Part 17

They rise directly from the fact that the depressing effect of alcohol reaches to the inhibitory centers—the storehouses of self-control. The point is, then, that alcohol does not increase the power of action. It only decreases the power of self-restraint. The things one does and says when under the influence of liquor are simply the things from the doing or saying of which he would ordinarily have restrained himself. If he were sober, his words and actions would be tempered with good judgment. Under the influence of liquor, he has no fear of any kind of risk or trespass.

Some have supposed that these manifestations prove the power of liquor to render one temporarily clever. The fact is that the seeming cleverness in the actions or words of a tipsy person simply represents the things which, as a sober person, he would know better than to do or say.

Each advance in our knowledge of the effect of alcohol upon the human system only serves to confirm the old contention that it is a foe of efficiency. This is true not only because it tends to deteriorate the tissues and organs of the body, but also because it strikes directly at the seat of reason as well.

The muscular reflex is dulled. The power to react to sounds and other _stimuli_ is distinctly lessened. The memory is affected. The fingers lose approximately nine per cent of their deftness. The eye loses about eleven per cent of its quickness and accuracy.

These are results following directly upon the effects exerted by alcohol upon the brain and nervous system in general. Ordinary men failed to slay the hydra of old because they struck only at some one of its many heads. It perished only when there came a man who thought to strike at the one vital center. Alcohol does not content itself with striking at those parts of the physical life which are able to renew themselves or without which the life can still go on. It strikes at the seat of all that makes life worth while. It stands second in the list of causes of insanity. It damages the efficiency of many thousands, however, who never reach the stage of complete insanity.

No further words are needed to indicate the truth of the old dictum that drink and workmanship do not go together. Each ounce of liquor consumed reduces a man’s capacity for skilled labor by a definite and unfailing percentage.

It has always been important that a workman should be at his best, but it has now come to be more so than ever before. The powers of men are taxed in an unusual degree, and processes of production are put upon the most severe strain of all their history. In former years, one owed it to himself, his family, and his friends to steer clear of alcohol, but his obligation is now vastly increased. He owes it to his country and his flag as well.

An interesting development concerning the effect of alcohol upon human efficiency has come as a result of the military efforts of the last several years. It has been proven that liquor makes a poor soldier. This is true in spite of the notion that once prevailed to the effect that strong drink was a necessity in an army camp. A few cherish that notion still, but their tribe steadily decreases.

About six years before the outbreak of the great war, the Bavarian ministry of war determined upon a shooting tournament in which the participating marksmen were to be under various degrees of the influence of alcohol. Thousands of shots were fired, and the results were very important and significant from both the military and the human viewpoint.

It was found that a man can not hope, after taking a drink of liquor, to shoot with the accuracy that was his before. Under even the slightest degrees of intoxication the marksmanship of the participants was lowered, in many cases as much as twelve per cent.

The tournament mentioned also emphasized the promptness of the effect of alcohol upon the nerves. It was discovered that the influence of a drink of liquor begins to manifest itself in a man’s marksmanship almost immediately after the beverage is taken. Five minutes suffices in any case for the results to begin to show. As moments multiply, the effect is increasingly apparent.

As is true of work, war in the latest notable instance is no haphazard thing. It requires mechanical accuracy and scientific precision, and it can not be successfully carried on by a race of inebriates. However much we may hope that warfare will soon be a thing of the past, while it remains with us our only hope of escaping death in its awful clutches is our disposition and ability to maintain efficient armies. An efficient army necessarily means, for one thing, a sober one. Whether in the workshop or in the military camp, liquor and efficiency are sworn and uncompromising foes.

Facing the Future (1919)

It has become a common tendency on the part of a certain group of people to continually glorify the “good old days.” The type of mind possessed by this group sets the past up as a sort of fetish. As it were, they move forward with their faces turned backward. Some strange glamour about the by-gone days proves irresistibly fascinating. The past is the standard by which they judge all things. The present is good or bad to them according as it conforms or fails to conform to that standard.

Such a criterion would not be so bad a thing if those who establish it only took pains to remember the past as it really was. Such is not the case, however. They remember it with all its imperfections omitted. The past which they treasure is built of dreams. It held much that was dear to them, and it came at the hopeful and exultant period of their lives. They therefore treasure its dead years in memory as a sort of acme of all the perfections which any age can possess.

This process continues until it becomes a fixed mental habit. It is then indulged almost as unconsciously as the drawing of breath. At this point in the history of one’s thought-life his standards have become second nature. A thing is then proven good if its definite relation to the good old days can be established. On the other hand, it is at once proven frivolous and superficial if it is shown to originate in the present age.

No real thought process is here involved. The thing is only an assumption and is simply taken for granted. It reveals itself in daily conversation. It even reveals itself in the language of the sanctuary where the truth is assumed to prevail. The truth, however, is never reached by methods of prejudice or undue assumption. It is approached by fair and honest habits of thought. We need but to look at the facts. If they indicate that the old days were better than the new, they must be accepted as dependable authority. Whatever the truth may be, it will prevail. We must give it right of way, however unwelcome its conclusions may seem. It is as changeless as its Creator. We must accept it as we find it, but we dare not fail to look first at the facts and form our conclusions accordingly.

Of course, distance lends enchantment to the view. This, however, is not a reason for persisting in error. It is one of the facts to be taken into consideration in estimating the relative values to be placed upon the distant and the near. When a gunner is getting the range of a target an angle must be computed between the target and a point at each side of the gun. Various conditions which may affect the shot, however, must also be considered. Among these are the movement of the target, the condition of the atmosphere, and the direction and velocity of the wind. Just such influences must also be considered in taking mental aim. The tendency mentioned above is one of them.

In some ways it is a fortunate fact that we are prone to forget the sordid in the past. It is better that it should be the good rather than the evil of past days that is best remembered. This is one of the hopeful elements in human nature. It is a fact, nevertheless, that sordid elements existed in the ages gone. Each epoch has had its failings, and each generation has discovered that life has its seamy side.

It is an interesting commentary on this common human tendency that one of the last utterances of George Washington was an expression of regret that the spirit of the old times seemed to be passing, and that the tendencies of the new age seemed less hopeful and promising. More than a century has gone by since this lament was uttered. The world is still having its struggles, just as it did then. The prices, the weather, and the conditions produced by the war are still making the grounds for daily complaint, just as was the case in other days. The race is still achieving some progress, however, and most of us still believe that the most promising days of civilization are yet to be.

The lament of the passing of the good old days may be found in times more remote, however, than even those of George Washington. Some years ago an archeological investigator discovered an ancient Egyptian record which, when its message had been deciphered, was found to be a complaint that the good old days seemed to have passed, and that great uncertainty attached to the dawning period which was entirely too different from the past.

So it appears that this regretful attitude is not a new story. Ever since human nature has existed these lugubrious things have been said. Only the use of the power of reason is necessary, however, to see that the world has, after all, made wonderful progress in most things since the writing of the old Egyptian records, and even since the days of George Washington.

The past and its real achievements should never be discounted. The present owes all that it is to the fact that it is built on ages gone by, and that its foundations were so well laid by hands which now rest from their labors. All things considered, however, each age has been a little better than the age preceding it. It is not proper to say that the old days were better than the new, unless it is proper to say that the foundation is better than the superstructure. The things that were served simply as the basis and preparation for the things that are.

We can appreciate the past without discounting the present. We can also glorify the present without discounting the past. Each epoch has had its own particular place to fill and each generation has had its own particular part to play in the general scheme of things. No age could properly be exchanged for any other, nor could any generation properly fill another’s place. We must take the facts of history as they are. Each age is best for its own time and in its own place.

Certain things are changeless. There are great, abiding quantities which necessarily remain the same throughout the years. Human affection, love of home, fidelity to a country, ambition for success, and the religious instinct are among those things.

While the essential nature of these things is changeless, yet their outward manifestation does undergo development. Love remains the same, yet men learn how to enlarge its meaning. Patriotism is the same, yet it assumes higher forms with advancing standards of national life. The heart of religion is changeless, yet religion receives an ever more adequate and satisfying interpretation. The new days cannot change the nature of abiding things, but they can increase the adaptability of those things to human needs.

Our times are not perfect. However, the old days also fell short of perfection. Not only did they have their struggles and their failings, but those struggles and failings menaced the race just as seriously as have any of later days. We too easily forget what the past was like. We also fail to take a full inventory of the meaning of the present. All in all, it is safe to assume that men are sound at heart. Each age struggles on as well as it knows how. We get up the hill a little way and then fall back. On the whole, however, we climb a little more distance than we tumble.

We are not moving backward from the perfect to the less perfect ages as Ovid wrote. We are moving forward to the divine event of which Tennyson dreamed. We are tending toward that perfect social condition revealed in the visions of the seer of Patmos—a new heaven and a new earth. The past was that the best might come. The last of life for which the first was made is a racial as well as a personal hope.

Life’s Backgrounds (1919)

An ancient thinker remarked that life is spent like a tale that is told. It might just as truly be said that life is like a picture that is painted. It is a series of scenes which, when all are finished, becomes a panorama. It demands perspective. In order to have this, it possesses, just as does a picture, a foreground, a mid-ground, and a background.

The foreground is simply a bit of nothing in particular. It contributes nothing substantial. It is only there to give relief and proportion. It does not amount to much, but the picture would not be complete without it. Life has some phases which are quite like it. They do not count for anything substantial, but they help to furnish a setting for the parts that are really important.

The mid-ground contains the real picture. The important figures, objects, and action are all there. It corresponds to the toils, the concerns, and the achievements which go to make up life. Life’s mid-ground is composed of its realities.

The background is the part that stretches away in the distance. It may not consist of much. Cloudland, shadows, or distant hills or woods may be all it presents to the view. It is that against which the outlines of the real picture are cast.

It is a determining factor, for from it the picture seems to spring. From such a picture as Millet’s _Angelus_, for instance, take the background with its little church from the tower of which the bell is calling to prayer, and you have removed the whole motive and explanation of the picture itself. A natural harmony exists between the picture and its background. The detail cannot appropriately be anything except what its background determines that it shall be. The background of life’s picture is no less determining.

One of life’s backgrounds is character. This is an invisible thing, but the fact that a thing is hidden from the eyes of men does not make it in the least less real. There is no means by which it may be measured or weighed as other things are, but there is no more potent factor in the determination of a life. It may be seldom taken into account in human calculations. The practical and workaday world insists that it does not care about vague, mystical things. It is only concerned about the practical questions of definite action. It only asks what a man can really do. This is all very well, but the man himself must not forget that what he can do and what he will do are entirely determined by what he is.

Correct conduct of the sustained sort does not come as the result of calculation. One may stand upon artificial good behavior for an hour or a day, but he cannot do it permanently without the staying force of a fixed principle. It takes more than good resolutions to make an ethical life. One must more than have an axe to grind if he expects to deport himself well in any constant way. No matter what the reward may be, the lure of reward alone cannot lastingly elevate life to a high grade of ability and action. Whitewash cannot change the fact of hidden faultiness. The heart of a thing alone reveals the truth.

The hands of a clock do not have to stop and figure their course and speed. If they did, they would be forever getting out of harmony with their purpose and with one another. They are moved and regulated by machinery which the ordinary observer does not see. The world only asks to be told what time it is, but the hands of the clock could not give the information were there not maintained a background of mechanism operating according to fixed and permanent principles. In this regard the clock is a very good analogy of a life.

Another of life’s backgrounds is preparation. How one really conducts himself is largely a question of whether or not he is prepared to do the right thing. Opportunity does not fail anyone, but a great many people fail opportunity by not being prepared for it when it arrives. They may seize their chances, but they do not perform their part well because they have not gotten themselves ready in mind, hand, or soul. An attempt to play any worthy part in life without proper preparation gives the same general impression as does a picture without a background. The result is unsatisfying.

Not all of life’s preparation can be specific. It is well enough to make specific preparation for the expected task of a given day. That specific preparation is at its best, however, only when it is backed up with a strong general preparation. This general background of preparation cannot be made in a day. It is the result of sustained reading, thinking, and trying throughout the years.

Pliny the Elder used to have books read to him during every spare moment. When working at a sawmill, Daniel Webster used to carry reading matter with which to occupy himself to advantage during the three-minute periods required for the log-carriage to pass the saw. These men were merely hanging backgrounds for action when the time should come to act. Its fabric was woven of thought, knowledge, and personality.

A musical artist, when asked the secret of his success, remarked that before anyone can expect to be an artist he must first expect to be a drudge. This principle holds good in everything. Whoever succeeds must carry a cross of self-denial. The public will suppose that he does his work with ease. Few will suspect his toils and sacrifices. He will, however, pay dearly for all the genius he acquires. While others sleep he will work, building the background from which will some day burst the outlines of worthy achievement.

Another of life’s backgrounds is its relationships. In greater measure than many will suspect, the things we are and do will always spring from the influence of the friends we have had and the loves we have known. The ties that bind us to the hearts of others are the cables that help to drag us toward the dust or to lift us in the direction of the heights.

Back of the lives of the great, the despicable, and the insignificant alike, even back of the great deeds and movements of history, one can detect the presence of the silent shadows of those who have made or marred. As the kindly old teacher built his own soul into the life of Geordie Hoo, the “Lad o’ Pairts,” so has someone spoken of his or her own spirit into the lives of each of us.

So is life’s picture painted. We are often so busy that we forget the background, but when we think about it we see again the faces that have smiled, the hands that have lifted, the toils that have helped, the qualities that have steadied and impelled.

Without its background a picture would be a lone bit of detail without perspective or relief. A life cannot be so. We are not unrelated beings. Our lives are linked with all the generations of all the ages. We are in league with all that has being. We are the products of the ages past and the forces present. Powers seen and unseen have largely made us what we are.

The New Philosophy (1920)

Old ideals and purposes have undergone sweeping revision. The very social structure has proved obsolete and is being reorganized.

In the general process of readjustment, the various lines of thought and knowledge have not remained unaffected. Particularly have the more speculative subjects undergone a decided change in their dominant spirit and motive. Without exception, they have been brought down from the ethereal levels of their former dwelling-places and have been made to deal with the practical things of a practical world. This has been particularly true of Philosophy.

The present period has, in fact, marked a revolutionary point in the history of that subject. We have faced many stern crises during the last few years, and it is natural that they should be reflected in our thinking. The necessity of meeting these crises has forced our thinking into definite, practical, and original channels. In our time of need we found that, while the old formulae had possessed their value, they did not offer sufficient help for the problems of the new day. There was nothing to do but to formulate new ones that were vital in their bearing upon our problems now.

A hint at the new spirit of Philosophy is given in the fact that the title of the presidential address before the American Philosophical Association at its 1916 meeting was: “On Some Conditions of Progress in Philosophical Enquiry.” This title suggests that the new outlook is forward rather than backward, and that the philosophical searchlight is now turned outward as well as inward. It indicates the fact that philosophers feel a growing realization that advancement is the proper aim of human endeavor, and that the vital problem of Philosophy is human welfare and progress.

The older Philosophy was scientifically productive only in a measurable degree. It spent itself somewhat too largely in unprofitable contentions. It had a great many exceptional minds working at random on many problems, but it lacked a definite and commonly accepted plan of co-operative investigation. The old Philosophy was largely an art. The new is altogether a science.

The last few years, with their turmoil and suffering, have brought the thinking world to understand that Philosophy holds great potentiality as a determining factor in national and world affairs. The pressure of the world conditions which lately existed, and which in a measure still exist, has generated a proof of this statement. We have had a perfect flood of books and articles on the subject of Philosophy as it applies in the social and political fields.

We could not have looked intelligently upon the events of 1914 and the several years preceding without seeing the power of Philosophy in the shaping of national ideals. Germany’s policy throughout the war was the direct result of the philosophy which has for years been taught in the German schools and encouraged by the German government. A wrong philosophy can lead a nation to its ruin within the space of a few generations. A worthy one can as promptly and definitely determine a nation’s progress and happiness.