As LIBRARY UNIVEi-STY OF CAL'FCP.M.A SAN D'EGO •>v v,3 jaasBMBgUBwyr OF THE (Eambrtbrj? Oitton There have been printed seven hundred and fifty sets of which this is copy INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE CROMWELL'S VISIT TO MILTON Hand-painted Photogravure from the Painting by David Neal Cromwell was the antithesis in nature to the poet Milton, but opposite as they were in character the genius of the latter appealed so powerfully to the iron-hearted Protector that he not only paid a visit to the poet in his humble quarters, but gave him the post of secretary. Mr. Neal has richly perpetuated that memorable visit by a famous painting, •which is a veritable jewel set in the finest frame that imagination is able to design, a picture so speaking and beautiful that description, however eloquent, would detract rather than embellish or interpret. INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE EDITED BY HOWARD J. ROGERS, A.M., LL.D, DIRECTOR OF CONGRESSES VOLUME III HISTORY AND LAW COMPRISING Lectures on the History of Greece, Rome and Asia, Medieval History, Modern History, History of America, History of General Law, Common Law and Roman Law UNIVERSITY ALLIANCE LONDON NEW YORK COPYRIGHT 1906 BY HOOGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 1908 BY UNIVERSITY ALLIANCE ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME III FACING PAGE CROMWELL'S VISIT To MILTON Frontispiece Photogravure from the painting by DAVID NEAL DR. WOODROW WILSON 1 Photogravure from a photograph PORTRAIT GROUP OF DR. EDWARD GAYLORD BOURNE, DR. CHARLES W. COLBY, HON. JAMES B. PERKINS AND DR. JOHN B. BURY . . 138 Photogravure from a photograph ARGUMENT IN THE COURT OF APPEALS 328 Photogravure from the painting by P. SALZEDO TABLE OF CONTENTS VOLUME III POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. The Variety and Unity of History ...... 3 BY PRESIDENT WOODROW WILSON, LL.D. The Science of History in the Nineteenth Century . . . .23 BY PROF. WILLIAM MILLIGAN SLOANE, LL.D. The Conception and Methods of History ..... 40 BY PROF. JAMES HARVEY ROBINSON, Ph.D. HISTORY OF GREECE, ROME, AND ASIA. The Expansion of Greek History ....... 56 BY PROF. PENTLAND MAHAFFY, D.D. Problems in Roman History ....... 69 BY PROF. ETTORE PAIS, LL.D. A General Survey of the History of Asia, with Special Reference to China and the Far East ........ 86 BY PROF. HENRI CORDIER, Litt.D. MEDIEVAL HISTORY. Historical Development and Present Character of the Science of History 111 BY PROF. KARL GOTTHART LAMPRECHT, Ph.D. The Present Problems of Medieval History . . . . . 125 BY PROF. GEORGE BURTON ADAMS, Litt.D. MODERN HISTORY OF EUROPE. The Place of Modern History in the Perspective of Knowledge . . 142 BY PROF. JOHN B. BURY, LL.D. Historical Synthesis ......... 153 BY PROF. CHARLES W. COLBY, Ph.D. HISTORY OF AMERICA. Tlie Relation of American History to Other Fields of Historical Study 172 BY PROF. EDWARD GAYLORD BOURNE, Ph.D. TABLE OF CONTENTS Problems in American History . . . ... . . 183 BY PROP. FREDERICK JACKSON TURNER, Ph.D. HISTORY OF ECONOMIC INSTITUTIONS. Economic History in Relation to Kindred Sciences .... 199 BY PROF. JOHANNES EVAST CONRAD, Ph.D. The Present Problems in the Economic Interpretation of History . 215 BY PROF. SIMON NELSON PATTEN, Ph.D. Bibliography: Department of History ...... 229 HISTORY OF LAW History of General Law ........ 241 BY HON. EMLIN MCCLAIN, LL.D. Characteristics of the Common Law ...... 271 BY PROF. NATHAN ABBOTT, LL.B. HISTORY OF EOMAN LAW. The Relations of Roman Law to the Other Historical Sciences . . 291 BY WILLIAM HEPBURN BUCKLER, LL.B. Problems of Roman Legal History . . . . . .315 BY PROF. MUNROE SMITH, J.U.D. HISTORY OF COMMON LAW. The History of the Common Law ....... 331 BY HON. SIMEON EBEN BALDWIN, LL.D. The Problems of To-day for the History of the Common Laiv . . 350 BY PROF. JOHN HENRY WIGMORE, LL.B. WOODROW WILSON, Ph.D., LL.D. President of Princeton Vniversity DIVISION B HISTORICAL SCIENCE DIVISION B — HISTORICAL SCIENCE (Hall 3, September 20, 10 a. m.) THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY BY WOODROW WILSON [Woodrow Wilson, President of Princeton University, b. Staunton, Virginia, December 28, 1856. A.B. Princeton University, 1879; A.M. 1882. Ph.D. Johns Hopkins, 1886. Litt.D. Yale, 1901. LL.D. Wake Forest College, 1887; Tulane University, 1897; Johns Hopkins, 1901; Rutgers College, 1902; Uni- versity of Pennsylvania, 1903; Brown University, 1903. Post-graduate, Uni- versity of Virginia and Johns Hopkins University. Associate Professor History and Political Economy, Bryn Mawr College, 1885-88. Professor History and Political Economy, Wesleyan University, 1888-90. Professor Jurisprudence and Politics, Princeton University, since 1890. Member American Institute of Arts and Letters, American Historical Association, American Economic Asso- ciation, American Academy Political and Social Science, American Philosophi- cal Society, Southern History Association. Corresponding Member Massachu- setts Historical Society. Author of Congressional Government; An Old Master and Other Essays; George Washington; A History of the American People.] WE have seen the dawn and the early morning hours of a new age in the writing of history, and the morning is now broadening about us into day. When the day is full we shall see that minute research and broad synthesis are not hostile but friendly methods, cooperating toward a common end which neither can reach alone. No piece of history is true when set apart to itself, divorced and isolated. It is part of an intricately various whole, and must needs be put in its place in the netted scheme of events to receive its true color and estimation; and yet it must be itself individually studied and con- trived if the whole is not to be weakened by its imperfection. Whole and part are of one warp and woof. I think that we are in a temper to realize this now, and to come to happy terms of harmony with regard to the principles and the objects which we shall hold most dear in the pursuit of our several tasks. I know that in some quarters there is still a fundamental difference of opinion as to the aim and object of historical writing. Some regard history as a mere record of experience, a huge memorandum of events, of the things done, attempted, or neglected in bringing the world to the present stage and posture of its affairs, — a book of precedents to which to turn for instruction, correction, and reproof. Others regard it as a book of interpretation, rather, in which to study motive and the methods of the human spirit, the ideals that elevate and the ideals that debase; from which we are to derive assistance, not so much in action as in thought; a record of evolution, in which we are not likely to find repetitions, and in reading which our inquiry should be of processes, not of precedents. The two views are not, 4 HISTORICAL SCIENCE \ upon analysis, so far apart as they at first appear to be. I think that we shall all agree, upon reflection and after a little explanation of the terms we use, that what we seek in history is the manifestation and development of the human spirit, whether we seek it in precedents or in processes. All of the many ways of writing history may be reduced to two. There are those who write history, as there are those who read it, only for the sake of the story. Their study is of plot, their narrative goes by ordered sequence and seeks the dramatic order of events; men appear, in their view, always in organized society, under leaders and subject to common forces making this way or that; details are for the intensification of the impression made by the main move- ment in mass; there is the unity and the epic progress of The Decline and Fall, or the crowded but always ordered composition of one of Macaulay's canvases; cause and effect move obvious and majestic upon the page, and the story is of the large force of nations. This is history embodied in "events," centering in the large transactions of epochs or of peoples. It is history in one kind, upon which there are many variants. History in the other kind devotes itself to analy- sis, to interpretation, to the illumination of the transactions of which it treats by lights let in from every side. It has its own standard of measurement in reckoning transactions great or small, bases its assessments, not upon the numbers involved or the noise and reputa- tion of the day itself in which they occurred, so much as upon their intrinsic significance, seen now in after days, as an index of what the obscure men of the mass thought and endured, indications of the forces making and to be made, the intimate biography of daily thought. Here interest centres, not so much in what happened as in what underlay the happening; not so much in the tides as in the silent forces that lifted them. Economic history is of this quality, and the history of religious belief, and the history of literature, where it traces the map of opinion, whether in an age of certainty or in an age of doubt and change. The interest of history in both kinds is essentially the same. Each in its kind is a record of the human spirit. In one sort we seek that spirit manifested in action, where effort is organized upon the great scale and leadership displayed. It stirs our pulses to be made aware of the mighty forces, whether of exaltation or of passion, that play through what men have done. In the other sort of history we seek the spirit of man manifested in conception, in the quiet tides of thought and emotion making up the minor bays and inlets of our various life of complex circumstance, in the private accumulation of events which lie far away from the sound of drum or trumpet and constitute no part of the pomp of great affairs. The interest of human history is that it is human. It is a tale that moves and quickens us. THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 5 We do not approach it as we approach the story of nature. The records of geology, stupendous and venerable as they are, written large and small, with infinite variety, upon the faces of great moun- tains and of shadowed canons or in the fine shale of the valley , buried deep in the frame of the globe or lying upon the surface, do not hold us to the same vivid attention. Human history has no such muniment towers, no such deep and ancient secrets, no such mighty successions of events as those which the geologist explores; but the geologist does not stir us as the narrator of even the most humble dealings of our fellow men can stir us. And it is so with the rest of the history of nature. Even the development of animal life, though we deem its evolution part of ours, seems remote, impersonal, no part of any affair that we can touch with controlling impulse or fashion to our pleasure. It is the things which we determine which most deeply concern us, our voluntary life and action, the release of our spirits in thought and act. If the philosophers were to convince us that there is in fact no will of our own in any matter, our interest in the history of mankind would slacken and utterly change its face. The ordered sequences of nature are outside of us, foreign to our wills, but these things of our own touch us nearly. It is the honorable distinction of historical writing in our day that it has become more broadly and intimately human. The instinct of the time is social rather than political. We would know not merely how law and government proceed but also how society breeds its forces, how these play upon the individual, and how the individual affects them. Law and government are but one expression of the life of society. They are regulative rather than generative, and his- torians of our day have felt that in writing political and legal history they were upon the surface only, not at the heart of affairs. The minute studies of the specialist have been brought about, not merely by the natural exigencies of the German seminar method of instruc- tion, not merely by the fact that the rising tide of doctors' theses has driven wrould-be candidates for degrees to the high and dry places, after all the rich lowland had been covered, but also by a very profound and genuine change of view on the part of the masters of history themselves with regard to what should be the distinctive material of their study. Before our modern day of specialization there was virtually no history of religion, or of law, or of literature, or of language, or of art. Fragments of these things were, of course, caught in the web of the old narratives, but the great writers of the older order looked at them with attention only when they emerged, gross and obvious, upon the surface of affairs. Law was part of the movement of politics or of the patent economic forces that lay near the interests of government. Religion was not individual belief, but as it were the politics of an institution, of the church, which was but 6 HISTORICAL SCIENCE the state itself in another guise. Literature concerned them only as it became the wind of opinion beating upon the laboring ship of state, or when some sudden burst of song gave a touch of imaginative glory to the domestic annals of the nation which was their theme. Art came within their view only when it was part of the public work of some Pericles or became itself part of the intricate web of politics, as in the Italian states of the Renaissance. Language concerned them not at all, except as its phrases once and again spoke the tem- per of an epoch or its greater variations betokened the birth of new nations. And all this because their interest was in affairs of state, in the organized and coordinated efforts of the body politic, in opinions and influences which moved men in the mass and governed the actions of kings and their ministers of state at home and abroad. In brief, their interest was in " events." It is curious and instructive to examine what we mean by that much-used word. We mean always, I take it, some occurrence of large circumstance, — no private affair transacted in a corner, but something observed and open to the public view, noticeable and known, — and not fortuitous, either, but planned, concerted. There can, properly speaking, be no " event " without organized effort: it is not a thing of the individual. Literature is excluded, by definition, and art, and language, and much of religion that is grounded in unobserved belief, and all the obscure pressure of economic want. A history of "events " cannot be a history of the people; it can only be a history of the life of the body politic, of the things which statesmen observe and act upon. The specialist has taught us that the deepest things are often those which never spring to light in events, and that the breeding-ground of events themselves lies where the historian of the state seldom extends his explorations. It is not true that a community is merely the aggregate of those who compose it. The parts are so disposed among us that the minority governs more often than the majority. But influence and mastery are subtle things. They proceed from forces which come to the individual out of the very air he breathes: his life is compounded as the lives of those about him are. Their lives play upon his, he knows not how, and the opinion he enforces upon them is already more than half their own. And so the analysis of the life of the many becomes part of the analysis of the power of the few - an indispensable part. It is this that the specialist sees. He sees more. He sees that individual effort as well as aggregate must be studied, the force that is in the man as well as the air that is in the community. The men who give voice to their age are witnesses to more things than they wot of. Mr. Ruskin, in the preface to the little volume on Venetian art to which he has given the name St. Mark's Rest, propounds a theory THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 7 which will illuminate my meaning. "Great nations/' he says, "write their autobiographies in three manuscripts, — the book of their deeds, the book of their words, and the book of their art. Not one of these books can be understood unless we read the two others; but of the three the only quite trustworthy one is the last. The acts of a nation may be triumphant by its good fortune; and its words mighty by the genius of a few of its children; but its art only by the general gifts and common sympathies of the race. Again, the policy of a nation may be compelled, and, therefore, not indicative of its true character. Its words may be false, while yet the race remains uncon- scious of their falsehood; and no historian can assuredly detect the hypocrisy. But art is always instinctive; and the honesty or pre- tense of it are therefore open to the day. The Delphic oracle may or may not have been spoken by an honest priestess, — we cannot tell by the words of it; a liar may rationally believe them a lie, such as he would himself have spoken; and a true man, with equal reason, may believe them spoken in truth. But there is no question possible in art: at a glance (when we have learned to read), we know the religion of Angelico to be sincere, and of Titian, assumed." Whether we agree with all the dicta of this interesting passage or not, the main truth of it is plain. It is to be doubted whether the "genius of a few of its children" suffices to give a nation place in the great annals of literature, and literary critics would doubtless maintain that the book of a nation's words is as nai'f and instinctive as the book of its art. Here, too, the sincere and natural is easily to be distinguished ("when we have learned to read") from the sophisticated and the artificial. Plainly the autobiography of Ben- jamin Franklin is separated by a long age from the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, and the one is as perfect a mirror of the faith of the man and the manner of the age as the other. But these questions are not of the present point. Undoubtedly the book of a nation's art and the book of its words must be read along with the book of its deeds if its life and character are to be comprehended as a whole; and another book, besides, — the book of its material life, its foods, its fashions, its manufactures, its temperatures and seasons. In each of these great books the historian looks for the same thing: the life of the day, the impulses that underlie government and all achieve- ment, all art and all literature, as well as all statesmanship. I do not say that the specialists who have so magnified their office in our day have been conscious of this ultimate synthesis. Few of them have cared for it or believed in it. They have diligently spent their intensive labor upon a few acres of ground, with an exemplary singleness of mind, and have displayed, the while, very naively, the provincial spirit of small farmers. But a nation is as rich as its sub- jects, and this intensive farming has accumulated a vast store of 8 HISTORICAL SCIENCE excellent food-stuffs. No doubt the work would have been better done if it had been done in a more catholic spirit, with wider sym- pathies, amidst horizons. The broader the comprehension the more intelligent the insight. But we must not ask for all things in a gen- eration or expect our own perfection by any other way than the familiar processes of development. Perhaps we are near enough the time of synthesis and coordination to see at least the organic order and relationship of the several special branches of historical inquiry which have been grouped in this Division of our Congress. All history has society as its subject-mat- ter: what we ponder and explore is, not the history of men, but the history of man. And yet our themes do not all lie equally close to the organic processes of society. Those processes are, of course, most prominent in political and economic history, least prominent, per- haps, in the history of language. I venture to suggest that the organic order is: Politics, economics, religion, law, literature, art, language. So far as the question affects religion and law, I must admit that I am not clear which of the two ought to take precedence, — in modern history, certainly law; but most history is not modern, and in that greater part which is not modern clearly religion over- crows law in the organic, social process. I know that the word religion, in this connection as in most others, is of vague and mixed significance, covering a multitude of sins; but so far as my present point is concerned, it is easy of clarification. Religion, as the historian handles it, involves both a history of insti- tutions, of the church, and a history of opinion. As a history of opinion it perhaps lies no nearer the organic processes of society than does the history of literature; but from the beginning of recorded events until at any rate the breaking up of foundations which accompanied and followed the French Revolution, it concerns the church as an institution as definitely as the history of politics, with its various records of shifting opinion, concerns the state, and the organic life of the body politic. In such a view, religion must take precedence of law in the organic order of our topics. From the remotest times of classical history, when church and state, priest and judge, were hardly distinguishable, through the confused Middle Age, in which popes were oftentimes of more authority than kings and emperors, down to the modern days, when priests and primates were, by very virtue of their office, chief politicians in the plot of public policy, the church has unquestionably played a part second only to the state itself in the organization and government of society, in the framing of the public life. Law occupies a place singular and apart. Its character is without parallel in our list. It has no life of its own apart from the life of the as religion has, or literature, or art, or language. Looked at THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 9 as the lawyer looks at it, it is merely the voice of the state, the body of regulations set by government to give order to the competitive play of individual and social forces. Looked at from the historian's point of view, it consists of that part of the social thought and habit which has definitely formed itself, which has gained universal acqui- escence and recognition, and which has been given the sanction and backing of the state itself, a final formulation in command. In either case, whatever its origin, whether in the arbitrary will of the law- maker or in the gradually disclosed and accepted convenience of society, it comes, not independently and of itself, but through the mouth of governors and judges, and is itself a product of the state. But not of politics, unless we speak of public law, the smaller part, not of private, the greater. The forces which created it are chiefly economic, or else social, bred amidst ideas of class and privilege. It springs from a thousand fountains. Statutes do not contain all of it; and statutes are themselves, when soundly conceived, but gen- eralizations of experience. The truth is that, while law gets its formulation and its compulsive sanction from the political governors of the state, its real life and source lie hidden amidst all of the vari- ous phenomena which historians are called upon to explore. It belongs high in the list I have made, because it so definitely takes its form from the chief organ of society. To put literature before art in the organic order I have suggested, is not to deny Mr. Ruskin's dictum, that art more than literature comes "by the general gifts and common sympathies of the race," by instinct rather than by deliberation; it is only to say that more of what is passing through a nation's thought is expressed in its literature than in its art. As a nation thinks so it is; and the his- torian must give to the word literature a wider significance than the critic would vouchsafe. He must think not merely of that part of a nation's book of words upon which its authors have left the touch of genius, the part that has been made immortal by the transfiguring magic of art, but also of the cruder parts which have served their purpose and now lie dead upon the page, — the fugitive and ephem- eral pamphlets, the forgotten controversies, the dull, thin prose of arguments long ago concluded, old letters, futile and neglected pleas, — whatever may seem to have played through the thought of older days. Of the history of language I speak with a great deal of diffidence. My own study of it was of narrow scope and antedated all modern methods. But I know what interest it has for the historian of life and opinion; I know how indispensable its help is in deciphering race origins and race mixtures; I know what insight it affords into the processes of intellectual development; I know what subtle force it has had not only in moulding men's thoughts, but also their acts and 10 HISTORICAL SCIENCE their aspirations after the better things of hope and purpose. I know- how it mirrors national as well as individual genius. And I know that all of these data of organic life, whether he take them at first hand or at second, throw a clarifying light upon many an obscure page of the piled records that lie upon the historian's table. I fancy that the historian who intimately uses the language of the race and people of which he writes somehow gets intimation of its origin and history into his ear and thought whether he be a deliberate student of its develop- ment or not; but be that as it may, the historian of language stands at his elbow, if he will but turn to him, with many an enlightening fact and suggestion which he can ill afford to dispense withal. It is significant, as it is interesting, that the students of language have here been definitely called into the company of historians. May the alliance be permanent and mutually profitable! My moral upon the whole list is, that, separated though we may be by many formal lines of separation, sometimes insisted on with much pedantic punctilio, we are all partners in a common under- taking, the illumination of the thoughts and actions of men as asso- ciated in society, the life of the human spirit in this familiar theatre of cooperative effort in which we play, so changed from age to age and yet so much the same throughout the hurrying centuries. Some of the subjects here grouped may stand high in the list of organic processes, others affect them less vigorously and directly; but all are branches and parts of the life of society. In one of the great topics we deal with there is, I know, another element which sets it quite apart to a character of its own. The history of religion is not merely the history of social forces, not merely the history of institutions and of opinions. It is also the history of something which transcends our divination, escapes our analysis, — the power of God in the life of men. God does, indeed, deal with men in society and through social forces, but he deals with him also individually, as a single soul, not lost in society or impoverished of his individual will and respons- ibility by his connection with the lives of other men, but himself sovereign and lonely in the choice of his destiny. This singleness of the human soul, this several right and bounden duty of indi- vidual faith and choice, to be exercised oftentimes in contempt and defiance of society, is a thing no man is likely to overlook who has noted the genesis of our modern liberty or assessed the forces of reform and regeneration which have lifted us to our present enlighten- ment; and it introduces into the history of religion, at any rate since the day of Christ, the master of free souls, an element which plays upon society like an independent force, like no native energy of its own. This, nevertheless, like all things else that we handle, comes into the sum of our common reckoning when we would analyze the life of men as manifested in the book of their deeds, in the book of THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 11 their words, in the book of their art, or in the book of their material arts, consumption, needs, desires; and the product is still organic. Men play upon one another whether as individual souls or as political and economic partners. What the specialist has discovered for us, whether he has always discovered it for himself or not, is, that this social product which we call history, though produced by the interplay of forces, is not always produced by definite organs or by deliberation: that, though a joint product, it is not always the result of concerted action. He has laid bare to our view particular, minor, confluent but not conjoint influ- ences, which, if not individual, are yet not deliberately cooperative, but the unstudied, ungeneraled, scattered, unassembled, it may be even single and individual expression of motives, conceptions, im- pulses, needs, desires, which have no place within the ordered, cor- porated ranks of such things as go by legislation or the edicts of courts, by resolutions of synods or centred mandates of opinion, but spring of their own spontaneous vigor out of the unhusbanded soil of unfenced gardens, the crops no man had looked for or made ready to reap. Though all soils from which human products suck their sus- tenance must no doubt lie within the general sovereignty of society, and no man is masterless in our feudal moral system, these things which have come to light by the labor of those who have scrutinized the detail of our lives for things neglected have not been produced within the immediate demesnes of the crown. Historians who ponder public policy only, and only the acts of those who make and admin- ister law and determine the relationships of nations, like those who follow only the main roads of literature and study none but the greater works of art, have therefore passed them by unheeded, and so, undoubtedly, have missed some of the most interesting secrets of the very matters they had set themselves to fathom. Individuals, things happening obscure and in a corner, matters that look like inci- dents, accidents, and lie outside the observed movements of affairs, are as often as not of the very gist of controlling circumstance and will be found when fully taken to pieces to lie at the very kernel of our fruit of memory. I do not mean to imply that the work of the specialist is now near enough to being accomplished, his discoveries enough completed, enough advertised, enough explained, his researches brought to a sufficient point of perfection. I daresay he is but beginning to come into his kingdom: is just beginning to realize that it is a kingdom, and not merely a congeries of little plots of ground, unrelated, un- neighborly even; and that as the years go by and such studies are more and more clarified, more and more wisely conceived, this minute and particular examination of the records of the human spirit will yield a yet more illuminating body of circumstance and serve 12 HISTORICAL SCIENCE more and more directly and copiously for the rectification of all his- tory. What I do mean, and what, I daresay, I am put here to pro- claim, is, that the day for synthesis has come; that no one of us can safely go forward without it; that labor in all kinds must hence- forth depend upon it, the labor of the specialist no less than the labor of the general historian who attempts the broader generaliza- tions of comment and narrative. In the English-speaking world we have very recently witnessed two interesting and important attempts at synthesis by cooperation in Mr. H. D. TrailPs Social England and Lord Acton's Cambridge Modern History, the one now complete, the other still in course of publication. We have had plans and proposals for a somewhat similarly constructed history of the United States. Mr. Justin Winsor's Narrative and Critical History of America hardly furnishes an example of the sort of work attempted in the other series of which I have spoken. Aside from its lists and critical estimates of author- ities, it is only history along the ordinary lines done in monographs, covering topics every historian of America has tried to cover. Mr. Traill's volumes, as their general title bears evidence, run upon a wider field, whose boundaries include art, literature, language, and religion, as well as law and politics. They are broader, at any rate in their formal plan, than Lord Acton's series, if we may judge by the three volumes of the Cambridge Modern History already published. The chapter-headings in the Cambridge volumes smack much more often of politics and public affairs than of the more covert things of private impulse and endeavor. Their authors write generally, how- ever, with a very broad horizon about them and examine things usually left unnoted by historians of an earlier age. The volumes may fairly be taken, therefore, to represent an attempt at a com- prehensive synthesis of modern historical studies. Both Mr. Traill's volumes and the Cambridge Modern History are constructed upon essentially the same general plan. The sections of the one and the chapters of the other are monographs pieced together to make a tessellated whole. The hope of the editors has been to obtain, by means of carefully formulated instructions and suggestions issued beforehand to their corps of associates, a series of sections conceived and executed, in some general sense, upon a common model and suitable to be worked in together as parts of an intelligible and consistent pattern; and, so uniform has been our training in historical research and composition in recent years, that a most sur- prising degree of success has attended the effort after homogeneous texture in the narrative and critical essays which have resulted; a degree of success which I call surprising, not because I think it very nearly complete, but because I am astonished that, in the circum- stances, it should have been success at all and not utter failure. THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 13 It is far from being utter failure; and yet how far it is also from being satisfactory success! Allow me to take, as an example of the way in which these works are constructed, my own experience in writing a chapter for the volume of the Cambridge Modern History which is devoted to the United States. In doing so I am far from meaning even to imply any criticism upon the editors of that admir- able series, to whom we are all so much indebted. I do not see how, without incredible labor, they could have managed the delicate and difficult business intrusted to them in any other way; and I am adducing my experience in their service only for the sake of illus- trating what must, no doubt, inevitably be the limitations and draw- backs of work in this peculiar kind. I can think of no other way so definite of assessing the quality and serviceability of this sort of syn- thesis. I was asked by Lord Acton to write for his volume on the United States the chapter which treats of the very painful and important decade 1850—1860, and I undertook the commission with a good deal of willingness. There are several things concerning that critical period which I like to have an opportunity to say. But I had hardly embarked upon the interesting enterprise, which I was bidden compass within thirty of the ample pages of the Cambridge royal octavos, before I was beset by embarrassments with regard to the manner and scope of treatment. The years 1850-1860 do not, of course, either in our own history or in any other, constitute a decade severed from its fellows. The rootages of all the critical matters which then began to bear their bitter fruitage are many and complex and run far, very far, back into soil which I knew very well other writers were farming. I did not know what they would say or leave unsaid, explain or leave doubtful. I could take nothing for granted-; for every man's point of view needs its special elucidation, and he can depend upon no other man to light his path for him. I therefore wrote a narrative essay, in my best philosophical vein, on the events of the decade assigned me, in which I gave myself a very free hand and took care to allow my eye a wide and sweeping view upon every side. I spoke of any matter I pleased, harked back to any transaction that concerned me, recking nothing of how long before the limiting date 1850 it might have occurred, and so flung myself very freely, - should I say very insolently? — through many a reach of country that clearly and of my own certain knowledge belonged to others, by recorded Cambridge title. How was I to avoid it? My co-laborers were not at my elbow in my study. Some of them were on the other side of the sea. The editors themselves could not tell me what these gentlemen were to say, for they did not know. The other essays intended for the volume were on the stocks being put together, as mine was. I must conjecture that the other writers for that volume fared as 14 HISTORICAL SCIENCE I did, and took the law into their own hands as I did; and their expe- rience and mine is the moral of my criticism. No sort of cunning joinery could fit their several pieces of workmanship together into a single and consistent whole. No amount of uniform type and sound binding can metamorphose a series of individual essays into a book. I may be allowed to express my surprise, in passing, that some indi- vidual historians should have tried to compound and edit themselves in the same way, by binding together essays which were conceived and executed as separate wholes. The late Mr. Edward Eggleston furnished us with a distinguished example of this in his Beginners of a Nation, whose chapters are topical and run back and forth through time and circumstance without integration or organic relation to one another, treating again and again of the same things turned about to be looked at from a different angle. And if a man of capital gifts cannot fuse his own essays, or even beat and compress them into solid and coherent amalgam, how shall editors be blamed who find the essays of a score of minds equally intractable? No doubt the Cambridge volumes are meant for scholars more than for untrained readers, though Mr. TrailFs, I believe, are not; but even the docile scholar, accustomed of necessity to contrast and variety in what he pores upon and by habit very patient in reconciling inconsistencies, plodding through repetitions, noting variations and personal whim- sies, must often wonder why he should thus digest pieces of other men's minds and eat a mixture of secondary authorities. The fact is, that this is not synthesis, but mere juxtaposition. It is not even a compounding of views and narratives. It is compilation. There is no whole cloth, no close texture, anywhere in it. The collected pieces overlap and are sometimes not even stitched together. Events — even events of critical consequence — are sometimes incontinently overlooked, dropped utterly from the narrative, because no one of the writers felt any particular responsibility for them, and one and another took it for granted that some one else had treated of them, finding their inclusion germane and convenient. But if we reject this sort of cooperation as unsatisfactory, what are we to do? Obviously some sort of cooperation is necessary in this various and almost boundless domain of ours; and if not the sort Mr. Traill and Lord Acton planned, what sort is possible? The ques- tion is radical. It involves a great deal more than the mere deter- mination of a method. It involves nothing less than an examination of the essential character and object of history, — I mean of that part of man's book of words which is written as a deliberate record of his social experience. What are our ideals? What, in the last analysis, do we conceive our task to be? Are we mere keepers and transcribers of records, or do we write our own thoughts and judg- ments into our narratives and interpret what we record? The ques- THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 15 tion may be simply enough asked, but it cannot be simply answered. The matter requires elaboration. Let us ask ourselves, by way of preliminary test, what we should be disposed to require of the ideal historian, what qualities, what powers, what aptitudes, what purposes? Put the query in another form, more concrete, more convenient to handle: how would you critically distinguish Mommsen's History from a doctor's thesis? By its scope, of course; but its scope would be ridiculous if it were not for its insight, its power to reconceive forgotten states of society, to put antique conceptions into life and motion again, build scattered hints into systems, and see a long national history singly and as a whole. Its masterly qualities it gets from the perceiving eye, the conceiving mind of its great author, his divination rather than his learning. The narrative impresses you as if written by one who has seen records no other man ever deciphered. I do not think Mommsen an ideal historian. His habit as a lawyer was too strong upon him: he wrote history too much as if it were an argument. His curiosity as an antiquarian was too keen: things very ancient and obscure were more interesting to him than the more commonplace things, which nevertheless constitute the bulk of the human story. But his genius for interpretation was his patent of nobility in the peerage of historians; he would not be great without it; and without it would not illustrate my present thesis. That thesis is, that, in whatever form, upon whatever scale you take it, the writing of history as distinguished from the clerical keep- ing of records is a process of interpretation. No historical writer, how small soever his plot of time and circumstance, ever records all the facts that fall under his eye. He picks and chooses for his narrative, determines which he will dwell upon as significant, which put by as of no consequence. And that is a process of judgment, an estimation of values, an interpretation of the matter he handles. The smaller the plot of time he writes of, the more secluded from the general view the matters he deals with, the more liable is he to error in his interpretation; for this little part of the human story is but a part; its significance lies in its relation to the whole. It requires nicer skill, longer training, better art and craft to fit it to its little place than would be required to adjust more bulky matters, matters more obviously involved in the general structure, to their right position and connections. The man with only common skill and eye- sight is safer at the larger, cruder sort of work. Among little facts it requires an exceeding nice judgment to pick the greater and the less, prefer the significant and throw away only the negligible. The specialist must needs be overseen and corrected with much more vigilance and misgiving than the national historian or the historian of epochs. 16 HISTORICAL SCIENCE Here, then, is the fundamental weakness of the cooperative his- tories of which I have spoken by example. They have no wholeness, singleness, or integrity of conception. If the several authors who wrote their sections or chapters had written their several parts only for the eye of one man chosen guide and chief among them, and he, pondering them all, making his own verifications, and drawing from them not only but also from many another source and chiefly from his own lifelong studies, had constructed the whole, the narrative had been everywhere richer, more complete, more vital, a living whole. But such a scheme as that is beyond human nature, in its present jealous constitution, to execute, and is a mere pleasing fancy, - if any one be pleased with it. Such things are sometimes done in university seminars, where masters have been known to use, at their manifest peril, 'the work of their pupils in making up their published writings; but they ought not to have been done there, and they are not likely to be done anywhere else. At least this may be said, that, if master workmen were thus to use and interpret other men's mate- rials, one great and indispensable gain would be made: history would be coherently conceived and consistently explained. The reader would not himself have to compound and reconcile the diverg- ent views of his authors. I daresay it seems a very radical judgment to say that synthesis in our studies must come by means of literary art and the conceiving imagination ; but I do not see how otherwise it is to come. By liter- ary art, because interpretation cannot come by crude terms and unstudied phrases in writing any more than pictorial interpretation can come by a crude, unpracticed, ignorant use of the brush in paint- ing. By the conceiving imagination, because the historian is not a clerk but a seer: he must see the thing first before he can judge of it. Not the inventing imagination, but the conceiving imagination, — not all historians have been careful to draw the distinction in their practice. It is imagination that is needed, is it not, to conceive past generations of men truly in their habit and manner as they lived? If not, it is some power of the same kind which you prefer to call by another name : the name is not what we shall stop to discuss. I will use the word under correction. Nothing but imagination can put the mind back into past experiences not its own, or make it the con- temporary of institutions long since passed away or modified beyond recognition. And yet the historian must be in thought and com- prehension the contemporary of the men and affairs he writes of. He must also, it is true, be something more: if he would have the full power to interpret, he must have the offing that will give him perspective, the knowledge of subsequent events ,which will furnish him with multiplied standards of judgment: he should write among records amplified, verified, complete, withdrawn from the mist of THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 17 contemporary opinion. But he will be but a poor interpreter if he have alien sympathies, the temperament of one age when writing of another, it may be contrasted with his own in every point of prefer- ence and belief. He needs something more than sympathy, for sympathy may be condescending, pitying, contemptuous. Few things are more benighting than the condescension of one age for another, and the historian who shares this blinding sentiment is of course unfitted for his office, which is not that of censor but that of inter- preter. Sympathy there must be, and very catholic sympathy, but it must be the sympathy of the man who stands in the midst and sees, like one within, not like one without, like a native, not like an alien. He must not sit like a judge exercising exterritorial jurisdiction. It is through the imagination that this delicate adjustment of view is effected, — a power not of the understanding nor yet a mere faculty of sympathetic appreciation, or even compounded of the two, but mixed of these with a magical gift of insight added, which makes it a thing mere study, mere open-mindedness, mere coolness and candor of judgment cannot attain. Its work cannot be done by editorship or even by the fusing of the products of different minds under the heat of a single genius; its insight is without rule, and is exercised in singleness and independence. It is in its nature a thing individual and incommunicable. Since literary art and this distinctive, inborn genius of interpreta- tion are needed for the elucidation of the human story and must be married to real scholarship if they are to be exercised with truth and precision, the work of making successful synthesis of the several parts of our labors for each epoch and nation must be the achieve- ment of individual minds, and it might seem that we must await the slow maturing of gifts Shakespearean to accomplish it. But, happily, the case is not so desperate. The genius required for this task has nothing of the universal scope, variety, or intensity of the Shake- spearean mind about it. It is of a much more humble sort and is, we have reason to believe, conferred upon men of every generation. There would be good cause to despair of the advance of historical knowledge if it were not bestowed with some liberality. It is needed for the best sort of analysis and specialization of study as well as for successful synthesis, for the particular as well as for the general task. Moreover, a certain very large amount of cooperation is not only possible but quite feasible. It depends, after all, on the specialists whether there shall be successful synthesis or not. If they wish it, if it be their ideal, if they construct their parts with regard to the whole and for the sake of the whole, synthesis will follow naturally and with an easy approach to perfection; but if the specialists are hostile, if their enthusiasm is not that of those who have a large aim and view, if they continue to insist on detail for detail's sake and 18 HISTORICAL SCIENCE suspect all generalization of falseness, if they cannot be weaned from the provincial spirit of petty farmers, the outlook is bad enough, synthesis is indefinitely postponed. Synthesis is not possible without specialization. The special student must always garner, sift, verify. Minute circumstance must be examined along with great circum- stance, all the background as well as the foreground of the picture studied, every part of human endeavor held separately under scrutiny until its individual qualities and particular relations with the rest of the human story stand clearly revealed; and this is, of necessity, the work of hundreds of minds, not of one mind. There is labor enough and honor enough to go around, and the specialist who puts first-rate gifts into his task, though he be less read, will not in the long estimate of literature earn less distinction than the general historian. It is a question of the division and cooperation of labor: butMt is more; it is also a question of the spirit in which the labor is done, the public spirit that animates it, the general aim and con- ception that underlies and inspires it. As a university teacher I cannot help thinking that the govern- ment of the matter is largely in the hands of the professors of history in our schools of higher training. The modern crop of specialists is theirs : they can plant and reap after a different kind if they choose. I am convinced that the errors and narrownesses of specialization are chiefly due to vicious methods and mistaken objects in the training of advanced students of history in the universities. In the first place, if I may speak from the experience of our American universities, students are put to tasks of special investigation before they are sufficiently grounded in general history and in the larger aspects of the history of the age or nation of which they are set to elaborate a part. They discover too many things that are already known and too many things which are not true, — at any rate, in the crude and dis- torted shape in which they advance them. Other universities may be happier than ours in their material, in the previous training of the men of whom they try to make investigators; but even when the earlier instruction of their pupils has 'been more nearly adequate and better suited to what is to follow, the training they add is not, I take the liberty of saying, that which is likely to produce history, but only that which is likely to produce doctors' theses. The students in their seminars are encouraged, if they are not taught, to prefer the part to the whole, the detail to the spirit, like chemists who should prefer the individual reactions of their experiments to the laws which they illustrate. I should think the mischievous mistake easy enough of correction. It is quite possible to habituate students to a point of view, and to do so is often, I daresay, the best part of their preparation. When they come to the advanced stage of their training, at which they are THE VARIETY AND UNITY OF HISTORY 19 to be set to learn methods of investigation, they should not be set first of all to the discovery or elaboration of facts, to the filling in of the hiatuses easily and everywhere to be discerned, by their precept- ors at any rate, in the previous study of detail. They should, rather, be set to learn a very different process, the process of synthesis: to establish the relations of circumstances already known to the general history of the day in which they occurred. These circumstances should not all be political or economic or legal ; they should as often concern religion, literature, art, or the development of language, so that the student should at once become accustomed to view the life of men in society as a whole. Heaven knows there is enough original work waiting to be done in this kind to keep many generations of youngsters profitably employed. Look where you will in the field of modern monographs, and it is easy to find unassociated facts piled high as the roofs of libraries. There is not a little fame as well as much deep instruction to be got out of classifying them and bringing them into their vital relations with the life of which they form a part. It were mere humanity to relieve them of their loneliness. After they had been schooled in this work, which, believe me, some one must do, and that right promptly, our advanced students of history and of historical method would be ready to go on, if it were only after graduation, after the fateful doctor's degree, to the further task of making new collections of fact, which they would then instinctively view in their connection with the known circumstances of the age in which they happened. Thus, perhaps thus only, will the spirit and the practice of synthesis be bred. If this change should be successfully brought about, there would no longer be any painful question of hierarchy among historians: the specialist would have the same spirit as the national historian, would use the same power, display the same art, and pass from the ranks of artisans to the ranks of artists, making cameos as much to be prized as great canvases or heroic statues. Until this happens history will cease to be a part of literature, and that is but another way of saying that it will lose its influence in the world, its mono- graphs prove about as vital as the specimens in a museum. It is not only the delightful prerogative of our studies to view man as a whole, as a living, breathing spirit, it is also their certain fate that if they do not view him so, no living, breathing spirit will heed them. We have used the wrong words in speaking of our art and craft. History must be revealed, not recorded, conceived before it is written, and we must all in our several degrees be seers, not clerks. It is a high calling and should not be belittled. Statesmen are guided and formed by what we write, patriots stimulated, tyrants checked. Reform and progress, charity and freedom of belief, the dreams of artists and the fancies of poets, have at once their record and their source with us. 20 HISTORICAL SCIENCE We must not suffer ourselves to fall dull and pedantic, must not lose our visions or cease to speak the large words of inspiration and guid- ance. It were a shame upon us to drop from the ranks of those who walk at the van and sink into the ranks of those who only follow after, to pick up the scattered traces of the marching host as things merely to pore upon and keep. We cannot do this. We will return to our traditions and compel our fellow historians of literature to write of us as of those who were masters of a great art. DEPARTMENT III POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY (Hall 4, September 20, 11.15 a. m.) THE SCIENCE OF HISTORY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY BY WILLIAM MILLIGAN SLOANE [William Milligan Sloane, Seth Low Professor of History, Columbia University, since 1896. b. November 12, 1850, Richmond, Ohio. A.B. Columbia, 1868; Ph.D. Leipsic, 1876; L.H.D. Columbia, 1885; LL.D. Rutgers, 1900; Princeton, 1903. Post-graduate, University of Berlin, 1872-75; University of Leipsic, 1875-76. Classical Master Newell Institute, 1868-72. Professor of Latin, Princeton, 1877-82; History, 1882-96. Member Academy of Political Science, American Historical Association, National Institute of Arts and Letters. Author of The French War and the Revolution; Napoleon Bonaparte; The French Revolution and Religious Reform ; and editor of The American Histor- ical Review.] THE scientific study of history seeks to find in the past the means of determining both the evolution occurring under our eyes and the probabilities of the future. No preconception may distort the facts; but, the facts once determined, they may not be considered except in the light of reason. This by the rhetorical figure of " anticipation J> we call, the Science of History. There is no claim that as yet this is other than an empirical science : we hope that one day it may become fairly complete; exact, within certain limits. Freeman, Morley, Acton; Comte, Renan, Taine; Waitz, Ranke, Mommsen, — these are some of the men who during the century just past have labored to make history scientific. One and all they ridiculed the wild exaggera- tion of mere reason as the final arbiter, apart from the affections, the imagination, and the moral sense; one and all they distrusted the " vague and sterile philanthropy, " which is so often a plague to normal social conditions. Freethinkers as were most of them, yet, liberal and orthodox alike, they believed in the merits and benefac- tions of the Christian Church as a vital factor in their science. In their catholic spirit they were truly scientific. It is assumed that the scientific study of history has entirely dis- placed history as literature; or literary history, as many style it. There have, indeed, been many men of light and learning, whose style and trained imagination have transmuted history into literature: there have been others who sought, even in the study of texts and in the interpretations of philology, to secure the material of novels, tales, or poetry, to find examples for the inspiration and consolation of 24 POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY contemporary life. For such works the public has a passion, and no wonder; with the delight of literature we seem to combine learning and education. We savor and love the mixture of fact, philosophy, and poetry; the invention, the charm, the power. Yet this is not and never was history; something perhaps higher, but not history. There may even be literary science; but for all that science is not literature nor literature science. These twain cannot be made one flesh. Each may modify the other, but there is no transmutation. For the scientific study of history we must have minds subtle, conscientious, and accurate — minds with a power and aptitude for minutiae, with a patience and endurance which know no bounds, honest minds incapable of even self-deception, and in particular with the linguistic gift that makes no language impossible of acquisi- tion or foreign to the learner's aptitudes. Only for the mind thus equipped can history and philology be scientific. The generations of men endowed with the imaginative faculty have seen and will ever see, in the labors of such minds, the most splendid form of applied art, the highest known form of prose literature possibly, but cer- tainly the nearest approach to scientific history that can be made. In ours as in other disciplines there is trouble; and the trouble, as elsewhere, arises among the men who are destitute, or nearly so, of the imaginative power which is so well designated as the scientific imagination. Honest men of this sort, proud of their devotion and accuracy, become pedantic, claim infallibility, and despise all others: in the presence of the most august of all terrestrial things, — the origins, rise, and evolution of a state, the supreme social unit, — the mere investigator secures no large view but becomes a stern, con- temptuous materialist. Only worse than these are the ignorant and impatient, who disdain the accuracy of truth, and are indifferent to the orderly arrangement of facts: the chain of causation in human affairs they can neither understand nor appreciate, being dazzled by speculation, imagery, and rhetoric. Shallow and inaccurate, they prate about history as literature, and deny the possibility of a science of history. In the closing years of the nineteenth century there was much strife about the question as to whether or not there could be science in history. The question now is: How much science and of what kind is there in history? As some help toward a reply, we are forced to an historical retrospect of the efforts to secure and apply a method. The eighteenth century is by many regarded as the period when history was born anew into the realm of science. The reason given is that it coincided with the final overthrow of ecclesiasticism, and the chief names adduced in proof are these of Vico (1668-1744), Gibbon (1737-94), Voltaire (1694-1778), and Burke (1729-97). It was felt that humanity was, if not its own first cause, at least its own demi- HISTORY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 25 urge, and men were determined to discover, if possible, what were the processes by which mankind had formed itself and made its home. Without a doubt there was for this reason a passionate study of nature, and it may have been a necessary complement that both the statics and dynamics of social phenomena were examined with a new purpose and from a new angle. But in spite of all efforts to establish this contention and to trace an historical continuity in the science of "histories" from then until now, there lie athwart the argument difficulties so portentous and so serious as almost if not entirely to vitiate its conclusions. It is true that Vico was the first to ask why, if there be a science of nature, we have no science of history? It is consequently true that he was the first historical evolutionist. To him the story of a nation was the record of an ever completer realization in fact of certain remnants of a pre-natal revelation, of the primitive concrete notions of justice, goodness, beauty, and truth: the development, as he phrased it, of this poetic wisdom into the occult wisdom of law and government, into the realization of abstract and impersonal justice, was for him the subject-matter of history. This was a sublime idea, pregnant with great possibilities. But its author could not see the conclusions. Conceiving of three stages — divine, heroic, and human — he announced three corresponding civilizations, ending in an unstable democracy, whence society abandoned to license always relapses into barbarism, only to emerge once more by a law of cycles into a renewal of the process. This, of course, is a flat denial of pro- gress. Moreover Vico never had a glimpse, much less a vision, of scientific order in history beyond the record of a single folk, and never conceived of general history in a scientific aspect. For these reasons he was a prophet without honor, either contemporaneous or post- humous, and left no influence behind to mould either his own or succeeding ages. The method which Voltaire announced was alike more simple and more scientific. It was based on the theory that most details of his- tory are mere baggage, and that when the lumber of the antiquary, as Bolingbroke called it, is disengaged from capital events, you may study in these last the vital human power and its workings. Wars, diplomacy, and the personal minutiae of the political hierarchy, he relegated to the garret of the chronicler and collector: laws, arts, and manners, he conceived to be the essentials of history. Equipped with this doctrine, he turned to account such portions of his time as he could spare from literature, politics, and attacks on ecclesiasticism to the composition of philosophical history. By the sheer force of historic doubt he destroyed many a myth, by the seductions of a graceful style and the stings of a biting sarcasm he relegated the millinery of human life to the rummage chambers where it belongs, 26 POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY and finally in his great essay on manners he drew the plan and established the proportions for a concept of unity in history which in another land and age was destined to revolutionize the pursuit. Either he never knew or he had forgotten a vital point. Jejune and embryonic as Aristotle's Politics appear when applied to our pro- blems, his experience having been confined to the petty states of Greece, he nevertheless found and set forth the vital principle of soci- ety as an organism. On this were based the ancient concepts of economics. The embryo of modern economics was begotten by Jean Bodin (1580), a lawyer of the sixteenth century, who formulated the ideas of progress, law, and causation in history. Had he combined with his own thoughts (Methodus ad facilem Historiarum Cognitionem) the one great thought of Aristotle, he would have been even more famous than he is, he would have been the father of scientific history as well as of scientific economics. His objective, external attitude toward history was that of all the great, down to the nineteenth cen- tury; it was the basic concept and starting-point of Bossuet, of Vico, of Bodin, and even of Montesquieu. It was likewise the radical vice of Voltaire, as in a still higher degree it was that of Gibbon. The founda- tions of the social union may not be studied in collections of historical, legal, or even social facts, nor in brilliant generalizations therefrom, like those which cause the pages of Montesquieu to flash and scintil- late. The true science of history shows us not merely the operations, what has been called the "play and function" of the social organs, it exhibits under the scalpel the organs themselves. Negative criti- cism has its rights, no doubt, but it is scanty fare for the hungry soul, and the idea of constructive, productive criticism was far better developed in Thucydides than in Voltaire; the most that can be said of the latter is that he saw in a glass darkly the concept, not of the unity of history, but of European history as a totality. What then of Gibbon; has he too been weighed in the balances and found wanting? His erudition was immense, his pen facile and power- ful, his grasp gigantic and his method sound. Let us apply the su- preme test. Do scholars read him? or, if they read him, is it for any other motive than a learned curiosity? They copiously correct and annotate him, and freely explore the mazes of his thought: they conspire with publishers to issue new editions of his books, and the public buys edition after edition; but so likewise do they buy edition after edition of Rollin's Universal History! The sets look well on the shelves, but the man who reads either is hard pressed to kill time. There is more light thrown on the Decline and Fall by the short treatise of Fustel than by all the ponderous and erudite rhetoric of Gibbon. We have gleaned, not a few, but many facts, which Gibbon had not, even though the truth of fact is on all his pages; his method struggles to combine the ideas of evolution and of organism, but HISTORY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 27 his logic is after all felt to be futile and his conclusions antiquated. Like the other historians of his epoch, though the movement of his style is like that of the Roman triumph, he has not left to the world a "possession forever." Scholars can find all his information else- where, the use he makes of it they neither admire nor approve. Readers of discrimination have better use for their time than to pe- ruse the pages of an unsympathetic formalist, the eulogist of heathen effeminacy, an apologist for pagan morality. In truth, the eighteenth century is very remote from the nine- teenth. The same facts no longer wear the same faces, and another method has gradually supplanted that which, though respectable, was nevertheless outworn. A restless evolution renews during every few generations all history in all its aspects, and never halts in the process. It is the fiat that history must be rewritten as knowledge grows, as epoch succeeds epoch. This is because readers have lived; have lived themselves into a world that is new scientifically and psychologically, and which has perspectives of which the past knew nothing. Viewed from the heights of our modern achievements in learning, the vaunted historical science of the eighteenth century, method and all, seems little better than a dangerous pseudo-science like phrenology or astrology. The first reaction against what was after all a phantom, stately though it were, sprang rather from feeling than from knowledge; it was a rebound of logic and not of reason. This premature revolt is probably best illustrated in the case of Niebuhr. Though powerful, the mind of the great Danish diplomat was dry and disdainful: contemptuous of the practical and judicial. In his field of ancient history he substituted for painstaking research and for concrete reasoning a method based on gratuitous assumptions, a method which destroyed traditional reality, to erect in its place a baseless fabric of credulous negations. It has been the task of his successors, beginning with Mommsen and ending with Taine's fine treatise on Livy, to dissipate his airy structure of so-called analytic criticism. Considerate as they have been, they have left upright only a very few of his original contentions, and these the least important, wherewith to uphold, for shame's sake, the vanishing renown of his name. The indications of archa3ological discovery at this hour all point to the ultimate annihilation of every principle and position which he enun- ciated. Could his shade be seen strolling to