No More Learning

Gladstone has not more assiduously cultivated the instinct of style,—
sentence-making. Milton himself has not a higher conception of the
business of literature; and when discussing these congenial themes,
Mr. Gladstone's enthusiasm does not degenerate into vehemence, nor
does he descend from the high moral plane from which he views the
world.
It is the province of the specialist to appraise Mr. Gladstone's
Homeric writings; but even the specialist will not, perhaps, forbear
to quote the axiom of the pugilist in the Iliad concerning the fate of
him who would be skillful in all arts. No man is less a Greek in
temperament, but no man cherishes deeper admiration for the Greek
genius, and nowhere else is a more vivid picture of the life and poli-
tics of the heroic age held up to the unlearned. While the critic
may question technical accuracy, or plausible structures built on
insufficient data, the laity will remember how earnestly Mr. Gladstone
insists that Homer is his own best interpreter, and that the student
of the Iliad must go to the Greek text and not elsewhere for accurate
knowledge.
But Greek literature is only one of Mr. Gladstone's two passions,
and not the paramount one. That he would have been a great theo-
logian had he been other than Mr. Gladstone, is generally admitted.
And it is interesting to note that while he glories in the combats of
the heroes of Hellas, his enthusiasm is as quickly kindled by the


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WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6361
humilities of the early Church. He recognizes the prophetic quality
of Homer, but he bows before the sublimer genius of an Isaiah, and
sees in the lives and writings of the early Fathers the perfect bloom
of human genius and character.
MACAULAY
From Gleanings of Past Years'
L
ORD MACAULAY lived a life of no more than fifty-nine years
and three months. But it was an extraordinarily full life,
of sustained exertion; a high table-land, without depressions.
If in its outer aspect there be anything wearisome, it is only the
wearisomeness of reiterated splendors, and of success so uniform
as to be almost monotonous. He speaks of himself as idle; but
his idleness was more active, and carried with it hour by hour a
greater expenditure of brain power, than what most men regard
as their serious employments. He might well have been, in his
mental career, the spoiled child of fortune; for all he tried suc-
ceeded, all he touched turned into gems and gold. In a happy
childhood he evinced extreme precocity. His academical career
gave sufficient, though not redundant, promise of after celebrity.
The new Golden Age he imparted to the Edinburgh Review, and
his first and most important, if not best, Parliamentary speeches
in the grand crisis of the first Reform Bill, achieved for him,
years before he had reached the middle point of life, what may
justly be termed an immense distinction.
For a century and more, perhaps no man in this country,
with the exceptions of Mr. Pitt and of Lord Byron, had attained
at thirty-two the fame of Macaulay. His Parliamentary success
and his literary eminence were each of them enough, as they
stood at this date, to intoxicate any brain and heart of a meaner
order. But to these was added, in his case, an amount and
quality of social attentions such as invariably partake of adula-
tion and idolatry, and as perhaps the high circles of London.
never before or since have lavished on a man whose claims lay
only in himself, and not in his descent, his rank, or his posses-
sions.
One of the very first things that must strike the observer of
this man is, that he was very unlike to any other man. And
yet this unlikeness, this monopoly of the model in which he
was made, did not spring from violent or eccentric features of


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6362
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
originality, for eccentricity he had none whatever, but from the
peculiar mode in which the ingredients were put together to
make up the composition. In one sense, beyond doubt, such
powers as his famous memory, his rare power of illustration, his
command of language, separated him broadly from others: but
gifts like these do not make the man; and we now for the first
time know that he possessed, in a far larger sense, the stamp of
a real and strong individuality. The most splendid and complete
assemblage of intellectual endowments does not of itself suffice
to create an interest of the kind that is, and will be, now felt in
Macaulay. It is from ethical gifts alone that such an interest
can spring.
These existed in him not only in abundance, but in forms
distant from and even contrasted with the fashion of his intel-
lectual faculties, and in conjunctions which come near to paradox.
Behind the mask of splendor lay a singular simplicity; behind a
literary severity which sometimes approached to vengeance, an
extreme tenderness; behind a rigid repudiation of the senti-
mental, a sensibility at all times quick, and in the latest times.
almost threatening to sap, though never sapping, his manhood.
He who as speaker and writer seemed above all others to repre-
sent the age and the world, had the real centre of his being in
the simplest domestic tastes and joys. He for whom the mys-
teries of human life, thought, and destiny appear to have neither
charm nor terror, and whose writings seem audibly to boast in
every page of being bounded by the visible horizon of the practi-
cal and work-day sphere, yet in his virtues and in the combination
of them; in his freshness, bounty, bravery; in his unshrinking
devotion both to causes and to persons; and most of all, per-
haps, in the thoroughly inborn and spontaneous character of all
these gifts, really recalls the age of chivalry and the lineaments
of the ideal. The peculiarity, the differentia (so to speak) of
Macaulay seems to us to lie in this: that while as we frankly
think, there is much to question-nay, much here and there to
regret or even censure-in his writings, the excess, or defect, or
whatever it may be, is never really ethical, but is in all cases
due to something in the structure and habits of his intellect.
And again, it is pretty plain that the faults of that intellect were.
immediately associated with its excellences: it was in some sense,
to use the language of his own Milton, "dark with excessive
bright. "
•
-


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WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6363
His moderation in luxuries and pleasures is the more notable
and praiseworthy because he was a man who, with extreme
healthiness of faculty, enjoyed keenly what he enjoyed at all.
Take in proof the following hearty notice of a dinner a quattr'
occhi to his friend: "Ellis came to dinner at seven. I gave him
a lobster curry, woodcock, and macaroni.
I think that I will
note dinners, as honest Pepys did. "
His love of books was intense, and was curiously developed.
In a walk he would devour a play or a volume. Once, indeed,
his performance embraced no less than fourteen Books of the
Odyssey. "His way of life," says Mr. Trevelyan, "would have
been deemed solitary by others; but it was not solitary to him. "
This development blossomed into a peculiar specialism. Hender-
son's Iceland' was a favorite breakfast-book" with him. "Some
books which I would never dream of opening at dinner please
me at breakfast, and vice versa! " There is more subtlety in this
distinction than could easily be found in any passage of his writ-
ings. But how quietly both meals are handed over to the domin-
ion of the master propensity! This devotion, however, was not
without its drawbacks. Thought, apart from books and from
composition, perhaps he disliked; certainly he eschewed.
Cross-
ing that evil-minded sea the Irish Channel at night in rough
weather, he is disabled from reading; he wraps himself in a pea-
jacket and sits upon the deck. What is his employment? He
cannot sleep, or does not. What an opportunity for moving
onward in the processes of thought, which ought to weigh on the
historian! The wild yet soothing music of the waves would have
helped him to watch the verging this way or that of the judicial
scales, or to dive into the problems of human life and action
which history continually is called upon to sound. No, he cared
for none of this. He set about the marvelous feat of going
over 'Paradise Lost' from memory, when he found he could
still repeat half of it. In a word, he was always conversing, or
recollecting, or reading, or composing; but reflecting never.
The laboriousness of Macaulay as an author demands our
gratitude; all the more because his natural speech was in sen-
tences of set and ordered structure, well-nigh ready for the press.
It is delightful to find that the most successful prose writer
of the day was also the most painstaking. Here is indeed a liter-
ary conscience. The very same gratification may be expressed
with reference to our most successful poet, Mr. Tennyson.


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6364
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
Great is the praise due to the poet; still greater, from the
nature of the case, that share which falls to the lot of Macaulay.
For a poet's diligence is, all along, a honeyed work. He is ever
traveling in flowery meads. Macaulay, on the other hand, un-
shrinkingly went through an immense mass of inquiry, which even
he sometimes felt to be irksome, and which to most men would
have been intolerable. He was perpetually picking the grain of
corn out of the bushel of chaff. He freely chose to undergo the
dust and heat and strain of battle, before he would challenge from
the public the crown of victory. And in every way it was
remarkable that he should maintain his lofty standard of concep-
tion and performance. Mediocrity is now, as formerly, dangerous,
commonly fatal, to the poet; but among even the successful writ-
ers of prose, those who rise sensibly above it are the very rarest
exceptions. The tests of excellence in prose are as much less
palpable as the public appetite is less fastidious. Moreover, we
are moving downward in this respect. The proportion of mid-
dling to good writing constantly and rapidly increases. With the
average of performance, the standard of judgment progressively
declines. The inexorable conscientiousness of Macaulay, his deter-
mination to put out nothing from his hand which his hand was
still capable of improving, was a perfect godsend to the best
hopes of our slipshod generation.
It was naturally consequent upon this habit of treating com-
position in the spirit of art, that he should extend to the body
of his books much of the regard and care which he so profusely
bestowed upon their soul. We have accordingly had in him, at
the time when the need was greatest, a most vigilant guardian
of the language. We seem to detect rare and slight evidences
of carelessness in his Journal: of which we can only say that in
a production of the moment, written for himself alone, we are
surprised that they are not more numerous and considerable. In
general society, carelessness of usage is almost universal, and it is
exceedingly difficult for an individual, however vigilant, to avoid
catching some of the trashy or faulty usages which are contin-
ually in his ear. But in his published works his grammar, his
orthography, nay, his punctuation (too often surrendered to the
printer), are faultless. On these questions, and on the lawful-
ness or unlawfulness of a word, he may even be called an author-
ity without appeal; and we cannot doubt that we owe it to
his works, and to their boundless circulation, that we have not in
0


## p. 6365 (#341) ###########################################

WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6365
this age witnessed a more rapid corruption and degeneration of
the language.
To the literary success of Macaulay it would be difficult to
find a parallel in the history of recent authorship. For this and
probably for all future centuries, we are to regard the public as
the patron of literary men; and as a patron abler than any that
went before to heap both fame and fortune on its favorites. Set-
ting aside works of which the primary purpose was entertain-
ment, Tennyson alone among the writers of our age, in point of
public favor and of emolument following upon it, comes near to
Macaulay. But Tennyson was laboriously cultivating his gifts
for many years before he acquired a position in the eye of the
nation. Macaulay, fresh from college in 1825, astonished the
world by his brilliant and most imposing essay on Milton. Full-
orbed, he was seen above the horizon; and full-orbed after thirty-
five years of constantly emitted splendor, he sank beneath it.
His gains from literature were extraordinary. The check for
£20,000 is known to all. But his accumulation was reduced by
his bounty; and his profits would, it is evident, have been far
larger still had he dealt with the products of his mind on the
principles of economic science (which however he heartily pro-
fessed), and sold his wares in the dearest market, as he undoubt-
edly acquired them in the cheapest. No one can measure the
elevation of Macaulay's character above the mercenary level,
without bearing in mind that for ten years after 1825 he was a
poor and
contented man, though ministering to the wants of a
father and a family reduced in circumstances; though in the
blaze of literary and political success; and though he must have
been conscious from the first of the possession of a gift which
by a less congenial and more compulsory use would have rapidly
led him to opulence. Yet of the comforts and advantages, both
social and physical, from which he thus forbore, it is so plain.
that he at all times formed no misanthropic or ascetic, but on
the contrary a very liberal and genial estimate. It is truly touch-
ing to find that never, except as a minister, until 1851, when he
had already lived fifty years of his fifty-nine, did this favorite of
fortune, this idol of society, allow himself the luxury of a car-
riage.
It has been observed that neither in art nor letters did Mac-
aulay display that faculty of the higher criticism which depends
upon certain refined perceptions and the power of subtle analysis.


## p. 6366 (#342) ###########################################

6366
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
His analysis was always rough, hasty, and sweeping, and his
perceptions robust. By these properties it was that he was so
eminently popriкóç, not in the vulgar sense of an appeal to spuri-
ous sentiment, but as one bearing his reader along by violence,
as the River Scamander tried to bear Achilles. Yet he was
never pretentious; and he said frankly of himself that a criticism.
like that of Lessing in his 'Laocoön,' or of Goethe on 'Hamlet,'
filled him with wonder and despair. His intense devotion to the
great work of Dante is not perhaps in keeping with the general
tenor of his tastes and attachments, but is in itself a circum-
stance of much interest.
We remember however at least one observation of Macaulay's
in regard to art, which is worth preserving. He observed that
the mixture of gold with ivory in great works of ancient art-
for example, in the Jupiter of Phidias-was probably a conde-
scension to the tastes of the people who were to be the worship-
ers of the statue; and he noticed that in Christian times it has
most rarely happened that productions great in art have also
been the objects of warm popular veneration.
It has been felt and pointed out in many quarters that Mac-
aulay as a writer was the child, and became the type, of his
country and his age. As fifty years ago the inscription "Bath"
used to be carried on our letter-paper, so the word "English" is,
as it were, in the water-mark of every leaf of Macaulay's writ-
ing. His country was not the Empire, nor was it the United
Kingdom. It was not even Great Britain. Though he was
descended in the higher, that is the paternal, half from Scottish
ancestry, and was linked specially with that country through the
signal virtues, the victorious labors, and the considerable reputa-
tion of his father Zachary,- his country was England. On this
little spot he concentrated a force of admiration and of worship
which might have covered all the world. But as in space, so in
time, it was limited. It was the England of his own age.
The higher energies of his life were as completely summed
up in the present as those of Walter Scott were projected
upon the past. He would not have filled an Abbotsford with
armor and relics of the Middle Ages. He judges the men and
institutions and events of other times by the instruments and
measures of the present. The characters whom he admires are
those who would have conformed to the type that was before his
eyes: who would have moved with effect in the court, the camp,


## p. 6367 (#343) ###########################################

WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6367
the senate, the drawing-room of to-day. He contemplates the
past with no desiderium, no regretful longing, no sense of things
admirable which are also lost and irrecoverable. Upon this limit-
ation of his retrospects it follows in natural sequence that of
the future he has no glowing anticipations, and even the pres-
ent he is not apt to contemplate on its mysterious and ideal side.
As in respect to his personal capacity of loving, so in regard
to the corresponding literary power. The faculty was singularly
intense, and yet it was spent within a narrow circle. There is
a marked sign of this narrowness, in his disinclination even to
look at the works of contemporaries whose tone or manner he
disliked.
It appears that this dislike, and the ignorance consequent
upon it, applied to the works of Carlyle. Now, we may have
much or little faith in Carlyle as a philosopher or as a historian.
Half-lights and half-truths may be the utmost which, in these
departments, his works will be found to yield. But the total
want of sympathy is the more noteworthy, because the resem-
blances, though partial, are both numerous and substantial be-
tween these two remarkable men and powerful writers, as well
in their strength as in their weakness. Both are honest; and
both, notwithstanding honesty, are partisans.
Each is vastly,
though diversely, powerful in expression; and each is more power-
ful in expression than in thought. Both are, though variously,
poets using the vehicle of prose. Both have the power of por-
traitures, extraordinary for vividness and strength. For compre-
hensive disquisition, for balanced and impartial judgments, the
world will probably resort to neither; and if Carlyle gains on the
comparison in his strong sense of the inward and the ideal, he
loses in the absolute and violent character of his one-sidedness.
Without doubt, Carlyle's licentious though striking peculiarities
of style have been of a nature allowably to repel, so far as they
go, one who was so rigid as Macaulay in his literary orthodoxy,
and who so highly appreciated, and with such expenditure of
labor, all that relates to the exterior or body of a book. Still,
if there be resemblances so strong, the want of appreciation,
which has possibly been reciprocal, seems to be partly of that
nature which Aristotle would have explained by his favorite
proverb, κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ * The discrepancy is like the discrepancy
* Potter [detests] potter.


## p. 6368 (#344) ###########################################

6368
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
of colors that are too near. Carlyle is at least a great fact in
the literature of his time, and has contributed largely,- in some
respects too largely,- toward forming its characteristic habits of
thought. But on these very grounds he should not have been
excluded from the horizon of a mind like Macaulay's, with all its
large and varied and most active interests.
There have been other men of our own generation, though
very few, who if they have not equaled have approached Mac-
aulay in power of memory, and who have certainly exceeded him
in the unfailing accuracy of their recollections; and yet not in
accuracy as to dates or names or quotations, or other matters of
hard fact, when the question was one simply between ay and
no. In these he may have been without a rival. In a list of
kings, or popes, or senior wranglers, or prime ministers, or
battles, or palaces, or as to the houses in Pall Mall or about
Leicester Square, he might be followed with implicit confidence.
But a large and important class of human recollections are not
of this order: recollections for example of characters, of feelings,
of opinions; of the intrinsic nature, details, and bearings of oc-
currences. And here it was that Macaulay's wealth" was unto
him an occasion of falling. " And that in two ways. First, the
possessor of such a vehicle as his memory could not but have
something of an overweening confidence in what it told him; and
quite apart from any tendency to be vain or overbearing, he could
hardly enjoy the benefits of that caution which arises from self-
interest, and the sad experience of frequent falls. But what is
more, the possessor of so powerful a fancy could not but illumi-
nate with the colors it supplied, the matters which he gathered
into his great magazine, wherever the definiteness of their out-
line was not so rigid as to defy or disarm the action of the in-
truding and falsifying faculty. Imagination could not alter the
date of the battle of Marathon, of the Council of Nice, or the
crowning of Pepin; but it might seriously or even fundamentally
disturb the balance of light and dark in his account of the opin-
ions of Milton or of Laud, or his estimate of the effects of the
Protectorate or the Restoration, or of the character and even the
adulteries of William III. He could detect justly this want of
dry light in others; he probably suspected it in himself; but it
was hardly possible for him to be enough upon his guard against
the distracting action of a faculty at once so vigorous, so crafty,
and so pleasurable in its intense activity.


## p. 6369 (#345) ###########################################

WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6369
Hence arose, it seems reasonable to believe, that charge of
partisanship against Macaulay as a historian, on which much has
been and probably much more will be said. He may not have
possessed that scrupulously tender sense of obligation, that nice.
tact of exact justice, which is among the very rarest as well as
the most precious of human virtues. But there never was a
writer less capable of intentional unfairness. This during his life-
time was the belief of his friends, but was hardly admitted by
opponents. His biographer has really lifted the question out of
the range of controversy. He wrote for truth, but of course for
truth such as he saw it; and his sight was colored from within.
This color, once attached, was what in manufacture is called a
mordant; it was a fast color: he could not distinguish between
what his mind had received and what his mind had imparted.
Hence, when he was wrong, he could not see that he was wrong;
and of those calamities which are due to the intellect only, and
not the heart, there can hardly be a greater.
XI-399
.
However true it may be that Macaulay was a far more con-
summate workman in the manner than in the matter of his
works, we do not doubt that the works contain, in multitudes,
passages of high emotion and ennobling sentiment, just awards of
praise and blame, and solid expositions of principle, social, moral,
and constitutional. They are pervaded by a generous love of
liberty; and their atmosphere is pure and bracing, their general
aim and basis morally sound. Of the qualifications of this eulogy
we have spoken, and have yet to speak. But we can speak of
the style of the works with little qualification. We do not indeed.
venture to assert that his style ought to be imitated. Yet this
is not because it was vicious, but because it was individual and
incommunicable. It was one of those gifts of which, when it
had been conferred, Nature broke the mold. That it is the head
of all literary styles we do not allege; but it is different from
them all, and perhaps more different from them all than they
are usually different from one another. We speak only of natural
styles, of styles where the manner waits upon the matter, and not
where an artificial structure has been reared either to hide or to
make up for poverty of substance.
It is paramount in the union of ease in movement with per-
spicuity of matter, of both with real splendor, and of all with
immense rapidity and striking force. From any other pen, such


## p. 6370 (#346) ###########################################

6370
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
masses of ornament would be tawdry; with him they are only
rich. As a model of art concealing art, the finest cabinet pictures
of Holland are almost his only rivals. Like Pascal, he makes the
heaviest subject light; like Burke, he embellishes the barrenest.
When he walks over arid plains, the springs of milk and honey,
as in a march of Bacchus, seem to rise beneath his tread. The
repast he serves is always sumptuous, but it seems to create an
appetite proportioned to its abundance; for who has ever heard
of the reader that was cloyed with Macaulay? In none, perhaps,
of our prose writers are lessons such as he gives of truth and
beauty, of virtue and of freedom, so vividly associated with
delight. Could some magician but do for the career of life what
he has done for the arm-chair and the study, what a change
would pass on the face (at least) of the world we live in, what
an accession of recruits would there be to the professing follow-
ers of virtue!
"
The truth is that Macaulay was not only accustomed, like
many more of us, to go out hobby-riding, but from the portent-
ous vigor of the animal he mounted was liable more than most
of us to be run away with. His merit is that he could keep his
seat in the wildest steeple-chase; but as the object in view is
arbitrarily chosen, so it is reached by cutting up the fields, spoil-
ing the crops, and spoiling or breaking down the fences needful
to secure for labor its profit, and to man at large the full enjoy-
ment of the fruits of the earth. Such is the overpowering glow
of color, such the fascination of the grouping in the first sketches
which he draws, that when he has grown hot upon his work he
seems to lose all sense of the restraints of fact and the laws of
moderation; he vents the strangest paradoxes, sets up the most
violent caricatures, and handles the false weight and measure as
effectively as if he did it knowingly. A man so able and so
upright is never indeed wholly wrong. He never for a moment
consciously pursues anything but truth. But truth depends,
above all, on proportion and relation. The preterhuman vivid-
ness with which Macaulay sees his object, absolutely casts a
shadow upon what lies around; he loses his perspective; and
imagination, impelled headlong by the strong consciousness of
honesty in purpose, achieves the work of fraud. All things for
him stand in violent contrast to one another. For the shadows,
the gradations, the middle and transition touches, which make up


## p. 6371 (#347) ###########################################

WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
6371
the bulk of human life, character, and action, he has neither eye
nor taste. They are not taken account of in his practice, and
they at length die away from the ranges of his vision.
In Macaulay all history is scenic; and philosophy he scarcely
seems to touch, except on the outer side, where it opens into
action.
Not only does he habitually present facts in forms of
beauty, but the fashioning of the form predominates over, and is
injurious to, the absolute and balanced presentation of the sub-
ject. Macaulay was a master in execution, rather than in what
painting or music terms expression. He did not fetch from the
depths, nor soar to the heights; but his power upon the surface
was rare and marvelous, and it is upon the surface that an ordi-
nary life is passed and that its imagery is found. He mingled,
then, like Homer, the functions of the poet and the chronicler:
but what Homer did was due to his time; what Macaulay did,
to his temperament.
The History' of Macaulay, whatever else it may be, is the
work not of a journeyman but of a great artist, and a great
artist who lavishly bestowed upon it all his powers. Such a work,
once committed to the press, can hardly die. It is not because
it has been translated into a crowd of languages, nor because it
has been sold in hundreds of thousands, that we believe it will
live; but because, however open it may be to criticism, it has in
it the character of a true and very high work of art.
Whether he will subsist as a standard and supreme authority
is another question. Wherever and whenever read, he will be
read with fascination, with delight, with wonder. And with copi-
ous instruction too; but also with copious reserve, with question-
ing scrutiny, with liberty to reject and with much exercise of
that liberty. The contemporary mind may in rare cases be taken
by storm; but posterity, never. The tribunal of the present is
accessible to influence; that of the future is incorrupt. The com-
ing generations will not give Macaulay up; but they will prob-
ably attach much less value than we have done to his ipse dixit.
They will hardly accept from him his net solutions of literary,
and still less of historic problems. Yet they will obtain, from his
marked and telling points of view, great aid in solving them.
We sometimes fancy that ere long there will be editions of his
works in which his readers may be saved from pitfalls by brief,
respectful, and judicious commentary; and that his great achieve-
ments may be at once commemorated and corrected by men of
-


## p. 6372 (#348) ###########################################

6372
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
slower pace, of drier light, and of more tranquil, broad-set, and
comprehensive judgment. For his works are in many respects
among the prodigies of literature; in some, they have never been
surpassed. As lights that have shone through the whole universe
of letters, they have made their title to a place in the solid firma-
ment of fame. But the tree is greater and better than its fruit;
and greater and better yet than the works themselves are the
lofty aims and conceptions, the large heart, the independent, man-
ful mind, the pure and noble career, which in this Biography
have disclosed to us the true figure of the man who wrote them.


## p. 6373 (#349) ###########################################

6373
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
(1831-)
MONG the men in the United States who through the agency
of the press have molded intelligent public opinion, Edwin
Lawrence Godkin deserves an honorable place. In the
columns of the New York Nation and the New York Evening Post,
he has for a generation given editorial utterance to his views upon
economic, civic, political, and international questions, this work being
supplemented by occasional incisive and scholarly articles in the best
periodicals. His clientèle has been drawn mainly from that powerful
minority which is made up of the educated,
thoughtful men and women of the country.
To this high function Mr. Godkin has con-
tributed exceptional gifts and qualifications;
and that in its exercise he has been a force
for good, is beyond dispute.
Born in Moyne, Ireland, in 1831, he was
educated at Queen's College, Belfast. Then
came the more practical education derived
from a familiarity with men and things, for
in early manhood he began newspaper
work as war correspondent, in Turkey and
the Crimea, of the London Daily News.
As correspondent of this paper he came to
the United States and settled here, being
admitted to the New York bar in 1858. But journalism was to be
his life work; and in 1865 he became the editor of The Nation, a
weekly, succeeding the Round Table, but at once taking a much
more important place as a journal of political and literary discussion,
-and the next year its proprietor. In 1881 he also became one
of the owners and the controlling editor of the New York Evening
Post, a daily, and his contributions since then have appeared in both
papers, which bear to each other the relation of a daily and weekly
edition. Thus he has been in active journalistic service for more
than thirty years.

EDWIN L. GODKIN
From this slight biographical outline it may be seen that Mr.
Godkin brought to the pursuit of his profession and to the study.
of American institutions some valuable qualifications. A college-bred
man of wide experience, an adoptive American able to judge by the


## p. 6374 (#350) ###########################################

6374
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
comparative method, a careful student of the philosophy of govern-
ment, from Aristotle to Sir Henry Maine, his views combine in an
unusual degree the practical and the theoretical. No doubt he has
in his writings what to some will seem the defect of his quality.
There is in him a certain haughtiness of temper, and what seems
like impatient contempt for the opponent in argument, which, con-
joined with a notable power of invective and satire in dealing with
what he deems to be fallacious, are likely to arouse opposition.
Hence the feeling in some quarters that Mr. Godkin is not at heart
an American, but a captious critic, with sympathies ill suited to a
democratic government.
This opinion is not justified by a fair examination of his writings.
He has on the contrary and in the true sense proved himself a true
American. He has spoken wise words upon many of the social and
political problems of our day. He has defended democracy from the
charge of failure, pointing out that here in the United States social
defects, wrongly ascribed by foreign critics to the form of govern-
ment, have been incidental to the settling of a vast new country.
He has stated with clearness and cogency the inadvisability of allow-
ing the government paternal power in finance and tariff legislation.
He has preached the difference between cheap jingoism or political
partisanship, and the enlightened Americanism which puts its finger
upon weak points, criticizing in order to correct and purify. Mr.
Godkin, in this, has been a consistent worker in a cause of which
Lowell was a noble prophet. And in regard of literary excellence,
his editorial writing is often a model of lucid, sinewy English style;
while his more deliberated essays have been admirable for calm dig-
nity, polish, and organic exposition, with an air of good breeding
over it all. The influence of such a man, both as writer and thinker,
especially in a land like the United States, has been most salutary.
THE DUTY OF CRITICISM IN A DEMOCRACY
From Problems of Modern Democracy. Copyright 1896, by Charles Scribner's
Sons, New York
INTELLIGENT man can or ought to ignore the part which
N hope of better things plays in our present social system. It
has largely, among the working classes, taken the place of
religious belief. They have brought their heaven down to earth,
and are literally looking forward to a sort of New Jerusalem, in
which all comforts and many of the luxuries of life will be
within easy reach of all. The great success of Utopian works
D
L
——————


## p. 6375 (#351) ###########################################

EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
6375
like Bellamy's shows the hold which these ideas have taken of
the popular mind. The world has to have a religion of some
kind, and the hope of better food and clothing, more leisure, and
a greater variety of amusements, has become the religion of the
working classes. Hope makes them peaceful, industrious, and
resigned under present suffering. A Frenchman saw a ragged
pauper spend his last few cents on a lottery ticket, and asked.
him how he could commit such a folly. "In order to have some-
thing to hope for," he said. And from this point of view the
outlay was undoubtedly excusable. It is literally hope which
makes the world go round, and one of the hardest things an
educated man who opens his mouth about public affairs has to
do, is to say one word or anything to dampen or destroy it. Yet
his highest duty is to speak the truth.
Luckily, there is one truth which can always be spoken with-
out offense, and that is that on the whole the race advances
through the increase of intelligence and the improvement of char-
acter, and has not advanced in any other way. The great amel-
ioration in the condition of the working classes in Europe within.
this century, including the increasing power of the trades-unions,
is the result not of any increase of benevolence in the upper
classes, but of the growth of knowledge and self-reliance and
foresight among the working classes themselves. The changes in
legislation which have improved their condition are changes which
they have demanded. When a workingman becomes a capitalist,
and raises himself in any way above his early condition, it is
rarely the result of miracle or accident. It is due to his superior
intelligence and thrift. Nothing, on the whole, can be more
delusive than official and other inquiries into the labor problem
through commissions and legislative committees. They all assume
that there is some secret in the relations of labor and capital
which can be found out by taking testimony. But they never
find anything out. Their reports during the last fifty years would
make a small library, but they never tell us anything new. They
are meant to pacify and amuse the laborer, and they do so; but
to their constant failure to do anything more we owe some of the
Socialist movement. The Socialists believe this failure due to
want of will, and that Karl Marx has discovered the great truth
of the situation, which is, that labor is entitled to the whole
product. The great law which Nature seems to have prescribed
for the government of the world, and the only law of human


## p. 6376 (#352) ###########################################

6374
EDWIN LA
comparative method, a care
ment, from Aristotle to Sir I
unusual degree the practical a
in his writings what to some
There is in him a certain i
like impatient contempt for
joined with a notable power
what he deems to be fall
Hence the feeling in some
an American, but a captious
democratic government.
This opinion is not justi
He has on the contrary at
American. He has spoke.
political problems of our c
charge of failure, pointing
defects, wrongly ascribed
ment, have been incident.
He has stated with clearne
ing the government pater:
He has preached the di
partisanship, and the en
upon weak points, critic
Godkin, in this, has bec"
Lowell was a noble prop
his editorial writing is ot
while his more deliberated
nity, polish, and organic
over it all. The influence
especially in a land like
THE DUTY OF
From Problems of Modern !
INTELLIGENT man
N°
hope of better th
has largely, amor
religious belief. They
and are literally looki
which all comforts an
within easy reach of
{


## p. 6377 (#353) ###########################################

EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
6377
1
writers or orators. And yet nothing is more
sful government than abundant criticism from
to the suspicion of particular interest. There is
governments so much dislike and resent as
he in past ages taken so much pains to put
, a history of the civil liberty would consist.
account of the resistance to criticism on the part
>
of the first acts of a successful tyranny or des-
ys the silencing of the press or the establishment
).
cction to criticism is however senseless, because
criticism—that is, through discrimination between.
astoms, or courses—that the race has managed to
the woods and lead a civilized life. The first man
to the general nakedness, and advised his fellows to
>, was the first critic. Criticism of a high tariff
a low tariff; criticism of monarchy recommends a
ism of vice recommends virtue. In fact, almost
life, in the practice of a profession or the conduct
, condemns one course and suggests another. The
adging, and judgment is the highest of the human
one which most distinguishes us from the animals.
probably nothing from which the public service of
suffers more to-day than the silence of its edu-
that is, the small amount of criticism which comes
interested and competent sources. It is a very rare
neducated man to say anything publicly about the
the day. He is absorbed in science, or art, or liter-
practice of his profession, or in the conduct of his
if he has any interest at all in public affairs, it is
He is silent because he does not much care, or
ne.
o embarrass the administration or
he does not feel that anything he
h difference. So that on the whole,
ructed opinion of the country is ever
report of the Bar Association on the
You was a remarkable excep-
this direction has been
'e known as the "Mug-
ltivation. They have
known to the masses


## p. 6377 (#354) ###########################################

6376
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
society which we are able to extract from history, is that the
more intelligent and thoughtful of the race shall inherit the earth.
and have the best time, and that all others shall find life on the
whole dull and unprofitable. Socialism is an attempt to contra-
vene this law and insure a good time to everybody, independently
of character and talents; but Nature will see that she is not
frustrated or brought to naught, and I do not think educated
men should ever cease to call attention to this fact; that is, ever
cease to preach hopefulness, not to everybody, but to good people.
This is no bar to benevolence to bad people or any people; but
our first duty is loyalty to the great qualities of our kind, to the
great human virtues which raise the civilized man above the
savage.
There is probably no government in the world to-day as stable
as that of the United States. The chief advantage of democratic
government is, in a country like this, the enormous force it can
command on an emergency. By "emergency" I mean the sup-
pression of an insurrection or the conduct of a foreign war. But
it is not equally strong in the ordinary work of administration.
A good many governments, by far inferior to it in strength, fill
the offices, collect the taxes, administer justice, and do the work
of legislation with much greater efficiency. One cause of this
inefficiency is that the popular standard in such matters is low,
and that it resents dissatisfaction as an assumption of superiority.
When a man says these and those things ought not to be, his
neighbors, who find no fault with them, naturally accuse him of
giving himself airs. It seems as if he thought he knew more
than they did, and was trying to impose his plans on them. The
consequence is that in a land of pure equality, as this is, critics.
are always an unpopular class, and criticism is in some sense an
odious work. The only condemnation passed on the governmental
acts or systems is apt to come from the opposite party in the
form of what is called "arraignment," which generally consists in
wholesale abuse of the party in power, treating all their acts,
small or great, as due to folly or depravity, and all their public
men as either fools or knaves. Of course this makes but small
impression on the public mind. It is taken to indicate not so
much a desire to improve the public service as to get hold of the
offices, and has as a general rule but little effect. Parties lose
their hold on power through some conspicuously obnoxious acts or
failures; never, or very rarely, through the judgments passed on


## p. 6377 (#355) ###########################################

EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
6377
them by hostile writers or orators. And yet nothing is more
necessary to successful government than abundant criticism from
sources not open to the suspicion of particular interest. There is
nothing which bad governments so much dislike and resent as
criticism, and have in past ages taken so much pains to put
down. In fact, a history of the civil liberty would consist
largely of an account of the resistance to criticism on the part
of rulers. One of the first acts of a successful tyranny or des-
potism is always the silencing of the press or the establishment
of a censorship.
Popular objection to criticism is however senseless, because
it is through criticism—that is, through discrimination between
two things, customs, or courses that the race has managed to
come out of the woods and lead a civilized life. The first man
who objected to the general nakedness, and advised his fellows to
put on clothes, was the first critic. Criticism of a high tariff
recommends a low tariff; criticism of monarchy recommends a
republic; criticism of vice recommends virtue. In fact, almost
every act of life, in the practice of a profession or the conduct
of a business, condemns one course and suggests another. The
word means judging, and judgment is the highest of the human
faculties, the one which most distinguishes us from the animals.
There is probably nothing from which the public service of
the country suffers more to-day than the silence of its edu-
cated class; that is, the small amount of criticism which comes
from the disinterested and competent sources. It is a very rare
thing for an educated man to say anything publicly about the
questions of the day. He is absorbed in science, or art, or liter-
ature, in the practice of his profession, or in the conduct of his
business; and if he has any interest at all in public affairs, it is
a languid one. He is silent because he does not much care, or
because he does not wish to embarrass the administration or
"hurt the party," or because he does not feel that anything he
could say would make much difference. So that on the whole,
it is very rarely that the instructed opinion of the country is ever
heard on any subject. The report of the Bar Association on the
nomination of Maynard in New York was a remarkable excep-
tion to this rule. Some improvement in this direction has been
made by the appearance of the set of people known as the "Mug-
wumps," who are, in the main, men of cultivation. They have
been defined in various ways. They are known to the masses
―


## p. 6378 (#356) ###########################################

6378
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
mainly as "kickers"; that is, dissatisfied, querulous people, who
complain of everybody and cannot submit to party discipline. But
they are the only critics who do not criticize in the interest of
party, but simply in that of good government. They are a kind
of personage whom the bulk of the voters know nothing about
and find it difficult to understand, and consequently load with
ridicule and abuse. But their movement, though its visible rec-
ognizable effects on elections may be small, has done inestimable
service in slackening the bonds of party discipline, in making
the expression of open dissent from party programmes respect-
able and common, and in increasing the unreliable vote in large
States like New York. It is of the last importance that this un-
reliable vote-that is, the vote which party leaders cannot count
on with certainty-should be large in such States. The mere
fear of it prevents a great many excesses.
But in criticism one always has hard work in steering a
straight course between optimism and pessimism. These are the
Scylla and Charybdis of the critic's career. Almost every man
who thinks or speaks about public affairs is either an optimist or
a pessimist; which he is, depends a good deal on temperament,
but often on character. The political jobber or corruptionist is
almost always an optimist. So is the prosperous business man.
So is nearly every politician, because the optimist is nearly al-
ways the more popular of the two. As a general rule, people
like cheerful men and the promise of good times. The kill-joy
and bearer of bad news has always been an odious character.
But for the cultivated man there is no virtue in either optimism
or pessimism. Some people think it a duty to be optimistic, and
for some people it may be a duty; but one of the great uses of
education is to teach us to be neither one nor the other. In the
management of our personal affairs, we try to be neither one
nor the other. In business, a persistent and uproarious optimist
would certainly have poor credit. And why? Because in busi-
ness the trustworthy man, as everybody knows, is the man who
sees things as they are: and to see things as they are, without
glamor or illusion, is the first condition of worldly success. It
is absolutely essential in war, in finance, in law, in every field.
of human activity in which the future has to be thought of and
provided for. It is just as essential in politics. The only reason
why it is not thought as essential in politics is, the punishment
for failure or neglect comes in politics more slowly.


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EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
6379
The pessimist has generally a bad name, but there is a good
Ideal to be said for him. To take a recent illustration, the man
who took pessimistic views of the silver movement was for nearly
twenty years under a cloud. This gloomy anticipation of 1873
was not realized until 1893. For a thousand years after Marcus
Aurelius, the pessimist, if I may use the expression, was "cock
of the walk. " He certainly has no reason to be ashamed of his
rôle in the Eastern world for a thousand years after the Moham-
medan Hegira. In Italy and Spain he has not needed to hang
his head since the Renaissance. In fact, if we take various na-
tions and long reaches of time, we shall find that the gloomy
man has been nearly as often justified by the course of events as
the cheerful one. Neither of them has any special claim to a
hearing on public affairs. A persistent optimist, although he may
be a most agreeable man in family life, is likely, in business or
politics, to be just as foolish and unbearable as a persistent pes-
simist. He is as much out of harmony with the order of nature.
The universe is not governed on optimistic any more than on
pessimistic principles. The best and wisest of men make their
mistakes and have their share of sorrow and sickness and losses.
So also the most happily situated nations must suffer from inter-
nal discord, the blunders of statesmen, and the madness of the
people. What Cato said in the Senate of the conditions of suc-
cess, "vigilando, agendo, bene consulendo, prosperê omnia cedunt,"
is as true to-day as it was two thousand years ago. We must
remember that though the optimist may be the pleasantest man to
have about us, he is the least likely to take precautions; that is,
the least likely to watch and work for success. We owe a great
deal of our slovenly legislation to his presence in large numbers
in Congress and the legislatures. The great suffering through
which we are now passing, in consequence of the persistence.
in our silver purchases, is the direct result of unreasoning opti-
mism. Its promoters disregarded the warnings of economists and
financiers because they believed that somehow, they did not
know how, the thing would come out right in the end. The
silver collapse, together with the Civil War over slavery, are
striking illustrations to occur in one century, of the fact that
if things come out right in the end, it is often after periods of
great suffering and disaster. Could people have foreseen how the
slavery controversy would end, what frantic efforts would have
been made for peaceful abolition! Could people have foreseen


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6380
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN
the panic of last year, with its wide-spread disaster, what haste
would have been made to stop the silver purchases! And yet
the experience of mankind afforded abundant reason for antici-
pating both results.
This leads me to say that the reason why educated men should
try and keep a fair mental balance between both pessimism and
optimism, is that there has come over the world in the last
twenty-five or thirty years a very great change of opinion touch-
ing the relations of the government to the community. When
Europe settled down to peaceful work after the great wars of the
French Revolution, it was possessed with the idea that the free-
dom of the individual was all that was needed for public pros-
perity and private happiness. The old government interference.
with people's movements and doings was supposed to be the
reason why nations had not been happy in the past. This became
the creed, in this country, of the Democratic party, which came
into existence after the foundation of the federal government.
At the same time there grew up here the popular idea of the
American character, in which individualism was the most marked
trait. If you are not familiar with it in your own time, you may
remember it in the literature of the earlier half of the century.
The typical American was always the architect of his own for-
tunes. He sailed the seas and penetrated the forest, and built
cities and lynched the horse thieves, and fought the Indians and
dug the mines, without anybody's help or support. He had even
an ill-concealed contempt for regular troops, as men under con-
trol and discipline. He scorned government for any other pur-
poses than security and the administration of justice. This was
the kind of American that Tocqueville found here in 1833.