, the  recipient  of  the  property  was  held 
for  the  office.  Some  married  slave  women,  so 
as  to  lose  their  legal  status,  or  became  monks 
in  the  desert,  but  the  government  pursued 
them  inexorably.  Even  enHstment  in  the 
army  and  the  taking  of  holy  orders  was  no 
protection. 

Entrance  into  orders  caused  the  state  great 
difficulty.  At  first  bishops  were  granted 
exemption,  but  later  by  a  statute  of  399  A.D. 
even  they  had  to  provide  substitutes.  The 
only  bit  of  sarcasm  which  I  have  happened  on 
anywhere  in  the  Theodosian  Code  has  to  do 
with  those  who  avoid  service  in  the  curia  by 
taking  up  the  ministry. 

Title  XII.  I.  104  of  383  A.D.  reads: 

"If  the  curiales  who  prefer  to  serve  the 
church  rather  than  the  curia  wish  to  be  what 
they  pretend  to  be,  let  them  show  their  con- 
tempt for  those  worldly  goods  which  they 
take  along  with  them." 

The  only  social  group  to  whom  exemption 
was  granted  was  made  up  of  fathers  of  thirteen 
children.  This  exemption  in  itself  testifies  to  a 
threatening  decUne  in  the  birth  rate  and  an 
effort  to  check  it,  which  finds  parallels  in  con- 
temporary legislation. 

Municipal  government  had  fallen.  The 
well  meant  efforts  of  the  imperial  government 
to  remedy  its  evils  had  robbed  the  magistracies 
and  the  senates  of  their  importance  and  the 
people  of  their  independence,  and  the  economic 
dechne  of  the  Roman  world  had  brought  down 
in  ruins  a  system  of  municipal  finance  which 
rested  on  an  unstable  basis. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


A  brief  account  of  the  form  of  government 
in  Roman  municipalities  may  be  found  in  J. 
E.  Sandys'  Companion  to  Latin  Studies,  Cam- 
bridge University  Press,  pp.  366-379,  or  in 
Comparette's  article  on  "The  Organization  of 
the  Municipal  Administration  under  the  An- 
tonines,"  in  the  American  Journal  of  Philol- 
ogy, Vol.  XXVII,  p.  166  £f. 

The  most  important  city  charters  are  pub- 
lished in  Latin  by  Bruns-Gradenwitz  in  Pon- 
tes Iiiris  Romani  Antiqui,  J.  C.  B.  Mohr,  Tiib- 
ingen,  and  in  an  Enghsh  translation  by  E.  G. 
Hardy,  Three  Spanish  Charters,  Clarendon 
Press. 


A  descriptive  account  of  conditions  in  Ro- 
man cities  is  given  by  J.  S.  Reid  in  his  Munic- 
ipalities of  the  Roman  Empire,  Cambridge  Uni- 
versity Press,  and  by  Samuel  DiU  in  Chapter 
II  of  his  Roman  Society  from  Nero  to  Marcus 
Aurelius,  The  Macmillan  Company. 

"Municipal  PoHtics  in  Pompeii"  are  de- 
scribed by  Frank  F.  Abbott  in  Chapter  I  of 
his  Society  and  Politics  in  Ancient  Rome, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

All  the  Latin  inscriptions  mentioned  in  this 
lecture  may  be  found  in  the  Corpus  Inscrip- 
tionum  Latinarum.  This  collection  is  cited  at 
the  bottom  of  certain  pages  as  C.  I.  L. 


^iNnrifT!  ^'"■yinyv,^, 


Number  Six 


MAR  29  1921 


j 

Princeton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J, 


March,  1921 


NOTE 

This  is  the  sixth  lecture  of  the  series  written  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Princeton  faculty  and  distributed  to  the  Uni- 
versity Alumni. 

THE  LECTURER 

WILLIAM  BERRYMAN  SCOTT  has  been  Profes- 
sor of  Geology  and  Palaeontology  at  Princeton  since 
1884.  He  has  written  some  fifty  monographs  on  ge- 
ology and  paljeontology  and  is  also  editor  and  joint 
author  of  the  Reports  of  the  Princeton  University  ex- 
peditions to  Patagonia.  His  other  published  works 
comprise  A  n  Introduction  to  Geology,  A  History  of  Land 
Mammals  in  the  Western  Hemisphere,  and  The  Theory 
of  Evolution. 

Dr.  Scott,  who  is  a  great-grandson  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  was  graduated  at  Princeton  in  1877.  He  re- 
ceived the  degrees  of  Ph.D.,  Heidelberg,  1880;  LL.D., 
University  of  Pennsylvania,  1906;  and  Sc.D.,  Harvard, 
1909,  and  Oxford,  1912.  He  is  a  member  of  the  Na- 
tional Academy  of  Sciences  and  also  the  American 
Philosophical  Society,  of  which  he  was  president  in 
1918.  The  Wollaston  Medal  of  the  Geological  Soci- 
ety, London,  was  awarded  to  him  in  1910. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Guyot,  Arnold — "The  Earth  and  Man" — Charles 
Scribner's  Sons. 

Huntington,  Ellsworth — "The  Pulse  of  Asia"— 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 

"Palestine  and  Its  Transformation" — Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co. 

"Civilization  and  Climate" — Yale  University  Press. 

"World  Power  and  Evolution" — Yale  University 
Press. 

"Principles  of  Human  Geography" — J.  Wiley  &  Sons. 

Johnson,  Douglas  W. — "Topography  and  Strategy 
in  the  War" — Henry  Holt  &  Co. 

Newbiggin,  Marion — "Modem  Geography" — Henry 
Holt  &  Co. 

Pumpelly,  R. — "Explorations  in  Turkestan" — Car- 
negie Institution  of  Washington. 

Semple,  Ellen  C. — "American  History  and  Its  Geo- 
graphic Conditions" — Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 

"Influences  of  Geographic  Environment" — Henry 
Holt  &  Co. 


Influence  of  Geography  on 

History 

A  LECTURE 
By  William  B.  Scott 
Professor  of  Geology  and  PalcBontology  in  Prince- 
ton University 

My  dear  old  friend,  Dr.  Hill  whom  some 
of  you  possibly  remember,  was  very  fond  of 
sajdng  that  this  is  a  weary,  wicked  world  and 
few  of  us  get  out  of  it  alive. 

Inasmuch  as  we  have  to  hve  our  lives  here, 
we  are  necessarily  under  the  conditions  of  ter- 
restrial existence.  That  is,  of  course,  a  high- 
sounding  platitude.  And  yet  it  is  impossible 
even  now  to  take  into  our  minds  fully  just 
what  that  means  because  there  are  involved 
in  it  a  large  number  of  imsolved  problems — 
problems  of  the  earth  and  problems  of  man, 
man  simply  as  a  living  creature,  without  any 
regard  to  him  as  a  human  being. 

For  example,  there  is  the  unsolved  biological 
problem  which  is  constantly  cropping  up,  as 
to  whether  characteristics  acquired  in  the  life- 
time of  the  parent  are  transmissible  to  the 
offspring. 

We  know,  as  a  result  of  observation,  that 
the  peoples  who  Uve  in  hot  climates  have 
dark  colored  skins,  dark  hair,  and  dark  eyes. 
The  question  is,  is  that  due  to  the  influence 
of  the  cUmate  directly  acting  upon  generation 
after  generation  of  men?  A  great  many  of  the 
natives  of  India,  dark  as  any  negro,  are  just  as 
direct  in  descent  from  white  stock  as  we  are. 


Entered  as  second  class  matter  at  the  post  ofice,  Princeton,  N.  J. 


Thus  we  have  the  question  whether  this 
is  a  direct  eflfect  of  the  hot  climate  or 
whether  it  is  indirect,  namely,  whether  the 
people  of  Ught  complexion  are  at  a  disadvan- 
tage and  therefore  are  slowly  eliminated, 
weeded  out.  The  result  would  be  the  same  in 
either  case.  But  the  method  by  which  that  re- 
sult is  obtained  would  be  totally  diSerent  in  the 
two  cases,  and  we  cannot  determine  which  is 
the  correct  explanation  of  the  undoubted  fact. 
There  are  many  other  things  just  like  that, 
concerning  which  we  simply  can  say  that  the 
result  is  so  and  so,  but  how  it  is  reached,  we 
are  still  unable  to  prove. 

No  Racial  Difference 
of  Importance 

Another  matter:  The  everlasting  question 
of  race  and  race  superiority.  We  need  not 
enter  into  the  disputable  questions  of  relative 
quality  of  the  colored  races,  the  brown  man 
and  the  black  man  and  the  yellow  man;  but 
confining  our  attention  altogether  to  the  white 
man,  I  think  there  is  no  racial  difference  that 
amounts  to  anything.  I  think  in  his  case  it  is 
pretty  definitely  proved  that  his  environment, 
including  his  language,  his  historical  tradition, 
his  religion,  and  the  thousand  and  one  things 
that  go  to  make  up  what  we  call  his  environ- 
ment, is  vastly  more  important  than  his  race : 
Many  have  always  talked  as  though  race  was 
"the  whole  thing."  The  Frenchman,  Gobi- 
neau,  and  Houston  Stewart  Chamberlain  are 
in  part  responsible  for  this  pernicious  idea  of 
race  supremacy  among  white  men.  In  fact, 
there  is  no  pure  race  in  existence.  All 
are  mixed.  But,  that  again  is  a  question 
which  leaves  open  a  good  many  unsolved 
problems. 

Then,  too,  the  question  arises  as  to  how 
men  are  affected  by  their  external  environ- 
ment. One  set  of  writers  would  have  you 
believe  that  a  man  is  very  much  like  a  lump 
of  clay  or  a  piece  of  putty,  moulded  by  ex- 
ternal circumstances,  without  any  will  or  any 
exertion  on  his  part.  That  is  one  extreme. 
Another  set  of  writers  would  have  you  beUeve 


that  all  that  counts  for  nothing,  that  the  hu- 
man will  is  the  only  factor  of  any  importance 
in  the  world,  and  especially  in  history. 

You  have  in  another  form  the  same  problem 
in  the  question  of  "great"  men.  According 
to  Carlyle,  history  is  simply  a  biography  of 
great  men.  They  were  the  leaders;  the  herd 
merely  followed  meekly  in  their  footsteps. 

At  the  other  extreme  is  Tolstoi,  and  plenty 
of  others  with  him,  who  argue  that  there  are  no 
great  men ;  the  greatness  of  humanity  is  a  con- 
tradiction in  terms;  there  are  no  real  differences 
among  men.  Tolstoi  in  particular  says,  in 
that  wonderful  book  of  his,  "War  and  Peace," 
that  the  great  Napoleon  was  simply  a  bubble 
on  the  surface  of  the  stream  of  events,  showing 
its  direction  of  flow,  but  having  no  control  over 
its  movement.  How  is  one  to  pick  out  among 
these  conflicting  views  the  moderate,  sane, 
sober  statements  which  are  susceptible  of 
proof? 

From  one  point  of  view  the  topic  that  I  have 
taken,  "The  Relation  of  Geography  and  His- 
tory," would  be  the  whole  history  of  mankind 
with  reference  to  the  geographical  surround- 
ings of  each  country  in  which  men  dweU. 
Needless  to  say,  that  cannot  be  done  in  an 
hour's  talk.  All  that  is  possible  is  to  pick  out 
a  very  few  illustrative  examples  of  the  way 
in  which  men  are  controlled  and  their  affairs 
necessarily  determined  by  their  geographical 
environment. 

Effect  of  Geography 
on  Military  Operations 

Let  us  consider  the  effect  of  geography  on 
miUtary  operations.  It  is  no  paradox  to  say 
that  the  events  of  the  great  war,  through  which 
we  have  just  come,  were  determined  by  things 
that  happened  miUions  of  years  ago.  Go  over 
the  south  of  England  and  the  north  of  France 
and  Belgium.  If  certain  rocks  had  not  been 
formed  in  a  certain  way  in  a  certain  order, 
some  in  fresh  water  and  some  on  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  if  these  rocks  had  not  been  up- 
heaved at  a  certain  rime,  if  certain  particular 
cUmatic  events  had  not  come  in,  if  certain 


rivers  had  not  been  established  where  they 
are,  these  and  countless  other  items  that  I 
might  go  on  to  catalogue — if  these  had  not 
happened  in  just  the  way  they  did  the  events 
of  the  war  would  have  been  altogether  dif- 
ferent. East  of  Paris,  France  is  traversed  by 
north  and  south  lines  of  cliff,  caused  by  the 
coming  to  the  surface  of  hard  beds  of  lime- 
stone. Of  those  scarps,  there  are  five,  but  they 
all  descend  gradually  northward  and  die  away 
in  the  Belgian  plain. 

The  battle  of  the  Mame  was  a  very  com- 
pUcated  thing.  It  took  six  days  to  settle  and 
extended  over  an  active  fighting  front  of  two 
hundred  miles,  and  it  would  take  more  than 
one  lecture  to  take  up  the  various  elements 
of  geography  which  determined  the  victory. 
But  I  want  to  call  your  attention  to  one  fact: 
what  saved  France  was  not  only  the  skill  of 
French  generals  and  the  valor  of  the  French 
troops  in  that  first  onrush  of  the  Germans,  but 
the  fortifications  which  nature  placed  there. 
If  the  Germans  had  been  able  to  carry  the 
Grand  Couronn^e,  a  natural  scarp  at  Nancy — 
just  to  the  north  of  Nancy  is  a  high  Hne  of  cliffs 
which  the  Germans  assaulted  in  great  force — 
if  they  had  broken  this,  the  battle  of  the 
Marne  would  have  been  a  German  victory. 
But  they  could  not  break  through.  Although 
the  French  were  greatly  outnumbered,  the 
strength  of  that  position  was  such  that  one  to 
three  could  hold  it,  and  they  did  hold  it. 

It  is  a  commonplace  of  military  science 
that  topography  determines  strategy.  The 
whole  strategy  of  the  Germans  was  completely 
conditioned  by  the  existence  of  the  natural 
defenses  on  the  eastern  portion  of  France, 
between  the  frontier  and  Paris,  and  also  by 
the  fact  that  by  going  through  Belgium  they 
turned  the  flank  of  all  those  defenses  and  had 
a  clear  road  to  Paris. 

Climate  a  Geographical  Fact 
of  Great  Importance 

Let  us  turn  from  that  to  certain  other  mat- 
ters. There  is  no  geographical  fact  of  greater 
importance  than  cUmate.     This  is  shown  by 


the  fact  that  civilization  has  arisen  and  has 
been  maintained  almost  exclusively  in  the 
north  temperate  zone.  There  is  not  and  never 
has  been  an  indigenous  tropical  civilization. 
And  what  civiUzation  there  is  in  the  tropics, 
save  in  Southern  India,  is  due  to  men  from  the 
north  temperate  zone  who  pushed  their  way 
a  Kttle  into  the  tropics,  but  who  have  rarely 
been  able  to  maintain  themselves  there. 

Latitude  a  Factor 
in  Making  Climate 

Among  the  factors  which  make  climate 
is,  of  course,  latitude.  But  we  are  wont  to 
attribute  a  great  deal  too  much  importance 
to  laritude,  because,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
prevailing  system  of  winds  is  almost  as  im- 
portant as  latitude  in  determining  cUmate. 
For  example,  you  know  that  in  the  south  of 
England  there  is  an  extraordinarily  mild 
chmate.  The  south  coast  of  England  has 
many  plants  that  do  not  occur  again  until 
you  get  down  to  the  Mediterranean.  The 
southwest  corner  of  England  doesn't  know 
anything  about  frost  or  snow.  The  islands 
just  off  the  coast  of  Cornwall  raise  flowers 
for  the  London  market  all  the  year  round, 
and  if  you  go  there  in  January  or  December 
you  will  find  fields  of  daffodils  and  narcissi 
and  tuUps  and  hyacinths  in  full  bloom. 

Continue  the  latitude  of  that  southern 
coast  of  England  across  the  Atlantic — you 
land  in  Laborador,  one  of  the  very  bleakest 
places  of  the  earth,  with  a  cHmate  so  severe 
that  even  the  Eskimos  are  hardly  able  to  live 
in  the  interior.  Similarly,  if  you  go  from  New 
York  to  San  Francisco  you  are  on  the  same 
parallel  of  latitude,  and  you  go  up  the  Pacific 
coast  to  Sitka  in  Alaska,  and  you  find  there  a 
climate  hke  that  of  London,  with  a  winter 
which  is  far  milder  that  the  average  New  York 
winter,  and  a  cooler  summer. 

What  is  the  reason  for  these  enormous  dif- 
ferences? The  reason  is  in  the  system  of 
prevailing  winds;  because  in  the  temperate 
zone  in  both  the  north  and  south  hemispheres 
the  wind  blows  three-fourths  of  the  time  from 


some  western  quarter.  If  you  take  a  record 
of  the  way  the  wind  blows  here,  it  will  swing 
from  southwest  around  to  northwest,  and  about 
three-fourths  of  the  time  it  is  blowing  from 
some  western  quarter.  That  means  that  here 
on  the  Atlantic  coast  our  winds  come  over 
the  land.  And  land  winds  in  summer  are  hot 
winds  and  in  winter  are  cold  winds,  because 
the  land  gets  far  colder  than  the  sea  ever 
does.  The  open  sea  doesn't  freeze  except  in 
the  polar  regions,  and  until  it  freezes  you  can't 
have  a  temperature  below  28  degrees  Fahren- 
heit, whereas  you  can  have  the  temperature 
of  the  land  50  degrees  below  zero.  Every  one 
here  knows  that  cold  waves  in  the  winter- 
time come  invariably  with  a  northwest  wind, 
because  that  means  a  vast  volume  of  air  from 
the  direction  of  Minnesota  and  the  Dakotas. 

But  in  Europe  they  get  their  west  winds  off 
the  water.  Consequently  the  cHmate  is  mild. 
The  summers  are  cool,  the  winters  are  rela- 
tively warm.  Here  in  Princeton  the  annual 
range  of  temperature  may  be  as  much  as  120 
degrees.  We  have  aU  seen  it  here  100  degrees, 
and  we  have  also  seen  it  14  degrees  or  15 
degrees  below  zero — not  often,  but  we  some- 
times do.  You  never  see  anything  like  that 
in  the  west  of  Europe,  in  western  France  or 
Scotland,  nothing  in  the  least  approaching 
that.  The  range  of  temperature  there  is 
seldom  more  than  60  degrees  or  70  degrees. 
This  difference  is  due  entirely  to  the  prevaiHng 
winds,  in  one  case  coming  off  the  land  and  in 
the  other  ofi  the  water. 

Mild  Climate  Found 
on  Western  Shores 

That  means,  of  course,  that  the  western 
shore  of  a  continent  is  one  of  mild  cUmate 
and  small  temperature  variation.  The  eastern 
shore  is  one  of  a  severe  climate  and  a  great 
variation,  because  the  eastern  shore,  like  ours 
here,  is  the  shore  of  land  winds.  The  western 
shore  is  the  shore  of  sea  winds. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  the  European 
settlers,  instead  of  coming  to  America  on  the 
Atlantic  side,  where  they  found  a  low  plain 


of  rich  land,  forming  the  Southern  States,  and 
a  compact  httle  plain  of  New  England,  all 
of  that  Atlantic  coast  region,  none  of  it  high, 
all  of  it  furnished  with  an  abundance  of 
navigable  streams — suppose  they  had  come 
in  on  the  Pacific  coast.  The  whole  course  of 
our  history  would  have  been  changed.  There 
would  have  been  the  colonization  of  a  small 
coastal  strip,  not  far  inland  these  colonists  would 
have  been  confronted  by  a  gigantic  rocky 
mountain  wall  fourteen  or  fifteen  thousand 
feet  high,  covered  with  eternal  snow  and  ice. 
When  they  had  surmounted  that  they  would 
have  found  themselves  with  five  hundred 
miles  of  desert  before  they  could  find  any 
arable  land  which  might  be  cultivated  without 
irrigation  and  very  extensive  resources. 

Effects  of  Colonizing 
Atlantic  Coast  First 

In  short,  the  whole  past,  present  and  future, 
the  whole  development,  the  whole  of  our  ex- 
isting conditions  are  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
colonization  of  the  country  took  place  on  the 
Atlantic  side  and  not  on  the  Pacific  side. 
The  arrangement  of  mountains  with  reference 
to  the  coasts  and  of  the  desert  with  reference 
to  the  coasts  is  such  that  the  coastal  strip 
only  could  have  been  populated,  could  have 
been  cultivated,  could  have  been  settled,  for 
a  very  long  time  after  the  discovery  of  the 
country. 

The  three  elements  that  go  to  make  up 
cHmate,  then,  are  temperature,  moisture,  and 
prevailing  winds. 

Why  is  it  that  the  white  man  doesn't  thrive 
in  the  tropics?  In  the  first  place,  there  are 
the  insect-borne  diseases,  such  as  yellow  fever^ 
tropical  malaria,  tropical  dysentery,  sleeping 
sickness — not  the  sort  of  thing  the  doctors 
have  been  talking  of  lately,  but  the  real 
article.  Those  are  all  due  to  insect  bites. 
The  parasites  that  produce  these  diseases  live 
in  the  insect  and  are  transmitted  to  the  human 
blood  by  the  bite.  This  whole  thing  has  been 
traced  through  the  complete  cycle  of  develop- 
ment, the  yellow  fever  parasite,  the  typhus 


fever  parasite — typhus  is  transmitted  by  a 
louse — the  bubonic  plague  or  black  death, 
which  devastated  Europe  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  and  which  is  due  to  the  bite  of  the 
rat  flea.  And  the  number  of  diseases  which 
are  due  to  the  bite  of  insects  is  steadily  in- 
creasing; or  rather,  our  knowledge  of  them  is 
increasing. 

When  I  went  down  to  Panama  during  the 
construction  of  the  Canal,  I  hardly  saw  a 
mosquito.  I  remember  one  night  just  outside 
the  city  of  Panama,  Colonel  Gorgas,  Chief 
Sanitary  Officer,  had  come  to  return  my  call, 
and  we  were  chatting  about  sanitation.  He 
said: 

"I  received  a  letter  the  other  day  from 
a  lady,  announcing  in  terms  of  great  indig- 
nation that  she  had  seen  a  mosquito  here 
in  the  Tivoli  Hotel,  and  expected  me  to 
take  immediate  steps  about  it.  I  did,  but 
there  was  not  much  to  do."  The  sanitation  of 
twelve  hundred  acres,  that  was  all,  a  little  over 
two  square  miles,  cost  $570,000  a  year  to  keep 
the  mosquito  down. 
Quarantine  as  Control 

for  Yellow  Fever 

Yellow  fever  could  be  controlled  by  quaran- 
tine, and  there  had  not  been  a  case  of  yellow 
fever  on  the  Isthmus  since  1910,  except  a  few 
that  have  come  in  on  ships.  These  were  pro- 
tected from  mosquitoes,  and  no  new  cases  arose. 
In  the  last  eleven  years  there  has  not  been  a 
single  case  of  yeUow  fever  in  a  country  where 
from  that  disease  the  French  died  hke  ffies. 

I  don't  think  the  world  will  ever  do  justice 
to  the  French  engineers  who  faced  those  hor- 
rible conditions  of  yellow  fever  in  1889-96. 
A  conductor  on  the  Panama  Railroad  said  to 
me  one  day — I  had  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  all  this  sanitation  and  expected  to  hear  him 
laugh  at  it,  talk  about  it  as  highfalutin' 
nonsense — "I  used  to  run  the  De  Lesseps 
Special  on  this  road.  I  never  ran  a  train 
without  the  baggage  car  full  of  Frenchmen 
dead  from  yellow  fever.  Sometimes  we  would 
have  to  lay  them  out  in  rows  along  the  street. 
There  were  not  wagons  enough  to  carry  them." 


And  when  you  think  that  the  French  never 
faltered  once  in  all  that  horrible  time,  I  think 
their  record  is  magnificent! 

Why  the  French  Failed 
to  Build  the  Canal 

They  failed  because  of  two  things.  In  the 
first  place,  nothing  was  known  then  about  the 
causes  of  those  tropical  diseases  or  how  to  con- 
trol them  or  what  to  do  for  them.  And  in  the 
second  place,  they  failed  because  of  the  hor- 
rible corruption  with  which  the  whole  enter- 
prise was  dealt  with  in  Paris.  In  those  condi- 
tions, of  course  failure  was  inevitable. 

But  my  point  is  that  despite  that  sanitation, 
despite  that  enormous  expenditure,  despite  the 
strictness  of  a  military  administration — be- 
cause you  must  always  remember  that  Panama 
was  under  strict  military  law  and  controlled 
just  as  much  as  any  fort,  and  things  were  done 
under  those  conditions  which  would  not  have 
been  possible  imder  an  ordinary  civil  admin- 
istration— what  was  the  result?  People  used 
to  laugh  and  say  that  the  Isthmus  was  now  a 
health  resort.  You  never  saw  a  finer  looking 
crowd  of  children,  healthier  looking  women, 
than  the  American  women  and  children  in  the 
Isthmus.  Yet  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was 
a  picked  population,  and  in  addition  to  the 
large  numbers  who  were  attacked  by  malaria 
and  had  to  come  home,  there  was  a  very  large 
number  of  people  who  went  to  the  Isthmus 
and  had  no  particular  disease,  malaria,  yellow 
fever  or  typhoid,  yet  they  simply  could  not 
stand  the  climate  and  had  to  go  home.  It  was 
the  constant  pressure  of  that  monotonous  heat, 
not  very  severe, — I  never  saw  a  day  in  Panama 
anything  hke  what  we  often  have  here  in 
August — but  it  is  the  imrelenting  pressure  of  it. 
After  six  months  or  a  year  you  feel  that  you 
would  give  anything  you  possess  to  see  a  snow- 
flake.  And  so  the  Canal  Commission  used  to 
send  the  employees  home  every  year  on  fur- 
lough, paid  their  expenses,  that  they  might  get 
the  benefit  of  a  bracing  chmate.  That  is  why 
there  has  been  no  great  permanent  civilization 
in  the  tropics. 


Greatest  Civilization  of  World  Is 
of  the  Temperate  Zone 

But  the  point  I  want  to  make  is  this,  that 
the  greatest  civnlization  of  the  world  is  the 
civiUzation  of  the  temperate  zone.  And  of 
course  one  can  see  why  it  should  be  so.  There 
can  be  no  civilization  in  the  polar  regions, 
where  a  man's  whole  time  and  energy  have  to 
be  spent  in  getting  his  day's  dinner.  He  has 
not  got  much  leisure  for  the  investigation  of 
natural  phenomena  or  for  anything  else.  He 
is  a  hunter,  and  is  compelled  to  spend  his  whole 
time  on  the  trail  of  the  polar  bear  or  the  run- 
ways of  the  seal  or  in  fishing.  Beyond  that, 
of  course  nothing  is  possible. 

In  the  tropics  the  white  man  does  not  thrive. 
Whether  he  may  learn  to  do  so  in  the  future 
is  another  question.  I  think  it  is  very  rash 
and  very  foolish  to  attempt  to  put  bounds  to 
the  possibihties  of  scientific  discoveries,  but 
certainly  so  far,  the  great  civilization  of  the 
world  is  a  civiUzation  of  the  temperate  zone, 
and  especially  of  the  north  temperate  zone. 

For  many  thousands  of  years  the  civiUza- 
tion of  the  world  was  concentrated  aroimd  the 
Mediterranean.  All  the  great  nations  of  an- 
tiquity, China  excepted — Babylonia,  Assyria, 
Phoenicia,  Egypt,  Greece,  Rome — -were  Medi- 
terranean powers.  And  all  commerce  and 
navigation  was  Mediterranean  navigation. 

What  drove  the  Europeans  out  to  the 
Atlantic?  Just  two  things.  In  the  fifteenth 
century  there  came  the  completion  of  the 
conquest  of  the  Eastern  Empire  with  the  fall 
of  Constantinople.  The  Turk  had  graduaUy 
taken  possession  of  that  region,  bit  by  bit. 
First  he  took  the  Asiatic  side,  and  then  he 
had  gone  over  into  Europe  and  taken  pos- 
session of  Greece,  Bulgaria,  Servia,  and  the 
greater  part  of  Hungary.  In  1453  the  last 
remnant  of  the  Eastern  Roman  Empire  feU 
with  the  capture  of  Constantinople. 

This  shut  the  East  off  from  Europe.  The 
great  Eastern  traffic  had  moved  through  the 
Red  Sea  into  Egypt  and  by  caravan  across 
Persia  up  to  the  Mediterranean  coast,  and  had 
for  thousands  of  years  brought  that  rich  com- 


merce to  and  from  the  East,  from  India,  China, 
and  Japan,  and  from  the  great  Asiatic  Islands. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  appreciate  what  a 
tremendous  part  in  the  life  of  the  Middle  Ages 
is  played  by  spice — spice  of  all  kinds.  They 
valued  spice  in  a  way  we  do  not  understand. 
Shut  off  by  the  Turkish  conquest,  some  com- 
merce stiU  came  through,  and  so  cities  Kke 
Venice  and  Genoa  were  able  to  keep  up  a 
semblance  of  the  old  commerce  and  to  keep 
ahve.  As  a  result,  the  ItaUan  cities  had  very 
little  interest  in  the  discovery  of  another 
route  to  the  East,  but  the  rest  of  Europe 
deliberately  set  themselves  to  find  a  way  to 
India.  The  Portuguese  spent  forty  years  in 
creeping  down  the  west  coast  of  Africa  before 
they  got  into  the  Pacific  Ocean.  In  1498 
Vasco  da  Gama  got  up  the  east  coast  of  Africa 
and  was  able  to  take  advantage  of  the  south- 
west monsoon  and  reach  Calcutta.  That 
was  the  first  time  any  European  had  ever 
been  there. 

That  opened  one  route.  The  other  was 
opened  by  Columbus.  Columbus  started  west- 
ward with  the  idea  that  he  was  to  find  the 
spice  islands  that  way.  Neither  he  nor  anyone 
else  had  any  notion  there  was  a  great  con- 
tinental mass  interposed  between  Europe  and 
Asia  on  that  side,  but  his  voyage,  of  course, 
led  to  the  discovery  of  America. 

Early  Exploration 
by  Italian  Mariners 

Columbus's  venture  was  immediately  fol- 
lowed up  by  other  nations.  It  is  very  curious, 
I  think,  to  see  that  while  the  ItaUans 
as  a  corporate  body  (the  republics  of  Genoa 
and  Venice  were  the  great  commercial  re- 
publics) took  no  part  whatever  in  these 
discoveries,  the  captains  in  the  service  of  the 
Portuguese  and  Spanish,  of  the  English  and 
the  French,  were  all  ItaUans.  There  is  Co- 
lumbus, the  two  Cabots,  who  worked  for  Eng- 
land under  Henry  VII,  and  a  number  of 
Italians  who  worked  for  Prince  Henry  of 
Portugal,  because  they  were  the  men  who  had 
had  the  widest  experience  in  difficult  naviga- 


tion.  And  so  these  Italian  seamen  made 
these  great  discoveries.  Those  who  were  not 
Italians  were  Portuguese.  But  having  once 
had  the  roads  opened,  all  the  other  nations 
took  part. 

What  happened?  The  French,  the  EngHsh, 
the  Spanish,  and  the  Portuguese  immediately 
began  to  colonize  and  estabUsh  possessions 
on  the  mainland  of  the  Americas. 

By  a  curious  fact,  the  French  came  in 
north  of  the  British,  and  in  the  year  1538 
Jacques  Cartier  discovered  the  St.  Lawrence 
River,  sailed  up  to  where  Montreal  and  Quebec 
now  stand.  The  French  colonized  Canada,  and 
lea\ang  the  New  England  coast  between  Nova 
Scotia  and  Florida  to  the  EngHsh,  "turned" 
or  got  beyond  the  great  inland  obstacle  which 
kept  the  British  colonists  on  the  Atlantic 
coast  for  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
namely,  the  Appalachian  Mountains.  These 
mountains  run  down  only  a  couple  of  hundred 
miles  inland,  or  less,  but  until  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  the  British  colonists  could 
not  get  over  that  barrier.  Partly,  of  course, 
that  was  due  to  the  hostile  Indians. 

French   Pioneers'    Outposts 
Cut  Continent  in  Two 

So,  the  British  colonists,  being  blocked  off 
from  the  interior,  made  compact  agricultural 
settlements,  while  the  French  scattered  out  far 
to  the  west.  They  could  not  stand  the  temp- 
tation. Long  before  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century  La  Salle  had  discovered  the  Mississippi 
and  had  gone  down  to  its  mouth  and  estab- 
Hshed  the  colony  of  Louisiana.  In  this  way 
the  French  cut  the  continent  right  in  two,  and 
they  estabHshed  military  posts  at  streams 
which  flowed  into  the  Mississippi. 

Where  Pittsburgh  is  was  Fort  Duquesne, 
and  there  were  other  forts,  Hke  Fort  Necessity. 
They  set  up  in  a  great  chain.  Detroit  and  St. 
Louis  were  French  outposts.  They  held  the 
country  in  the  hoUow  of  their  hands,  and  had 
the  French  government  given  adequate  sup- 
port to  the  admirable  work  done  by  the  set- 
tlers, more  particularly  by  soldiers  like  Mont- 


calm, France  would  have  been  the  dominant 
power  in  this  continent  to-day.  But  they 
didn't.  They  were  too  absorbed  with  their 
European  affairs,  and  they  let  Canada  shift 
for  itself,  so  that  ultimately  the  French  had 
to  submit.  They  were  oiitniunbered  at  the 
time,  but  by  the  aid  of  the  navigable  rivers 
the  French  still  held  the  interior  of  the  con- 
tinent. 

Rapids  Bar  Navigation 
of  Rivers  of  Africa 

For  two  reasons  the  exploration  of  the  in- 
terior of  Africa  was  not  accompHshed  till  the 
latter  part  of  the  nineteenth  century.  In  the 
first  place,  Africa  has  practically  no  na\dgable 
rivers.  All  South  Africa  has  not  one,  not 
even  enough  to  float  an  Indian  birch  bark 
canoe,  which  was  the  great  French  method 
of  exploration.  The  French  had  passed  from 
lake  to  river,  from  river  to  lake.  They  would 
make  a  portage  from  one  stream  to  another, 
and  it  was  usually  a  very  easy  carry.  But 
even  with  a  birch  bark  canoe,  in  a  great  part 
of  South  Africa,  you  cannot  go  anywhere. 

I  recall  my  sensations  when  I  reached  the 
Zambesi  and  saw  all  that  water  running  to 
waste.  It  was  dreadful.  Even  the  Zambesi 
is  not  navigable,  it  is  so  broken  up  by  rapids. 

If  you  go  up  the  Congo,  a  magnificent  river, 
for  a  few  hundred  miles  you  get  into  a 
series  of  falls  and  rapids.  The  exploration  of 
the  interior  of  Africa  was  impossible  in  a  boat, 
by  which  the  French  had  in  less  than  two 
hundred  years  carried  themselves  all  over 
North  America. 

Another  obstacle  is  the  deadly  insects  of 
Central  Africa,  especially  the  tse-tse  fly.  It 
looks  much  Uke  an  innocent  horsefly.  You 
know  at  once  from  his  looks  that  he  is  a  blood- 
sucker, but  he  does  two  things.  There  are 
several  species  of  him,  and  each  one  has  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  parasite  which  he  transmits  to 
the  blood  of  his  victim.  He  is  the  cause  of  the 
real  and  deadly  sleeping  sickness.  When  the 
British  estabhshed  the  colony  of  Uganda  in 
Central  Africa  they  were  forced  to  withdraw 


the  natives  because,  among  them,  there  had 
been  a  hundred  thousand  deaths  from  sleeping 
sickness  alone.  White  men  could  protect  them- 
selves better,  but,  even  so,  a  great  many  white 
men  fell  victims.  A  great  many  had  been  vic- 
tims in  the  Belgian  Congo,  too. 

In  Africa  is  another  species  of  the  fly  which 
attacks  animals,  horses,  oxen,  goats,  sheept 
anything.  And  this  parasite  is  immediately 
fatal  to  the  animal,  so  that  a  horse,  for  example, 
will  die  within  twenty-four  hours.  Con- 
sequently the  exploration  of  Africa  had  to  be 
done  on  foot.  That  is  the  most  costly  and 
ineSective  method  of  doing  it,  because  when 
you  get  a  man  to  carry  his  own  food  for  three 
months  that  is  about  all  he  can  do. 

Industrial  Revolution 

of  the  Eighteenth  Century 

Of  course  you  understand  that  I  have  just 
picked  the  things  here  and  there  out  of  an 
enormously  big  subject.  But,  finally,  there  is 
just  one  other  consideration  that  I  want  to 
mention.  And  that  is  the  industrial  revolu- 
tion, the  industrial  revolution  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

Have  you  ever  realized  that  our  own  grand- 
fathers— mine,  I  know,  I  can  remember  very 
well — were  less  removed  from  the  conditions 
of  JuUus  Caesar's  time  than  they  were  from 
those  of  to-day  in  all  matters  of  the  exterior 
and  material  side  of  civilization?  The  meth- 
ods of  travel  and  manufacture,  of  distribution 
of  goods,  of  transportation,  were  those  of  the 
Romans  down  to  the  industrial  revolution  of 
the  latter  eighteenth  century  and  early  nine- 
teenth. 

That  industrial  revolution  resulted  in  the 
main  from  the  substitution  of  the  steam  engine 


for  hiunan  and  animal  power.  And  so  the  in- 
dustrial revolution  was  conditioned  by  coal. 
The  time  is  going  to  come  to  a  certainty  when 
the  coal  will  be  exhausted.  And  here  let  me 
say  in  parenthesis  that  there  is  no  more  per- 
nicious word  in  the  English  vocabulary  than 
"inexhaustible."  When  I  was  a  boy  I  was 
taught  in  my  geography  that  Pilot  Knob  was 
an  inexhaustible  source  of  iron  ore,  which 
would  supply  the  whole  world  for  many  cen- 
turies to  come.  Pilot  Knob  and  Iron  Moun- 
tain have  been  exhausted  for  forty  years. 

Fallacy  that  Nature  Holds 
Inexhaustible  Supplies 

There  isn't  enough  ore  there  to  pay  to  take  it, 
and  so  it  is  for  everything  else.  Nothing  is  in- 
exhaustible. And  remember  that  every  kind 
of  thing  you  get  from  the  earth,  ores,  natural 
gas  or  petroleum,  all  are  exhaustible,  and  we 
are  hving  on  capital,  and  the  time  wiU  come 
when  these  things  will  be  gone.  Yet  civiliza- 
tion need  not  go,  because  substitutes  can  be 
foimd.  But  the  point  here  is  that  the  indus- 
trial revolution  is  a  revolution  of  coal,  and  the 
great  industrial  nations  are  the  nations  like 
Germany,  Great  Britain,  the  United  States, 
which  have  abundant  suppUes  of  good  quaUty 
and  easily  accessible  coal. 

Coal  is  a  temporary  thing.  A  few  thousand 
years,  at  most,  and  it  will  be  gone.  Then  in 
particular  will  be  the  time  when  the  importance 
of  the  tropics  to  the  white  man  will  become 
vital,  because  when  it  is  no  longer  possible 
to  keep  warm  in  our  winters,  when  fuel  is 
prohibitory  in  price  or  not  to  be  had  at  any 
price,  we  must  migrate  to  the  tropics.  In  the 
meantime  we  have  got  to  learn  how  to  Uve 
there. 


I    1 1  I   n  \j  u    1    >-    '  '       '-^ 


MAY  3      1921 


Number  Seven 


Efinceton  Lectures 


Published  by 


PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


April,  1921 


NOTE 


This  is  the  Seventh  Lecture  in  the  series  by  members  of 
the  Princeton  faculty  to  be  distributed  to  the  University 
alumni. 

THE  LECTURER 

LAUDER  WILLIAM  JONES  was  graduated  at 
Williams  College  with  the  degree  of  A.B.  in  1892,  and 
earned  the  degree  of  Ph.D.  at  the  University  of  Chicago 
five  years  later.  He  was  on  the  staff  of  the  Chicago 
institution  for  the  following  ten  years,  and  in  1907  went 
to  the  University  of  Cincinnati  as  Professor  and  head 
of  the  Department  of  Chemistry  and  Chemical  Engi- 
neering. 

In  the  spring  of  1918,  Dr.  Jones  was  elected  Dean 
of  the  School  of  Chemistry  at  the  University  of  Minne- 
sota, but  before  beginning  active  administration  of  the 
School  he  was  called  to  Washington  to  take  charge  of 
research  work  in  gas  warfare.  About  two  hundred 
chemists  were  employed  in  the  investigations  under  his 
direction,  and  Princeton,  Yale,  Columbia  and  Johns 
Hopkins  were  among  the  institutions  that  maintained 
branch  laboratories  as  a  part  of  his  organization.  The 
Armistice  brought  this  work  to  a  close. 

Dr.  Jones  assumed  his  active  connection  with  the 
University  of  Minnesota  in  January,  1919,  and  si.x 
months  later  he  was  asked  to  undertake  also  the  direc- 
tion of  the  College  of  Engineering  and  Architecture.  He 
became  Hepburn  Professor  of  Organic  Chemistry  at 
Princeton  in  September,  1920. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Slosson,  Edwin  E. — Creative  Chemistry — -The  Century 
Company. 

Hendrick,  Ellwood — Everyman's  Chemistry — Harper's 
Modern  Science  Series. 

Duncan,  Robert  Kennedy — The  Chemistry  of  Commerce 
— Some  Chemical  Problems  of  To-day. 

Slosson.  Edwin  E. — -The  Conquest  of  Commerce  and  also 
American  Made — The  Independent,  Sept.  6  and  Oct.  11,  1913. 

Saddler.  S.  S. — The  Chemistry  of  Familiar  Things — J.  B. 
Lippincott  Company. 

Roger,  Allen — Industrial  Chemistry — D.  Van  Nostrand 
Company. 

Schorlemmer.  Carl — The  Rise  and  Development  of  Or- 
ganic Chemistry — MacMillan  Company. 

'Tilden.  Sir  William  A. — Chemical  Discovery  and  Inven- 
tion of  the  Twentieth  Century — E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co. 

Cressy.  Edward — Discovery  and  Invention  of  the  Twen- 
tieth Century. 

Bond,  H.  Russel— Invention  of  the  Great  War — The  Cen^ 
tury  Company. 

Auld.  S.  J.  M. — Gas  and  Flame  in  Modern  Warfare — 
George  H.  Doran  Company. 

Crowell.  Benedict,  Director  of  Munition  to  the  Secretary 
of  War,  War  Department — America's  Munitions,  1917-191S. 

A  pamphlet  issued  by  The  Chemical  Foundation,  New 
York,  which  contains  the  report  of  A.  Mitchell  Palmer  and 
an  address  by  F.  P.  Garvain  concerning  Enemy  Property  m 
the  United  States. 

Porter,  H.  G. — Coal  Tar  Products — Technical  Paper  No. 
89.  Bureau  of  Mines. 

Dyestuff  Situation  in  the  United  States — Special  Agent's 
Series,  No.  Ill,  Washington. 

Artificial  Dyestuffs  Tjsed  in  the  United  States — Special 
Agent's  Series.  No.  121.  Washington. 

Heyl.  G. — Dyestuffs  as  Medicinal  Agent — Color  Trade 
Journal.  Vol.  IV,  Page  73,  1919. 


Development  of  Organic 
Chemistry 

A  LECTURE 

By  Lauder  William  Jones 

Hepburn  Professor  of  Organic  Chemistry 

at  Princeton  University 

Chemistry,  as  a  science,  emerged  from 
Alchemy  toward  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago;  but,  even  to  this  day,  there  are 
many  persons  who  believe  that  it  still  retains 
much  of  the  mystery  as  well  as  the  earmarks 
of  its  ancestry. 

Perhaps  the  chief  factor  responsible  at  that 
time  for  the  birth  of  modern  chemistry  is  to 
be  found  in  the  conviction  held  by  Lavoisier 
and  others  that  it  was  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance to  study  the  quantitative  relations,  which 
can  be  measured  during  the  course  of  chemi- 
cal reactions,  a  method  in  striking  contrast 
to  the  one  previously  employed,  which  re- 
quired mainly  the  observation  of  the  qualita- 
tive changes  in  the  physical  properties  of  sub- 
stances during  these  same  reactions. 

These  two  points  of  view  differ  so  widely 
that  it  is  not  easy  for  us  now  to  turn  back  the 
tide  of  time  and  place  ourselves  once  more 
in  the  position  of  the  alchemist.  To  him  the 
transmutation  of  some  base  metal  into  gold 
was  not  only  a  fascinating  venture,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  a  highly  practical  industrial 
problem. 

Even  in  these  days,  it  might  seem  to  the 
uninitiated  a  much  simpler  task  to  transmute 
lead  into  gold  than  to  convert  a  sample  of 
black,  viscous,  evil-smelhng  coal-tar  into  per- 
fumes of  Araby,  indigo  of  the  Orient,  dyes  of 
every  color  of  the  rainbow,  and  drugs  as  potent 


and  more  specific  than  those  known  to  the 
ancients.      Since    the    alchemist    placed    his 
emphasis  chiefly  upon  variations  in  physical 
properties    or    qualities,    there    was    nothing 
inconsistent  in  his  belief  that  lead  might  be 
mixed    with    other    substances,    fortunately 
chosen,  to  confer  upon  it  all  of  the  characteris- 
tic quaHties  of  gold,  and  that  gold  itself  would 
result. 

On   the   other  hand,    the   consideration   of 
quantitative    values,    proposed    by    the    new 
school,  soon  led  to  the  discovery  that  gold 
could  be  obtained  from  a  very  limited  number 
of  substances.    Furthermore,  that  gold,  itself, 
was  an  elementary  substance;  that  no  reaction, 
however  drastic  it  might  be,  ever  separated 
it  into  two  or  more  substances.    If  it  suffered 
any  change  whatsoever,  it  was  observed  that 
the  new  materials  produced  always  weighed 
more  than  the  gold  originally  taken   for  the 
experiment.      In    other    words,    gold    "com- 
pounds" were  formed. 

Distinction  Between  Elementary  and 
Compound  Substances  Fundamental 

This  distinction  between  elementary  sub- 
stances and  compound  substances,  as  deter- 
mined by  a  balance  and  weights,  was  funda- 
mental; the  achievements  of  modern  chem- 
istry are  the  logical  consequences  and  fruitage 
of  this  conception.  Patterson  Muir  draws  an 
interesting  comparison  when  he  says:  "To- 
day it  is  possible  to  recognize  a  certain  like- 
ness between  the  saying  of  Stephanus  of 
Alexandria  (about  620  A.D.),  that  'it  is  neces- 
sary to  deprive  matter  of  its  properties  to  draw 
out  its  soul,'  and  the  statement  of  Lavoisier 
(1789)  that  'the  object  of  chemistry  is  to 
decompose  the  different  natural  materials  and 
to  examine  separately  the  different  substances 
which  enter  into  their  composition.'  " 

One  of  the  most  interesting  episodes  of  these 
early  days  concerned  organic  chemistry  and 
the  unique  position  which  it  occupied  at  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century.  To  give 
some  insight  into  the  historical  setting,  I  must 
go   back    to    the   year    1675,    when   Nicholas 

Lemery,  a  professor  of  Medicine  in  the  Uni- 
versity   of    Paris,    pubUshed    a    textbook    of 
chemistry.    This  book  must  have  been  one  of 
the  "best  sellers"  of  its  day,  for,  during  the 
lifetime  of  its  author,  it  passed  through  thir- 
teen editions  and  was  translated  into  Latin, 
English,    German,    ItaHan   and   Spanish.     It 
was  in  use  as  late  as  1750. 

In  this  text  Lemery  divided  the  realm  of 
chemistry    into     three    proNinces:      Mineral 
Chemistry,  Animal  Chemistry  and  Vegetable 
Chemistry.     In   other   words,   material   sub- 
stances   were    classified    according    to    their 
origins.    In  time,  however,  it  was  discovered 
that   some  of   the   materials  extracted  from 
plants  were  identical  with  some  which  could 
be  obtained  from  animals.     This  led  to  the 
proposal  of  a  new  classification  into  Mineral 
or  Inorganic  Chemistry  and  Organic  Chemis- 
try, the  chemistry  of  substances  obtained  from 
organisms. 

Difference  Between  Mineral  and  Organic 
Compounds  Baffling  Mystery  at  First 

During  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century  it  was  observed  that  all  typical  organic 
compounds  contained  the  element  carbon, 
combined  in  various  proportions  with  other 
elements.  But  there  seemed  to  be  a  remark- 
able difference  between  mineral  compounds 
and  organic  compounds.  While  many  of  the 
substances  called  "mineral"  had  been  made  in 
the  laboratory  by  the  direct  union  of  elemen- 
tary substances,  no  chemist  had  succeeded  in 
causing  carbon  to  unite  with  other  elements 
to  produce  a  single  one  of  the  many  organic 
compounds  extracted  from  plants  or  animals. 
There  must  be  some  baffling  mystery  here. 
How  could  this  be  e.\plained? 

A  theory  was  proposed  which  held  that 
organisms  possessed  a  subtle  principle  called 
"vital  force,"  under  the  influence  of  which 
the  elements  were  assembled  to  form  organic 
compounds.  It  was  even  predicted  that  the 
chemist  never  would  be  able  to  prepare  these 
compounds  directly  from  carbon,  hydrogen, 
oxygen  and  other  elementary  substances. 

But  a  few  years  prior  to  the  middle  of  the 
last  century  the  supposedly  impossible  was 
performed.  For,  without  the  intervention  of 
"vital  force,"  the  synthesis  of  several  familiar 
organic  compounds,  such  as  urea,  acetic  acid, 
and  alcohol,  had  been  accompHshed,  to  the 
great  surprise  of  the  dogmatic  school  of  chem- 
ists. 

Even  then  the  necessity  of  holding  firmly 
to  a  theory,  however  threadbare  it  may  have 
become,  caused  some  of  the  more  sceptical 
chemists  to  propose  this  question,  "How  do 
you  know  that  all  of  the  carbon  on  the  surface 
of  the  globe  may  not  have  been  a  part  of  a 
plant  or  an  animal  at  some  time  in  the  past; 
and,  on  that  account,  may  stiU  retain  a  rem- 
nant of  '  vital  force,'  sufficient  at  least  to 
account  for  the  successful  synthesis  for  which 
chemists  have  claimed  the  credit?"  This  was 
too  absurd  to  be  given  serious  consideration, 
and  the  debate  ended. 

In  the  glorious  days  which  followed,  the 
organic  chemist,  rejoicing  in  his  newly  acquired 
control  over  nature,  set  about  feverishly  to 
prepare  the  materials  formerly  coaxed  from 
plants  and  animals.  His  efforts  were  crowned 
with  success,  which  even  the  imagination 
could  not  have  foretold.  Once  in  possession 
of  the  magic  word,  he  seemed  to  hold  a  wishing- 
wand  by  which  the  most  marvellous  transfor- 
mations could  be  brought  to  pass.  Every 
realm  of  plant  and  animal  substance  was 
invaded.  The  plant  acids,  such  as  o.xahc, 
tartaric,  citric  and  maUc,  were  made  from  mere 
carbon  and  the  other  necessary  elements. 
He  made  perfumes  of  many  flowers,  such  as 
the  rose,  the  violet  and  the  pink;  subtle 
essences;  indigo,  ahzarin,  and  other  dyes 
which,  for  untold  ages,  had  been  taken  from 
cultivated  plants;  active  principles  of  the 
alkaloids  and  medicinal  remedies  of  ancient 
times;  sugars,  such  as  grape  sugar,  fruit  sugar, 
and  others;  camphor;  rubber;  and  hundreds 
of  other  substances. 

150,000  Compounds  of  Carbon 
Prepared  and  Classified 

Although  these  accompHshments  were  often 
of  great  practical  importance  in  themselves, 
the  discovery  that  the  chemist  could  not  only 
imitate  but  could  also  create  added  fat  to  the 


fire  and  stimulated  investigation  to  such  an 
extent  that  now,  less  than  one  hundred  years 
since  his  emancipation,  the  organic  chemist 
has  prepared .  described  and  classified  upwards 
of  150,000  pure  compounds  of  carbon,  of  which 
a  relatively  small  number  has  ever  been  ob- 
tained from  the  tissues  of  plants  or  animals. 
For  the  most  part  they  are  new  creations,  and, 
so  far  as  we  know,  are  not  present  in  any  known 
form  of  Uving  matter. 

Molecules  Not  Merely 
Aggregate  of  Atoms 

Throughout  the  entire  period  of  these  ac- 
compHshments, the  minds  of  chemists  were 
busy  formulating  hypotheses,  theories,  and 
laws  by  means  of  which  to  correlate  the  vast 
store  of  facts.  With  the  atomic  theory  of 
Dalton  as  a  starting  point,  chemists  conceived 
the  idea  that  molecules  are  not  merely  aggre- 
gates of  atoms  jumbled  together,  as  peanuts 
in  a  sack,  but  that  each  compound  is  composed 
of  molecules,  all  alike,  in  which  the  atoms  are 
arranged  in  a  perfectly  definite  structure,  or 
as  the  chemist  expresses  it,  are  "hnked 
together."  By  means  of  symbols,  the  chem- 
ist constructed  formulas  which  sought  to  rep- 
resent the  arrangement  of  atoms  in  mole- 
cules. These  formulas  are  distinctly  esoteric, 
and  mean  little  to  the  uninitiated,  but  to  the 
organic  chemist  they  are  plans  which  have  a 
meaning  as  definite  as  that  of  a  set  of  blue- 
prints to  an  architect. 

It  is  difficult  to  make  this  point  clear  to  an 
audience  unfamihar  with  the  chemist's  prob- 
lems, but  it  is  so  fundamental  to  organic 
chemistry  that  I  must  venture  to  offer  some 
explanations  of  it  by  the  use  of  a  very  crude 
analogy.  Suppose  a  castle  built  of  colored 
blocks  were  placed  before  a  child  of  some 
ingenuity,  and  we  should  ask  him  to  take  it 
apart  and  reconstruct  it  again  in  its  original 
form.  If  he  observed  very  carefully  the  order 
in  which  the  blocks,  or  groups  of  blocks,  were 
removed,  the  task  of  reproducing  the  castle 
would  be  a  comparatively  easy  one. 

Billions  of  Molecules 
in  Every  Sample 

Now,  the  organic  chemist's  problem  is  much 
less  concrete,  because  every  sample  of  matter 


which  he  investigates  contains  billions  on 
billions  of  molecules.  But,  if  he  subjects 
known  weights  of  a  compound  to  various 
chemical  changes,  and  determines  the  identity 
of  and  the  relative  weights  of  the  substances 
produced  during  these  reactions,  he  can  easily 
translate  his  results,  true  for  biUions  of  mole- 
cules, so  that  they  apply  no  less  rigorously  to 
a  single  molecule. 

The  simpler  parts  or  products  obtained  from 
the  more  complex  substance  during  chemical 
changes  bear  a  relation  to  the  complex  mole- 
cule similar  to  that  which  the  blocks  or  groups 
of  blocks  bear  to  the  castle.  If  the  chemist 
has  observed  carefully  and  has  reasoned 
accurately  as  he  takes  his  compound  apart, 
he  can  proceed  at  once  to  build,  or  synthesize, 
the  molecules  he  has  just  dismantled. 

Two  illustrations  may  serve  to  indicate 
how  the  chemist  finds  and  solves  his  problem : 
In  ancient  India  and  Egypt,  as  far  back  as 
historic  records  go,  madder  was  cultivated  to 
yield  a  valuable  dye  which,  with  various 
mordants,  produced  a  great  variety  of  colors 
upon  cloth.  Mummy  cloths,  dyed  with 
madder,  have  been  found  in  the  older  tombs 
of  Eg>T3t.  When  sea  traffic  to  the  Orient  was 
established,  the  cultivation  of  madder  ap- 
peared in  Italy,  and  in  the  eighteenth  century 
in  Holland  and  France  vast  tracts  of  land  were 
given  over  to  its  cultivation. 

Isolation  of  Chief  Active 
Dye  Principle  of  Madder 

It  was  natural  that  a  plant  substance  so 
important  as  this  dye  should  arouse  interest 
concerning  its  chemical  nature.  However,  the 
chief  active  dye  principle  of  madder  was  not 
isolated  until  1826.  It  was  called  "alizarin" 
because  of  the  Oriental  name  of  madder, 
aUzari.  In  1848  a  complete  analysis  of  alizarin 
showed  that  it  was  composed  of  the  elements 
carbon,  hydrogen,  and  oxygen. 

Because  of  the  Hmited  number  of  reactions 
which  had  been  studied,  its  relation  to  other 
known  compounds  had  not  been  established 
with  sufficient  accuracy,  so  that  all  attempts 
to  synthesize  it  were  failures.  But,  in  1868, 
two  chemists,  Graebe   and  Liebermann,  con- 


ceived the  idea  that  the  oxygen  which  alizarin 
contained  might  be  removed,  if  alizarin  was 
distilled  with  zinc  dust. 

This  method  had  been  employed  in  other 
similar  cases  with  success.  When  the  experi- 
ment was  performed  they  obtained  a  com- 
pound composed  exclusively  of  carbon  and 
hydrogen,  but,  to  their  great  surprise,  this 
material  was  a  well-known  substance,  anthra- 
cene, which  is  present  in  large  quantities  in 
the  higher  boiling  fractions  of  coal  tar. 

Artificial  Alizarin  Produced 

Here  was  the  necessary  clue.  Alizarin  was 
a  derivative  of  anthracene,  a  compoimd  of 
known  structure.  A  careful  analysis  of  aUzarin 
revealed  the  fact  that  to  convert  anthracene 
into  alizarin  it  would  be  necessary  to  remove 
two  hydrogen  atoms  and  introduce  four  oxy- 
gen atoms  in  exactly  the  right  position  within 
the  structure.  In  a  short  time  this  was  ac- 
complished, and  artificial  alizarin  made  its 
bow  to  the  world. 

Graebe  and  Liebermaim,  in  the  article  which 
announced  their  disco ver>',  say,  "The  enor- 
mous consumption  of  madder,  the  large  tracts 
of  fertile  soil  required  for  its  cultivation, 
clearly  bespeak  the  importance  which  would 
be  obtained  by  a  new  branch  of  industry 
based  upon  the  artificial  preparation  of  alizarin 
from  anthracene,  a  common  constituent  of 
coal  tar." 

In  1868  the  world's  production  of  madder 
amounted  to  five  hundred  thousand  tons. 
During  the  ten  years  which  followed,  the  pro- 
duction of  artificial  alizarin,  chiefly  by  German 
industries,  had  made  such  inroads  that  the 
total  recorded  production  of  madder  amounted 
to  only  five  hundred  tons. 

Iodine  Compounds 
in  Thyroid  Gland 

Goiter,  exopthalmic  goiter,  and  cretinism 
have  been  scourges  of  mankind  for  ages. 
Modern  medicine  discovered  that  an  intimate 
relation  exists  between  hypertrophy  of  the 
thyroid  gland  and  these  pathological  condi- 


tions.  Careful  investigation  of  the  substances 
which  make  up  this  gland  revealed  the 
presence  of  iodine  compounds.  Iodine  is 
not  locahzed  in  any  other  part  of  the  human 
body  in  any  such  amounts. 

This  singular  quaUty  of  the  thyroid  sub- 
stances suggested  that  the  deficiency  which 
leads  to  disease  might  be  supplied  by  some 
iodine  compound  in  this  gland.  So  the 
thyroid  glands  of  animals  were  saved  and 
dried  in  certain  large  packing-houses.  When 
they  were  powdered  and  administered  to 
patients,  it  was  discovered  that  they  acted  in 
a  remedial  manner. 

A  short  time  ago  Dr.  E.  C.  Kendall,  con- 
nected with  the  Mayo  Foundation  of  the 
University  of  Minnesota,  succeeded  in  ex- 
tracting the  pure  active  principle  of  the  thyroid 
gland.  It  is  an  organic  compound  which  con- 
tains iodine.  This  principle,  free  from  all 
extraneous  substances  which  make  up  the 
chief  part  of  the  powdered  thyroid,  is  many 
fold  more  active  and  may  be  injected  directly 
into  the  blood  circulation.  Its  use  in  the 
clinics  of  the  Mayo  Brothers  at  Rochester, 
Minnesota,  has  met  with  remarkable  success. 

But  Doctor  Kendall  was  not  satisfied  with 
the  extraction  of  the  principle.  He  has  in- 
vestigated the  chemical  nature  of  the  substance 
and  has  succeeded  in  unravelling  the  secret 
of  its  structure  to  such  an  extent  that  he  has 
already  brought  together  the  parts  necessary 
to  produce  synthetic  thyroxin,  as  the  principle 
has  been  called.  It  is  probable  that  in  the 
near  future  the  synthetic  product  may  replace 
that  obtained  from  the  thyroid  glands  of 
animals. 

Synthetic  Chemistry  Has 
Unlimited  Possibilities 

These  two  illustrations,  one  chosen  from  the 
field  of  plant  products  and  the  other  from  that 
of  animal  substances,  may  serve  to  give  you  an 
insight  into  the  meaning  of  the  term  "Syn- 
thetic Chemistry."  I  have  already  mentioned 
the  fact  that  most  of  the  known  organic 
compounds  do  not  occur  in  plants  and  animals. 


Synthetic  chemistry,  therefore,  has  unUmited 
possibilities,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  attain- 
ments of  the  past  are  merely  child's  play  when 
compared  with  the  accomplishments  which 
await  us  in  the  future. 

Early  in  the  nineteenth  century  it  became 
obvious  that  many  of  the  results  of  pure 
science  might  be  put  to  practical  application 
in  industry.  The  discovery  of  the  wealth  of 
substances  which  could  be  obtained  from  coal 
tar  by  distillation  contributed  in  large  measure 
to  the  enormous  development  of  synthetic 
organic  chemistry  of  the  past  eighty  years. 
Such  substances  as  benzene,  toluene,  xylene, 
phenol,  naphthalene,  anthracene  and  others 
in  the  hands  of  research  chemists  yielded 
hundreds  of  intermediates,  from  which  by 
logical  experiment  the  countless  coal-tar  deriva- 
tives— dyes,  medicines,  perfumes,  essences, 
explosives,  poison  gases^have  been  derived. 

Germany  Becomes  Master 
of  Coal  Tar  Dye  Industry 

The  first  synthetic  coal  tar  dye,  mauve,  was 
discovered  in  England  by  Perkin  in  1856. 
During  the  years  which  followed  immediately 
upon  this  discovery  it  seemed  that  England 
would  supply  the  world  with  synthetic  chem- 
ical products.  But  Germany,  with  envious 
eye,  saw  her  opportunity  to  become  master 
of  this  great  industry.  The  story  of  her  suc- 
cess has  been  related  so  often  during  the 
World  War  that  it  needs  no  repetition  here. 

By  the  combined  efforts  of  the  German 
universities,  the  leading  banking  interests, 
and  large  industries,  an  intricate  system  of 
chemical  industry,  associated  in  "cartels"  or 
syndicates  and  subsidized  by  the  Government, 
was  constructed.  The  marketing  problems 
were  attacked  with  equal  vigor,  not  always  in 
as  straightforward  a  manner  as  might  be 
desired,  until  the  whole  world  was  in  a  large 
measure  dependent  upon  Germany  for  dyes, 
intermediates,  synthetic  drugs,  and  fine  or- 
ganic chemicals. 

When  the  World  War  began,  the  United 
States  was  woefully  lacking  in  chemical  in- 


dustries  to  supply  even  the  most  necessary 
things.  It  seemed  for  a  time  as  if  many  large 
industries  dependent  upon  regular  supplies  of 
chemicals  would  be  prostrated.  But  during 
these  trying  years  hundreds  of  millions  of 
dollars  have  been  invested  in  plants  and 
equipment,  so  that  to-day  the  United  States 
may  point  with  pride  to  what  has  been 
accomplished. 


Chemists'  Contribution 
to  Industrial  Success 

Chemists  of  this  country  have  contributed 
in  no  small  measure  to  the  success  which  has 
been  attained.  Before  the  war  most  of  the 
industries  dependent  upon  chemistry  looked 
upon  research  chemists  as  visionaries  who 
could  contribute  Uttle  to  the  successful  carry- 
ing on  of  their  business.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  changes  to  be  observed  in  the 
present  attitude  of  these  same  industries  is 
their  desire  to  seek  counsel  from  men  of  pure 
science;  and  it  not  infrequently  happens  that 
professors  who  have  held  important  chairs  in 
universities  are  called  by  these  industries 
to  come  into  their  service,  not  in  the  capacity 


of  menials,  but  with  the  opportunity  of 
dreaming  dreams  for  them. 

Many  chairs  in  universities  and  colleges, 
formerly  held  by  professors  of  chemistry,  now 
stand  idle  because  of  inducements  which 
industry  has  offered  to  those  who  formerly 
held  them.  It  is  not  only  the  large  financial 
compensation  which  has  induced  these  men  to 
relinquish  their  positions,  but  the  industries 
are  now  organizing  research  laboratories 
equipped  with  every  possible  faciUty  for 
carrying  on  investigation,  and  this  induce- 
ment, more  than  the  money  value  of  the  posi- 
tion, has  probably  led  to  the  desertion  of 
posts  in  universities  by  these  chemists. 

This  is  so  important  a  matter  for  the  con- 
sideration of  universities  that  I  feel  that  more 
emphasis  should  be  placed  upon  it.  In  modern 
universities  the  encouragement  of  research  in 
science  is  oftentimes  neglected,  and  facilities 
in  the  way  of  laboratories,  equipment,  and 
leisure  for  the  pursuit  of  this  aim  are  often- 
times not  furnished  to  those  who  have  ability 
for  this  service.  Unless  the  universities  come 
to  a  reaUzation  of  this  fact,  it  is  probable  that 
it  will  be  more  difficult  in  the  future  to  fill 
the  vacancies  which  now  exist  than  it  has 
been  in  the  past. 


JAN  1 1)  1922 


Number  Eight 


Princeton  Lectures 


Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N.J. 


October,  1921 


NOTE 
Thif  is  the  Eighth  Lecture  in  the  series  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Princeton  faculty  to  be  distributed  to 
the  University  alumni. 

THE  LECTURER 
HAROLD  H.  BENDER,  Professor  of  Indo- 
Germanic  Philology  in  Princeton  University,  was 
born  in  Martinsburg,  W.  Va.,  April  20,  1882.  He 
is  a  graduate  of  Lafayette  College,  A.B.,  1903,  and 
of  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Ph.D.,  1907;  in 
1906-1907  he  was  fellow  in  Sanskrit  and  compara- 
tive philology  under  Bloomfield  at  Johns  Hopldns. 
The  following  year  he  continued  his  philological 
studies  with  Pischel  and  Schulze  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Berlin.  From  1909  to  1912  he  was  instruc- 
tor in  modern  languages  at  Princeton  University : 
1912-1918,  assistant  professor,  preceptor  in  mod- 
ern languages;  1918 ,  professor  of  Indo-Ger- 

manic  philology.  He  is  a  member  of  the  Ameri- 
can Oriental  Society,  American  Philological  As- 
sociation, Modern  Language  Association  of 
America,  Modern  Humanities  Research  Associa- 
tion, Gesellschaft  fiir  deutsche  Philologie  in  Ber- 
lin, Lithuanian  Society  of  Science  (Kovno),  and 
the  Oriental  Club  of  Philadelphia.  He  is  the  au- 
thor of  The  Suffixes  mant  and  vant  in  Sanskrit 
and  Avestan,  The  Lithuanian  Word-Stock  as 
Indo-European  Material  (in  Studies  in  Honor  of 
Maurice  Bloomfield) ,  A  Lithuanian  Etymological 
Index,  and  editor  of  German  Short  Stories.  He 
has  also  published,  in  American  and  European 
philological  journals,  various  articles  on  the 
grammar,  syntax,  accent,  and  etymology  of  divers 
Indo-European  languages. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  most  important  of  the  recent  philological  works 
that  treat  of  the  early  home  of  the  Indo-Europeans  have 
not  been  written  in  lEnglish.  Relevant  discussions  in 
German,  French,  or  Italian  may  be  found  in  the  fol- 
lowing  books: 

Hirt,  H. — Die  Indogermanen.  2  vols.  Strassburg. 
1905-1907. 

Schrader,  O. — Sprachvergleichung  und  Urgeschichte. 
3rd    ed.,    2   vols.      Jena,    1906-1907. 

Feist,  S. — Kultur,  Au^breitung  und  Herkunft  der  Indo- 
gentuxnen.     Berlin,   1913. 

von  Schrocder,  L. — Arische  Religion.  Vol.  1.  Leipzig. 
1914. 

Feist,  S. — Indogermanen  und  Germanen.  2nd  ed. 
Halle,   1919. 

Reinach,  S. — Uorigine  des  Aryens.     Paris,   1892. 

Meillet,  A. — Les  dialectes  indo-europeens.     Paris,   1908. 

de  Michclis,  E. — L'origine  degli  Indo-Europei.  Torino. 
1903. 

The  second  edition  of  Schrader  has  been  translated 
into  English  by  F.  B.  Jcvons  under  the  title  Prehistoric 
Antuiuities  of  the  Aryan  Peoples  (London,  1890).  The 
latest  treatment  of  the  subject  in  English  is  contained 
in  the  American  work,  chiefly  anthropological  and  archco- 
logical,  of  John  M.  Tyler,  The  New  Stone  Age  in  North- 
ern Europe   (New  York,  1921). 


"Extraordinary  advances  have  been  made 
in  recent  years  in  the  scientific  investigation 
of  prehistoric  times.  In  the  lecture  below. 
Professor  Bender  illustrates  how  large  a 
part  the  science  of  philology  plays  in  the 
study  of  the  past  of  the  human  race." 


The  Aryan  Question 

Did  the  Languages  of  Europe  Come 
From  Asia  ? 

A  LECTURE 
By  Harold  H.  Bender 

Professor  of  Indo-Germanic  Philology 
in  Princeton   University 

In  the  Later  Stone  Age  there  lived  some- 
where a  people  or  a  group  of  peoples  who 
spoke  a  tongue  from  which  were  descended 
the  languages  of  the  Hindus  and  the  Per- 
sians, the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  the 
Slavs,  the  Celts,  and  the  Teutons,  including 
the  Scandinavians  and  the  English,  that  is, 
the  present  speech  of  perhaps  a  quarter  of 
a  billion  people  in  Asia  and  of  most  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Europe  and  of  North  and 
South  America. 

Comparative  study  of  these  various  lan- 
guages has  reconstructed  to  a  considerable 
extent  not  only  the  speech  but  also  the  daily 
life,  the  government,  and  the  religion  of  that 
Neolithic  people,  known  as  Aryan,  Indo- 
Germanic,  or  Indo-European,  which  had 
split  into  groups  and  wandered  apart  be- 
fore the  dawn  of  recorded  history. 

Language  an  Insufficient 
Test  of  Race 


Linguistic  relationship  is  not  in  itself 
sufficient  proof  of  racial  relationship.  The 
conquered  may  adopt  the  language  of  the 


PUBLISHED  BY  PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


conquerors,  or  the  conquerors  that  of  the 
conquered,  or  there  may  be  peaceful  ming- 
hng  in  irregular  proportions  of  race  and 
language. 

Max  Muller's  oft-quoted  words  have  be- 
come almost  an  article  of  philological  faith : 
"To  me  an  ethnologist  who  speaks  of  Aryan 
race,  Aryan  blood,  Aryan  eyes  and  hair,  is 
as  great  a  sinner  as  a  linguist  who  speaks 
of  a  dolichocephalic  (long-headed)  diction- 
ary or  a  brachycephalic  (round-headed) 
grammar." 

When  we  speak  of  the  Indo-Europeans 
we  mean  merely  the  people,  whoever  they 
were,  that  spoke  Indo-European,  and  we 
imply  nothing  whatever  as  to  race  or  racial 
characteristics.  As  a  matter  of  cold  fact 
and  despite  many  opinions  on  the  subject, 
we  know  very  little  racially  about  the  an- 
cient Indo-Europeans ;  we  do  not  even  know 
whether  they  were  one  race  or  a  mixture 
of  types. 

But  language  is  the  best  evidence  of 
community  of  life  and  culture,  and  we  can 
at  least  assume  that  at  some  time  and  in 
some  more  or  less  definite  territory  there 
dwelt  a  people  or  a  group  of  peoples,  racially 
pure  or  racially  mixed,  who  lived,  to  a  large 
extent,  a  common  life  and  who  spoke  a 
tongue  which  was  the  common  ancestor  of 
the  languages  now  spoken  by  the  majority 
of  the  civilized  peoples  of  the  earth. 

Indo-European  CiTJlization 

By  the  processes  of  linguistic  paleontol- 
og>',  by  the  comparative  study  of  the  fossils 
of  language,  we  know  that  this  people  con- 
structed houses  and  fortified-places;  that 
they  domesticated  animals,  bred  cattle,  and 
raised  grain  and  wool ;  that  they  knew  how 
to  spin  and  weave;  that  they  used  wheeled 
vehicles.  They  had  developed  a  patriarchal 
organization  of  family  and  clan,  and  politi- 
cal government  under  some  kind  of  a  king. 
They  distinguished  between  the  mortal  body 
and  the  soul,  and  worshipped  the  gods  with 
reverence.  The  Dymis  pitar-  of  the  Hin- 
dus, the  Z<v9  Tmrrip  of  the  Greeks,  and  the 
Jup-piter  of  the  Romans  show  a  common 
name  and  a  common  concept  of  a  father- 


god  of  the  shining  sky.  Their  religion  was 
fundamentally  a  mere  nature-worship,  but 
they  had  distinctly  ethical  and  spiritual 
ideas.  Much  of  the  exalted  connotation  of 
our  ecclesiastical  word  credo  has  come  down 
to  us  with  the  word  itself  from  Indo-Eu- 
ropean times. 

But  where  did  this  ancient  people  live? 
That  is  the  so-called  "Aryan  Question," 
which  after  nearly  a  century  of  philological 
investigation  remains  still  a  question,  al- 
though it  is  perhaps  in  process  of  solution. 

Tradition  that  the  Home  of 

the  Indo-Europeans  was  in  Asia 

It  has  not  been  much  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  since  it  was  generally  assumed 
that  all  the  languages  of  the  earth  were  de- 
scended, through  the  Tower  of  Babel,  from 
the  Hebrew,  just  as  it  was  believed,  even 
by  such  scholars  as  Sir  William  Jones,  the 
brilliant  pioneer  of  Sanskrit  studies  in  the 
Occident,  that  all  people  and  peoples  were 
descended,  through  the  three  sons  of  Noah, 
from  the  first  parents,  who  lived  in  the 
earthly  paradise  of  Semitic  tradition,  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  in  the  land  of  the  Tigris 
and  Euphrates. 

Tyre  and  Sidon,  Babylon  and  Nineveh 
were  more  ancient  than  Athens  and  Rome. 
Not  only  Judaism  and  Christianity,  but  all 
the  other  great  ethical  religions  had  sprung 
from  Oriental  sources.  Asia  was  obviously 
"the  cradle  of  the  human  race."  Only  in 
recent  times  has  it  been  realized  that  reason- 
ing man.  Homo  sapiens,  not  to  mention 
Pithecanthropus  erectus,  appeared  on  earth 
long  before  4004  B.  C.,  and  that  there  is  no 
evidence  of  a  primeval  universal  language  of 
mankind. 

With  the  beginnings  of  the  science  of 
comparative  philology  early  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  came  the  knowledge  that 
Sanskrit  was  the  oldest  of  the  Indo-Euro- 
pean languages — if  not  the  mother  of  them 
all,  at  least  their  eldest  sister.  Philologists 
concluded  that  the  home  of  the  Hindus  must 
also  have  been  the  home  of  the  Indo-Euro- 
peans, and  this  common  home  they  visual- 
ized on  the  banks  of  India's  most  sacred 


stream,  the  Ganges.  The  study  of  the  Veda 
soon  showed,  however,  that  the  Vedic  peo- 
ple did  not  know  the  Ganges,  but  hved  in 
northwest  India;  so  the  primitive  home  of 
the  Indo-Europeans  was  moved  from  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges  to  the  banks  of  the 
Indus,  to  the  country  of  the  "Five  Rivers,'' 
the  Punjab. 

Later  it  was  shown  that  Indian  and  Iran- 
ian, the  languages  of  the  Hindus  and  the 
Persians,  were  closely  related,  and  the  home 
of  the  Indo-Europeans  was  moved  once 
more,  this  time  into  the  Iranian  region  east 
of  the  Caspian  Sea. 

Now  the  philologians,  who  were  following 
the  Veda  into  wider  fields,  and  the  theolo- 
gians, who  were  following  the  traditional  in- 
terpretation of  the  Bible,  met,  for  different 
reasons,  on  common  ground  for  the  location 
of  our  ancestral  home.  That  common 
ground  was  southwestern  Asia.  It  was 
heresy  from  the  religious  point  of  view,  and 
lunacy  from  the  scientific,  to  propose  any 
other  region. 

The  Duodecimal  Argument 

Formerly  the  Asiatic  hypothesis  was  little 
more  than  a  baseless  tradition,  but  in  the 
nineteenth  century  many  and  varied  argu- 
ments were  offered  in  its  behalf.  One  of 
the  most  recent,  and  perhaps  the  most 
widely  accepted,  of  these  arguments  rests 
upon  the  assumption  of  close  contact  be- 
tween early  Indo-European  and  Semitic 
civilizations.  The  evidence  consists  mainly 
of  a  mingling  in  prehistoric  times  of  the 
Indo-European  decimal  system  and  the 
Babylonian  duodecimal  or  sexagesimal  sys- 
tem of  numerals.  Thus,  early  English  had 
a  "long  hundred"  of  120;  Gothic  numerals 
above  60  were  formed  differently  from  60 
and  below;  our  own  words  for  12  and  below 
are  distinguished  in  form  from  the  -teens; 
duodecimal  or  sexagesimal  are  our  concepts 
of  dozen  and  gross,  our  60  minutes  to  the 
hour,  24  hours  to  the  day,  12  months  to  the 
year,  360  degrees  to  the  circle.  Such  ele- 
ments are  widespread  in  Indo-European 
speech.  The  claim  is  that  these  facts  tend  to 
prove  that  the  Indo-Europeans  once  lived 


in  or  near  Babylonian  territory  and  colored 
their  decimal  system  with  its  duodecimal 
system. 

It  is  certain  that  the  Indo-European  sys- 
tem of  numerals  was  originally,  and  in  all 
essentials  still  is,  decimal;  and  it  is  very 
probable  indeed  that  the  duodecimal  admix- 
ture is  in  some  way  of  Babylonian  origin. 
But  it  is  not  necessary  to  assume  therefore 
that  the  Indo-Europeans  must  have  lived 
near  Babylonia.  Babylonian  influence  ex- 
tended over  much  of  southern  and  western 
Asia,  over  Egypt,  and  around  the  Mediter- 
ranean; the  mercantile  traffic  of  Babylon 
early  reached  as  far  as  Greece  on  the  west 
and  India  on  the  east,  and  there  is  no  better 
carrier  of  numerals  than  commerce. 

Indeed,  if  the  Indo-Europeans  had  ever 
lived  near  Mesopotamia,  in  immediate  con- 
tact with  so  highly  developed  and  so  vig- 
orous a  material  civilization  as  the  Baby- 
lonian, we  should  expect  vastly  more  Semitic 
influence  upon  Indo-European  than  could 
possibly  be  indicated  by  the  rather  casual 
evidences  that  have  been  preserved. 

Furthermore,  duodecimal  notation  ap- 
pears also  in  the  speech  of  a  non-Indo-Eu- 
ropean, Finno-Ugrian  people  in  northern 
Europe  and  among  the  Chinese  in  eastern 
Asia.  That  the  Chinese  or  the  Finns  ever 
lived  near  Babylon  is  unthinkable. 

The  duodecimal  argument  is  a  general 
one,  but  many  scholars  have  presented 
claims  in  behalf  of  rather  particular  locali- 
ties in  Asia.  Some  have  laid  the  home  of 
the  Indo-Europeans  north  of  Afghanistan 
between  the  Oxus  and  the  Jaxartes  rivers, 
or  between  the  Oxus  and  the  Hindu-Kush 
Mountains ;  others  have  argued  for  the  pla- 
teau of  Pamir,  "the  Roof  of  the  World"; 
others  for  Armenia;  others  for  the  region 
north  and  south  of  the  Caucasus ;  and  still 
others  for  the  Aralo-Caspian  steppe.  Most 
of  these  special  claims  have  been  either  dis- 
proved or  rendered  exceedingly  improbable. 

Methods  used  in  Approaching 
the  Problem 

Modem  philological  research  attacks  the 
problem    by    somewhat    different    methods 


from  those  that  were  used  in  the  past. 
First,  it  reaches  a  degree  of  detachment  by 
showing  that  the  Asiatic  hypothesis  rests 
upon  mere  tradition  and  upon  a  number  of 
more  or  less  scientific  arguments,  most  of 
which  have  faded  away  in  the  light  of  schol- 
arly investigation.  Next,  it  adopts  as  a  prin- 
ciple of  method  the  process  of  elimination. 
Many  earlier  writers  erred : 

(a)  In  arguing  ab  initio  and  with  special 
pleading  for  this  or  that  restricted  area,  with- 
out sufficient  regard  to  the  various  probabili- 
ties of  the  other  parts  of  the  Indo-European 
field; 

(b)  In  basing  final  conclusions  upon  one  or 
two  quite  specific  and  isolated  pieces  of  evi- 
dence. 

In  all  likelihood  the  case  never  will  be  de- 
cided on  the  testimony  of  a  single  witness  or 
the  presentation  of  a  single  fact,  however 
material  it  may  be,  but  a  conclusion  can,  it 
seems  now,  be  made  exceedingly  probable 
through  the  preponderance  of  evidence. 
Preponderance  of  evidence  is  best  obtained 
by  starting,  not  with  a  point,  but  with  the 
entire  Indo-European  territory,  eliminating 
the  parts  from  which  the  Indo-Europeans 
could  not  possibly  have  come,  and  then 
searching  for  the  balance  of  probability  in 
an  effort  to  limit  still  further  their  original 
home. 


A  Land  Flowing  with 


Honey 


We  can  begin  by  striking  off  all  of  India. 
The  Rig- Veda  itself  offers  part  of  the  quite 
convincing  evidence  that  the  ancestors  of 
the  Vedic  Hindus  had  come  from  the  north 
through  the  passes  of  the  Hindu-Kush 
Mountains  into  the  Punjab  and  there  sub- 
jected and  dispersed  the  dark-skinned,  non- 
Indo-European  aborigines. 

The  Hindu  (Indian)  and  Iranian  (Per- 
sian) peoples  had  formerly  lived  together 
as  one  people,  probably  in  the  territory  of 
the  upper  Oxus  (Amu)  and  Jaxartes  (Syr) 
rivers,  in  the  region  corresponding  to  an- 
cient Sogdiana  and  Bactria,  and  to  modern 
Samarkand,  Bokhara,  and  northern  Afghan- 
istan. This  terrain  has  been  claimed  by 
more  than  one  modern  investigator  as  the 
original  home  of  the  Indo-Europeans,  but 
against  this  claim  there  are  several  general 


considerations  and  at  least  one  bit  of  specific 
evidence. 

That  almost  every  Indo-European  lan- 
guage shares  with  its  cognates  a  common 
word  for  honey  or  for  an  intoxicating  drink 
made  from  honey  is  shown  by  two  simple 
and  irreproachable  etymologies.  The  first 
stem,  Indo-European  *melit,  is  not  repre- 
sented in  Indo-Iranian  nor  in  Balto-Slavic, 
but  it  is  widespread  elsewhere:  Latin  mel 
'honey' ;  Greek  /xc'Ai  'honey',  lUXiaaa  'bee' ; 
Albanian  mjal  'honey';  Gothic  milip 
'honey' ;  Anglo-Saxon  milisc  'honey-sweet', 
mildeaw  'mildew'  (literally,  'honey-dew') ; 
Cornish  mel  'honey' ;  Old  Irish  mil  'honey' ; 
Armenian  metr  'honey'. 

The  second  stem,  Indo-European  *medhu, 
is  distributed  over  practically  the  entire  field : 
Sanskrit  mddhu  'honey,  mead',  madhukas 
'bee' ;  Avestan  madu  'mead,  wine' ;  Old 
Bulgarian  medu  'honey' ;  Lithuanian  medus 
'honey',  midus  'mead';  Lettish  medus 
'honey,  mead' ;  Old  Prussian  meddo  'honey' ; 
Greek  ti.i6v  'intoxicating  drink',  /le'ft?  'intoxi- 
cation' ;  Old  High  German  meto  'mead' ; 
Old  Icelandic  miodr  'mead' ;  Dutch  mede 
'mead' ;  Welsh  medd  'mead' ;  Old  Irish  mid 
'mead' ;  Anglo-Saxon  medu  'mead' ;  English 
mead. 

It  is  clear  that  the  primitive  home  of  the 
Indo-Europeans  must  have  been  a  honey- 
land,  a  land  where  the  honey-bee  abounded. 

Now  it  seems  to  have  been  proved  that 
the  bee  did  not  exist  in  the  land  of  the 
Oxus  and  Jaxartes,  in  fact,  that  it  is  native 
in  Asia  only  within  a  narrow  strip  which 
runs  through  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  northern 
Arabia,  Persia,  Afghanistan,  the  Himalayas, 
Tibet,  and  China.  In  Turkestan  it  did  not 
exist.  Indeed,  not  one  of  the  Asiatic  sites 
that  have  been  seriously  considered  by  mod- 
ern philologists  as  the  possible  home  of  the 
Indo-Europeans  falls  zvithin  the  bee-belt, 
although  one  or  two  of  them  border  on  it. 
In  Europe,  on  the  other  hand,  the  bee  is 
indigenous  almost  everywhere. 

Evidence  of  Floral  and 
Faunal  Names 

We  can  not  cut  off  all  of  Asia  by  showing 


that  the  Indo-Europeans  must  have  Hved  in 
the  temperate  zone  and  not  even  in  the 
southern  part  of  that  zone,  but  we  can  tend 
to  ehminate  much  of  southwestern  Asia,  the 
only  part  of  that  continent  which  offers  the 
sHghtest  prima  facie  claim. 

There  are  no  common  Indo-European 
words  for  elephant,  camel,  lion,  tiger,  mon- 
key, crocodile,  parrot,  banyan,  palm,  but 
there  are  common  words,  more  or  less  wide- 
ly spread  over  Indo-European  territory,  for 
snow  and  freezing  cold,  for  oak,  beech, 
pine,  birch,  willow,  bear,  wolf,  otter,  beaver, 
polecat,  marten,  weasel,  deer,  rabbit,  mouse, 
horse,  ox,  sheep,  goat,  pig,  dog,  eagle,  hawk, 
owl,  jay,  wild  goose,  wild  duck,  partridge  or 
pheasant,  snake,  tortoise,  crab,  ant,  bee,  etc. 

However,  such  evidence  must  be  weak- 
ened by  several,  not  mutually  exclusive,  con- 
siderations : 

(a)  Absence  of  proof  that  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropeans had  a  name  for  a  thing  does  not 
necessarily  imply  that  they  did  not  have  the 
thing. 

There  is  no  uniform,  widespread  word 
for  milk :  the  name  changes  almost  from  lan- 
guage to  language.  And  yet  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropeans were  a  cattle-raising  people,  and 
they  themselves  were  mammals. 

(b)  Some  of  the  examples  just  mentioned 
are  preserved  in  only  two  or  three  languages 
and  are  insufficiently  authenticated  as  univer- 
sal Indo-European. 

The  word  for  tortoise  appears  only  in 
Greek  and  Slavic.  It  may  be  a  special  de- 
velopment in  those  languages  in  the  sense  of 
'the  green  one'  (from  an  Indo-European 
word  for  green),  or  it  may  be  borrowed 
from  a  pre-Indo-European  language. 

(c)  Even  if  a  word  is  old  and  widespread 
we  cannot  always  be  certain  as  to  what  it 
meant  to  the  primitive  Indo-Europeans. 

The  names  of  trees  are  especially  subject 
to  variation  in  meaning.  Related  stems  sig- 
nify 'beech'  in  Latin  and  the  Germanic  lan- 
guages, but  'oak'  in  Greek,  'elder'  in  Slavic, 
and  'elm'  in  Kurdish. 

(d)  A  migrating  people  sometimes  applies 
an  old  name  in  a  new  region  to  a  new,  or  at 
least  a  different,  plant  or  animal. 

The  word  gopher  is  appended  to  a  squir- 


rel in  Wisconsin,  to  a  rat  in  Missouri,  to  a 
snake  in  Georgia,  and  to  a  turtle  in  Florida. 

(e)  A  word  may  be  widespread  and  have 
the  same  meaning  in  many  Indo-European 
languages,  and  the  word  still  not  be  origin- 
ally Indo-European. 

The  word  tobacco  is  almost  universal  and 
the  plant  is  cultivated  in  many  countries,  but 
it  would  be  folly  to  assume  therefore  that 
the  prehistoric  Indo-Europeans  were  ardent 
nicotians. 

(f)  Some  of  the  plants  and  animals  includ- 
ed in  the  list  just  given  are  not  sufficiently 
restricted  geographically  to  furnish  climatic 
evidence  for  the  original  home. 

With  the  exception  of  a  few  islands, 
snakes  are  found  almost  everywhere  be- 
tween the  arctic  and  antarctic  circles. 

(g)  A  people  or  a  group  of  peoples  may 
import  a  product  from  a  distant  clime  and 
with  the  product  borrow  its  native  name. 

The  word  potato  (English,  Spanish,  Ital- 
ian, dialectic  German,  etc.)  was  borrowed 
with  the  vegetable  from  the  Carribean  In- 
dians. 

(h)  The  vocabulary  of  a  language  tran- 
scends actual  experience. 

Most  of  us  have  never  seen  a  dodo,  a 
great  auk,  a  hippogrif,  an  aardvark,  or  even 
a  European  bison. 


Evidence  of    Vocabulary  Cumulative 
Rather  than  Specific 

It  has  become  fashionable  in  late  years  to 
discount  eflforts  to  restore  Indo-European 
prehistory  through  the  evidence  of  common 
Indo-European  vocabulary,  and  too  much 
weight  has  been  given  by  recent  writers  to 
some  of  the  considerations  that  have  just 
been  mentioned. 

These  considerations  are  precautions  and 
qualifications  rather  than  objections.  Any 
one  of  them  may  apply,  to  be  sure,  in  any 
given  case,  but  none  of  them  has  more  than 
occasional  application.  The  names  of  fami- 
liar things  are  usually  well  preserved.  The 
argumentum  ex  silenfio  can  be  ruled  out  of 
court  as  a  fallacy  only  when  it  is  applied 
to  the  absence  of  single  words ;  nothing  less 
than  a  race-wide  conspiracy  could  kill  all 


the  words  of  a  prominent  group  (the  Ger- 
mans tried  it  with  their  French  loan-words 
during  the  war),  and  if  Indo-European  milk 
has  perished,  cow,  udder,  and  cottage-cheese 
(Tacitus's  lac  concretum)  have  survived. 

A  word  found  in  only  two  or  three  Indo- 
European  languages  is  likely  to  be  original 
Indo-European  if  those  languages  are  wide- 
ly separated  geographically.  The  majority 
of  borrowings  can  be  traced  and  checked  by 
historical,  cultural,  or  purely  phonetic  cri- 
teria. The  giving  of  an  old  name  to  a  new 
thing  is  not  a  common  process.  Even  with 
modern  transportation  the  number  of  im- 
ported products  is  always  small  in  propor- 
tion to  the  number  of  native  products.  And 
the  language  of  Neolithic  man  was,  for  the 
most  part,  restricted  to  the  physical  world 
immediately  about  him. 

Such  evidence  as  that  drawn  from  vocab- 
ulary is  cumulative.  If  a  number  of  Indo- 
European  languages  had  a  word  derived  in 
each  case  from  the  same  stem,  and  if  the 
literature  of  each  languge  indicated  that  the 
word  in  that  language  signified,  for  ex- 
ample, the  same,  or  approximately  the  same, 
animal  as  in  the  other  languages,  and  if  the 
animal  were  familiar  enough  to  make  bor- 
rowing unlikely,  then  it  would  be  absurd  to 
deny  the  probability  that  the  ancient  Indo- 
Europeans  knew  that  animal. 

And  if  the  floral  and  faunal  words  that 
are  more  or  less  common  Indo-European 
property  are  predominantly  those  of  the 
temperate  rather  than  the  torrid  zone,  it  is 
only  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  Indo- 
Europeans  came  from  the  temperate  zone. 
And  certainly  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the 
Indo-Europeans  indicate  Europe  rather  than 
Asia  as  their  original  home. 

If  it  be  objected  that  the  European  mem- 
bers of  the  family  might  have  inherited 
names  for  tropical  or  subtropical  plants  and 
animals  and  abandoned  them  when  there 
was  no  longer  need  for  them,  the  answer  is 
that  the  Indo-Iranian  names  for  those  plants 
and  animals  are,  for  the  most  part,  obvious- 
ly secondary  in  origin  and,  from  the  Indo- 
European  point  of  view,  late  and  local  in 
formation. 


Other  Arguments  in  Behalf 
of  the  European  Hypothesis 

Other  arguments  for  Europe  have  varied 
considerably  in  value.  More  than  once  the 
thesis  has  been  advanced  that  the  early 
habitat  of  the  Indo-Europeans  should  be 
sought  in  Europe  because  it  is  there  and  not 
in  Asia  that  the  languages  of  the  family 
cover  the  greater  area  and  show  the  more 
variety. 

It  is  true  that  most  of  the  Indo-European 
languages  have  been  European  and  not  Asia- 
tic since  prehistoric  times,  but  if  that  thesis 
had  universal  application  the  early  habitat 
of  the  English  should  be  sought  in  the 
United  States  and  that  of  the  Spanish 
should  have  its  focus  in  Central  America. 

The  absurd  argument  for  Asia  that  "hu- 
man migration  is  always  westward"  has 
long  since  been  rejected,  and  no  actual  sign 
of  prehistoric  Indo-European  migration 
from  Asia  to  Europe  has  been  discovered, 
unless  such  an  indication  be  furnished  by 
the  Iranian  nomads  whom  the  Greeks  called 
Scythians  and  who  lived  in  historical  times 
north  of  the  Black  Sea.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  can  glimpse  several  early  tribal  or  na- 
tional movements  in  the  other  direction, 
from  Europe  to  Asia. 

The  best  contemporary  opinion  agrees 
with  the  Greek  tradition  that  the  Phrygians 
of  Anatolia  and  other  peoples  whom  we 
know  to  have  been  Indo-European  crossed 
the  Hellespont  into  Asia  Minor  from  Eu- 
rope, especially  from  Thrace,  at  about  the 
dawn  of  history;  Herodotus  was  probably 
not  in  error  when  he  assigned  the  same  pro- 
venience to  the  Armenians.  Indeed,  of  the 
Indo-European  peoples  in  Asia  there  is  none 
whose  known  past  specifically  indicates 
Asiatic  origin,  whereas  several  of  them 
point  to  Europe  as  their  original  home. 

A  Recently  Discovered 
Language — Tocharian 

According  to  their  treatment  of  certain 
original  consonants,  the  various  Indo-Euro- 
pean languages  are  divided  into  two  great 


groups,  called  respectively  centum  and 
satem,  after  the  Latin  and  Avestan  words 
for  hundred,  which  illustrate  the  variation. 
The  centum  group  is,  with  the  exception 
of  one  minor  language,  western  and  entirely 
European ;  to  it  belong  Greek,  Latin,  Celtic, 
and  Germanic.  The  satem  group  lies,  with 
one,  geographically  slight,  exception,  the  Al- 
banian, to  the  east  of  the  centum  group,  and 
its  largest  part  is  situated  in  Asia ;  it  in- 
cludes Indo-Iranian,  Balto-Slavic,  Armen- 
ian, and  Albanian. 

If,  as  is  now  well  established,  the  Tochar- 
ian,  an  Indo-European  language  recently 
discovered  in  East  or  Chinese  Turkestan,  is 
a  centum  language,  that  fact  alone  would 
seem  to  be  an  indication  of  European  an- 
cestry, for  wherever  the  Indo-Europeans 
originated  it  is  clear  that  the  European  lan- 
guages are  preeminently  the  centum  lan- 
guages. It  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  not  so  plausi- 
ble that  all  the  centum  languages  of  Europe 
came  from  this  limited  Tocharian  territory 
(it  is  probably  the  only  centum  language 
in  Asia),  as  that  the  Tocharians  came  by 
secondary  migration  from  Europe,  where 
and  where  only  centum  speech  is  thoroughly 
at  home. 

The  Tocharian  has  quite  recently  been 
used  as  the  piece  de  resistance  in  a  collec- 
tion of  arguments  intended  to  prove  the 
Asiatic  origin  of  the  Indo-Europeans.  None 
of  the  manuscripts  to  which  we  owe  our 
still  incomplete  knowledge  of  Tocharian 
bear  dates ;  they  seem,  however,  to  belong  to 
the  latter  half  of  the  first  millennium  after 
Christ.  Certainly  we  have  no  record  of  the 
language  that  is  older  than  500  A.  D. 

Chronologically,  the  Tocharian  that  has 
been  preserved  to  us  is  but  a  tottering  guide- 
post  to  the  Indo-European  of  three  thous- 
and years  before.  Moreover,  the  language 
itself  indicates  that  the  Tocharians  were 
relatively  late,  Italo-Celtic  emigrants  from 
western  Europe. — Incidentally,  one  wonders 
if  there  has  ever  been  a  longer  tribal  migra- 
tion :  from,  say,  the  upper  Danube  to  within 
the  shadow  of  the  Great  Wall  of  China,  al- 
most quarter-way  around  the  globe. 


Testimony  of  Anthropology 
and   Archeology 

Anthropology  and  archeology  may  in  time 
throw  a  revealing  light  upon  the  culture  and 
the  geographical  location  of  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropeans of  the  Stone  Age,  although  it  will 
always  be  difficult  to  determine  from  the 
examination  of  a  skull  or  a  stone  ax  what 
language  their  owner  spoke  in  life.  If  the 
skulls  or  the  axes  of  the  Indo-Europeans 
differed  in  form  from  those  of  other  Neo- 
lithic peoples,  we  do  not  yet  know  in  what 
way.  Here  lies  the  great  gulf  between  com- 
parative philology  and  her  two  sister  sci-- 
ences,  a  gulf  that  will  not  be  completely 
bridged  until  we  can  identify  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropeans racially,  ascribe  to  them  definite 
archeological  remains,  and  designate  those 
remains  by  their  Indo-European  names. 

Meanwhile,  however,  we  have  the  valu- 
able archeological  testimony  that  the  pro- 
ethnic  Indo-European  civilization  of  Europe 
is  impenetrable,  and  that  central  European 
implements  indicate  indigenous  origin  and 
continuous  development.  With  almost 
every  advance  of  Continental  archeology  the 
European  prehistory  of  the  Indo-Europeans 
retreats  into  remoter  antiquity. 

Attempt  to  Delimit 
the  European   Home 

If  it  be  granted  that  the  original  home  of 
the  Indo-Europeans  probably  was  in  Eu- 
rope, it  is  possible,  by  process  of  elimination, 
still  further  to  restrict  the  place  of  origin. 
We  can  at  once  cut  off  the  south,  the  west, 
and  the  north  of  Europe,  because  these  re- 
gions were  earlier  inhabited  by  non-Indo- 
European  peoples. 

Whoever  the  ancient  Pelasgians  maj"  have 
been,  it  is  certain  that  the  Mycenaean  and 
Minoan  civilizations  of  pre-Hellenic  Greece 
were  not  Indo-European.  Italy  was  inhab- 
ited by  the  Etruscans  and  perhaps  other  non- 
Indo-European  peoples. 

The  Iberians  preceded  the  Indo-Euro- 
peans in  Spain  and  a  part  of  France.  ^Vhat- 


ever  the  Picts  were,  Britain  was  peopled, 
before  the  Celtic  invasions,  by  non-Indo- 
Europeans. 

The  Finno-Ugrians  held  northern  and 
eastern  Europe  at  least  as  far  south  and 
west  as  the  Volga,  although  Finland  itself 
was  not  colonized  by  the  Finns  before  the 
Christian  era. 

This  leaves  us,  in  general,  southern  Swe- 
den, Denmark,  the  Netherlands,  part  of 
France,  Germany,  Austria,  Hungary, 
Czecho-Slovakia,  the  Ukraine,  Poland, 
Lithuania,  the  Balkan  countries,  and  south- 
western Russia. 

Now  we  can  take  a  further  step  and  cut 
off  all  of  Europe  that  borders  on  the  sea; 
despite  opinion  to  the  contrary,  there  is  suffi- 
cient evidence  that  the  Indo-Europeans  were 
not  familiar  with  the  great  ocean. 

The  various  ethnological  and  archeologi- 
cal  arguments  for  Germany  and  Scandi- 
navia seem  to  have  failed.  The  Teutonic 
languages  of  the  Netherlands,  Scandinavia, 
Germany,  and  Austria  have  drifted,  in  their 
fundamental  treatment  of  consonants 
(Grimm's  Law)  and  in  the  decay  of  their 
inflections,  so  far  away  from  the  mother- 
tongue  as  represented  by  the  other  Indo- 
European  languages  that  it  is  difficult  to 
conceive  of  the  primitive  home  as  lying 
within  originally  Teutonic  territory. 

The  geographical  distribution  of  the  cen- 
tum and  satem  languages  speaks  against 
France  and  southern  and  western  Germany, 
separated  as  they  were  by  the  Celts  and  the 
Germans  on  the  east  from  the  nearest  satem 
peoples.  The  historical  division  of  Indo- 
European  into  satem  on  the  east  and  cen- 
tum on  the  west  is  too  clean-cut  to  permit  us 
to  ascribe  it  to  anything  else  than  an  equally 
clean-cut  geographic  division  in  prehistoric 
times. 

Just  before  their  separation  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropeans were,  almost  certainly,  still  a  more 
or  less  nomadic,  cattle-grazing  people,  wide- 
ly spread  geographically,  and  inhabiting 
vast  plains.  These  conditions  are  poorly 
met  by  the  territory  south  of  the  Carpathian 


Mountains — Czecho-Slovakia,  Hungary,  and 
the  Balkan  peninsula. 

We  have  left,  finally,  the  great  plain  of 
central  and  southeastern  Europe  which  em- 
braces, roughly,  the  present  Poland,  Lithu- 
ania, Ukraine,  and  Russia  south  and  west 
of  the  Volga;  toward  this  region  the  bal- 
ance of  probability  seems  to  lean.  Almost 
every  condition  is  satisfied  by  the  concep- 
tion of  the  Indo-Europeans  as  inhabiting 
some  part  of  this  plain  as  late  as  3Chx>  or 
2500  B.  C.  (they  knew  at  least  one  metal 
before  the  dispersion,  certainly  copper), 
early  differentiated  linguistically  into  dis- 
tinct groups  and  covering  a  vast  territory,  a 
pastoral  people  just  at  the  beginning  of  ag- 
riculture, but  still  nomadic  enough  to 
change  their  habitat  freely  under  changing 
economic  or  political  conditions. 

The  Antiquity  of  Lithuanian 

Geographically  this  central  European 
plain  lies  in  the  very  heart  of  Indo-Euro- 
pean territory  as  we  now  know  it,  between 
the  centum  and  satem  groups,  and  adjacent 
to  the  Finno-Ugrian,  with  which  Indo-Eu- 
ropean must  early  have  come  in  contact. 

Nor  can  we  ignore  the  notable  fact  that 
right  here  we  find  the  Lithuanian,  which 
has  preserved  into  modern  living  speech 
more  of  the  Indo-European  past  than  any 
other  language  on  earth.  Not  a  scintilla 
of  evidence,  historic  or  linguistic,  has  been 
produced  to  indicate  that  the  Lithuanians 
have  ever  stirred  from  their  present  dwell- 
ing-place since  they  separated  from  the 
other  Indo-European-speaking  peoples.  In- 
deed, it  has  been  made  very  probable,  on  the 
grounds  of  linguistics,  natural  science,  and 
history,  that  the  Lithuanian  stock  has  dwelt 
in  its  present  location  for  at  least  five  thous- 
and years,  which  would  approximate  the 
duration  of  the  Indo-European  period,  so 
far  as  it  is  known.  There  is  probably  no 
other  part  of  Indo-European  territory  for 
which  there  is  so  much  evidence  against 
autochthonous,  non-Indo-European  prede- 
cessors. 


IK 


JUL  2^  m2 


Numbei  Ni?i€ 


Princeton  Lectures 


Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N.J. 


March,  1922 


NOTE 


This  is  the  Ninth  Lecture  in  the  series  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Princeton  faculty  to  be  distributed  to 
the  University  alumni. 


THE  LECTURER 

HENRY  JONES  FORD,  Professor  of  Politics 
in  Princeton  University,  was  born  in  Baltimore, 
Md.,  Aug.  25,  1851,  and  was  educated  in  the  pub- 
lic schools  of  that  city.  He  entered  journalism 
and  held  a  series  of  editorial  positions,  serving 
on  the  staff  of  the  Baltimore  American,  Baltimore 
Sun,  New  York  Sun,  and  Pittsburgh  Gazette.  In 
1906  he  entered  university  work  as  lecturer  at 
Johns  Hopkins  University,  and  was  called  to 
Princeton  in  1908.  He  is  the  author  of  The  Rise 
and  Growth  of  American  Politics,  The  Scotch- 
Irish  in  America,  The  Cost  of  our  National 
Government,  Washington  and  His  Colleagues, 
The  Cleveland  Era,  Alexander  Hamilton,  and 
other  political,  historical  and  biographical  works. 
He  has  also  been  engaged  in  public  service, 
among  the  posts  held  by  him  being  that  of  Bank- 
ing and  Insurance  Commissioner  of  New  Jersey, 
and  that  of  member  of  the  Interstate  Commerce 
Commission  at  Washington. 


PIBLIOGRAPHY 

The  literature  of  Socialism  is  so  voluminous  that  any 
list  approaching  completeness  would  occupy  more  space 
than  this  lecture.  The  following  have  been  selected 
mainly  for  their  usefulness  as  guide-books  for  the  study 
of  the  particulars  in  their  fields: 

Cathrein  and  Gettelmann,   Socialism,   Benziger  Bros. 

F.  Engels,  Socialism,  Utopian  and  Scientific,  Chas. 
Scribner's   Sons. 

H.  W.  Laidler.  Socialism  in  Thought  and  Action. 
The  Macmillan  Co. 

E.  V.  Zenker,  Anarchism.  G.   P.   Putnam's   Sons. 

J.  H.  Noyes,  History  of  American  Socialism,  J.  B. 
Lippincott  &  Co. 

M.  Kauffmann,  Christian  Socialism,  Kegan  Paul 
Trench    &    Co. 

Ryan  and  Husslein,  The  Church  and  Labor,  The  Mac- 
millan Co. 


What  Is  Socialism? 

A  LECTURE 

By  Henry  Jones  Ford 

Professor  of  Politics  in  Princetcm 
University 

"Socialism"  is  a  very  flexible  term.  Its 
primary  meaning  is  simply  that  of  associa- 
tion or  companionship.  But  association  is 
a  condition  of  all  human  life  unless  one 
lives  like  Robinson  Crusoe  before  he  met 
man  Friday.  Therefore  Socialism  means 
nothing  in  particular  until  some  indication 
is  given  of  the  actual  conditions  proposed. 

There  is  great  variance  of  opinion  among 
Socialists  just  what  those  conditions  should 
be  and  opposing  views  are  maintained  with 
bitterness  and  animosity  exceeding  what  is 
usual  in  political  controversy.  Hence  the 
use  of  the  term  "Socialism"  does  not  ordi- 
narily imply  any  policy  save  that  public 
ownership  of  the  implements  of  associated 
industry  should  supersede  private  owner- 
ship. Ha  man  shapes  a  stick  into  a  cane 
or  a  fishing  rod  by  his  own  labor,  it  is  ex- 
clusively his  own  product  and  hence  is  his 
very  own.  But  if  he  works  in  a  factory  that 
turns  out  canes  or  fishing  rods  the  factory 
and  its  products  should  be  under  collective 
ownership. 

There  are  extremists  who  demur  to  this 
distinction  on  the  ground  that  if  the  exis- 
tence of  any  right  of  private  property  is 
conceded  logical  consequences  might  have 
to  be  admitted  that  would  be  fatal  to  the 
whole  scheme.    The  cogency  of  this  objec- 


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tion  appears  as  soon  as  one  enters  into  calm 
examination  of  details.  Why  should  not 
the  individual  labor  applied  to  shaping  a 
business  create  an  individual  property  right 
as  well  as  the  individual  labor  applied  to 
shaping  a  stick  into  a  cane  ?  It  is  therefore 
argued  that  the  man  who  made  a  stick  into 
a  cane  by  his  own  unaided  exertions  does 
not  thereby  create  an  individual  property 
right  in  his  cane,  for  he  himself  is  a  social 
product  and  is  really  dependent  upon  so- 
ciety for  the  opportunity  to  get  his  stick 
and  make  his  cane,  so  that  after  all  there 
is  no  just  basis  for  any  individual  property 
rights,  although  in  ordinary  practice  per- 
sonal belongings  would  be  reserved  to  in- 
dividual use  by  customs  enjoying  social 
sanction  without  positive  legal  right. 

Logical  difficulties  in  the  application  of 
Socialist  principles  can  therefore  be  best 
avoided  by  strict  adherence  to  the  doctrine 
laid  down  by  Proudhon^  that  in  its  very 
essence  "property  is  theft."  This  was  at 
one  time  a  widely  accepted  tenet  of  Social- 
ism but  it  does  not  hold  that  position  now, 
and  in  a  practical  consideration  of  the 
movement  as  a  political  force  in  these  times 
it  would  be  a  mistake  to  regard  Socialism 

1  Pierre  Joseph  Proudhon  (1809-1865)  was  born 
in  humble  circumstances  and  learned  the  printer's 
trade  in  his  native  town,  Besancon,  France.  In 
1837  he  won  a  scholarship  granted  in  aid  of  poor 
young  men  who  wished  to  devote  themselves  to 
a  literary  or  scientific  career.  He  pursued  his 
studies  in  Paris  and  acquired  ideas  which  he  ex- 
pressed in  a  number  of  works  devoted  to  social 
problems.  His  principal  treatise  is  The  System 
of  Economic  Contradictions  or  the  Philosophy  of 
Misery  (1846).  Eventually  he  shifted  from  So- 
cialism to  Anarchism,  opposing  all  interference 
with  the  free  initiative  of  the  people,  a  position 
which  involved  him  in  controversy  with  Socialist 
leaders.  Participation  in  the  revolutionary 
movement  of  1848  landed  him  in  prison  where 
he  wrote  his  Confessions  of  a  Revolutionary. 
After  his  release  he  escaped  further  imprisonment 
by  fleeing  to  Belgium.  He  was  eventually  par- 
doned and  returned  to  France  in  1863,  but  lived 
only  about  two  years  longer. 


as  the  champion  of  this  doctrine  as  an  uni- 
versal principle.  The  contention  of  mod- 
ern Socialism  is  not  that  there  should  be  no 
property  rights  at  all,  but  that  collective 
ownership  should  be  substituted  for  capital- 
istic control  of  social  production.  The  man 
who  shaped  modern  Socialism  is  on  all 
hands  admitted  to  be  Karl  Marx,^  and  he 
declared  its  purpose  to  be  "collective  owner- 
ship of  all  the  means  of  production  brought 
about  by  the  expropriation  of  the  usurping 
capitalists." 

Anarchism 


But  any  sort  of  positive  right  to  prop- 
erty, whether  collective  or  individual,  im- 
plies law  and  its  restraints.  Divergence  at 
this  point  has  produced  a  deep  split  in  the 
revolutionary  movement,  dividing  the  An- 
archists from  the  Socialists.  It  is  a  com- 
mon error  to  ignore  this  distinction  and 
lump  them  all  together  as  a  set  of  anarch- 
ists. As  a  matter  of  fact  anarchy  and  mod- 
ern Socialism  are  irreconcilable  in  their 
principles,  discordant  in  their  aims  and  hos- 
tile in  their  activities.  The  Socialists  want 
to  take  possession  of  public  authority;  the 
Anarchists  want  to  abolish  public  authority. 
Socialists  favor  political  candidacy  and  par- 
ticipation in  government;  Anarchists  reject 
and  denounce  all  such  activities.  In  1864 
Marx  founded  the  International  Working- 
men's  Association,  and  issued  his  famous 
call:  "Proletarians  of  all  countries,  unite!" 
The  Anarchists,  under  the  lead  of  Bakoun- 

2  Karl  Marx  (1818-1883)  was  born  at  Trier, 
Germany,  the  son  of  a  Jewish  lawyer  who  had 
embraced  Christianity.  He  studied  at  Bonn  and 
later  at  Berlin,  where  he  took  his  doctor's  de- 
gree. He  became  a  journalist  and  edited  the 
Rhenish  Gazette  until  it  was  suppressed  in  1843. 
Marx  took  refuge  in  Paris  where  his  revolution- 
ary activities  got  him  into  difficulties  from  which 
he  fled  to  Belgium.  He  returned  to  Germany  in 
1848  but  the  following  year  again  went  into  exile 
settling  in  London  where  he  remained  until  his 
death. 


in,'  organized  in  opposition  to  the  Marxian 
Socialists  and  the  conventions  which  the  In- 
ternational held  nearly  every  year  became 
noisy  battle  grounds  for  the  factions. 

At  the  convention  held  at  the  Hague  in 
1872,  Bakounin  and  his  adherents  were  ex- 
pelled and  since  then  the  Anarchists  have 
worked  through  their  own  organizations, 
apart  from  and  opposed  to  the  Socialists. 
John  Most,  at  one  time  a  Socialist  member 
of  the  German  Reichstag,  went  over  to 
Anarchism,  and  he  introduced  its  organiza- 
tion in  this  country  in  1882.  It  spread  so 
rapidly,  championed  by  his  incessant  activ- 
ity as  speaker  and  writer,  that  for  a  time  it 
almost  wiped  out  the  Socialist  organization, 
absorbing  its  membership  so  that  ever  since 
Socialism  has  been  confused  with  Anarch- 
ism in  the  minds  of  the  American  public. 
Not  until  the  Haymarket  tragedy  of  May  4, 
1886  had  caused  a  reaction  against  An- 
archism did  the  Socialist  party  make  any 
important  gains  in  the  United  States. 

It  should  be  observed  that  Anarchism 
does  not  necessarily  imply  violence  or  even 
disorder.  It  means  literally  absence  of  gov- 
ernment by  law,  no  ruler  of  any  sort. 
There  is  a  school  of  philosophic  Anarch- 
ism that  is  in  sympathetic  touch  with  Pacif- 
ism and  condemns  any  use  of  physical  force 
as  a  violation  of  individual  liberty.    It  holds 

3  Michael  Bakounin  (1814-1876)  belonged  to 
the  old  nobility  of  Russia  and  he  was  well  edu- 
cated. He  became  an  officer  in  the  army  but  in 
1834  renounced  his  military  career  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  study  of  philosophy  from  which  he 
deduced  anarchistic  principles  which  got  him 
into  such  trouble  that  he  went  into  exile.  In  1849 
he  took  an  active  part  in  an  uprising  in  Germany 
and  was  sentenced  to  death  but  was  eventually 
handed  over  to  the  Russian  government.  His 
sentence  was  commuted  into  a  term  of  imprison- 
ment after  which  he  was  banished  to  Siberia. 
Through  the  efforts  of  his  influential  relatives  he 
was  allowed  such  freedom  of  movement  that  he 
was  able  to  go  to  Japan,  thence  returning  to 
Europe  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  in 
promoting  terrorist  methods  which  frankly  in- 
cluded assassination. 


that  with  all  legal  restraints  removed  so- 
cial harmony  would  naturally  grow  out  of 
human  intercourse.  Emerson  and  Thoreau 
have  been  claimed  to  be  Anarchists  of  this 
type,  by  reason  of  views  as  to  government 
expressed  in  their  writings,  which  probably 
in  their  own  intention  did  not  amount  to 
more  than  rhetorical  emphasis  on  the  rights 
of  the  individual. 

The  bad  odor  which  clings  to  the  term 
Anarchism  is  the  work  of  the  terrorist  sec- 
tion of  the  Anarchists,  inspired  and  pro- 
moted by  Bakounin.  "Our  task,"  he  de- 
clared, "is  terrible,  total,  inexorable  and  uni- 
versal destruction."  Not  until  every  vestige 
of  existing  institutions  had  been  swept  from 
the  earth,  could  "Anarchy,  that  is  to  say, 
the  complete  manifestation  of  unchained 
popular  life,"  be  made  secure.  He  held  that 
for  practical  revolutionists  all  speculations 
about  the  future  are  "criminal,  because  they 
hinder  pure  destruction  and  trammel  the 
march  of  the  revolution."  Such  views  and 
such  tactics  were  not  at  all  to  Marx's  liking 
and  a  vigorous  pamphlet  warfare  took  place 
in  which  each  denounced  the  other.  The 
antagonism  between  Socialism  and  Anarch- 
ism has  ever  since  continued  to  be  active 
and  bitter. 

Utopian  Socialism 

In  considering  modern  Socialism  as  a 
political  force  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  go 
back  very  far  in  time.  Socialists  themselves 
distinguish  modern  Socialism  from  its  pre- 
cursors by  designating  the  old  Socialism  as 
Utopian  and  modern  Socialism  as  Scientific. 
This  must  not  be  taken  to  mean  that  modern 
Socialism  rejects  the  ideas  and  principles  of 
Utopian  Socialism.  On  the  contrary,  Fred- 
erick Engels,*  who  first  made  the  distinc- 

*Friedrich  Engels  (1820-1895)  was  born  in 
Prussia  of  well-to-do  people  who  obtained  for 
him  a  business  opening  in  Manchester,  England, 
where  he  settled.  He  became  acquainted  with 
Marx   while   a   youth,   imbibed   his   theories   and 


tion  and  stated  its  terms,  credits  some  of  the 
Utopians — such  as  Owen'  in  England,  Saint 
Simon"  and  Fourier'  in  France, — with  al- 

became  his  close  friend  and  active  associate. 
After  Marx's  death  he  got  out  complete  editions 
of  Marx's  writings.  His  own  literary  activity, 
which  was  considerable,  was  as  an  exponent  and 
interpreter  of  Marxian  views. 

^Robert  Owen  (1771-1858)  became  manager  of 
a  large  cotton  mill  in  England  when  only  nine- 
teen years  of  age,  and  he  introduced  marked  im- 
provements in  cotton  spinning.  He  bought  a 
large  mill  at  New  Lanark,  Scotland  and  effected 
such  improvements  in  living  conditions  there  that 
New  Lanark  was  regarded  as  a  model  community. 
He  held  that  education  combined  with  coopera- 
tion would  remove  social  ills  and  his  plans  were 
received  with  great  favor  and  commanded  influ- 
ential support  but  as  his  agitation  proceeded  his 
business  success  declined  and  his  position  be- 
came that  of  the  head  of  vigorous  propaganda 
of  Socialism  and  Secularism  in  which  he  dissi- 
pated his  fortune.  He  went  to  the  United  States 
and  established  a  number  of  communistic  socie- 
ties none  of  which  had  more  than  temporary 
success. 

°  Claude  Henri,  Count  de  Saint  Simon  (1760- 
1825)  served  with  the  French  troops  in  this 
country  during  the  Yorktown  campaign.  On 
his  return  to  France  he  was  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  colonel  but  in  1785  he  resigned  his  com- 
mission. In  the  Revolution  of  1789  he  voted  to 
abolish  titles,  but  he  was  not  otherwise  active  in 
the  Revolution.  After  order  had  been  restored 
Saint  Simon  devoted  himself  to  literary  labors 
and  published  a  series  of  works  in  which  he  pro- 
posed plans  for  the  reorganization  of  the  insti- 
tutions of  religion,  family  and  property  on  So- 
cialist principles. 

'Francois  Marie  Charles  Fourier  (i 77 j-1837) 
was  educated  in  the  college  of  his  native  city, 
Besancon.  He  inherited  a  fortune  from  his  fa- 
ther but  lost  it  during  the  Reign  of  Terror.  He 
was  imprisoned  and  obtained  release  only  by  en- 
listing. Discharged  from  the  army  in  1795  o" 
account  of  ill-health  he  got  commercial  employ- 
ment at  small  pay  and  gave  all  his  spare  time  to 
producing  treatises  which  he  published  himself  as 
fast  as  he  could  scrape  together  sufficient  funds. 
He  began  publishing  in  1808  but  his  views  at- 
tracted no  attention  until  1831.  The  distinctive 
feature  of  his  scheme  of  social  reorganization 
was  the  phalanstery,  in  which  1800  people  were  to 


most  all  the  ideas  of  present  day  Socialism 
that  are  not  strictly  economic.  Engels  held 
that  the  Liberal  institutions  propagated  by 
the  French  Revolution  were,  despite  their 
fine  pretences,  a  huge  swindle  of  the  poor. 
He  observed  that  when  the  French  philoso- 
phers of  the  eighteenth  century  substituted 
reason  for  moral  obligation  as  the  basis  of 
government  this  rule  of  reason  was  in  re- 
ality nothing  more  than  "the  idealized  un- 
derstanding of  the  Eighteenth  century  citi- 
zen, just  then  evolving  into  the  bourgeois." 
By  introducing  this  rational  society  and 
government  the  Liberalism  of  the  Nine- 
teenth century  merely  established  the  rule 
of  business  interests. 

"The  antagonism  between  rich  and  poor, 
instead  of  dissolving  into  general  prosperity, 
had  become  intensified  by  the  removal  of  the 
guild  and  other  privileges,  which  had  to  some 
extent  bridged  it  over,  and  by  the  removal  of 
the  charitable  institutions  of  the  Church.  The 
'freedom  of  property'  from  feudal  fetters, 
now  veritably  accomplished,  turned  out  to  be 
for  the  small  capitalists  and  small  proprietors, 
the  freedom  to  sell  their  small  property, 
crushed  under  the  overwhelming  competition 
of  the  large  capitalists  and  landlords,  to  these 
great  lords,  and  thus,  as  far  as  the  small 
capitalists  and  peasant  proprietors  were  con- 
cerned, become  'freedom  from  property.' 
The  development  of  industry  on  a  capitalistic 
basis  made  poverty  and  misery  of  the  work- 
ing masses  conditions  of  existence  of  so- 
ciety." 

Owen,  Saint  Simon  and  Fourier  are  cred- 
ited with  having  done  work  of  inestimable 
value  in  exposing  the  fraud  of  Liberalism 
and  in  showing  that  "the  social  and  politi- 
cal institutions  born  of  the  'triumph  of  reas- 
on' were  bitterly  disappointing  carica- 
tures." But  the  working  masses  were  then 
so  lacking  in  political  opportunity  that  only 
partial  and  inadequate  solutions  of  the  so- 
cial   problem   were    then    available.      They 


work  and  enjoy  life  together.  His  ideas  gained 
some  disciples  who  were  able  to  secure  consid- 
erable vogue  for  them,  particularly  in  the  United 
States,  but  this  was  not  until  after  his  death. 


sought  "to  discover  new  and  more  perfect 
systems  of  social  order  and  to  impose  them 
upon  society  from  without  by  propaganda, 
and  wherever  it  was  possible,  by  the  ex- 
ample of  model  experiments.  These  new 
social  systems  were  foredoomed  as  Utopian ; 
the  more  completely  they  were  worked  out 
in  detail,  the  more  they  could  not  avoid 
drifting  off  into  pure  phantasies." 

Although  Robert  Owen  began  the  ex- 
ample of  model  experiments  in  England, 
with  brilliant  temporary  results,  the  prin- 
cipal scene  for  them  soon  became  the  United 
States,  where  Owen  started  a  number  of 
communistic  colonies.  This  Utopian  So- 
cialism aroused  great  enthusiasm  and  se- 
cured many  eminent  adherents.  The  Brook 
Farm  community,  one  of  the  experiments 
of  this  nature,  has  become  famous  in  our 
literary  history.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was 
one  of  its  members  and  an  imaginative  por- 
trayal of  it  is  given  in  his  "Blithedale  Ro- 
mance." Numerous  communistic  experi- 
ments were  made  in  this  country  from 
about  1824  to  1849  with  results  that  vindi- 
cate the  accuracy  of  Engels'  statement. 

Scientific  Socialism 


The  year  1859  is  regarded  as  an  epoch  in 
the  history  of  Socialism,  as  it  was  then 
that  what  is  characterized  as  Scientific  So- 
cialism made  its  appearance.  Its  founder 
was  Marx,  who  in  that  year  published  his 
"Contributions  to  the  Criticism  of  Political 
Economy"  in  which  work  he  formulated  the 
ideas  which  subsequently  he  developed  in 
his  elaborate  treatise  on  Capital,  published 
eight    years    later.      Darwin's*    Origin    of 

8  Charles  Darwin  (1809-1882).  His  activities 
were  purely  scientific  and  the  use  which  the  So- 
ciahsts  made  of  his  theories  surprised  and  some- 
what amused  him.  Although  his  writings  pro- 
foundly aflfected  the  thought  of  his  times,  he 
wrote  purely  as  a  naturalist,  without  any  attempt 
to  develop  the  philosophical  or  political  impli- 
cations of  his  theories.  Further  research  along 
the  lines  he  indicated  has  discredited  the  factors 


Species  was  also  published  in  1859.  The 
naturalistic  view  of  human  origins  sug- 
gested by  that  work  was  promptly  appro- 
priated by  Marx  and  this  coalescence  of  So- 
cialist dialectic  with  natural  history  has 
been  exhibited  as  complete  justification  of 
the  claim  made  by  modern  Socialism  that 
it  possesses  genuine  scientific  character ; — 
that  it  is  no  longer  merely  an  emotional 
movement  sustained  by  the  benevolent  con- 
siderations to  which  the  Utopian  Socialists 
appealed,  but  it  now  rests  upon  premises 
established  by  strict  scientific  induction 
from  economic  history.  Important  depar- 
tures from  Marx's  theories  have  taken 
place  among  Socialists  but  one  must  have 
some  notion  of  Marx's  teachings  before  one 
can  understand  what  is  going  on. 

Marxian  Doctrine 


The  fundamental  principle  laid  down  by 
Marx  is  what  he  termed  "the  Materialist 
Conception  of  History,"  for  which  in  ordi- 
nary discussion  the  term  "economic  de- 
terminism" is  commonly  substituted  as  a 
briefer  expression  of  the  same  idea,  which 
is  that  all  institutions, — religious,  political, 
juridical,  or  social, — take  their  characteris- 
tic shape  from  economic  conditions.  This 
law  of  economic  determinism  as  stated  by 
Marx  was  this : 

"In  the  social  production  of  their  every- 
day existence,  men  enter  into  definite  rela- 
tions that  are  at  once  necessary  and  indepen- 
dent of  their  own  volition — relations  of  pro- 
duction that  correspond  to  a  definite  stage  of 
the  material  powers  of  production.  The 
totality  of  these  relations  of  production  con- 
stitutes the  economic  structure  of  society — the 


he  instanced  as  accounting  for  the  formation  of 
species,  although  his  fundamental  idea  that  in 
some  way  they  originate  from  antecedent  types 
by  transformation  is  still  generally  held  among 
naturalists.  The  view  that  appears  to  be  now 
ascendent  is  that  the  transformation  appears  by 
abrupt  mutation  so  that  the  process  assumes  a 
creative  aspect. 


real  basis  on  which  is  erected  the  legal  and 
political  edifice  and  to  which  there  correspond 
definite  forms  of  social,  political  and  mental 
evolution  in  general." 

Marx  held  his  theory  to  be  the  extension 
and  completion  of  Darwinism.  He  held 
that  whereas  Darwin  showed  that  material 
conditions  explain  the  structure  of  plants 
and  animals,  and  the  form  of  their  organs, 
it  was  equally  true  that  the  material  con- 
ditions explain  the  structure  of  society  and 
the  form  of  social  organs.  From  this  stand- 
point Marx  examined  economic  history. 
His  analysis  of  the  changes  that  have  taken 
place  in  material  conditions  shows  much 
acute  criticism  and  he  displayed  marked  in- 
tellectual power  in  working  out  the  details 
of  his  thesis.  His  great  treatise  on  Capital 
is  copious  in  statistical  data  and  is  highly 
technical  in  character,  but  it  is  philosophi- 
cal in  tone,  full  of  abstract  reasoning  often 
presented  in  mathematical  form,  and  it  is 
decidedly  tough  reading.  It  is  a  remarkable 
circimistance  that  such  a  ponderous  work 
has  become  so  renowned  and  influential 
among  the  masses,  but  this  has  been  due 
not  so  much  to  the  direct  effect  of  his  writ- 
ings as  to  the  diffusion  of  his  views  by 
literary  adherents  and  interpreters  just  as 
Darwin's  views  have  been  spread  abroad  by 
innumerable  popular  treatises  and  essays  so 
that  they  have  reached  multitudes  of  people 
who  would  never  have  cared  to  tackle  Dar- 
win's own  writings. 

The  conclusions  at  which  Marx  arrived 
were  in  brief  as  follows:  The  overthrow 
of  feudalism,  the  rise  of  nationality,  the  Re- 
formation, the  destruction  of  guild  indus- 
try, the  spread  of  the  wage  system,  the 
growth  of  factory  production,  and  the  capi- 
talistic system  of  industrial  management, 
have  transformed  labor  from  a  social  func- 
tion into  a  commodity  and  made  pauper- 
ism the  lot  of  the  working  classes.  Indi- 
dentally,  however,  the  capitalist  system  has 
promoted  invention,  improved  technique, 
economized  industrial  process,  and  has  ex- 


panded commerce  until  the  whole  world  has 
been  enclosed  in  its  net.  But  just  as  ma- 
terial conditions  generated  the  capitaHstic 
system,  so  too  the  material  conditions  pro- 
duced by  that  system  will  eventually  super- 
sede it. 

Marx's  huge  treatise  is  nothing  more  than 
a  detailed  exposition  of  the  thesis  that  mod- 
em capitalist  society  must  needs  bring  forth 
as  its  natural  result  the  socialistic  order  of 
society. 

The  principal  doctrines  laid  down  by 
Marx  have  ever  since  been  of  cardinal  im- 
portance in  Socialist  discussion  and  in  sur- 
veying modern  Socialism  some  mention 
must  be  made  of  them.     They  are: 

1.  The  Surplus  Value  Theory.  Although 
all  wealth  is  produced  by  labor  labor  gets 
in  wages  only  a  portion  of  the  wealth  pro- 
iluced  by  it,  leaving  a  surplus  value  which, 
according  to  Marx,  is  "a  value  acquired 
without  compensation,  the  product  of  the 
unremunerated  labor  of  others."  The  ac- 
cumulation of  this  surplus  value  forms 
capital,  which  by  its  nature  continually 
seeks  further  accumulation  of  surplus  value 
through  the  exploitation  of  labor.  An  in- 
evitable incident  of  the  capitalistic  system 
is  therefore. 

2.  Progressive  Pauperization.  The  more 
the  share  of  the  worker  in  the  value  he 
creates  is  reduced  the  greater  becomes  the 
surplus  value  appropriated  by  capital.  The 
system  therefore  tends  to  depress  wages  to 
the  level  of  bare  subsistence.  Hence  there 
is  "an  accumulation  of  misery  correspond- 
ing to  the  accumulation  of  capital,"  and 
pauperism  develops  much  faster  tlian  popu- 
lation and  wealth. 

3.  Concentration  of  Capital.  Since  capi- 
tal is  derived  from  exploitation,  it  oper- 
ates against  the  small  capitalist  as  well  as 
against  the  workers,  and  thus  tends  to  con- 
centrate in  fewer  hands.  "One  capitalist 
kills  a  good  many  others."  Industries  on 
a  large  scale  keep  ousting  industries  con- 


ducted  on  a  small  scale.  The  means  of  pro- 
duction are  monopolized  more  and  more  in 
the  hands  of  a  few  great  capitalists.  This 
internecine  struggle  naturally  produces 

4.  Collapse  and  Crisis.  In  stimulating 
production  the  capitalistic  system  subjects 
itself  to  a  fierce  need  for  markets,  and  a 
struggle  for  them  rages  among  capitalists 
culminating  "on  the  average  every  tenth 
year  in  an  economic  crisis  which  convulses 
society  to  its  very  foundations."  Overpro- 
duction results  in  business  failures  and  com- 
pulsory liquidation  producing  further  ac- 
cumulation of  capital  in  the  hands  of  the 
few  and  further  decrease  of  small  proprie- 
tors, the  goal  to  which  the  process  natur- 
ally tends  being  the  concentration  of  wealth 
in  a  few  hands  while  the  masses  of  the 
people  are  absorbed  into  the  ranks  of  the 
proletariate,  whom  meanwhile  the  system 
accustoms  to  associated  effort.  Marx  re- 
marks that  while  capitalism  is  really  an- 
archic in  its  activities,  bending  law  and  in- 
stitutions to  its  purposes,  within  the  work- 
shops and  factories  production  approaches 
more  and  more  to  socialist  organization.  A 
new  order  is  maturing  which  will  be  estab- 
lished by 

5.  The  Proletarian  Revolution.  Marx 
gave  this  account  of  the  process : 

"Along  with  the  diminishing  number 
of  the  magnates  of  capital  .  .  .  grows  the 
mass  of  misery,  oppression,  slavery,  degrada- 
tion, exploitation ;  but  with  this  too  grows  the 
revolt  of  the  working  class,  a  class  always  in- 
creasing its  numbers,  and  disciplined,  united, 
organized,  by  the  very  mechanism  of  the 
process  of  capitalistic  production  itself.  The 
monopoly  of  capital  becomes  a  fetter  on  the 
mode  of  production,  which  has  sprung  up  and 
flourished  under  it.  Centralization  of  the 
means  of  production  and  socialization  of 
labor  at  last  reach  a  point  where  they  be- 
come incompatible  with  their  capitalist  in- 
tegument. This  integument  is  burst  asunder. 
The  knell  of  capitalist  private  property 
sounds.  The  expropriators  are  expropri- 
ated." 

This  account  of  the  Proletarian  Revolu- 


tion it  will  be  noted  is  rather  vague,  and  the 
point  is  now  much  discussed  whether  Marx 
would  have  approved  such  a  revolution  as 
has  taken  place  in  Russia.  His  account  of 
the  state  of  things  that  would  ensue  from 
the  Proletarian  Revolution  is  also  rather 
vague.  He  distinguishes  two  periods  or 
phases  in 

6.  The  Socialist  Commonwealth.  In  the 
first  period  of  communist  society,  when  it  is 
but  newly  hatched  from  the  egg  of  capital- 
ist society,  and  still  bears  traces  of  the  old 
shell,  labor-time  must  serve  as  a  basis  of 
distribution.  The  individual  labor-time  of 
each  producer  is  the  part  of  the  social  work- 
ing day  furnished  by  him;  it  constitutes  his 
share.  The  society  will  give  him  a  certifi- 
cate that  he  has  furnished  a  certain  quantity 
of  labor-time,  and  by  presenting  his  certifi- 
cate he  may  draw  from  the  society's  stores 
goods  or  provisions,  of  equivalent  value  as 
computed  in  labor-time.  But  when  human 
nature  has  received  the  full  impress  of  the 
new  social  order,  every  one  may  be  allowed 
to  take  from  the  common  store  whatever  he 
needs,  without  any  medium  of  exchange. 
Here  is  Marx's  own  account  of  this  pro- 
found change  in  the  nature  and  habits  of 
mankind : 

"In  a  higher  phase  of  communist  society, 
after  the  slavish  subordination  of  the  indi- 
vidual under  the  divisions  of  labor,  and  con- 
sequently the  opposition  between  mental  and 
bodily  work,  has  disappeared;  after  labor  has 
ceased  to  be  merely  the  means  of  sustaining 
life,  but  has  become  an  urgent  desire;  after 
the  individual  has  become  more  perfect  in 
every  respect,  increasing  thereby  also  the  pro- 
ductive forces  and  giving  full  play  to  the 
fountains  of  cooperative  wealth — then  only 
can  the  narrow  barriers  of  right  and  justice 
be  demolished  and  society  inscribe  upon  its 
banner :  Front  each  according  to  his  abilities, 
to  each  according  to  his  needs. 

This  remarkable  passage  should  be  borne 
in  mind  in  considering  the  prospects  of  So- 
cialism. It  is  a  frank  admission  that  it  can 
not  fulfill  its  ideals  without  a  revolution  in 


human  nature.  Great  confidence  was  at 
one  time  expressed  by  Socialist  writers  that 
this  would  surely  result  from  communism 
once  it  was  fully  installed.  The  English 
poet  and  artist,  William  Morris,'  was  so 
sure  of  it  that  in  his  News  From  Nowhere, 
in  which  he  portrays  life  in  the  Socialist 
Commonwealth,  he  insisted  that  the  main 
difficulty  with  which  society  would  then 
have  to  contend  would  be  "a  work  famine," 
■ — not  enough  work  to  do  to  fully  satisfy  the 
urgent  desire  for  work  that  would  then  ex- 
ist. But  among  Socialists  themselves  the 
question  has  at  times  been  raised  whether 
this  expectation  is  not  Utopian  rather  than 
scientific. 

Socialist  Criticism  of  Marxian  Dogma 

At  one  period  practically  all  Socialists,  as 
distinguished  from  Anarchists,  were  Marx- 
ists, just  as  all  evolutionists  were  Darwin- 
ians, but  as  discussion  proceeded  and  more 
information  became  available  modification 
of  views  and  variance  of  opinion  took  place 
among  Marxists  resulting  in  different 
schools  that  clash  among  themselves.  Every 
one  of  the  dogmas  on  which  the  Marxian 
system  rests  has  been  shaken  by  criticism. 
His  labor  theory  of  value  when  subjected 
to  analysis  at  once  brings  forward  the 
question,  just  what  is  meant  by  the  term 
"labor"?    Does  it  mean  merely  the  physical 

9  William  Morris  (1834-1896)  produced  much 
charming  narrative  in  prose  and  verse,  designed 
furniture,  tapestry  and  wall-paper  patterns,  set 
up  a  printing  press,  devised  new  type  faces,  and 
turned  out  books  that  are  beautiful  artistic  pro- 
ducts. He  abominated  ordinary  factory  products 
and  threw  himself  into  the  Socialist  movement 
with  characteristic  energy  and  vehemence  in 
order  to  demolish  the  social  order  that  had  such 
inartistic  results.  In  the  ideal  society  he  de- 
scribed in  his  Xcws  From  Nowhere  he  swept  away 
most  of  the  present  public  buildings  of  London 
and  although  he  spared  the  houses  of  Parliament 
it  was  only  as  a  convenient  place  to  store  manure 
for  Socialist  gardening  operations. 


effort  of  the  workers,  exclusive  of  the  man- 
agement that  directs  their  activities?  If 
so,  then  how  can  it  be  claimed  that  it  is  the 
source  of  all  wealth,  and  that  the  share  of 
the  value  of  the  product  taken  by  the  man- 
agement is  a  surplus  labor  value  that  really 
belongs  to  the  workers?  If  ten  shoemakers 
can  make  ten  pair  of  shoes  a  day  by  their 
labor,  and  if  their  labor  is  supplemented  by 
factory  appliances  and  management  so  that 
the  same  amount  of  labor  produces  one  hun- 
dred pairs  of  shoes,  is  the  extra  ninety  pair 
thus  obtained  due  to  the  labor  or  to  the  di- 
rection given  to  that  labor  by  skilful  man- 
agement ? 

Confronted  by  such  difficulties,  the  term 
labor  is  sometimes  broadened  by  Socialists 
so  as  to  include  effort  expended  in  direc- 
tion and  management,  a  view  which  in  line 
makes  the  term  labor  equivalent  to  human 
capacity.  But  in  that  case  the  share  of  the 
product  taken  by  the  management  is  not 
surplus  value  but  is  an  actual  value  resting 
upon  a  basis  of  distinct  creation.  Logical 
difficulty  of  this  order  is  to  some  extent 
avoided  by  the  averment  that  as  an  incident 
of  the  evolutionary  process  which  Marx  de- 
scribed technique  will  be  so  generally  dif- 
fused and  methods  be  so  standardized  that 
the  element  of  direction  and  management 
will  dwindle  in  importance  and  eventually 
disappear  as  an  important  factor  in  produc- 
tion. But  this  view,  however  stoutly  main- 
tained, has  yet  to  be  brought  into  agreement 
with  well  known  facts.  Everybody  who 
gives  any  attention  to  facts  knows  that  the 
success  of  every  enterprise  in  which  men 
work  together  depends  upon  the  ability  of 
the  management. 

Some  Marxian  dogmas  are  admitted  to 
have  fared  badly  under  the  test  of  actual 
experience.  His  theory  of  progressive 
pauperization  was  completely  refuted  by  the 
solid  statistics  collected  by  the  precise  meth- 
ods of  German  income  tax  returns  and 
charitable  relief.    So  too  was  his  theory  of 


the  concentration  of  capital.  Statistics 
showed  that  the  growth  of  big  concentra- 
tions of  capital  instead  of  wiping  out  small 
capitalists  made  more  of  them.  If  their 
number  declined  in  some  lines  they  in- 
creased in  other  lines,  the  conditions  intro- 
duced by  large  capital  opening  new  oppor- 
tunities for  small  capital. 

The  ten  year  period  assigned  by  Marx 
for  industrial  crises  has  become  obsolete 
with  improvement  in  banking  methods. 
With  correction  of  Marx's  views  on  those 
points  the  premises  from  which  he  deduced 
the  proletarian  revolution  were  removed 
and  it  no  longer  appeared  to  be  a  necessary 
consequence  of  modern  industrial  condi- 
tions, as  Marx  had  contended. 

The  movement  of  Socialist  thought  has 
also  been  afifected  by  the  change  that  has 
taken  place  in  the  intellectual  climate.  The 
scientific  world  has  emerged  from  the  Dar- 
winian period.  Materialism  is  no  longer 
in  fashion  among  philosophers.  The  new 
theories  of  physics,  which  display  the  atom 
as  a  very  complex  structure,  have  played 
havoc  with  the  so-called  law  of  evolution, 
one  of  whose  tenets  was  that  its  process 
was  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  hetero- 
geneous. 

Probably  the  most  marked  characteristic 
of  applied  science  and  modern  business  sys- 
tem is  now  the  general  tendency  towards 
standardization,  making  homogeneous  what 
had  been  heterogeneous.  About  all  that  is 
left  of  the  philosophical  theory  so  influen- 
tial in  Marx's  time  is  the  truism  that  events 
have  their  antecedents  and  their  conse- 
quences, but  it  is  now  generally  recognized 
that  it  makes  an  immense  difiference  how 
events  are  treated  and  what  direction  is 
given  to  their  influence.  The  scientific  data 
on  which  Marx  relied  in  framing  his  theory 
of  economic  determinism  are  now  either  dis- 
carded or  are  so  extensively  modified  that 
they  no  longer  prop  his  doctrines. 


Socialist  Schism 

This  process  of  criticism  eventually 
caused  a  split  in  the  Socialist  camp.  It  was 
the  work  of  one  who  had  himself  been  a 
recognized  official  exponent  of  orthodox 
Marxism.  Edward  Bernstein  was  the  edi- 
tor of  the  Zurich  Social  Democrat,  the  offi- 
cial organ  of  the  German  Socialist  organi- 
zation during  the  period  of  Bismarck's  anti- 
Socialist  laws.  With  the  cessation  of  Bis- 
marck's attempts  to  crush  Socialism  by  law, 
Bernstein  returned  to  Germany  and  con- 
tinued his  discussion  of  the  movement  by 
a  series  of  articles  in  the  Neue  Zeit,  a  So- 
cialist party  organ. 

In  1897  he  published  a  compilation  of  his 
articles  under  the  title  "Socialist  Prob- 
lems." The  book  made  a  great  stir  among 
the  Socialists  for  in  it  he  admitted  that 
doctrines  propounded  by  Marx  had  been  so 
impaired  by  criticism  that  it  was  necessary 
to  revise  Socialist  principles.  In  the  hot 
controversy  that  followed,  Bernstein  and 
his  adherents  were  dubbed  the  Revisionists, 
and  the  issue  thus  raised  between  Revision- 
ists and  orthodox  Marxists  extended  all  over 
Europe,  producing  a  voluminous  literature. 

The  Revisionists  hold  that  while  Marx's 
labors  should  always  be  honored,  the  So- 
cialist movement  must  not  be  bound  by  his 
theories.  "Socialism,"  declared  Bernstein, 
"has  outlived  many  a  superstition  ;  it  will 
also  outlive  the  superstition  that  its  future 
depends  on  the  concentration  of  property, 
or,  if  you  prefer,  on  the  absorption  of  sur- 
plus value  by  a  diminishing  number  of 
capitalist  mammoths." 

The  Revisionist  split  has  been  followed 
by  other  factional  groupings  among  Euro- 
pean Socialists.  Revisionism  is  the  domi- 
nant school  of  opinion  but  among  Revision- 
ists differences  exist  as  to  party  policy  and 
these  differences  keep  constantly  tending  to 
produce  factions. 


Christian  Socialism 

Marxian  Socialism  in  general  has  been 
strongly  anti-religionist.  But  the  term 
Socialism  is  so  plastic  that  there  is  no  logi- 
cal difficulty  in  the  way  of  giving  it  a 
Christian  complexion.  It  is  merely  a  mat- 
ter of  appropriate  definition.  Important 
movements  bearing  that  name  took  place  in 
England  and  France,  but  as  an  organization 
which  is  a  distinct  factor  in  European  poli- 
tics Christian  Socialism  owes  its  origin  to 
Ketteler,"  whose  public  activity  dates  from 
1848,  the  year  of  revolutions.  With  his 
active  support  and  effective  guidance  Chris- 
tian Socialist  societies  were  founded  which 
hold  annual  conventions  to  consider  ways 
and  means  of  solving  social  problems. 

The  movement  is  quite  practical  in  its 
activities.  It  promotes  cooperative  enter- 
prises and  operates  cooperative  stores;  it 
founds  banks  and  building  associations;  it 
maintains  inns  and  clubs;  it  provides  legal 
assistance  for  its  members ;  it  champions 
legislative  measures  the  details  of  which  are 
worked  out  with  skill  and  prudence.  It 
has  produced  many  treatises  displaying  abil- 
ity that  commands  attention  and  inspires 
discussion,  and  it  sustains  a  flourishing 
periodical  press  securing  publicity  for  its 
aims   and   activities.      Similar   methods   of 

10  William  Emanuel,  Baron  von  Ketteler  (1811- 
1877)  came  of  a  wealthy  and  noble  family.  He 
studied  law  and  in  1834  entered  public  adminis- 
tration but  in  1838  he  resigned  his  post  to  take 
up  the  study  of  theology  and  he  was  ordained  in 
1844.  During  the  revolutionary  year  of  1848  he 
attracted  general  attention  by  a  series  of  ser- 
mons on  "The  Great  Social  Questions  of  the 
Day."  In  1850  he  was  appointed  Archbishop  of 
Mayence.  During  the  long  period  of  his  episco- 
pate he  never  ceased  his  fruitful  activity  in  the 
interests  of  the  working  classes.  His  endeavors 
always  had  a  practical  cast  and  his  great  admin- 
istrative abilities  were  evinced  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  "associations  of  production  in  the  soil 
of  Christianity."  The  institutions  he  founded 
have  perpetuated  the  movement  which  he  origi- 
nated. 


organization  had  extended  into  Belgium, 
France,  Switzerland  and  Austria  before  the 
war,  and  they  now  appear  to  be  penetrating 
Italy  and  Spain,  but  no  exact  statistics  are 
available  as  to  conditions  since  the  war. 
Christian  Socialism  agrees  with  much  that 
Socialist  writers  in  general  say  against  the 
capitalistic  system  but  it  holds  that  the  rem- 
edy is  not  to  destroy  individual  property 
rights  but  to  humanize  their  exercise  by  en- 
forcing moral,  religious  and  legal  obliga- 
tions. 

Present  State  of  Socialism 


Party  alignments  were  much  disturbed  by 
the  recent  war  and  by  the  Russian  Revolu- 
tion, which  has  produced  Hnes  of  cleavage 
on  the  whole  correspondent  to  the  old  differ- 
ences between  orthodox  Marxists  and  Re- 
visionists, but  which  have  brought  new  po- 
litical labels  into  use,  such  as  revolutionary 
Socialists,  moderate  Socialists,  evolutionary 
Socialists,  Guild  Socialists,  Possibilists,  etc. 

In  general,  political  ascendency  is  with 
the  moderate  Socialists,  whose  leaders  both 
in  Germany  and  France  now  dominate  the 
administration  of  public  affairs,  acting  with 
promptness  and  energy  in  repressing  revo- 
lutionary outbreaks. 

The  Spartacan  uprising  in  Germany  was 
an  attempt  to  bring  on  the  proletarian  revo- 
lution as  predicted  by  Marx,  but  it  was 
crushed  by  the  Socialist  administration. 

The  question  whether  or  not  the  Bolshe- 
vist regime  in  Russia  is  an  exhibition  of 
Marxism  in  actual  practice  is  a  matter  of 
controversy,  but  it  is  of  record  that  Marx 
held  that  "we  must  finally  have  recourse  to 
violence"  and  the  "the  revolution  must  be 
universal." 

So  far  as  one  can  judge  the  character  of 
the  present  Russian  government  from  its 
literature  it  appears  to  be  an  unflinching  at- 
tempt to  give  effect  to  Marxian  principles. 
At  present  Bolshevism  and  Socialism  are 
pitted    against    one    another    in    European 


politics  as  furious  enemies.  Hence  the  term 
"Socialist"  has  ceased  to  suggest  revolu- 
tionary activity  and  it  appears  to  be  getting 
to  be  as  vague  and  generally  acceptable  a 
term  as  "democratic,"  which  in  the  early 
days  of  our  republic  was  a  term  of  oppro- 
brium. In  some  countries  the  political  lead- 
ers of  our  times  all  seem  to  have  turned 
Socialists,  each  with  his  own  recipe  for  pro- 
ducing the  genuine  article.  There  is  now  a 
marked  tendency  in  Europe  among  old- 
fashioned  Socialists  to  describe  themselves 
as  Communists  and  no  longer  as  Socialists, 
since  that  title  has  lost  its  original  revo- 
lutionary significance  and  has  become  an 
ordinary  party  label. 

In  the  United  States  Socialism  was  never 
more  than  a  minor  party,  split  into  two  ir- 
reconcilable factions,  each  of  which  at  elec- 
tions cumbered  the  ballot  with  its  own  dis- 
tinct list  of  candidates. 


The  Revisionist  movement  in  Germany 
did  not  have  any  noticeable  effect  on  the 
character  of  the  American  movement.  The 
Russian  Revolution  has,  however,  split  the 
American  Socialists  into  wrangling  fac- 
tions, and  rhetoric  that  used  to  be  con- 
centrated on  the  bourgeoisie  now  blazes 
for  or  against  Bolshevism.  The  row  has 
had  a  marked  effect  in  checking  SociaHst 
propaganda  in  this  country.  The  Appeal 
To  Reason,  the  Socialist  organ  of  largest 
circulation,  in  its  issue  of  September  lo, 
1 92 1,  declared:  "For  the  first  time  since 
its  inception  in  this  country,  the  Socialist 
movement  is  failing  to  function.  .  .  .  All 
admit  that  the  Socialist  movement  not  only 
fails  to  meet  present  needs,  but  it  is  less 
effective  than  it  was  a  decade  ago.  We 
have  not  only  failed  to  go  forward,  but  we 
have  gone  backward." 


Number  Ten 


imceton  Lectures 


Princeton  University,  Princeton,  N.  J. 


June,  1922 


THE  LECTURER 

KARL  TAYLOR  COMPTON  graduated  at  the 
College  of  Wooster  in  1908,  received  the  degree 
of  M.S.  from  Wooster  in  1909  and  the  degree  of 
Ph.D.  from  Princeton  in  1912.  He  taught  chem- 
istry in  Wooster  in  1908-1909,  was  head  of  the 
department  of  physics  of  Reed  College  from  1913- 
1915,  and  has  been  in  the  physics  department  of 
Princeton  since  191 5,  where  he  came  as  an  assist- 
ant professor  and  has  been  professor  since  1919. 
During  the  war  he  was  Associate  Scientific  At- 
tache to  the  Embassy  in  Paris  and  an  officer  of 
the  Research  Information  Service,  which  was  the 
clearing-house  for  interchange  of  scientific  vrar 
information  between  the  allied  governments  and 
armies. 

Professor  Compton  is  a  Fellow  and  member  of 
the  Council  of  the  American  Physical  Society, 
Fellow  of  the  A.  A.  A.  S.,  a  member  of  the  Opti- 
cal Society  of  America,  and  an  associate  editor 
of  the  Journal  of  the  American  Optical  Society. 
Reports  of  his  researches  on  problems  relating  to 
atomic  stabilitj',  interaction  of  electrons  and  radia- 
tion, and  allied  topics  have  been  published  in  The 
Physical  Review,  The  Philosophical  Magazine, 
The  Astrophysical  Journal  and  Science. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Note:  Owing  to  the  very  recent  and  rapid  develop- 
ments in  this  field,  no  comprehensive  treatment  of  the 
subject  has  been  published.  The  nearest  approach  is 
the  book  by  Somraerfeld.  In  reading  the  older  refer- 
ences, it  must  be  remembered  that  some  of  the  sug- 
gestions have  been  later  disproved. 
SoMMERFELD.    Abnold.     "Atombau    und    Spektrallinicn." 

Vieweg  und  Sohn. 
MiLLlKAN,    Robert    A.      "The    Electron."      University    of 

Chicago  Press. 
Lodge,   Oliver..    "Electrons."    George  Bell   and    Sons. 
Bragg,    W.   H..  and  W.    L.      "X-rays  and   Crystal    Struc- 
ture."    George  Bell  and  Sons. 
Richardson.   O.   W.     "The   Electron  Theory   of  Matter." 

Cambridge  University  Press. 
Langmuir.    Irving.     "The    Arrangement    of    Electrons    in 
Atoms    and     Molecules."       American     Chemical     Soc. 
Jour.,  41,  p.   868,   1919. 
Thomson.     J.     J.       "Conduction     of     Electricity     through 

Gases."     Cambridge  University  Press. 
Aston,  F.   W.      "Mass   Spectra   of   the   Elements."      Philo- 
sophical  Magazine  39,  p.   611.    1920;  40,  p.   628.    1920. 
Thomson.  J.  J.     "Positive  Rays  and  their  Application  to 

Chemical   Analysis."     Longmans,   Green   and   Co. 
BoHR,  Niels.     Philosophical  Magazine,  26.  pp.   1.  476  and 

857,   1913;     27,  p.   506,   1914;   30.  p.   394,    1915. 
Rutherford.    Ernest.      Philosophical     Magazine,    21,    p. 
669,   1911;   37,  p.   537,   1919;   Royal   Society   Proceed- 
ings  A,    97,    p.    374,    1920. 


Recent  Discoveries  and  Theories 

Relating  to  the  Structure 

of  Matter 


A  LECTURE 


By  Karl  Taylor  Compton 

Professor  of  Physics  in  Princeton 
University 

Molecules  of  matter  are  sometimes  de- 
fined as  the  smallest  sub-divisions  which 
have  the  properties  of  the  matter  which  they 
compose.  Their  existence  has  long  been  ac- 
cepted because  of  the  satisfactory  explana- 
tion which  they  give  of  elastic,  thermal  and 
other  properties  of  matter,  particularly  in 
the  gaseous  state.  More  recently,  the  exist- 
ence of  such  particles,  in  rapid  random 
motion,  has  been  made  almost  visible  in  that 
we  can  accurately  explain,  by  the  bombard- 
ment of  such  molecules,  the  erratic  jerky 
movements  made  by  a  small  particle  im- 
mersed in  a  gas  or  liquid  and  observed 
through  a  microscope. 

Atoms  are  sometimes  defined  as  the  small- 
est particles  which  take  part  in  chemical  re- 
actions, and  a  chemical  reaction  is  simply  a 
change  from  one  to  another  kind  of  group- 
ing made  by  atoms  of  the  same  or  of  dif- 
ferent kinds.  Any  characteristic  grouping 
of  atoms  constitutes  a  molecule.  The  exist- 
ence of  atoms  was  first  suggested  to  explain 
the  fact  of  chemical  combination  of  sub- 
stances in  definite  proportions. 

Within  the  last  twenty-five  years,  and 
chiefly  within  the  last  ten  years,  definite 
proof  of  the  existence  of  atoms  and  mole- 


PUBUSHED    QUARTERLY    BY    PRINCETON    T7NIVEHSITT    PRESS 


Entered   at   the   Princeton,   N.    3.    Poetofflce    as    necond-olase    mail    matter. 


cules  has  been  found,  and  methods  have  been 
developed  to  count  and  weight  them  indi- 
vidually, with  very  significant  results.  More 
important  still,  it  has  been  shown  that  all 
atoms  are  themselves  built  out  of  still 
smaller  and  more  fundamental  units  of  mat- 
ter, electrically  charged,  called  positive  elec- 
trons and  negative  electrons.  There  is  very 
decisive  evidence  of  the  existence  of  these 
two  fundamental  types  of  matter,  and  of  the 
number  of  each  type  in  any  given  kind  of 
atom.  To  this  extent,  the  "electron  theory 
of  matter"  is  no  longer  to  be  considered  as 
a  theory,  but  as  a  fact.  But  when  we  at- 
tempt to  explain  all  the  physical  and  chemi- 
cal properties  of  matter  as  due  to  these  elec- 
trons and  the  electromagnetic  forces  be- 
tween them,  we  encounter  some  surprising 
and  unexpected  facts  regarding  the  behavior 
of  electrons  when  influenced  by  other  elec- 
trons or  by  radiation,  so  that  this  is  still  a 
field  of  hypothesis  and  experimentation. 

Negative  and  Positive  Electrons 


Properties  of  the  Negative  Electron. 
When  an  electric  discharge  at  several  thous- 
and volts  is  passed  between  two  metallic 
electrodes  sealed  into  a  glass  vessel  from 
which  most  of  the  air,  or  other  gas,  has  been 
pumped,  the  remaining  gas  and  the  walls  of 
the  glass  vessel  become  luminous.  This 
luminosity  is  of  different  sorts  in  different 
parts  of  the  vessel,  and  can  easily  be  shown 
to  be  due  to  two  different  agents.  One  of 
these  consists  of  something  shooting  out 
from  the  cathode,  or  negative  electrode,  and 
producing  luminosity  in  everything  in  its 
path.  The  other  consists  of  something 
shooting  out  from  the  anode  and  moving  to- 
ward the  cathode,  also  producing  luminos- 
ity of  gas  molecules  or  other  objects  in  its 
path,  but  luminosity  of  a  different  color 
from  that  produced  by  the  stream  from  the 
cathode. 

The  so-called  cathode  rays  are  found  to 
consist  of  a  stream  of  negatively  charged 


particles,  as  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  their 
paths  are  bent  if  placed  in  an  electric  or 
magnetic  field,  or  by  the  fact  that,  if  they 
are  caught  in  a  metallic  cup,  this  cup  receives 
a  charge  of  negative  electricity.  From  the 
amount  of  bending  in  electric  and  magnetic 
fields  of  known  strength,  which  may  be  seen 
by  the  luminous  trace  of  the  path  of  the 
stream  along  a  properly  placed  fluorescent 
plate,  it  is  possible  to  calculate  the  speed  of 
the  particles  and  the  ratio  of  their  charge 
to  their  mass,  denoted  by  e/m.  The  speed 
of  the  particles  depends  upon  the  voltage  ap- 
plied to  the  discharge  tube,  but  the  value 
of  e/m  does  not  depend  on  the  voltage  or 
the  kind  of  gas  in  the  vessel  or  the  material 
of  the  electrodes.  It  is  a  definite  constant 
about  1846  times  larger  than  the  ratio  of  the 
charge  to  the  mass  of  hydrogen  ions  liber- 
ated by  electrolysis.  Thus  if  the  charge  on 
one  of  these  particles  is  equal  to  the  charge 
on  a  hydrogen  ion  (as  we  shall  see  is  the 
case),  then  these  particles  must  be  1846 
times  lighter  than  hydrogen  atoms.  These 
particles,  which  constitute  the  cathode  rays, 
are  the  negative  electrons.  They  may  be 
driven  out  of  metals  by  raising  the  tempera- 
ture, or  by  exposing  to  ultraviolet  light  or 
X-rays,  or  by  intense  bombardment,  or  by 
chemical  actions,  etc.  Their  properties,  as 
regards  mass  and  charge,  are  the  same  how- 
ever they  are  liberated,  and  they  must  be 
considered  as  one  of  the  fundamental  units 
of  which  matter  is  composed. 

The  anode  rays  are  also  deflected  by  mag- 
netic and  electric  fields,  in  a  direction  show- 
ing that  they  are  positively  charged  particles 
and  by  an  amount  showing  that  the  ratio  of 
their  charge  to  mass  is  characteristic  of 
atoms  or  molecules  of  the  gas  in  the  tube. 
In  other  words,  they  are  the  residues  of  the 
gas  atoms  or  molecules  which  remain  after 
electrons  have  been  driven  out.  Knowing 
their  charges,  the  bending  of  their  paths  in 
magnetic  and  electric  fields  enables  their 
masses  to  be  determined.    It  is  in  this  man- 


ner  that  atoms  and  molecules  have  been  in- 
dividually weighed  with  high  precision. 

In  order  to  find  the  mass  m  from  the 
above  values  of  e/m,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
the  charge  ^  of  a  negative  electron.  This 
has  been  measured  with  the  greatest  ac- 
curacy by  Professor  Millikan  about  eight 
years  ago.  The  most  sensitive  instrument 
for  measurement  of  electric  charges  is  the 
electroscope,  which  consists,  essentially,  of 
a  strip  of  gold  leaf  suspended  between  two 
oppositely  charged  metal  plates.  When  the 
gold  leaf  is  charged,  it  is  attracted  by  one 
plate  and  repelled  by  the  other,  and  the  size 
of  its  charge  may  be  measured  by  observing 
the  distance  which  it  moves  from  its  un- 
charged position.  But  this  instrument  is 
not  sensitive  enough  to  measure  the  charge 
of  an  electron.  Professor  Millikan  sub- 
stituted for  the  gold  leaf  a  tiny  droplet  of 
oil  from  the  spray  of  an  atomizer.  Because 
of  its  weight  it  tended  to  fall  through  the 
air,  slowly  because  of  its  small  size  and  the 
viscous  resistance  offered  by  the  air.  But 
if  this  droplet  were  electrically  charged,  it 
could  be  drawn  upward,  in  opposition  to 
gravity,  by  an  electric  field  between  the  two 
horizontal  metal  plates  between  which  the^ 
droplet  moved.  By  observing,  through  a 
telescope,  the  rate  at  which  the  drop  fell  in 
the  absence  of  an  electric  field  and  the  rate 
at  which  it  rose  in  the  field,  data  were  ob- 
tained permitting  a  calculation  of  the 
amount  of  electric  charge  on  the  drop.  It 
was  found  that  all  charges  were  simple  mul- 
tiples of  a  fundamental  unit  charge,  which 
is  the  charge  of  an  electron.  Thus  the  nega- 
tive electron  is  not  only  a  fundamental  unit 
of  matter,  but  also  a  fundamental  unit  of 
electricity. 

By  such  experiments  it  is  found  that  the 
mass  of  a  negative  electron  is  8.07(10)"" 
grams  and  its  charge  is  4.774(10)-'^°  elec- 
trostatic units.  The  mass  of  a  hydrogen 
atom  is  1.^15(10)-"  grams. 

Positive  Electrons.    When  the  positively 


mii 


charged  residue  of  an  atom,  the  part  left 
after  the  loss  of  an  electron,  is  weighed  by 
measuring  the  bending  of  its  path  in  an 
electric  and  magnetic  field,  two  very  signifi- 
cant results  are  obtained.  In  the  first  place, 
the  weight  of  every  atom,  except  hydrogen, 
is  an  exact  integral  multiple  of  the  weight 
of  a  fundamental  unit.  This  unit  is  one- 
fourth  the  weight  of  a  helium  atom,  or  one- 
twelfth  that  of  a  carbon  atom,  or  one-six- 
teenth that  of  an  oxygen  atom,  etc.  The 
unit  has  almost  the  weight  of  a  hydrogen 
atom,  but  is  less  by  0.77°/°.  This  discrep- 
ancy is  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  discussed 
later,  that  when  electrically  charged  parti- 
cles are  grouped  together,  their  combined 
mass  differs  slightly  from  the  sum  of  their 
separate  masses.  We  may  conclude,  there- 
fore, that  all  atoms  are  built  up  of  hydrogen 
atoms.  We  shall  see  later  that  the  hydro- 
gen atom  itself  consists  of  one  negative 
electron  and  the  part  that  remains,  which 
is  called  the  positive  electron.  The  positive 
electron  carries  an  electric  charge  equal  to 
that  of  a  negative  electron,  but  of  opposite 
sign,  and  is  1846  times  heavier.  Thus  we 
go  a  step  further,  and  conclude  that  all 
atoms  are  built  up  of  positive  and  negative 
electrons. 

Why  was  not  this  simple  integral  relation- 
ship between  atomic  weights  discovered 
long  ago,  since  chemists  have  accurately 
known  atomic  weights  for  many  years? 
Simply  because  chemical  methods  of  de- 
termining atomic  weights  measure  only  the 
ai'erage  weight  of  a  great  number  of  atoms. 
But  the  method  described  above  measures 
the  weights  of  indii'idnal  atoms.  In  the 
case  of  the  element  chlorine,  for  instance, 
the  chemical  determinations  give  the  weight 
equal  to  35.46  times  our  unit ;  but  the  deflec- 
tion method  shows  that  there  are  three  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  chlorine  atoms,  of  weights 
exactly  35,  3"  and  39,  which  are  chemically 
inseparable  and  which  are  present  in  such 
relative  proportions  as  to  make  the  average 


atomic  weight  35.46.  These  different  kinds 
of  chemically  similar  atoms,  with  different 
masses,  are  called  isotopes.  It  has  been 
found  that  isotopes  exist  in  a  large  number 
of  the  chemical  elements,  but  that  the 
weight  of  every  individual  atom  or  isotope 
is  an  exact  multiple  of  that  of  the  funda- 
mental unit. 

If  positive  electrons,  or  the  massive  part 
of  hydrogen  atoms,  are  parts  of  the  struc- 
ture of  all  atoms,  we  might  expect  to  be 
able  to  break  up  heavier  atoms  into  hydro- 
gen. This  has  actually  been  done  by  Pro- 
fessor Rutherford  in  the  case  of  nitrogen, 
aluminium  and  a  number  of  other  elements. 

How  Electrons  are  Arranged  in  Atoms 

Thus  we  have  both  direct  and  indirect 
evidence  that  atoms  are  structures  built  out 
of  positive  and  negative  electrons.  The 
next  question  is,  "How  arc  these  electrons 
arranged  in  the  various  atoms?"  A  good 
deal  is  known  about  this  arrangement,  as  I 
shall  proceed  to  indicate,  but  there  is  much 
more  which  is  still  unknown. 

The  Nuclear  Structure  of  Atoms.  Ra- 
dium and  the  other  radio-active  elements 
owe  their  unusual  properties  to  the  fact 
that  they  emit  positively  and  negatively 
charged  particles,  called  a  and  /3  particles, 
respectively,  with  tremendous  velocities.  By 
the  bending  of  their  paths  in  electric  and 
magnetic  fields,  or  by  other  methods,  it  is 
found  that  the  /3  particles  are  negative  elec- 
trons which  have  velocities  as  large  as 
ninety-seven  per  cent  of  the  velocity  of 
light,  or  about  180,000  miles  per  second. 
Similarly,  the  a  particles  are  atoms  of 
helium  which  have  lost  two  negative  elec- 
trons and  which  consist,  therefore,  of  four 
positive  and  two  negative  electrons,  form- 
ing a  very  compact  and  stable  group.  These 
have  velocities  as  large  as  about  one-tenth 
that  of  light.  The  /9  particles  set  up  oscil- 
lations of  negative  electrons  in  neighboring 


atoms  which  they  strike,  and  these  oscilla- 
tions produce  radiation  called  y  radiation 
or  wave  motion  in  the  aether.  The  atoms 
of  radium  do  not  "explode"  in  this  man- 
ner frequently.  In  fact  the  occurrence  is  so 
rare  that  the  chances  are  even  that  any 
given  atom  will  or  will  not  explode  within 
a  time  of  2000  years.  When  it  does  ex- 
plode, there  remains  not  an  atom  of  radium 
(atomic  weight  226),  but  an  atom  of  ra- 
dium emanation  (atomic  weight  222)  and 
an  a  particle  (helium,  atomic  weight  4). 

In  spite  of  their  smaller  velocity,  the  a 
particles  possess  much  greater  kinetic  en- 
ergy than  do  the  /8  particles,  being  nearly 
7400  times  heavier.  It  was  by  means  of 
bombardment  of  nitrogen  and  other  atoms 
by  these  a  particles  that  Professor  Ruther- 
ford has  effected  their  atomic  disintegration, 
yielding  hydrogen  as  a  product. 

When  the  a  particles  shoot  out  through  a 
gas,  such  as  air,  their  paths  may  be  seen 
and  photographed,  provided  the  air  is  satu- 
rated with  water  vapor  and  suddenly  cooled 
by  expansion.  The  air  molecules  in  the 
path  of  the  o  particles  have  negative  elec- 
trons forced  out  of  them  by  the  action  of 
the  positively  charged  a  particle  as  it  comes 
very  close.  These  positively  and  negatively 
charged  residues  of  the  air  molecules  serve 
as  nuclei  for  the  condensation  of  water 
vapor.  Thus  the  path  of  the  a  particle  is 
visible  as  a  thin  line  of  water  droplets.  In 
air  at  atmospherice  pressure,  these  paths 
may  be  as  long  as  1 1  centimeters. 

Now  the  diameters  of  air  molecules  are 
known  to  be  about  3(10)-*  cm.,  and  there 
are  about  2.7(10)"  of  them  in  each 
cubic  centimeter.  An  a  particle,  in  travers- 
ing II  cm.  of  air,  would  pass  through 
about  200,000  molecules.  Yet  many  a  par- 
ticles go  this  entire  distance  without  chang- 
ing the  direction  of  their  motion,  and  most 
of  them  go  at  least  several  centimeters  with- 
out swerving  from  their  course.    This  can 


only  mean  that  an  a  particle  nuDy  pass  riyht 
through  thousands  of  atoms  ivithout  collid- 
ing with  that  part  of  an  atom  in  which 
practically  all  of  its  tnass  is  situated.  We 
must,  therefore,  think  of  all  of  the  positive 
electrons  (and  possibly  some  of  the  nega- 
tive electrons)  of  an  atom  as  grouped  with- 
in a  region  which  is  excessively  small  as 
compared  with  the  size  of  the  atom.  Around 
this  compact  group,  or  "nucleus"  the  re- 
maining negative  electrons  are  situated  at 
relatively  large  distances, — distances  com- 
parable with  the  atomic  radius. 

With  all  the  heavy  positive  electrons  and 
only  some  of  the  negative  electrons  consti- 
tuting this  nucleus,  it  is  evidently  positively 
charged.  An  a  particle  is  also  positively 
charged,  with  a  known  charge.  Professor 
Rutherford  suggested  that  a  collision  be- 
tween them,  indicated  by  a  sharp  bend  in 
the  path  of  the  a  particle  as  it  passes 
through  the  air,  may  be  due  simply  to  tlie 
effect  of  the  repulsive  force  between  these 
two  charges  when  they  come  very  near  to- 
gether. Darwin  calculated,  on  this  hypo- 
thesis, the  fraction  of  all  the  observed  de- 
flections of  a  particles,  shooting  through 
air  or  any  other  substance,  which  should  be 
within  any  specified  angular  limits.  When 
this  calculation  was  compared  with  the  ex- 
perimental measurements  of  deflections 
through  various  angles,  it  was  found  that 
there  was  exact  agreement  only  provided 
the  force  between  the  a  particle  and  the 
nucleus  is  taken  to  vary  inversely  as  the 
square  of  the  distance  between  them,  and 
provided  the  charge  of  the  nucleus  of  the 
atom  is  taken  equal  (in  electronic  units)  to 
its  atomic  number.  The  atomic  number  of 
an  element  is  its  order  in  the  periodic  table, 
i.e.,  I  for  hydrogen,  2  for  helium,  3  for 
lithium,  etc. 

This  conclusion  was  verified  by  an  en- 
tirely independent  method.  When  a  beam 
of  X-rays  passes  through  substances,  some 


of  its  energy  is  abstracted  and  sent  out  in 
all  directions.  The  amount,  character  and 
ditribution  of  this  scattered  radiation  have 
been  exactly  accounted  for  by  ascribing  the 
scattering  to  the  action  of  the  electrons  out- 
side the  nuclei  of  the  atoms.  These  elec- 
trons are  accelerated  by  the  electric  forces 
in  the  X-ray  beam,  and,  as  a  result  of  their 
acceleration,  give  rise  to  the  scattered  radia- 
tion. Sir  J.  J.  Thomson  calculated  the  pro- 
portion of  the  energy  of  an  X-ray  beam 
scattered  by  each  negative  electron  in  its 
path.  Dividing  the  observed  amount  of 
scattering  by  this  gives  the  number  of  nega- 
tive electrons  taking  part  in  the  scattering. 
Dividing  this  by  the  number  of  atoms  gives 
the  number  of  scattering  electrons  per 
atom,  which  is  found  equal  to  its  atomic 
number.  But  the  number  of  scattering  elec- 
trons (electrons  outside  the  nucleus)  must 
obviously  equal  the  positive  charge  of  the 
nucleus,  in  electronic  units,  thus  verifying 
the  previous  conclusion  regarding  the  nu- 
clear charges  of  atoms. 

Finally,  a  relation  between  the  atomic 
number  of  an  element  and  the  vibration  fre- 
quency of  the  radiation  constituting  its  X- 
ray  spectrum  was  discovered  by  Moseley. 
It  can  be  expressed  rather  accurately  by 
saying  that  the  square  root  of  the  fre- 
quency of  any  particular  type  of  X-radiation 
is  directly  proportional  to  the  atomic  num- 
ber of  the  radiating  element.  This  has  been 
satisfactorily  accounted  for  only  by  sup- 
posing that  the  atomic  number  of  an  element 
is  equal  to  the  electronic  charge  on  its  nu- 
cleus, i.e.,  to  the  excess  of  positive  over 
negative  electrons  in  its  nucleus. 

Atomic  Constituents.  The  foregoing  evi- 
dence, and  much  additional  evidence,  leads 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  various  chemical 
elements  have  atoms  constituted  as  shown 
in  tlie  following  table,  which  contains  only  a 
few  examples.  Those  elements  bracketed 
together  are  isotopes. 


a 

a 

B 

11 

00 

Biz; 
+  5 

2  r 

as. 

—    Electrons 

ooteide 

Nuclevs 

hydrogen 

I 

1.007 

I 

0 

I 

helium 

2 

4 

4 

2 

2 

lithium 

3 

(     6 

.     7 

6 

3 

3 

7 

4 

3 

boron 

5 

li; 

10 

5 

5 

II 

6 

5 

carbon 

6 

12 

12 

6 

6 

nitrogen 

7 

14.01 

14 

7 

7 

oxygen 

8 

16 

16 

8 

8 

neon 

10 

20 

20 

10 

10 

21 

21 

II 

10 

22 

22 

12 

10 

mercury 

8o 

197 
198 

197 
198 

117 
118 

80 
80 

199 

199 

119 

80 

200 

200 

120 

80 

202 

202 

122 

80 

[204 

204 

124 

80 

Thus  far  we  may  go  with  considerable 
certainty  in  our  picture  of  atomic  structure. 
When  we  endeavor  to  learn  how  these  elec- 
trons are  arranged,  both  within  and  without 
the  nucleus,  we  must  base  our  conclusions 
on  such  evidence  as  we  can  get  from  the 
nature  of  the  chemical  (electro-magnetic) 
forces  between  atoms,  from  the  ways  in 
which  the  atoms  may  be  broken  up  or  their 
parts  set  into  vibration,  producing  light  or 
other  radiation,  from  their  behavior  in  elec- 
tric and  magnetic  fields,  etc.  To  understand 
the  structure  fully,  we  should  know  all 
about  the  forces  which  hold  the  parts  to- 
gether. In  this  direction  some  progress 
has  been  made  but  certain  phases  of  the 
problem  are  very  perplexing. 

Electrons  and  Radiation 


Quantum  Theory.  Electromagnetic  the- 
ory leads  to  the  conclusion  that  radiation  is 
produced  when  an  electric  charge  is  acceler- 


ated, and  this  conclusion  has  been  amply  veri- 
fied. Yet  it  appears  that,  under  some  condi- 
tions, electrons  are  accelerated  without  pro- 
ducing radiation.  Ordinary  dynamical  the- 
ory leads  us  to  expect  that  a  negative  elec- 
tron, rotating  or  oscillating  about  a  center 
of  force,  might  rotate  in  an  orbit  of  any 
radius  or  oscillate  with  any  amplitude  under 
appropriate  conditions.  Yet  it  appears  that 
only  certain  particular  stable  motions  are 
possible,  those  which  satisfy  the  condition 
s  p  dq  ^  hs,  where  p  is  the  momentum  of 
the  electron,  q  is  its  distance  from  some 
reference  point  in  its  path,  s  is  any  integer 
such  as  1,2,  3,  etc.,  and  /t  is  a  universal  con- 
stant, known  as  Planck's  constant.  We 
naturally  think  of  radiant  energy  as  being 
emitted  continuously  from  its  source  and 
being  absorbed  continuously  by  material  in 
its  path,  these  emitting  and  absorbing  agents 
being  known  to  be  electrons.  Yet  there  is 
evidence  that  radiant  energy  is  absorbed  or 
emitted  as  if  in  discrete  units  equal  to  hn, 
where  n  is  the  frequency  of  vibration  of  the 
radiation. 

Such  considerations  have  given  rise  to  the 
Quantum  Theory,  which  has  been  remark- 
ably successful  as  a  statement  of  the  condi- 
tions under  which  an  electron  will  or  will 
not  radiate  and  of  the  conditions  under 
which  it  may  be  in  equilibrium  in  an  atom. 
Little  progress  has,  however,  been  made  in 
explaining  the  quantum  laws,  and,  until  this 
is  done,  it  will  probably  be  impossible  fully 
to  understand  the  forces  which  hold  the 
parts  of  atoms  together. 

Spectral  Series.  In  the  apparently  com- . 
plicated  spectra  of  chemical  elements,  some 
of  which  contain  hundreds  of  bright  lines 
in  the  visible  spectrum  alone,  there  have 
been  discovered  remarkable  relationships  be- 
tween the  frequencies  of  vibration  of  the 
different  spectral  lines  of  an  element  and 
lietween  corresponding  lines  of  different 
elements.  These  relationships  may  be  ex- 
pressed  by  series  formulae,  of   which   the 


following  formula  for  the  vibration  fre- 
quencies of  the  various  kinds  of  light,  or 
spectral  lines,  due  to  hydrogen  atoms  is 
an  example : 


"  =  ^(7r-i) 


Here  n  is  the  number  of  vibrations  per  sec- 
ond, N  isa.  universal  constant  3.29025(10)^= 
and  r  and  m  are  integers  which  may  have 
any  value  between  i  and  infinity.  Thus,  if 
r  =  I  and  m  ~  2,  3,  4,  ..  .  .,  each  value 
of  m  gives  a  frequency  corresponding  to 
a  spectral  line  in  the  extreme  ultraviolet. 
These  lines  constitute  a  spectral  series. 
Similarly  if  r  =  2  and  »j  =  3,  4,  5,  etc., 
we  get  a  series  of  lines  in  the  visible  and 
near  ultraviolet  spectrum.  If  r  =  3  and  tn 
=  4.  5.  6,  etc.,  we  get  a  series  of  lines  in 
the  infra  red.  The  frequencies  of  these 
lines  agree  with  the  measured  frequencies 
with  an  accuracy  of  about  one  part  in  a 
hundred  thousand. 

For  elements  other  than  hydrogen,  there 
are  added  to  r  and  m  certain  constants 
characteristic  of  the  element,  but  r  and  m 
still  take  various  integral  values. 

A  study  of  the  absorption  or  refraction  of 
light  by  a  medium  leads  to  the  possibility 
of  calculating  the  number  of  atoms  in  the 
absorbing  substance  which  are,  at  any  given 
instant,  capable  of  emitting  Hght  of  any 
given  frequency.  By  such  methods  we  learn 
that  only  a  small  fraction  of  the  atoms  are, 
at  any  instant,  taking  part  in  the  emission 
of  light  and  that  the  atoms  emitting  one 
line  in  the  spectrum  are  different  from 
those  emitting  any  other  line.  Thus  an 
atom,  when  it  emits  radiation,  emits  only 
one  frequency  of  radiation  at  a  time. 

Zeeman  Effect.  Mention  only  can  be 
made  of  the  discovery  by  Zeeman  in  1896 
that,  when  a  source  of  light  is  placed  in  a 
strong  magnetic  field,  its  spectral  lines  are 
split  up  into  several  components.  The  na- 
ture of  this  effect  leads  to  the  conclusion 


that  light  is  emitted  by  negative  electrons 
which,  during  emission,  are  moving  in  orbits 
which  are  usually  circular,  but  sometimes 
elliptical.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  the 
study  of  the  Zeeman  effect  which  first  led  to 
the  discovery  of  the  negative  electron  and 
to  a  determination  of  the  ratio  of  its  charge 
to  its  mass. 

Radiation  and  Atomic  Structure.  A  con- 
sistent correlation  of  the  facts  of  radiation 
is  obtained  by  supposing  that  there  are  only 
certain  definite  conditions  in  which  a  nega- 
tive electron  may  exist  in  stable  equilibrium 
in  an  atom,  each  of  these  conditions  being 
characterized  by  a  certain  total  energy 
(kinetic  plus  potential).  In  the  case  of 
hydrogen,  for  example,  the  energies  of  all 
these  states  are  given  by  — Nh/s^,  where  j 
may  have  any  integral  value  and  each  such 
value  specifies  the  energy  of  an  electron  in 
a  particular  state.  When,  for  any  reason, 
an  electron  passes  from  any  state  of  energy 
W^  to  a  state  of  less  energy  W^,  the  dif- 
ference between  the  energies  is  sent  out  as 
radiant  energy.     Thus  the  energy  radiated 

is  W„,  —  W^  =  Nh  (^ —  ~A  .  Combin- 
ing this  with  the  quantum  law  in  the  form 
W„  —  W^  =  hn,  we  have,  for  the  frequency 
of  the  resulting  radiation, 


n^  N 


yr'         m')' 


which  is  the  ordinary  series  formula  for 
hydrogen.  Similarly,  for  any  element,  we 
interpret  the  series  formula,  for  any  two 
integral  values  of  r  and  m,  as  proportional 
to  the  difference  between  the  energies  of  an 
electron  in  the  two  corresponding  states, 
and  take  h  to  be  the  constant  of  propor- 
tionality. An  electron  may  pass  from  any 
state  to  any  other  state.  If  the  integer 
characterizing  the  second  state  is  less  than 
that  characterizing  the  first,  energy  is 
radiated.  If  the  second  integer  is  greater 
than  the  first,  energy  is  absorbed  by  the 


electron,    from    whatever   agency    produces 
the  displacement. 

This,  in  very  bald  outline,  is  the  theory  of 
spectral  radiation  and  of  those  features  of 
atomic  structure  which  determine  the  nature 
of  its  radiation.  When  we  attempt  to  ac- 
count for  or  describe  these  particular  stable 
states  (which  really  involves  accounting 
for  the  quantum  laws)  by  any  dynamical 
model  of  an  atom,  our  steps  become  more 
uncertain,  although  some  notable  advances 
have  been  made. 

Atomic   Models 


w  =  — 


Zir'nte'^E^ 


a  = 


s'h^ 


The  Bohr  Theory.  Bohr,  followed  by 
Sommerfeld  and  Silberstein,  has  formed 
atomic  models  whicli  have  been  remarkably 
successful  in  accounting  for  the  phenomena 
of  radiation  and  ionization  (or  breaking 
up)  of  systems  consisting  of  a  positive  nu- 
cleus and  a  single  outer  negative  electron, 
but  which  have  not  been  developed  success- 
fully to  account  for  these  phenomena  in 
more  complicated  systems,  nor  for  the  mag- 
netic properties  of  atoms. 

For  the  simplest  case,  a  relatively  heavy 
nucleus  of  positive  charge  E  and  a  negative 
electron  of  charge  e  and  mass  m  rotating 
n'  times  per  second  about  the  nucleus  in  a 
circular  orbit  of  radius  a,  we  have  equili- 
brium if  the  electric  attraction  is  just  bal- 
anced by  the  centrifugal  force,  or 
eE  ,       , 

The  total  energy,  kinetic  plus  potential,  is 
easily  shown  to  be 

I     eE 


W 


By  the  quantum  law  ^  p  dq  :=  hs  it  is 
found  that  the  only  possible  values  of  IV 
are  those  for  which  IV  =  —  yi  s  h  n, 
where  s  is  any  integer.  By  solving  these 
three  equations  simultaneously  we  find  the 
various  possible  energies  and  radii  of  the 
atom  to  be  given  by  substituting  the  various 
integral  values  of  s  in  the  equations 


s^h^  4irm  e  E 

Since  the  difference  of  energy  in  any  two 
states  equals  hn,  the  various  possible  radia- 
tion frequencies  are  given  by  n  =  (H^m  — 
W,)/h,  or 

_    2Tr^me^E'    II  I      \ 

h^         \   r^  nr    /' 

where  r  and  m  are  any  two  integral  values 
of  s.  E  is  simply  the  atomic  number  of  the 
element  times  the  electronic  charge  e. 

These  three  equations  are  in  exact  accord 
with  all  experimental  evidence  available. 
The  spectral  tests  of  the  latter  equation  are 
particularly  severe  and  convincing,  since 
substitution  of  the  known  values  of  the 
constants  makes  the  term  outside  the  par- 
enthesis exactly  equal  to  the  observed  Ryd- 
berg  constant  A^,  so  that  the  equation  is  iden- 
tical with  the  spectral  series  formula. 

This  theory  has  been  extended  to  take 
account  of  the  small  motion  of  the  nucleus 
as  the  electron  revolves,  of  possible  elliptic 
as  well  as  circular  orbits,  of  the  variation 
of  the  mass  of  an  electron  with  its  speed  and 
of  the  effect  of  placing  the  atom  in  a  strong 
electric  field.  In  every  case  the  theory 
leads  to  results  in  exact  accord  with  the 
facts.  When  dealing  with  systems  with 
several  negative  electrons  outside  the  nu- 
cleus, the  problem  of  the  way  in  which  they 
and  their  orbits  are  distributed  in  space 
must  be  considered.  Models  with  coplanar, 
parallel  and  crossed  orbits  have  been  con- 
sidered, with  the  latter  giving,  on  the  whole, 
the  best  results.  But  the  computations  are 
very  complicated,  and  but  little  progress  has 
been  made  with  such  systems  or  with  mole- 
cules. 

The  Leuns-Langmuir  Theory.  In  marked 
contrast  with  the  preceding  dynamical  model 
of  an  atom,  Professor  Lewis  and  Dr.  Lang- 
muir  have  developed  a  static  theory  of 
atomic  structure  to  account,  primarily,  for 
the  chemical  valencies  of  atoms  and  the 
periodic  recurrence  of  their  properties  when 


they  are  arranged  in  the  order  of  their 
atomic  numbers.  In  this  theory  the  elec- 
trons outside  the  nucleus  are  arranged  as 
symmetrically  as  possible  in  positions  on  the 
surfaces  of  imaginary  concentric  "shells." 
The  maximum  possible  numbers  of  electrons 
in  these  are  2  in  the  inmost  shell,  8  in  the 
next,  8  in  the  next,  18  in  the  next,  18  in  the 
next,  etc.  No  shell  can  contain  any  elec- 
trons unless  all  the  shells  inside  it  contain 
their  full  quota  of  electrons.  The  number 
of  electrons  to  be  thus  distributed  in  the 
case  of  any  given  atom  is  equal  to  the 
atomic  number  of  the  atom.  Chemical 
combinations  of  atoms  are  supposed  to  be 
due  to  the  "sharing"  of  electrons  in  com- 
mon by  different  atoms  in  such  a  way  as  to 
give  the  outer  shells  of  all  the  atoms  as 
nearly  as  possible  their  full  quota  of  elec- 
trons. This  theory  of  chemical  combina- 
tion, which  we  have,  of  necessity,  treated 
very  inadequately,  is  in  more  complete  ac- 
cord with  the  facts  of  combination  than  any 
other  yet  proposed. 

Discussion.  The  chief  weaknesses  of  the 
Bohr  theory  are  its  failure  to  account  easily 
for  certain  chemical  properties  and  the  un- 
certainties regarding  its  proper  method  of 
application  to  any  but  the  simplest  atoms. 
The  weakness  of  the  Lewis-Langmuir  the- 
ory, on  the  other  hand,  lies  in  its  qualitative 
rather  than  quantitative  nature  and  its  dis- 
regard of  all  questions  of  structural  stability, 
radiation  and  phenomena  due  to  any  part  of 
the  atom  except  the  electrons  in  the  outer 
shell.  Yet  the  striking  successes  of  both 
theories  in  particular  fields  suggests  that 
both  contain  elements  of  truth.  The  pres- 
ent endeavor  is,  therefore,  to  reconcile  the 
two  viewpoints,  and  some  progress  in  this 
line  has  been  achieved. 

Matter,  Electricity  and  Energy 


Whenever  an  electrically  charged  body  is 
set  in  motion  a  magnetic  field  is  set  up  in 


the  region  surrounding  the  body.  But  a 
magnetic  field  cannot  be  produced  without 
expending  energy,  and  it  is  possible  to  cal- 
culate how  much  work  must  be  done  to  set 
up  any  given  magnetic  field.  Obviously, 
therefore,  more  work  must  be  done  to  im- 
part a  given  speed  to  a  body  when  charged 
than  if  it  were  uncharged.  In  other  words, 
the  presence  of  the  charge  increases  the  in- 
ertia, or  mass,  of  the  body.  The  question 
immediately  suggests  itself,  therefore,  "Is 
all  mass  due  simply  to  the  electric  charges 
of  the  positive  and  negative  electrons  of 
which  matter  is  composed?"  Certain  ex- 
periments on  the  variation  of  the  mass  of  a 
negative  electron  with  its  speed,  at  speeds 
approaching  the  velocity  of  light,  indicate 
that  ihe  mass  of  a  negative  electron  is  en- 
tirely due  to  its  charge,  so  that  it  has  no 
material  mass  as  distinguished  from  electro- 
magnetic mass.  Therefore  we  consider  a 
negative  electron  to  be  not  a  particle  of  mat- 
ter bearing  an  electric  charge,  but  simply 
a  particle  or  unit  of  negative  electricity. 

It  has  not  been  possible  to  make  similar 
experiments  with  positive  electrons,  but  all 
we  know  about  them  points  toward  the  con- 
clusion that  they,  also,  are  simply  units  of 
positive  electricity.  It  is  believed,  therefore, 
that  matter,  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  simply 
an  aggregate  of  positive  and  negative  electric 
charges. 

Furthermore,  the  electromagnetic  mass  of 
any  electric  charge  can  be  shown  to  be  al- 
ways proportional  to  the  energy  of  the  elec- 
tric field  to  which  it  gives  rise.  It  is  un- 
necessary, therefore,  to  distinguish  between 
mass  and  energy.  Whenever  the  total  elec- 
trical energy  of  a  group  of  electrons 
changes,  by  a  change  of  their  relative  posi- 
tions, the  mass  of  the  group  also  changes  in 
a  definite  proportion.  Theoretically,  there- 
fore, all  chemical  combinations  should  result 
in  a  change  of  total  mass.  But  the  energy 
changes  in  chemical  reactions  correspond  to 
mass  changes  which  are  too  small  for  detec- 


tion  by  the  most  sensitive  instruments.  In 
cases  of  atomic  disintegration  such  as  in 
radioactivity,  however,  the  energy  changes 
are  very  large  in  comparison  with  the  energy 
changes  in  chemical  reaction,  and  suggest 
the  possibility  of  detecting  the  correspond- 
ing mass  changes.  Sir  Oliver  Lodge  has 
stated,  as  an  example  of  radioactive  en- 
ergy, that,  if  the  total  energy  liberated  dur- 
ing the  disintegration  of  one  gram  of  radium 
could  be  utilized  for  the  purpose,  it  would 
suffice  to  lift  the  entire  British  navy  several 
thousand  feet.  These  energy  changes  are 
large  enough  to  suggest  the  possibility  of 
showing  that  the  mass  of  radium  is  greater 
than  the  total  mass  of  the  elements  into 
which  it  splits  up.  Such  measurements  have 
njot  as  yet  been  made,  since  radium  splits  up 
so  slowly.  We  therefore  combine  two  fun- 
damental laws,  the  principle  of  the  conser- 
vation of  mass  and  the  principle  of  the  con- 


servation of  energy  into  a  single  principle — 
that  of  the  conservation  of  energy. 

In  this  connection  attention  should  be 
called  to  the  probable  reason  for  the  slight 
excess  in  the  atomic  weight  of  hydrogen 
over  that  of  the  least  common  multiple  of 
the  other  atoms.  In  the  heavier  atoms, 
positive  and  negative  electrons  are  packed 
together  in  the  nucleus,  so  that  their  electric 
fields  partially  neutralize  each  other,  thus 
diminishing  the  total  energy  and  hence  the 
total  mass.  If  we  suppose  the  universe  to 
have  been  originally  formed  by  the  group- 
ing together  of  positive  and  negative  elec- 
trons, the  energy  liberated  as  they  combine 
to  diminish  the  total  mass  in  the  observed 
ratio,  0.77°/°,  is  sufficient  to  have  accounted 
for  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  stars  for  about  a 
million  million  million  years — an  ample  per- 
iod to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  geological 
and  evolutionary  theories. 


ANWEX  UB. 


This  Book  is  Due 
SEP  2  9  'M 


C.2 
'^  ANNEX 


p.  U.  L.  Form  1