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Title: Society: Its Origin and Development

Author: Henry K. Rowe

Release date: May 25, 2007 [eBook #21609]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOCIETY: ITS
ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT ***

SOCIETY

ITS ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT

BY

HENRY KALLOCH ROWE, Ph.D.
ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF HISTORY AND SOCIOLOGY IN NEWTON
THEOLOGICAL INSTITUTION

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON

Copyright, 1916, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

PREFACE

In studying biology it is convenient to make cross-sections of laboratory
specimens in order to determine structure, and to watch plants and animals
grow in order to determine function. There seems to be no good reason why
social life should not be studied in the same way. To take a child in the
home and watch it grow in the midst of the life of the family, the
community, and the larger world, and to cut across group life so as to see its
characteristics, its interests, and its organization, is to study sociology in the
most natural way and to obtain the necessary data for generalization. To
attempt to study sociological principles without this preliminary
investigation is to confuse the student and leave him in a sea of vague
abstractions.
It is not because of a lack of appreciation of the abstract that the
emphasis of this book is on the concrete. It is written as an introduction to
the study of the principles of sociology, and it may well be used as a
prelude to the various social sciences. It is natural that trained sociologists
should prefer to discuss the profound problems of their science, and should
plunge their pupils into material for study where they are soon beyond their
depth; much of current life seems so obvious and so simple that it is easy to
forget that the college man or woman has never looked upon it with a
discriminating eye or with any attempt to understand its meaning. If this is
true of the college student, it is unquestionably true of the men and women
of the world. The writer believes that there is need of a simple, untechnical
treatment of human society, and offers this book as a contribution to the
practical side of social science. He writes with the undergraduate
continually in mind, trying to see through his eyes and to think with his

mind, and the references are to books that will best meet his needs and that
are most readily accessible. It is expected that the pupil will read widely,
and that the instructor will show how principles and laws are formulated
from the multitude of observations of social phenomena. The last section of
the book sums up briefly some of the scientific conclusions that are drawn
from the concrete data, and prepares the way for a more detailed and
technical study.
If sociology is to have its rightful place in the world it must become a
science for the people. It must not be permitted to remain the possession of
an aristocracy of intellect. The heart of thousands of social workers who are
trying to reform society and cure its ills is throbbing with sympathy and
hope, but there is much waste of energy and misdirection of zeal because of
a lack of understanding of the social life that they try to cure. They and the
people to whom they minister need an interpretation of life in social terms
that they can understand. Professional persons of all kinds need it. A world
that is on the verge of despair because of the breakdown of harmonious
human relations needs it to reassure itself of the value and the possibility of
normal human relations. Doubtless the presentation of the subject is
imperfect, but if it meets the need of those who find difficulty in using more
technical discussions and opens up a new field of interest to many who
hitherto have not known the difference between sociology and socialism,
the effort at interpretation will have been worth while.
Henry K. Rowe
Newton Centre, Massachusetts.

CONTENTS

PART ONE—INTRODUCTORY

CHAP. PAGE
I. Characteristics of Social Life 1
II. Unorganized Group Life 16

PART TWO—LIFE IN THE FAMILY
GROUP

III. Foundations of the Family 24
IV. The History of the Family 29
V. The Making of the Home 37
VI. Children in the Home 42
VII. Work, Play, and Education 51
VIII. Home Economics 60
IX. Changes in the Family 67
X. Divorce 74
XI. The Social Evil 81
XII. Characteristics and Principles 88

PART THREE—SOCIAL LIFE IN THE
RURAL COMMUNITY

XIII. The Community and Its History 91
XIV. The Land and the People 99
XV. Occupations 104
XVI. Recreation 108
XVII. Rural Institutions 115
XVIII. Rural Education 120
XIX. The New Rural School 127
XX. Rural Government 136
XXI. Health and Beauty 144
XXII. Morals in the Rural Community 151

XXIII. The Rural Church 156
XXIV. A New Type of Rural Institution 162

PART FOUR—SOCIAL LIFE IN THE CITY

XXV. From Country To City 169
XXVI. The Manufacturing Enterprise 180
XXVII. The Industrial Problem 186
XXVIII. Exchange and Transportation 201
XXIX. The People Who Work 212
XXX. The Immigrant 221
XXXI. How the Working People Live 230
The Diversions of the Working
XXXII. 238
People
XXXIII. Crime and Its Cure 248
XXXIV. Agencies of Control 256
Difficulties of the People Who
XXXV. 263
Work
XXXVI. Charity and the Settlements 271
XXXVII. Educational Agencies 280
XXXVIII. The Church 287
XXXIX. The City in the Making 294

PART FIVE—SOCIAL LIFE IN THE
NATION

XL. The Building of a Nation 300
Economic and Social Functions of
XLI. 305
the People as a Nation
XLII. The State 313
XLIII. Problems of the Nation 324
XLIV. Internationalism 333

PART SIX—SOCIAL ANALYSIS

Physical and Personal Factors in
XLV. 340
the Life of Society
XLVI. Social Psychic Factors 348
XLVII. Social Theories 357
XLVIII. The Science of Sociology 364
Index 373

SOCIETY: ITS ORIGIN AND
DEVELOPMENT

PART I—INTRODUCTORY

CHAPTER IToC

CHARACTERISTICS OF SOCIAL LIFE

1. Man and His Social Relations.—A study of society starts with the
obvious fact that human beings live together. The hermit is abnormal.
However far back we go in the process of human evolution we find the
existence of social relations, and sociability seems a quality ingrained in
human nature. Every individual has his own personality that belongs to him
apart from every other individual, but the perpetuation and development of
that personality is dependent on relations with other personalities and with
the physical environment which limits his activity.
As an individual his primary interest is in self, but he finds by experience
that he cannot be independent of others. His impulses, his feelings, and his
ideas are due to the relations that he has with that which is outside of
himself. He may exercise choice, but it is within the limits set by these
outside relations. He may make use of what they can do for him or he may
antagonize them, at least he cannot ignore them. Experience determines
how the individual may best adapt himself to his environment and adapt the
environment to his own needs, and he thus establishes certain definite
relationships. Any group of individuals, who have thus consciously
established relationships with one another and with their social environment
is a society. The relations through whose channels the interplay of social
forces is constantly going on make up the social organization. The
readjustments of these relations for the better adaptation of one individual
to another, or of either to their environment, make up the process of social
development. A society which remains in equilibrium is termed static, that
which is changing is called dynamic.

2. The Field and the Purpose of Sociology.—Life in society is the
subject matter of sociological study. Sociology is concerned with the origin
and development of that life, with its present forms and activities, and with
their future development. It finds its material in the every-day experiences
of men, women, and children in whatever stage of progress they may be;
but for practical purposes its chief interest is in the normal life of civilized
communities, together with the past developments and future prospects of
that life. The purpose of sociological study is to discover the active
workings and controlling principles of life, its essential meaning, and its
ultimate goal; then to apply the principles, laws, and ideals discovered to
the imperfect social process that is now going on in the hope of social
betterment.
3. Source Material for Study.—The source material of social life lies all
about us. For its past history we must explore the primitive conduct of
human beings as we learn it from anthropology and archæology, or as we
infer it from the lowest human races or from animal groups that bear the
nearest physical and mental resemblance to mankind. For present
phenomena we have only to look about us, and having seen to attempt their
interpretation. Life is mirrored in the daily press. Pick up any newspaper
and examine its contents. It reveals social characteristics both local and
wide-spread.
4. Social Characteristics—Activity.—The first fact that stands out
clearly as a characteristic of social life is activity. Everybody seems to be
doing something. There are a few among the population, like vagrants and
the idle rich, who are parasites, but even they sustain relations to others that
require a certain sort of effort. Activity seems fundamental. It needs but a
hasty survey to show how general it is. Farmers are cultivating their broad
acres, woodsmen are chopping and hewing in the forest, miners are drilling
in underground chambers, and the products of farm, forest, and mine are
finding their way by river, road, and rail to the great distributing centres. In
the town the machinery of mill and factory keeps busy thousands of
operatives, and turns out manufactured products to compete with the
products of the soil for right of way to the cities of the New World and the
Old. Busiest of all are the throngs that thread the streets of the great centres,
and pour in and out of stores and offices. Men rush from one person to
another, and interview one after another the business houses with which

they maintain connection; women swarm about the counters of the
department stores and find at the same time social satisfaction and
pecuniary reward; children in hundreds pour into the intellectual hopper of
the schoolroom and from there to the playground. Everybody is busy, and
everybody is seeking personal profit and satisfaction.
5. Mental Activity.—There is another kind of activity of which these
economic and social phases are only the outward expression, an activity of
the mind which is busy continually adjusting the needs of the individual or
social organism and the environment to each other. Some acts are so
instinctive or habitual that they do not require conscious mental effort;
others are the result of reasoning as to this or that course of action. The
impulse of the farmer may be to remain inactive, or the schoolboy may feel
like going fishing; the call of nature stimulates the desire; but reason
reaches out and takes control and directs outward activity into proper
channels. On the other hand, reason fortifies worthy inclinations. The youth
feels an inclination to stretch his muscles or to use his brains, and reason re-
enforces feeling. The physical need of food, clothing, and shelter acts as a
goad to drive a man to work, and reason sanctions his natural response. This
mental activity guides not only individual human conduct but also that of
the group. Instinct impels the man to defend his family from hardship or his
clan from defeat, and reason confirms the impulse. His sociable disposition
urges him to co-operate in industry, and reason sanctions his inclination.
The history of society reveals an increasing influence of the intellect in thus
directing instinct and feeling. It is a law of social activity that it tends to
become more rational with the increase of education and experience. But it
is never possible to determine the quantitative influence of the various
factors that enter into a decision, or to estimate the relative pressure of the
forces that urge to activity. Alike in mental and in physical activity there is a
union of all the causative factors. In an act of the will impulse, feeling, and
reflection all have their part; in physical activity it is difficult to determine
how compelling is any one of the various forces, such as heredity and
environment, that enter into the decision.
6. The Valuation of Social Activities.—The importance to society of all
these activities is not to be measured by their scope or by their vigor or
volume, but by the efficiency with which they perform their function, and
the value of the end they serve. Domestic activities, such as the care of

children, may be restricted to the home, and a woman's career may seem to
be blighted thereby, but no more important work can be accomplished than
the proper training of the child. Political activity may be national in scope,
but if it is vitiated by corrupt practices its value is greatly diminished.
Certain activities carry with them no important results, because they have
no definite function, but are sporadic and temporary, like the coming
together of groups in the city streets, mingling in momentary excitement
and dissolving as quickly.
The true valuation of activities is to be determined by their social utility.
The employment of working men in the brewing of beer or the manufacture
of chewing-gum may give large returns to an individual or a corporation,
but the social utility of such activity is small. Business enterprise is
naturally self-centred; the first interest of every individual or group is self-
preservation, and business must pay for itself and produce a surplus for its
owner or it is not worth continuing from the economic standpoint; but a
business enterprise has no right selfishly to disregard the interests of its
employees and of the public. Its social value must be reckoned as small or
great, not by the amount of business carried on, but by its contribution to
human welfare.
Take a department store as an illustration. It may be highly profitable to
its owners, giving large returns on the investment, while distributing cheap
and defective goods and paying its employees less than a decent living
wage. Its value is to be determined as small because its social utility is of
little worth. When the value of activity is estimated on this basis, it will be
seen that among the noblest activities are those of the philanthropist who
gives his time and interest without stint to the welfare of other folk; of the
minister who lends himself to spiritual ministry, and the physician who
gives up his own comfort and sometimes his own life to save those who are
physically ill; of the housewife who bears and rears children and keeps the
home as her willing contribution to the life of the world; and of the nurses,
companions, and teachers who are mothers, sisters, and wives to those who
need their help.
7. Results of Activity.—The product of activity is achievement. The
workers of the world are continually transforming energy into material
products. To clear away a forest, to raise a thousand bushels of grain, to
market a herd of cattle or a car-load of shoes, to build a sky-scraper or an

ocean liner, is an achievement. But it is a greater achievement to take a
child mind and educate it until it learns how to cultivate the soil profitably,
how to make a machine or a building of practical value, and how to save
and enrich life.
The history of human folk shows that achievement has been gradual, and
much of it without conscious planning, but the great inventors, the great
architects, the great statesmen have been men of vision, and definite
purpose is sure to fill a larger place in the story of achievement. Purposive
progress rather than unconscious, telic rather than genetic, is the order of
the evolution of society.
The highest achievement of the race is its moral uplift. The man or
woman who has a noble or kindly thought, who has consecrated life to
unselfish ends and has spent constructive effort for the common good, is the
true prince among men. He may be a leader upon whom the common
people rely in time of stress, or only a private in the ranks—he is a hero, for
his achievement is spiritual, and his mastery of the inner life is his supreme
victory.
8. Association.—A second characteristic of social life is that activity is
not the activity of isolated individuals, but it is activity in association.
Human beings work together, play together, talk together, worship together,
fight together. If they happen to act alone, they are still closely related to
one another. Examine the daily newspaper record and see how few items
have to do with individuals acting in isolation. Even if a person sits down
alone to think, his mind is working along the line on which it received the
push of another mind shortly before. A large part of the work of the world is
done in concert. The ship and the train have their crew, the factory its
hands, the city police and fire departments their force. Men shout together
on the ball field, and sing folk-songs in chorus. As an audience they listen
to the play or the sermon, as a mob they rush the jail to lynch a prisoner, or
as a crowd they riot in high carnival on Mardi Gras. The normal individual
belongs to a family, a community, a political party, a nation; he may belong,
besides, to a church, a few learned societies, a trade-union, or any number
of clubs or fraternities.
Human beings associate because they possess common interests and
means of intercourse. They are affected by the same needs. They have the

power to think in the same grooves and to feel a common sympathy.
Members of the same race or community have a common fund of custom or
tradition; they are conscious of like-mindedness in morals and religion; they
are subject to the same kind of mental suggestion; they have their own
peculiar language and literature. As communication between different parts
of the world improves and ability to speak in different languages increases,
there comes a better understanding among the world's peoples and an
increase of mutual sympathy.
Experience has taught the value of association. By it the individual
makes friends, gains in knowledge, enlarges interests. Knowing this, he
seeks acquaintances, friends, and companions. He finds the world richer
because of family, community, and national life, and if necessary he is
willing to sacrifice something of his own comfort and peace for the
advantages that these associations will bring.
9. Causes of Association.—It is the nature of human beings to enjoy
company, to be curious about what they see and hear, to talk together, and
to imitate one another. These traits appear in savages and even in animals,
and they are not outgrown with advance in civilization. These inborn
instincts are modified or re-enforced by the conscious workings of the
mind, and are aided or restricted by external circumstances. It is a natural
instinct for men to seek associates. They feel a liking for one and a dislike
for another, and select their friends accordingly. But the choice of most men
is within a restricted field, for their acquaintance is narrow. College men are
thrown with a certain set or join a certain fraternity. They play on the same
team or belong to the same class. They may have chosen their college, but
within that institution their environment is limited. It is similar in the world
at large. Individuals do not choose the environment in which at first they
find themselves, and the majority cannot readily change their environment.
Within its natural limits and the barriers which caste or custom have fixed,
children form their play groups according to their liking for each other, and
adults organize their societies according to their mutual interests or
common beliefs. With increasing acquaintance and ease of communication
and transportation there comes a wider range of choice, and environment is
less controlling. The will of the individual becomes freer to choose friends
and associates wherever he finds them. He may have widely scattered
business and political connections. He may be a member of an international

association. He may even take a wife from another city or a distant nation.
Mental interaction flows in international channels.
10. Forms of Association.—It is possible to classify all forms of
association in two groups as natural, like a gang of boys, or artificial, like a
political party. Or it is possible to arrange them according to the interests
they serve, as economic, scientific, and the like. Again they may be
classified according to thoroughness of organization, ranging from the
crowd to the closely knit corporation. But whatever the form may be, the
value of the association is to be judged according to the degree of social
worth, as in the case of activities. On that basis a company of gladiators or a
pugilist's club ranks below a village improvement society; that in turn
yields in importance to a learned association of physicians discussing the
best means of relieving human suffering. In the slow process of social
evolution those forms that do not contribute to the welfare of the race will
lose their place in society.
11. Results of Association.—The results of association are among the
permanent assets of the race. Man has become what he is because of his
social relations, and further progress is dependent upon them. The arts that
distinguish man from his inferiors are the products of inter-communication
and co-operation. The art of conversation and the accompanying
interchange of ideas and thought stimulus are to be numbered among the
benefits. The art of conciliation that calms ruffled tempers and softens
conflict belongs here. The art of co-operation, that great engine of
achievement, depends on learning through social contact how to think and
feel sympathetically. Finally, there is the product of social organization.
Chance meetings and temporary assemblies are of small value, though they
must be noted as phenomena of association. More important are the fixed
institutions that have grown out of relations continually tested by
experience until they have become sanctioned by society as indispensable.
Such are the organized forms of business, education, government, and
religion. But all groups require organization of a sort. The gang has its
recognized leader, the club its officers and by-laws. Even such antisocial
persons as outlaws frequently move in bands and have their chiefs.
Organization goes far to determine success in war or politics, in work or
play. Like achievement, organization is the result of a gradual growth in
collective experience, and must be continually adapted to the changing

requirements of successive periods by the wisdom of master minds. It must
also gradually include larger groups within its scope until, like the
International Young Men's Christian Association or the Universal Postal
Union, it reaches out to the ends of the earth.
12. Control.—The public mirror of the press reveals a third characteristic
of social life. Activity and association are both under control. Activity
would result in exploitation of the weak by the strong, and finally in
anarchy, if there were no exercise of control. Under control activities are co-
ordinated, individuals and classes are brought to work in co-operation and
not in antagonism, and under an enlightened and sanctioned authority life
becomes richer, fuller, and more truly free.
Social control begins in the individual mind. Instincts and feelings are
held in the leash of rational thought. Intelligence is the guide to action.
Control is exerted externally upon the individual from early childhood.
Parental authority checks the independence of the child and compels
conformity to the will of his elders. Family tradition makes its power felt in
many homes, and family pride is a compelling reason for moral rectitude.
Every member of the family is restrained by the rights of the others, and
often yields his own preferences for the common good. When the child goes
out from the home he is still under restraint, and rigid regulations become
even more pronounced. The rules of the schoolroom permit little freedom.
The teacher's authority is absolute during the hours when school is in
session. In the city when school hours are over there are municipal
regulations enforced by watchful police that restrict the activity of a boy in
the streets, and if he visits the playground he is still under the reign of law.
Similarly the adult is hedged about by social control. Custom decrees that
he must dress appropriately for the street, that he must pass to the right
when he meets another person, and that he must raise his hat to an
acquaintance of the opposite sex. The college youth finds it necessary to
acquaint himself with the customs and traditions that have been handed
down from class to class, and these must be observed under pain of
ostracism. Faculty and trustees stand in the way of his unlimited enjoyment.
His moral standards are affected by the atmosphere of the chapter house,
the athletic field, and the examination hall. In business and civil relations
men find themselves compelled to recognize laws that have been
formulated for the public good. State and national governments have been

able to assert successfully their right to control corporate action, however
large and powerful the corporation might be. But government itself is
subject to the will of the people in a democratic nation, and public opinion
sways officials and determines local and national policies. Religious beliefs
have the force of law upon whole peoples like the Mohammedans.
Social control is exercised in large measure without the mailed fist.
Moral suasion tends to supersede the birch stick and the policeman's billy.
Within limits there is freedom of action, and the tacit appeal of society is to
a man's self-control. But the newspaper with its sensation and police-court
gossip never lets us forget that back of self-control is the court of judicial
authority and the bar of public opinion.
The result of the constant exercise of control is the existence of order.
The normal individual becomes accustomed to restraint from his earliest
years, and it is only the few who are disorderly in the schoolroom, on the
streets, or in the broader relations of life. Criminals make up a small part of
the population; anarchy never has appealed to many as a social philosophy;
unconventional people are rare enough to attract special attention.
13. Change.—A fourth characteristic of social life is change. Control
tends to keep society static, but there are powerful dynamic forces that are
continually upsetting the equilibrium. In spite of the natural conservatism of
institutions and agencies of control, group life is as continually changing as
the physical elements in nature. Continued observation recorded over a
considerable period of time reveals changing habits, changing occupations,
changing interests, even changing laws and governments. Inside the group
individuals are continually readjusting their modes of thought and activity
to one another, and between groups there is a similar adjustment of social
habits. Without such change there can be no progress. War or other
catastrophe suddenly alters wide human relations. External influences are
constantly making their impression upon us, stimulating us to higher
attainment or dragging us down to individual and group degeneration.
14. Causes of Change.—The factors that enter into social life to produce
change are numerous. Conflict of ideas among individuals and groups
compels frequent readjustment of thought. The free expression of opinion in
public debate and through the press is a powerful factor. Travel alters modes
of conduct, and wholesale migration changes the characteristics of large

groups of population. Family habits change with accumulation of wealth or
removal from the farm to the city. The introduction of the telephone and the
free mail delivery with its magazines and daily newspapers has altered
currents of thought in the country. Summer visitors have introduced country
and city to each other; the automobile has enlarged the horizon of
thousands. New modes of agriculture have been adopted through the
influence of a state agricultural college, new methods of education through
a normal school, new methods of church work through a theological
seminary. Whole peoples, as in China and Turkey, have been profoundly
affected by forces that compelled change. Growth in population beyond
comfortable means of subsistence has set tribes in motion; the need of
wider markets has compelled nations to try forcible expansion into disputed
areas. The desire for larger opportunities has sent millions of emigrants
from Europe to America, and has been changing rapidly the complexion of
the crowds that walk the city streets and enter the polling booths. Certain
outstanding personalities have moulded life and thought through the
centuries, and have profoundly changed whole regions of country.
Mohammed and Confucius put their personal stamp upon the Orient; Cæsar
and Napoleon made and remade western Europe; Adam Smith and Darwin
swayed economic and scientific England; Washington and Lincoln were
makers of America.
Through such social processes as these—through unconscious
suggestion, through communication and discussion that mould public
opinion, through changes in environment and the influence of new leaders
of thought and action—the evolution of folk life has carried whole races,
sometimes to oblivion, but generally out of savagery and barbarism into a
material and cultural civilization.
15. Results of the Process.—The results of the process of social change
are so far-reaching as to be almost incalculable. Particularly marked are the
changes of the last hundred years. The best way to appreciate them is by a
comparison of periods. Take college life in America as an example. Scores
of colleges now large and prosperous were not then in existence, and even
in the older colleges conditions were far inferior to what they are in the
newer and smaller colleges to-day. There were few preparatory schools, and
the young man—of course there were no college women—fitted himself as
best he could by private instruction. To reach the college it was necessary to

drive by stage or private conveyance to the college town, to find rooms in
an ill-equipped dormitory or private house, to be content with plain food for
the body and a narrow course of study for the mind. The method of
instruction was tedious and uninspiring; text-books were unattractive and
dull. There were no libraries worthy of the name, no laboratories or
observatories for research. Scientific instruction was conspicuous by its
absence; the social sciences were unknown. Gymnasiums had not been
evolved from the college wood-pile; intercollegiate sports were unknown.
Glee clubs, dramatic societies, college journalism, and the other arts and
pastimes that give color and variety to modern university life were
unknown.
In the same period modes of thinking have changed. Scientific
discoveries and the principles that have been based on them have wrought a
revolution. Evolution has become a word to conjure with. Scholars think in
terms of process. Biological investigation has opened wide the whole realm
of life and emphasized the place of development in the physical organism.
Psychological study has changed the basis of philosophy. Sociology has
come with new interpretations of human life. Rapid changes are taking
place at the present time in education, in religion, and in social adjustments.
The rate of progress varies in different parts of the world; there are
handicaps in the form of race conservatism, local and individual self-
satisfaction and independence, maladjustments and isolation; sometimes the
process leads along a downward path. On the whole, however, the history is
a story of progress.
16. Weaknesses.—In the thinking of not a few persons the handicaps that
lie in the path of social development bulk larger than the engines of
progress. They are pessimistic over the weaknesses that constitute a fifth
characteristic of social life. These are certainly not to be overlooked, but
they are an inevitable result of incomplete adaptations during a constant
process of change. There are numerous illustrations of weakness. Social
activity is not always wisely directed. Association frequently develops
antagonism instead of co-operation. In trade and industry individuals do not
"play fair." Corporations are sometimes unjust. Politics are liable to become
corrupt. In the various associations of home and community life
indifference, cruelty, unchastity, and crime add to the burdens of poverty,
disease, and wretchedness. A yellow press mirrors a scandalous amount of

intrigue, immorality, and misdemeanor. Government abuses its power;
public opinion is intolerant and unjust; fashion is tyrannical; law is
uncompromising. In times like our own economic interests frequently
overshadow cultural interests. In college estimation athletics appear to bulk
larger than the curriculum. In the public mind prejudice and hasty
judgments take precedence over carefully weighed opinions and judicial
decisions. Conservatism blocks the wheels of progress, or radicalism, in its
unbalanced enthusiasm, destroys by injudiciousness the good that has been
gradually accumulating. The social machinery gets out of gear, or proves
inefficient for the new burdens that frequently are imposed upon it. The
social order is not perfect and needs occasional amendment.
17. Resultant Problems.—These weaknesses precipitate specific social
problems. Some of them are bound up in the family relationships, like the
better regulation of marriage and divorce, the prevention of desertion, and
the rights of women and children. Others are questions that relate to
industry, such as the rights of employees with reference to wages and hours
of labor, or the unhealthy conditions in which working people live and toil.
Certain matters are issues in every community. It is not easy to decide what
shall be done with the poor, the unfortunate, and the weak-willed members
of society. Some problems are peculiar to the country, the city, or the nation,
like the need of rural co-operation, the improvement of municipal
efficiency, or the regulation of immigration. A few are international, like the
scourge of war. Besides such specific problems there are always general
issues demanding the attention of social thinkers and reformers, such as the
adjustment of individual rights to social duties, and the improvement of
moral and religious efficiency.
18. The Social Groups.—A broad survey of the current life of society
leads naturally to the questions: How is this social life organized? and How
did it come to be? The answers to these questions appear in certain social
groupings, each of which has a history and life of its own, but is only a
segment of the whole circle of active association. These groupings include
the family, the rural community, the city, and the nation. In the natural
environment of the home social life finds its apprenticeship. When the child
has become in a measure socialized, he enters into the larger relations of the
neighborhood. Half the people of the United States live in country
communities, but an increasing proportion of the population is found in the

midst of the associations and activities of the larger civic community. All
are citizens or wards of the nation, and have a part in the social life of
America. Consciously or not they have still wider relations in a world life
that is continually growing in social content. Each of these groups reveals
the same fundamental characteristics, but each has its peculiar forms and its
dominant energies; each has its perplexing problems and each its
possibilities of greater good. Through the environment the forces of the
mind are moulding a life that is gradually becoming more nearly like the
social ideal.

READING REFERENCES

dings: Principles of Sociology, pages 363-399.

all and Vincent: Introduction to the Study of Society, pages 237-240.

ley: Sociology, pages 58-73.

s: Social Control, pages 49-61.

s: Foundations of Sociology, pages 182-255.

ckmar and Gillin: Outlines of Sociology, pages 271-282.

CHAPTER IIToC

UNORGANIZED GROUP LIFE

19. Temporary Groups.—A study of the organization and development
of social life is mainly a study of the mental and physical activities of
individuals associated in permanent groups. Conditions change and there is
a continual shifting of contacts as in a kaleidoscope, but the group is a fixed
institution in the life of society. But besides the permanent groups there are
temporary unorganized associations that have a place in social life too
important to be overlooked. They vary in size from a chance meeting of two
or three friends who stop on the street corner and separate after a few
minutes of conversation, to the great mass-meeting, that is called for a
special purpose and interests a whole neighborhood, but adjourns sine die.
Such groups are subject to the same physical and psychic forces that affect
the family, the community, and the nation, but they tend to act more on
impulse, because there is no habitual subordination to an established rule or
order. A simple illustration will show the influences that work to produce
these temporary groupings and that govern conduct.
20. How the Group Forms.—Imagine a working man on the morning of
a holiday. Without a fixed purpose how he will spend the day, his mind
works along the line of least resistance, inviting physical or mental
stimulus, and sensitive to respond. He is not accustomed to remain at home,
nor does he wish to be alone. He is used to the companionship of the
factory, and instinctively he longs for the association of his kind. He is most
likely to meet his acquaintances on the street, and he feels the pull of the
out-of-doors. The influences of instinct and habit impel him to activity, and
he makes a definite choice to leave the house. Once on the street he feels
the zest of motion and the anticipation of the pleasure that he will find in
the companionship of his fellows. Reason assures him from past experience
that he has made a good choice, and on general principles asserts that
exercise is good for him, whatever may be the social result of his stroll.
Thus the various factors that produce individual activity are at work in him.
They are similarly at work in others of his kind. Presently these factors will
bring them together.
Unconsciously the working man and his friend are moving toward each
other. The attention and discrimination of each man is brought into play
with every person that he meets, but there is no recognition of acquaintance
until each comes within the range of vision of the other. They greet each
other with a hail of good-fellowship and a cordial hand-shake and stop for

conversation. An analysis of the psychological elements that enter into such
an incident would make plain the part of sense-perception and memory, of
feeling and volition in the act of each, but the significant fact in the incident
is that these mental factors are set to work because of the contact of one
mind upon the other. It is the mental interaction arising from the moment's
association that produces the social phenomenon. What are the social
phenomena of this particular occasion? They are the acts that have taken
place because of association. The individual would not greet himself or
shake hands with himself, or stop to talk with himself. They are dependent
upon the presence of more than one person; they are phenomena of the
group. Why do they shake hands and talk? First, because they feel alike and
think alike, and sympathy and like-mindedness seek expression in gesture
and language, and, secondly, because their mode of action is under the
control of a social custom that directs specific acts. If the meeting was on
the continent of Europe the men might embrace, if it was in the jungle of
Africa they might raise a yell at sight of each other, but American custom
limits the greeting to a hand-clasp, supplemented on occasion by a slap on
the shoulder. In Italy the language used is peculiar to the race and is helped
out by many gestures; in New England of the Puritans the language used
would be of a type peculiar to itself, and would hardly have the assistance
of a changing facial expression. To-day two men have formed a temporary
group, group action has taken place, and the action, while impulsive, is
under the constraint of present custom. What happens next?
21. The Working of the Social Mind.—Conversation in the group
develops a common purpose. The two men are conscious of common
desires and interests, or through a conflict of ideas the will of one
subordinates the will of the other, and under the control of the joint purpose,
which is now the social mind, they move toward one goal. This goal soon
appears to be the objective point of a larger social mind, for other men and
boys are converging in the same direction. At the corner of another street
the two companions meet other friends, and after a mutual greeting the
augmented party finds its way to the entrance of a ball park. The same
instincts and habits and the same feelings and thoughts have stirred in every
member of the group; they have felt the pull of the same desires and
interests; they have put themselves in motion toward the same goal; they
have greeted one another in similar fashion, and they find satisfaction in
talking together on a common topic; but they do not constitute a permanent

or organized group, and once separated they may never repeat this chance
meeting.
22. The Impulse of the Crowd.—Once within the ball park and seated
on the long benches they are part of a far larger group of like-minded
human beings, and they feel a common thrill in anticipation of the pleasure
of the sport. They feel the stimulus that comes from obedience to a common
impulse. A shout or a joke arouses a sympathetic outburst from hundreds.
When they came together at first most of them were strangers, but common
interests and emotions have produced a group consciousness. The game is
called, and hundreds in unison fix their attention on the men in action. A hit
is made, in breathless suspense the crowd watches to see the result, and
with a common impulse cries out simultaneously in approbation or disgust
over the play. As the game proceeds primitive passions play over the crowd
and emotions find free expression in the language that habit and custom
provide. The crowd is in a state of high suggestibility; it responds to the
stimulus of a chance remark, the misplay of a player, or the misjudgment of
an umpire; one moment it is thrown into panic by the prospect of defeat,
and the next into paroxysms of delight as the tide of victory turns. On
sufficient provocation the crowd gets into motion, impelled by a common
excitement to unreasoning action; it pours upon the field, and, unless
prevented, wreaks its anger upon team or umpire that has aroused it to fury,
but met with superior force the crowd melts away, dissolving into its
smaller groups and then into its individual elements. A crowd of the sort
described constitutes one type of the incomplete group. It is a chance
assembly, moved by a common purpose but coalescing only temporarily,
guided by elemental impulses, and readily breaking up without permanent
achievement other than obtaining the recreation sought.
23. The Mass-Meeting.—Another and more orderly type appears in a
meeting of American residents in a foreign city to protest against an outrage
to their flag or an injustice to one of their number. Those who assemble are
not members of a definite organization with a regular machinery for action.
They are, however, moved by common emotion and purpose, because they
are conscious of a permanent bond that creates mutual sympathy. They are
citizens of the same country. They are mindful of a national history that is
their common heritage. They are proud of the position of eminence that
belongs to the Western republic. There is a peculiar quality to the patriotism

that they all feel and that calls out a unanimous expression. Their minds
work alike, and they come together to give expression to their feelings and
convictions. They are under the direction of a presiding officer and the
procedure of the meeting is according to the parliamentary rules that guide
civilized assemblies. However urgent of purpose, the speakers hold
themselves in leash, and the listeners content themselves with conventional
applause when their enthusiasm is aroused. After a reasonable amount of
discussion has taken place, the assembly crystallizes its opinions in the
form of resolutions couched in earnest but dignified language and disperses
to await the action of those in authority.
24. International Association.—Still another type is the incomplete
group that is composed of men and women of similar moral or religious
convictions who never assemble in one place, but constitute a certain kind
of association. Kipling could sing,

"The East is East and the West is West
And never the twain shall meet,"

yet through missionary efforts people of very different races and habits of
living and thinking have been brought to cherish the same beliefs and to
adopt similar customs. Thousands of such people in all parts of the world
constitute a unified group because of their mental interaction, though they
may never meet and are not organized in common. The only medium
through which one section has influenced another may be a single
missionary or book, but the electric current of sympathy passes from one to
another as effectively as the wireless carries a message across leagues of
space. In the same way sentiment and opinion spread and reproduce
themselves, even through long periods of time. Before the middle of the
nineteenth century Chinese sentiment was so strong against the importation
of opium from India that war broke out with England, with the result that
the curse was fastened upon the Orient. The evil increased, spreading
through many countries. Meantime international fortunes brought the
United States to the Philippines and trade carried opium to the United
States. Foreigners in China combated the evil. The nation took a determined
stand, and finally, through international agreement under American
leadership, the trade and the consumption of opium were checked. Similarly
slavery was put under the opprobrium of Christendom, public opinion in

one nation after another was formed against it, laws were passed
condemning it, and at last it received an international ban. At the present
time, through agitation and conference, a world sentiment against war is
increasing, and pacifists in every land constitute an expanding group of
like-minded men and women who are determined that wars shall cease in
the future. These are all examples of unorganized associations or
incomplete groups.
25. Experiments in Association.—In the history of human kind
numerous experiments in association have been made; those which have
served well in the competition between groups have survived, and have
tended to become permanent types of association, receiving the sanction of
society, and so to be reckoned as social institutions; others have been
thrown on the rubbish heap as worthless. It is generally believed, for
example, that many related families in primitive times associated in a
loosely connected horde, but the horde could not compete successfully with
an organized state and gave way before it. The local community in New
England once carried on its affairs satisfactorily in yearly mass-meeting,
where every citizen had an equal privilege of speaking and voting directly
upon a proposed measure, but there proved to be a limit to the efficiency of
such government when the population increased, so that a meeting of all the
citizens was impossible, and a constitutional assembly of representative
citizens was devised. Similarly national governments have been organized
for greater efficiency and machinery is being invented frequently to
increase their value.
26. Kinds of Unorganized Groups.—Unorganized groups are of three
kinds: There are first the normal groups that are continually being formed
and dissolved, but that perform a useful function while they exist. Such are
the chance meetings and conversations of friends in all walks of life, and
the crowds that gather occasionally to help forward a good cause. They
promote general intelligence, provide a free exchange of ideas, and help to
form a body of public opinion for social guidance. There is often an open-
mindedness among the common people that is not vitiated by the grip of
vested interests upon their unwarped judgments, and the people can be
trusted in the long run to make good. Democracy is based upon the
reliability of public opinion.

The second kind of unorganized group is one that is on the way to
becoming a permanent group sanctioned by society. A group of this type is
the boy's gang. By most persons the spontaneous association of a dozen
boys who live near together and range over a certain district has been
condemned as a social evil; recently it has become recognized as a normal
group, forming naturally at a certain period of boy life and falling to pieces
of its own accord a few years later. The tendency of boy leaders is not only
to give it recognition as legitimate, but to use the gang instinct to promote
definite organizations of greater value to their members and to the
community. Another group of the same type is a so-called "movement,"
composed of a few individuals who associate themselves in a loose way to
further a definite purpose, like the promotion of temperance, hold mass-
meetings, and create public opinion, but do not at once proceed to a
permanent organization. Eventually, when the movement has gathered
sufficient headway or has shown that it is permanently valuable, a fixed
organization may be accomplished.
The third kind of unorganized group is an abnormality in the midst of
civilization, a relic of the primitive days when impulse rather than reason
swayed the mind of a group. Such is the crowd that gathers in a moment of
excitement and yields to a momentary passion to lynch a prisoner, or a
revolutionary mob that loots and burns out of a sheer desire for destruction.
Such a group has not even the value of a safety-valve, for its passion
gathers momentum as it goes, and, like a conflagration, it cannot be stopped
until it has burned itself out or met a solid wall of military authority.
27. The Popular Crowd vs. the Organized Group.—In the routine life
of a disciplined society there is always to be found at least one of these
types. Even the abnormal type of the passionate crowd is not unusual in its
milder form. Any unusual event like a fire or a circus will draw scores and
hundreds together, and the crowd is always liable to fall into disorder unless
officers of the law are in attendance. This is so well understood that the
police are always in evidence where there are large congregations of people
at church or theatre, where a prominent man is to be seen or a procession is
to pass. But the popular mass is a volatile thing, and in proportion to its size
it expends little useful energy. It is never to be reckoned as equal in
importance to the organized company, however small it may be, that has a
definite purpose guiding its regular action, and that persists in its purpose

for years together. It is the fixed group, the social institution, that does the
work of the world and carries society forward from lower to higher levels of
civilization. Social efficiency belongs to the organized type.

READING REFERENCES

ley: Social Organization, pages 149-156.

dings: Elements of Sociology, pages 129-140.

s: Foundations of Sociology, pages 120-138.

s: Social Psychology, pages 43-82.

nsterberg: Psychology, General and Applied, pages 269-273.

enport: Primitive Traits in Religious Revivals, pages 25-31.

PART II—LIFE IN THE FAMILY GROUP

CHAPTER IIIToC

FOUNDATIONS OF THE FAMILY

28. The Fundamental Importance of the Family.—Social life can be
understood best by taking the simplest organized group of human beings
and analyzing its activities, its organization, and its development. The
family is such a group and is, therefore, a natural basis for study. It
illustrates most of the phases of social activity, it is simple in its
organization, its history goes back to primitive times, and it is rapidly
changing in the present. Family life is made up of the interactions of
individual life, and, therefore, the individual in his social relations and not
the family is the unit of sociological investigation, but until recent years the
family group has been regarded as of greater importance than the
individual, and in the Orient the family still occupies the place of
importance. Out of the family have developed such institutions as property,
law, and government, and on the maintenance of the family rests the future
welfare of society. It has been claimed that "the study of the single family
on its homestead would yield richer scientific knowledge and more
practical results in the great social sciences than almost any other single
object in the social world. Pursued historically, the student would find
himself at the roots of property, separate ownership of land, inheritance,
taxation, free trade and tariff, and discover the germs of international law
and the state. The great questions of the day, as we call them, are little more
than incidents to the working out of the great social institutions, and these
are the expansions and modified forms of the family amid its unceasing
support and activity."

29. The Family on the Farm.—The best environment in which to study
the family is the farm. There the relations and activities of the larger world
appear in miniature, but with a greater simplicity and unity than elsewhere.
There the family gets closer to the soil, and its members feel their relation
to nature and the restrictions that nature imposes upon human activity.
There appear the occupations of the successive stages of history—hunting,
the care of domesticated animals, agriculture, and manufacturing; there are
the activities of production, distribution, and consumption of economic
goods. There a consciousness of mutual dependence is developed, and the
value of co-operation is illustrated. There the mind ranges less fettered than
in the town, yet is less inclined toward radical changes. There the family
preserves and hands down from one generation to another the heritage of
the past, and stimulates its members to further progress. In the family on the
farm children learn how to live in association with their kin and with hired
employees; there much of the mental, moral, and religious training is
begun; and there is found most of the sympathy and encouragement that
nerves the boy to go out from home for the struggle of life in the larger
community and the world.
30. Physical Conditions of Farm Life.—Every group, like every
individual, is dependent in a measure on its physical environment. The
prosperity of the family on the farm and the daily activities of its members
wait often upon the quality of climate and soil and the temper of the
weather. The rocky hillsides of mountain lands like Switzerland breed a
hardy, self-reliant people, who make the most of small opportunities for
agriculture. A well-watered, rolling country pours its riches into the lap of
the husbandman; in such surroundings he is likely to be more cheerful but
less gritty than the Scottish highlander. The pioneer settlers of America, in
their trek into the ulterior, faced the forest and its terrors, and every member
of the family who was old enough added his ounce of effort to the struggle
to subdue it. Their descendants enjoy the fruits of the earlier victory. The
well-trimmed woodland and fertile field are attractive to him; nature in
varying moods interests him. Even on the edge of the Western desert the
farmer is the master of a process of dry farming or irrigation, so that he can
smile at nature's effort to drive him out. Science and education have helped
to make man more independent of natural forces and natural moods, but
still it is nature that provides the raw materials, that supplies the energy of
wind and water and sunshine, and that hastens prosperity if man learns to

co-operate with it. Success in the economic struggle of the family has
always been conditioned upon the physical environment, and it will always
remain one of the factors that shape human destiny.
31. Inheritance of Family Traits.—Another factor that enters into
family life is the physical nature of its members, the quality of the stock
from which the family is descended. Heredity is as important in
sociological study as environment. It is well known that a child inherits
racial and family traits from his ancestors, and these he cannot shake off
altogether as he grows older. Families have their peculiarities that continue
from one generation to another. The family endowment is often the
foundation of individual success. Without physical sturdiness the man and
woman on the farm are seriously handicapped and are liable to succumb in
the struggle for existence; without mental ability and moral stamina
members of the family fail to make a broad mark on the community, and the
family influence declines. Mere acquisition or transmission of wealth does
not constitute good fortune. This fact of heredity must therefore be
reckoned with in all the activities of the family, and cannot be overlooked in
a study of the psychic factors which are the real social forces.
32. The Domestic Function of the Family.—The farm family for the
purpose of study may be thought of as composed of husband and wife,
children and servants, but the makers of the family are of first importance
for its understanding. The family has a long history, but it exists, not
because it is a long-established institution, but because it satisfies present
human needs, as all institutions must if they are to survive. The family
serves many ends, but as the primary social instincts are to mate and to eat,
so the principal functions of the family are the domestic and the economic.
The normal adult desires to mate, to have and rear children, and to make a
home. To this his sexual and parental instincts impel him; they are nature's
provision for the perpetuation of the race. The sex instinct attracts the man
and the woman to each other, and marriage is the sanction of society to their
union; the parental instinct gives birth to children and leads the father and
mother to protect the child through the long years of dependence. Marriage
and parenthood are twin obligations that the individual owes to the race.
Celibacy makes no contribution to the perpetuation of the race, and
unregulated sexual intercourse is a blight upon society. Marriage lays the
foundation of the home and makes possible the values that belong to that

institution. Children hold the family together; separation and divorce are
most common in childless homes. Personal service and sacrifice are
engendered in the care of children; therefore it is that the family without
children is not a perfect family, but an abnormality as a social institution.
For these reasons custom and law protect the home, and religion declares
marriage a sacred bond and reproduction a sacred function.
It is the long experience of the race that has made plain the fundamental
importance of the marriage relation, and history shows how step by step
man and woman have struggled toward higher standards of mutual
appreciation and co-operation. From past history and present tendencies it is
possible to determine values and weaknesses and to point out dangers and
possibilities. As the family group is fundamental to an understanding of the
community, so the relation of man and woman are essential to a
comprehension of the complete family, and investigation of their relations
must precede a study of the social development of the child in the home, or
of the economic relations of the farmer and his assistants. Nothing more
clearly illustrates the factors that enter into all human relations than the
story of how the family came to be.

READING REFERENCES

derson: Social Elements, pages 62-70.

wood: Sociology and Modern Social Problems, 1913 edition, pages 74-82.

anquet: The Family, pages 241-259.

ley: The Family in Its Sociological Aspects, pages 1-11.

terfield: "Rural Life and the Family," American Journal of Sociology, vol.
14, pages 721-725.
derson: "Are Modern Industry and City Life Unfavorable to the Family?"
American Journal of Sociology, vol. 14, pages 668-675.

CHAPTER IVToC

THE HISTORY OF THE FAMILY

33. How the Family Came to Be.—The modern family among civilized
peoples is based almost universally on the union of one man and one
woman. There is good reason to believe that this practice of monogamy was
in vogue among primitive human beings, but marriage was unstable and it
was only through long experimentation that monogamy proved itself best
fitted to survive. At first conjugal affection, which has become intelligent
and moral, was merely a sexual desire that led the man to seek a mate and
the maid to choose among her suitors. Unbound by long-continued custom
or legal and ceremonial restriction, the primitive couple were free to
separate if they pleased, but the instinctive feeling that they belonged to
each other, the habits of association, adaptation, and co-operation, and
jealousy at any attention shown by another tended to preserve the
relationship. The presence of offspring sealed the bond as long as the
children were dependent, and strengthened the sense of mutual
responsibility. The children were peculiarly the mother's children since she
gave them birth, but the father instinctively protected the family that was
growing up around him, and procured food and shelter for its members,
though it is doubtful if he had any realization of his part in giving life to a
new generation.
During this period of social development, when the mother's presence
constituted the home and the children were regarded as belonging primarily
to her, descent was reckoned in the female line, the children were attached
to the maternal clan of blood relatives, and such relatives began to move in
bands, for the same reason that animals move in packs and herds. Some
writers speak of it as a matriarchal period, but it does not appear that
women governed; it is more proper to speak of the family as metronymic,

for the children bore the mother's name and maternity outweighed paternity
in social estimate.
34. The Patriarchal Household.—When population increased and food
consequently became more difficult to obtain, the domestication of animals
was achieved, and nomadic habits carried the family from pasture to
pasture; rival clans wanted the same regions, wars broke out, and physical
superiority asserted its claims. The man supplanted the woman as the
important member of the household, reduced the others to submission,
added to his wives and servants by capture or purchase, and established the
patriarchal system. Descent henceforth was reckoned in the paternal line,
and society had become patronymic instead of metronymic. It must not be
supposed that this change occurred very suddenly. It may have taken many
centuries to bring it about, but as the man learned his part in procreation and
his power in society, he delighted in his self-importance to lord it over the
woman and her children. The marriage relation ceased to be free and
reciprocal. The wife no longer had a choice in marriage. Bought or
captured, she was no longer wooed for a companion, but was valued
according to her economic worth. As population pressed, the domestication
of plants followed the taming of animals, but the agricultural settlement of
the family only made the woman's lot harder, for she was the burden bearer
on the farm.
35. Polygyny.—a better term than polygamy—was the inevitable result
of the patriarchal system. Man made the law and the law recognized no
restraint upon his sexual and parental instincts. Improvements in living
added to the resources of the family and made it possible to maintain large
households of wives, children, and slaves. Polygyny had some social utility,
because it increased the number of children, and this gave added prestige
and power to the family, as slavery had utility because it provided a labor
force; but both were weaknesses in ancient society, because they did not
tend in the long run to human welfare. Polygyny brutalized men, degraded
women, and destroyed that affection and comradeship between parents and
their offspring that are the proper heritage of children. Wherever it has
survived as a system, polygyny has hindered progress, and wherever it
exists in the midst of monogamy it tends to break down civilization.
Another variety of marriage that has been less common than polygyny is
polyandry. It is a term that signifies the marriage of one woman to several

husbands, and seems to have occurred, as in the interior of Asia, only where
subsistence was especially difficult or women comparatively few. Neither
polygyny nor polyandry were universal, even where they were a frequent
practice. Only the few could afford the indulgence, much the largest
percentage of the people remained monogamous.
36. Conflict and Social Selection.—The supreme business of the social
group is to adapt itself to the conditions that affect its life. It must learn to
get on with its physical environment and with other social groups with
which it comes into relation. The methods of adaptation are conflict and co-
operation. The primitive savage and his wife learned to work together, and
his family and hers very likely kept the peace, until through the increase of
population they felt the pinch of hunger when the supply did not equal the
demand. Then came conflict. Conflict is an essential element in all progress.
There is conflict between the lower and higher impulses in the human mind,
conflict between selfish ambition and the welfare of the group, conflict
among individuals and races for a place in the sun. It is conceivable that the
baser impulses that provoke much social conflict may give way to more
rational and altruistic purpose, but it is difficult to see how all friction can
be avoided in social relations. It is certainly to be reckoned with in the
history of group life.
The story of human progress shows that in the social conflict those
groups survive which have become best adapted to life conditions and so
are fitted to cope with their enemies. In the story of the family male
leadership proved most useful and was perpetuated, but the practice of
polygyny and polyandry proved in the long run to be hurtful to success in
the sturdy struggle for existence.
37. Ancestor-Worship.—When a practice or institution is seen to work
well it soon becomes indorsed by social custom, law, or religion. The
patriarchal system became fortified by ancestor-worship, which helped to
keep the family subordinate to its male head. Even the dead hand of the
patriarch ruled. The paternal ancestors of the family were believed to have
the power to bless or curse their descendants, and they were faithfully
placated with gifts and veneration, as has continued to be the custom in
China. Among the Romans the household gods were cherished at the hearth
long before Jupiter became king of heaven; Æneas must save his ancestral-
images if he lost all else in the fall of Troy. At Rome the worship of a

common ancestor was the strongest family bond. The marriage ceremony
consisted of a solemn transfer of the bride from her duties to her own
ancestors over to the adoption of her husband's gods. This transfer of
allegiance helped to perpetuate the patriarchal system, and the sanction of
religion greatly strengthened the wedded relation, so that divorce and
polygyny were unknown in the old Roman period. But the absolute
patriarchal control of wife and children made the man selfish and arbitrary
and weakened the bond of affection and mutual interests, while Roman
political conquest strengthened the pride and power of the imperial masters.
Religion lost its prestige and the family bond loosened, until from being one
of the purest of social institutions in the early days of the republic, the
Roman family became one of the most degenerate. This boded ill for the
future of the race and empire.
38. The Mediæval Family.—The Roman family seemed in danger of
disintegrating, for the matron claimed rights that ran counter to the rights of
the man, when two new forces entered Roman society and checked this
tendency toward disintegration. The first was Christianity, the second was
Teutonic conquest. Christianity taught consideration for women and
children, but it taught submission to the man in the home, and so was a
constructive force in the conservation of the family. Teutonic custom was
similar to the early Roman. When Teutonic enterprise pushed a new race
over the goal of race conflict and took in charge the administration of affairs
in Roman society, there was a restoration of the rule of force and so of
masculine supremacy. In the lord's castle and the peasant's hut the authority
of the man continued unquestioned through the Middle Ages, and the
church made monogamous marriage a binding sacrament; but sexual
infidelity was common, especially of the husband, and divorce was not
unknown. In the civilized lands of Christendom monogamy was the only
form of marriage recognized by civil law, and with the slow growth toward
higher standards of civilization the harshness of patriarchal custom has
become softened and the rights of women and children have been increased
by law, though not without endangering the solidarity of the family.
Similarly, the standards of sex conduct have improved.
39. Advantages of Monogamy.—The advantages of monogamy are so
many that in spite of the present restiveness under restraint it seems certain
to become the permanent and universal type as reason asserts its right and

controls impulse. Nature seems to have predetermined it by maintaining
approximately an equal number of the sexes, and nature frowns upon
promiscuity by penalizing it with sterility and neglect of the few children
that are born, so that in the struggle for existence the fittest survive by a
process of natural selection. A study of biology and anthropology gives
added evidence that nature favors monogamy, for in the highest grade of
animals below man the monogamic relation holds almost without
exception, and low-grade human races follow the same practice.
There are moral advantages in monogamy that alone are sufficient to
insure its permanence. It is to the advantage of society that altruistic and
kindly feelings should outweigh jealousy, anger, and selfishness.
Monogamy encourages affection and mutual consideration, and in that
atmosphere children learn the graces and virtues that make social life
wholesome and attractive. Welcomed in the home, they receive the care and
instruction of both parents and become socialized for the larger and later
responsibilities of the social order. In the altruism thus developed lie the
roots of morals and religion. It is well agreed that the essence of each is the
right motive to conduct. Love to men and to God is an accepted definition
of religion, and ethics is grounded on that principle. Love is the ruling
principle of the monogamic family; from the narrower domestic circle it
extends to the community and to all mankind.
40. Marriage Laws.—In spite of the general practice of monogamy as a
form of marriage and the noble principles that underlie the monogamic type
of family, sex relations need the restraint of law. Human desires are selfish
and ideals too often give way before them unless there is some kind of
external control. There have been times when the church had such control,
and in certain countries individual rulers have determined the law; but since
the eighteenth century there has been a steady trend in the direction of
popular control of all social relations. This tendency has been carried
farthest in the United States, where public opinion voices its convictions
and compels legislative action. It is natural that the people of certain States
should be more progressive or radical than others, and therefore in the
absence of a national law, there is considerable variety in the marriage and
divorce laws, but no other country has higher ideals of the married relation
and at the same time as large a measure of freedom.

At present marriage laws in the United States agree generally on the
following provisions:
(1) Every marriage must be licensed by the State and the act of marriage
must be reported to the State and registered.
(2) Marriage is not legal below a certain age, and consent of parents must
be obtained usually until the man is twenty-one and the woman eighteen.
(3) Certain persons are forbidden marriage because of near relationship
or personal defect. Such marriage if performed may be annulled.
(4) Remarriage may take place after the death of husband or wife, after
disappearance for a period varying from three to seven years, or a certain
time after divorce.
In the twenty-year period between 1886 and 1906 covered by the United
States Census of Marriage and Divorce slow improvements were made in
legislation, but a number of States are far behind others in the enactment of
suitable laws, and most of the States do not make the provisions that are
desirable for law enforcement. Yet there is a limit of strictness beyond
which marriage laws cannot safely go, because they hinder marriage and
provoke illicit relations. That limit is fixed by the sanction of public
opinion. After all, there is less need of better regulation than of the
education of public opinion to the sacredness of marriage and to its
importance for human welfare. Without the restraints put upon impulse by
the education of the understanding and the will, young people often assume
family obligations thoughtlessly and even flippantly, when they are ill-
mated and often unacquainted with each other's characteristic qualities.
Such marriages usually bring distress and divorce instead of growing
affection and unity. Without education in the obligation of marriage many
well-qualified persons delay it or avoid it altogether, because they are
unwilling to bear the burdens of family support, childbearing, and
housekeeping. Society suffers loss in both cases.
41. Reforms and Ideals.—Because of all these deficiencies several
remedies have been proposed and certain of them adopted. Because of the
economic difficulties, it is urged that as far as possible by legislation,
illegitimate ways of heaping up wealth for the few at the expense of the
many should be checked, and that by vocational training boys should be

fitted for a trade and girls prepared for housekeeping. To meet other
difficulties it is proposed that popular instruction be given from press and
pulpit, in order that the moral and spiritual plane of married life may be
uplifted. The marriage ideal is a well-mated pair, physically and
intellectually qualified, who through affection are attracted to marriage and
through mutual consideration are ready unselfishly to seek each other's
welfare, and who recognize in marriage a divinely ordered provision for
human happiness and for the perpetuation of the race. Such a marriage does
not plant the seeds of discord and neighborly scandal or compel a speedy
resort to the divorce court.

READING REFERENCES

ley: The Family in Its Sociological Aspects, pages 12-84.

ward: History of Matrimonial Institutions, II, pages 388-497.

odsell: The Family as a Social and Educational Institution, pages 5-47.

anquet: The Family, part I. "Report on Marriage and Divorce, 1906," Bureau
of the Census, I, pages 224-226.
ss: Encyclopedia of Social Reform, art. "Family."

CHAPTER VToC

THE MAKING OF THE HOME

42. The Story of the Home.—Marriage is the gateway of the home; the
home is the shelter of the family. It is the cradle of children, the nursery of
mutual affection, and the training-school for citizenship in the community.
The physical comfort of its inmates depends upon the house and its
furnishings, but fondness for the home develops only in an atmosphere of
good-will and kindness.
The home has a story of its own, as has the family. In primitive days
there was little necessity of a dwelling-place, except as a nest for young or a
cache for provisions. A cave or a rough shelter of boughs was a makeshift
for a home. Thither the hunter brought the game that he had killed, and
there slept the glutton's sleep or went supperless to bed. When the hunter
became a herdsman and shepherd and moved from place to place in search
of pasture, he found it convenient to fashion a tent for his home, as the
Hebrew patriarchs did when they roamed over Canaan and as the Bedouin
of the desert does still.
A settled life with a measure of civilization demanded a better and a
stationary home, the degree of comfort varying with the desire and ambition
of the householder and the amount of his wealth. To thousands home was
little more than a place to sleep. Even in imperial Rome the proletariat
occupied tall, ramshackle tenements, like the submerged poor who exist in
the slums of modern cities. In mediæval Europe the peasant lived in a one-
room hovel, clustered with others in a squalid hamlet upon the estate of a
great landowner. The hut was poorly built, often of no better material than
wattled sticks, cemented with mud, covered over with turf or thatch, usually
without chimneys or even windows. The place was absolutely without
conveniences. Summer and winter the family huddled together in the single
room of the hut, faring forth to work in the morning, sleeping at night on
bundles of straw, each person in the single garment that he wore through the
day, and at convenient intervals breaking fast on black bread, salt meat, and
home-brewed beer. There was no inducement for a landless serf to spend
care or labor upon houses or surroundings; pigs and babies were permitted
to tumble about both indiscriminately.
Peasant homes in the Orient are little if any better now than European
homes in the Middle Ages. The houses are rude structures and ill-kept. In
the villages of India it is not unusual to occupy one house until it becomes
so unsanitary as to be uninhabitable, and then to move elsewhere. Even

royal courts in mediæval Europe moved from palace to palace for the same
reason. It is a mistake to suppose that the squalid conditions found in the
slums are peculiar to them; they are survivals of a lower stage of human
existence found in all parts of the world, due to psychical, social, and
economic conditions that are not easily changed, but conspicuous in the
midst of modern progress.
43. The Ancestral Type.—In ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome only the
higher classes enjoyed any degree of comfort. Accustomed to
inconveniences, few even among them knew such luxuries as are common
to middle-class Americans. The castle and manor-house of the mediæval
lord were still more comfortless. In America the colonial log cabin and the
sod house of the prairie pioneer were primitively incomplete. The struggle
for existence and the difficulty of manufacture and transportation allowed
few comforts. American homes, even a hundred years ago, knew nothing of
furnaces and safety-matches, refrigerators and electric fans, bathtubs and
sanitary accommodations, carpet-sweepers and vacuum cleaners, screen
doors and double windows, hammocks and verandas. Neither law nor social
custom required a good water or drainage system. A healthful or attractive
location for the house received little thought; outbuildings were in close
proximity to the house, if not attached to it. The furnishings of the house
lacked comfort and beauty. Interior decorations of harmonious design were
absent. Instruments of music were rare; statuary and paintings were beyond
the reach of any but the richest purse.
44. Social Values.—On the other hand, there was in many a dwelling a
home atmosphere that made up for the lack of conveniences. There was a
bond of unity that was felt by every member of the family, and a spirit of
mutual affection and self-sacrifice that stood a hard strain through poverty,
sickness, and ill fortune of every sort. Father and mother, boys and girls
were not afraid to work, and when the time came for relaxation there was
little to attract away from the home circle. People had less to enjoy, but they
were better contented with what they had. They had little money to spend,
but their frugal tastes and habits of thrift fortified them against want, and
there was little need of public or private charity.
The home was frequently a school of moral and religious education.
Selfishness in all its forms was discountenanced. There was no room for the
idler, no time for laziness. Social hygiene and domestic science were not

taught as such, but young people learned their responsibilities and grew up
equipped to establish homes of their own. Parents were faithful instructors
in the homely virtues of truthfulness, honesty, faithfulness, kindness, and
love. Religion in the family was by no means universal, but in hundreds of
homes religion was recognized as having legitimate demands upon the
individual; religious exercises were observed at the mother's knee, the table,
and the family altar; all the family attended church together, and were
expected to take upon themselves the responsibilities of church
membership.
45. Gains and Losses.—In the making of a modern home there have
been both addition and subtraction. Life has gained immeasurably in
comfort and convenience for the well-to-do, but the comfortless quarters of
the poor drive the man to the saloon and the child to the streets. For the
fortunate the home has become enriched with music, art, and literature, but
it has lost much of the earlier simplicity, economic thrift, moral sturdiness,
and religious principle and practice. For the poor life is so hard that the
good qualities, if they ever existed, have tended to disappear without any
compensation in culture.
It is well understood that the home environment has most to do with
shaping individual character. If the homely virtues are not cultivated there,
society will suffer; if cold and cheerlessness are characteristic of its
atmosphere, there will be little warmth in the disposition of its inmates
toward society. Every home of the right sort is an asset to the community. It
is an experiment station for social progress. Every married couple that sets
up housekeeping starts a new centre of group life. If they diffuse a helpful
atmosphere social virtues will develop and social efficiency increase. On
the other hand, many homes are a menace to the community, because an ill-
mated pair, poorly equipped for the struggle of existence, create a centre of
group life in which the individual is handicapped physically and morally
and too often becomes a curse to society at large. When it is remembered
that the home is at the same time the power-house that generates the forces
that push society forward, and the channel through which are transmitted
the ideas and achievements of all the past, it will seem to be the supremely
important institution that human experience has devised and sanctioned.
46. The Ideal Home.—The ideal home toward which the average home
will be gradually approximating will be housed in a well-built dwelling of

approved architecture; erected in a healthy location with room enough
around it to give air space, and a bit of out-of-doors to enjoy; tastefully
furnished and decorated inside, but without ostentation or extravagance;
occupied by a healthy, happy family of parents and children who care more
for each other and for their neighbors than for selfish pleasure and display,
and who are learning how to play a worthy part in the folk life of their
community and nation, and how to appreciate the highest and finest
qualities that mind and spirit can develop in themselves or others. If for
economic or social reasons any of this is impossible, there is a weakness in
society that calls for prompt repair.

READING REFERENCES

rr: First Steps in Human Progress, pages 149-158.

opp: The Coming of the Friars, pages 87-104.

lette: Constructive Rural Sociology, pages 170-178.

ney: Country Life and the Country School, pages 18-38.

hards: "The Farm Home," art. in Cyclopedia of Agriculture, IV, pages 280-
284.

CHAPTER VIToC

CHILDREN IN THE HOME

47. Children Complete the Home.—If the legend of the Pied Piper of
Hameln should come true and all the children should run away from home,
or if by some strange stroke of fortune no children should be born in a
village or town for ten years or more, the tragedy of the childless home
would be realized. There are localities and even nations where the birth-rate
is so small that population is little more than stationary. In the United States
the native birth-rate tends to decline, while the rate of immigrant foreigners
greatly exceeds it. The higher the degree of comfort and luxury in the home
the smaller the birth-rate seems to be a principle of social experience. There
are selfish people who shirk the responsibilities and troubles of parenthood,
and there are social diseases that tend to sterility, but the childless home is
always an incomplete home. Children are the crown of marriage, the
enrichment of the home, the hope of society in the future. The needs of the
children stimulate parents to unselfish endeavor. Children are the comfort of
the poor and distressed. The wedded life of a human pair may be ideal in
every other respect, but one of the main functions of marriage is
unaccomplished when the family remains incomplete.
48. The Right to be Well-Born.—The child comes into the home in
obedience to the same primary instinct that draws the parents to each other.
He calls out the affections of the parents and their intellectual resources, for
he is dependent upon them, and often taxes their best judgment in coping
with the difficulties that beset child life. But they often fail to realize that
the child has certain inalienable rights as an individual and a potential
member of society that demand their best gifts.
There is first the right to be well-born. There is so much to contend with
when once ushered into the world, that a child needs the best possible
bodily inheritance. He needs to be rid of every encumbrance of physical
unfitness if he is to live long and become a blessing and not a burden to
society. Handicapped at the start, he cannot hope to achieve a high level of
attainment. It is little short of criminal for a child to be condemned to
lifelong weakness or suffering, because his parents were not fit to give him
birth. Yet large numbers of parents make the thought of child welfare
subordinate to their own desires. A man's primary concern in choosing a
wife is his own personal satisfaction, not the birth and mothering of his
children. Many young women regard the attractiveness, social position, or
wealth of a young man as of greater consequence than his physical or moral

fitness to become the father of her children. There are thousands of persons
who are mentally deficient or unmoral, who nevertheless are unrestrained
by society from association and even marriage. It is a social misfortune that
the unfit should be taken care of by the tender mercies of philanthropists
and even permitted to propagate their kind, while no special encouragement
is given to those who are supremely fit to give their best to the upbuilding
of the race. The principle of brotherly kindness requires that the weak and
unfortunate be taken care of, but they should not be permitted to increase. It
is a principle of social welfare that those who are incapable of exercising
self-control should be placed under the control of the larger group.
49. Eugenics in Legislation.—It is the conviction that the right to be
well-born is a valid one, that has given rise to the science of eugenics. As a
science it was first discussed by Francis Gallon, and it has interested
writers, investigators, and legislators in all progressive countries. Various
specific proposals have been made in the interest of posterity, and agitation
has resulted in certain experiments in legislation. It is not proposed that any
should be required to marry, but it is thought possible to encourage the well
qualified and to discourage and restrain the incapable. Some of these
proposals, such as the offering of a premium by the State for healthy
children, or endowing mothers as public functionaries, are not widely
approved, but Great Britain in a National Insurance Act in 1911 included
the provision of maternity benefits in recognition of the mother's
contribution to the citizenship of the nation. Restrictive laws have been
passed by certain of the States in America, which are eugenic experiments.
Feeble-mindedness, in so many ways a social evil, is readily reproduced,
and the weak-minded are easily controlled by the sex instinct. To prevent
this certain State legislatures have forbidden the marriage of any feeble-
minded or epileptic woman under the age of forty-five. It is well known that
insanity is a family trait, and that criminal insanity is liable to recur if those
who are afflicted are permitted to indulge in parenthood. Certain States
accordingly annul the marriage of insane persons. Venereal disease is easily
transmitted; there has been a beginning of legislation prohibiting persons
thus tainted to marry. It is well established that very many persons, while
not actually tainted with such diseases as tuberculosis and alcoholism, are
predisposed to yield to their attack. For this reason the scope of eugenic
legislation is likely to be extended. Some States have gone so far as to
sterilize the unfit, that they may not by any chance exercise the powers of

parenthood; it is urged in many quarters that clergymen require a medical
certificate of good health before sanctioning marriage.
50. Family Degeneracy.—Several impressive illustrations have been
published of degenerate families that show the far-reaching effects of
heredity. In contrast to these pictures, has been set the life story of families
who have won renown in successive generations because of unusual ability.
Nothing so effective is presented by any argument as that of concrete cases.
Perhaps the best known of these stories is that of the Jukes family. About
the middle of the eighteenth century a normal man with a coarse, lazy vein
in his nature built himself a hut in the woods of central New York. In five
generations he had several hundred descendants. A study of twelve hundred
persons who belonged to the family by kinship or marriage was made
carefully, with the following findings. Nearly all of the family were lazy,
ignorant, and coarse. Four hundred were physically diseased by their own
fault. Two hundred were criminals; seven of them murderers. Fifty of the
women were notoriously immoral. Three hundred of the children died from
inherited weakness or neglect. More than three hundred members of the
family were chronic paupers. It is estimated that they cost the State a
thousand dollars apiece for pauperism and crime.
Another family called the Kallikak family, which has been made the
subject of investigation, is a still better example of heredity. The family was
descended from a Revolutionary soldier, who had an illegitimate feeble-
minded son by an imbecile young woman. The line continued by feeble-
minded descent and marriage until four hundred and eighty descendants
have been traced. Of these one hundred and forty-three were positively
defective, thirty-six were illegitimate, thirty-three sexually immoral, mostly
prostitutes, eight kept houses of ill repute, three were criminal, twenty-four
were confirmed drunkards, and eighty-two died in infancy.
On the other hand, there are striking examples of what good birth and
breeding can do. It happened that the ancestor of the Kallikak family, after
he had sown his wild oats, married well and had about five hundred
descendants. All of them were normal, only two were alcoholic, and one
sexually loose. The family has been prominent socially and in every way
creditable in its history. In contrast to the Jukes family, the history of the
Edwards family has been written. Its members married well, were well-
bred, and gave much attention to education. Out of fourteen hundred

individuals more than one hundred and twenty were Yale graduates, and one
hundred and sixty-five more completed their education at other colleges;
thirteen were college presidents, and more than a hundred college
professors; they were founders of schools of all grades; more than one
hundred were clergymen, missionaries, and theological professors; seventy-
five were officers in the army and navy; more than eighty have been elected
to public office; more than one hundred were lawyers, thirty judges, sixty
physicians, and sixty prominent in literature. Not a few of them have been
active in philanthropy, and many have been successful in business. It is
impossible to escape from the conviction that whatever may be the physical
and social environment, heredity perpetuates physical and mental worth or
defectiveness and tends to produce social good or evil, and that the right to
a worthy parentage belongs with the other rights to which individuals lay
claim. It is as important as the right to a living, to an education, to a good
home, or to the franchise. Without it society is incalculably poorer and the
ultimate effects of failure are startling to consider.
51. Marriage and Education.—Some enthusiasts have demanded that to
make sure of a good bodily inheritance, individuals be permitted to produce
children without the trammels of marriage if they are well fitted for
parenthood, but such persons seem ignorant or forgetful that free love has
never proved otherwise than disastrous in the history of the race, and that
physical perfection is not the sole good with which the child needs to be
endowed, but that it must be supplemented with moral, mental, and spiritual
endowment, and with the permanent affection and care of both parents in
the home. Galton himself acknowledges marriage as a prerequisite in
eugenics by saying: "Marriage, as now sanctified by religion and
safeguarded by law in the more highly civilized nations, may not be ideally
perfect, nor may it be universally accepted in future times, but it is the best
that has hitherto been devised for the parties primarily concerned, for their
children, for home life, and for society."
The greatest hope of eugenics lies in social education. Sex hygiene must
in some way become a part of the child's stock of information, but
knowledge alone does not fortify action. More important is it to deal with
the springs of action, to teach the equal standard of purity for men and
women, and the moral responsibility of parenthood to adolescent youth, and
at the same time to impress upon the whole community its responsibility of

oversight of morals for the good of the next generation. Conviction of
personal and social responsibility as superior to individual preferences is
the only safety of society in all its relations, from eugenics through
economics to ethics and religion.
52. Euthenics.—Euthenics is the science of controlled environment, as
eugenics is the science of controlled heredity. The health and good fortune
of the child depend on his surroundings as well as on his inheritance, and
the gift of a perfect physique may be vitiated by an unwholesome
environment. Environment acts directly upon the physical system of the
individual through climate, home conditions, and occupation; it acts
indirectly by affecting the personal desires, idiosyncrasies, and possible
conduct. When the child of an early settler was carried away from home on
an Indian raid, and brought up in the wigwam of the savage, he forgot his
civilized heritage, and love for his foster-parents sometimes proved stronger
than his natural affections. The child of the Russian Jew in Europe has little
ambition and rises to no high level, but in America he gains distinction in
school and success in business. A natural environment of forest or plain
may determine the occupation of a whole community; a fickle climate
vitally affects its prosperity. Whole races have entered upon a new future by
migration.
It is necessary to be cautious and not to ascribe to environment, as some
do, the sole influence. Every individual is the creature of heredity plus
environment plus his own will. But it is not possible to overlook
environment as some do, and expect by a miracle to make or preserve
character in the midst of conditions of spiritual asphyxiation. If social life is
to be pure and strong, communities and families, through the official care of
overseers of health and industry and through the loving care of parents in
the homes, must see that children grow up with the advantages of
nourishing food, pure air, proper clothing, and means for cleanliness; that at
the proper age they be given mental and moral instruction and fitted for a
worthy vocation; that wholesome social relations be established by means
of playgrounds, clubs, and societies; that industrial conditions be properly
supervised, and young people be able to earn not alone a living but a
marriageable wage; and that some means of social insurance be provided
sufficient to prevent suffering and want in sickness and old age. In such an
environment there is opportunity to realize the value that will accrue from a

good inheritance, and there is incentive to make the most of life's
possibilities as they come and go.
Ever since the importance of environment was made plain in the
nineteenth century, social physicians have been trying all sorts of
experiments in community therapeutics. Many of the remedies will be
discussed in various connections. It is enough to remark here that social
education, social regulation, and social idealism are all necessary, and that a
social Utopia cannot be obtained in a day.
53. The Right to Proper Care.—Granted the right of the child to be
well-born and the right to a favorable environment, there follows the right
to be taken care of. This may be involved in the subject of a proper
environment, but it deserves consideration by itself. There is more danger to
the race from neglect than from race suicide. It is better that a child should
not be born at all, than that he should be condemned to the hard knocks of a
loveless home or a callous neighborhood. There is first the case of the child
born out of wedlock, often a foundling with parentage unacknowledged.
Then there is the child who is legitimately born as far as the law is
concerned, but whose parents had no legitimate right to bring him into the
world, because they had no reasonable expectation that they could provide
properly for his wants. The wretched pauper recks nothing of the future of
his offspring. Since the family group can never remain independent of the
community, it may well be debated whether society is not under obligation
to interfere and either by prohibition of excessive parenthood or by social
provision for the care of such children, to secure to the young this right of
proper care.
Cruelty is a twin evil of neglect. The history of childhood deserves
careful study side by side with the history of womanhood. In primitive
times not even the right to existence was recognized. Abortion and
infanticide, especially in the case of females, were practices used at will to
dispose of unwelcome children, and these practices persisted among the
backward peoples of Asia and Africa, until they were compelled to
recognize the law of the white master when he extended his dominion over
them. In the patriarchal household of classic lands, the child was under the
absolute control of his father. Religious regulations might demand that he
be instructed in the history and obligations of the race, as in the case of the
Hebrew child, or the interests of the state might require physical training for

its own defense, as in the case of Sparta, but there was no consideration of
child rights in the home. Until the eighteenth century European children
shared the hardships of poverty and discomfort common to the age, and
often the cruelty of brutal and degraded parents; they were often
condemned to long hours of industry in factories after the new industrial
order caught them in its toils. In the mine and the mill and on the farm
children have been bound down to labor for long and weary hours, until
modern legislation has interfered.
There are a number of reasons why child labor has been common.
Hereditary custom has decreed it. Children have been looked upon by many
races as a care and a burden rather than a responsibility and a blessing.
Their economic value was their one claim to be regarded as a family asset.
Even the religious teaching of Jews and Christians about the value and
responsibility of children has not been influential enough to compel a
recognition of their worth, though their innocence and purity, their faith and
optimism are qualities indispensable to the race of mankind if social
relations are to approach the ideal.
54. The Value of Work.—Labor is a social blessing rather than a curse.
There can be no doubt that habits of industry are desirable for the child as
well as for the adult. Idleness is the forerunner of ignorance, laziness, and
general incapacity. It is no kindness to a child to permit him to spend all his
time out of school in play. It gives him skill, a new respect for labor, and a
new conception of the value of money, if he has a paper route, mows a
lawn, shovels snow, or hoes potatoes. Especially is it desirable that a boy
should have some sort of an occupation for a few hours a day during the
long summer vacation. The child on the farm has no lack of opportunity, but
for the boy of the city streets there is little that is practicable, outside of
selling papers or serving as messenger boy or bootblack; for the girl there is
little but housework or department-store service. Both need steady
employment out of doors, and he who devises a method by which boys and
girls can be taught such an occupation as gardening on vacant lots or in the
city outskirts, and at the same time can be given a love for work and for the
growing things of the country, will help to solve the problem of child labor
and, incidentally, may contribute to the solution of poverty, incipient crime,
and even of the rural problem and the high cost of living.

READING REFERENCES

anquet: The Family, pages 299-314.

ddard: The Kallikak Family.

mes: Principles of Eugenics.

eeby: Parenthood and Race Culture, pages 213-236.

Keever: Farm Boys and Girls, pages 171-196.
ton: Inquiries into Human Faculty.

CHAPTER VIIToC

WORK, PLAY AND EDUCATION.

55. Child Labor and Its Effects.—Excessive child labor away from
home is one of the evils that has called for reform more than the lack of
employment. The child has a right to the home life. It is injurious for him to
be kept at a monotonous task under physical or mental strain for long hours
in a manufacturing establishment, or to be deprived of time to study and to
play. Yet there are nearly two million children in the United States under
sixteen years of age who are denied the rights of childhood through
excessive labor.
This evil began with the adoption of the factory system in modern
industry. The introduction of light machinery into the textile mills of
England made it possible to employ children at low wages, and it was
profitable for the keepers of almshouses to apprentice pauper children to the

manufacturers. Some of them were not more than five or six years old, but
were kept in bondage more than twelve hours a day. Children were
compelled to hard labor in the coal-mines, and to the dirty work of chimney
sweeping. In the United States factory labor for children did not begin so
soon, but by 1880 children eight years old were being employed in
Massachusetts for more than twelve hours a day, and in parts of the country
children are still employed at long hours in such occupations as the
manufacture of cotton, glass, silk, and candy, in coal-mines and canning
factories. Besides these are the newsboys, bootblacks, and messengers of
the cities, children in domestic and personal service, and the child laborers
on the farms.
The causes of child labor lie in the poverty and greed of parents, the
demands of employers, and often the desire of the children to escape from
school and earn money. In spite of agitation and legislation, the indifference
of the public permits it to continue and in some sections to increase.
The harmful effects of child employment are numerous. It is true that
two-thirds of the boys and nearly one-half of the girls employed in the
United States are occupied with agriculture, most of them with their own
parents, an occupation that is much healthier than indoor labor, yet
agriculture demands long hours and wearisome toil. In the cities there is
much night-work and employment in dangerous or unhealthy occupations.
The sweating system has carried its bad effects into the homes of the very
poor, for the younger members of the family can help to manufacture
clothing, paper boxes, embroidery, and artificial flowers, and in spite of the
law, such labor goes on far into the night in congested, ill-ventilated
tenements. Children cannot work in this way day after day for long hours
without serious physical deterioration. Some of them drop by the way and
die as victims of an economic system and the social neglect that permits it.
Others lose the opportunity of an education, and so are mentally less trained
than the normal American child, and ultimately prove less efficient as
industrial units. For the time they may add to the family income, but they
react upon adult labor by lowering the wage of the head of the family, and
they make it impossible for the child when grown to earn a high wage,
because of inefficiency. The associations and influences of the street are
morally degrading, and in the associations of the workroom and the factory
yard the whole tone of the life of individuals is frequently lowered.

56. Child-Labor Legislation.—Friends of the children have tried to stop
abuses. Trade-unions, consumers' leagues, and State bureaus have taken the
initiative. Voluntary organizations, like the National Child Labor
Committee, make the regulation of child labor their special object. They
have succeeded in the establishment of a Federal Children's Bureau in
Washington, and have encouraged State and national legislation. Most of
the States forbid the employment of children under a certain age, usually
twelve or fourteen years, and require attention to healthful conditions and
moderate hours. They insist also that children shall not be deprived of
education, but there is often inadequate provision made for inspection and
proper enforcement of laws.
The friends of the children are desirous of a uniform child-labor law
which, if adopted and enforced by competent inspectors, would prevent
factory work for all under fourteen years of age, and for weak children
under sixteen would prescribe a limited number of hours and allow no
night-work, would require certain certificates of age and health before
employment is given, and would compel school attendance and the
attainment of a limited education before permission is granted to go into the
factory. Without doubt, it is a hardship to families in poverty that strong,
growing children should not be permitted to go to work and help support
those in need, but it is better for the social body to take care of its weak
members in some other way, and for its own sake, as well as for the sake of
the child, to make sure that he is physically and mentally equipped before
he takes a regular place in the ranks of the wage-earners.
57. The Right to Play.—The play group is the first social training-
ground for the child outside of the home, and it continues to be a desirable
form of association, even into adult life, but it is only in recent years that
adults have recognized the legitimacy of such a claim as the right to play. It
was thought desirable that a boy should work off his restlessness, but the
wood-pile provided the usual safety-valve for surplus energy. Play was a
waste of time. Now it is more clearly understood that play has a distinct
value. It is physically beneficial, expanding the lungs, strengthening muscle
and nerve, and giving poise and elasticity to the whole body. It is mentally
educational in developing qualities of quickness, skill, and leadership. It is
socially valuable, for it requires honesty, fair play, mutual consideration,
and self-control. Co-operation of effort is developed as well in team-play as

in team-work, and the child becomes accustomed to act with thought of the
group. The play group is a temporary form of association, varying in size
and content as the whim of the child or the attraction of the moment moves
its members. It is an example of primitive groupings swayed by instinctive
impulses. Children turn quickly from one game to another, but for the time
are absorbed in the particular play that is going on. No achievement results
from the activity, no organization from the association. The rapid shifting of
the scenes and the frequent disputes that arise indicate lack of control. Yet it
is out of such association that the social mind develops and organized action
becomes possible.
If these are the advantages of play, the right to play may properly demand
an opportunity for games and sports in the home and the yard, and the
necessary equipment of gymnasium and field. It may call for freedom from
the school and home occupations sufficient to give the recreative impulse
due scope. As its importance becomes universally recognized, there will be
no neighborhood, however congested, that lacks its playground for the
children, and no industry, however insistent, that will deprive the boy or girl
of its right to enjoy a certain part of every day for play.
58. The Right to Liberty.—The present tendency is to give large liberty
to the child. Not only is there freedom on the playground; but social control
in the home also has been giving place during the last generation to a
recognition of the right of the individual child to develop his own
personality in his own way, without much interference from authority. It is
true that there is a nominal control in the home, in the school, and in the
State, but in an increasing degree that control is held in abeyance while
parent, teacher, and constable leniently indulge the child. This is a natural
reaction from the discipline of an earlier time, and is a welcome indication
that children's rights are to find recognition. Like most reactions, there is
danger of its going too far. An inexperienced and headstrong child needs
wise counsel and occasional restraint, and within the limits of kindness is
helped rather than harmed by a deep respect for authority. Lawlessness is
one of the dangers of the current period. It appears in countless minor
misdemeanors, in the riotous acts of gangs and mobs, in the recklessness of
corporations and labor unions, and in national disregard for international
law; and its destructive tendency is disastrous for the future of civilized

society unless a new restraint from earliest childhood keeps liberty from
degenerating into license.
59. The Right to Learn.—There is one more right that belongs to
children—the right of an opportunity to learn. Approximately three million
children are born annually in the United States. Each one deserves to be
well-born and well-reared. He needs the affectionate care of parents who
will see that he learns how to live. This instruction need not be long
delayed, and should not be relegated altogether to the school. There is first
of all physical education. It is the mother's task to teach the child the
principles of health, to inculcate proper habits of eating, drinking, and
bathing. It is for her to see that he learns how to play with pleasure and
profit, and is permitted to give expression to his natural energies. It is her
privilege to make him acquainted with nature, and in a natural way with the
illustration of flower and bird and squirrel she can give the child first
lessons in sex hygiene. It is the function of the mother in the child's younger
years and of the father in adolescent boyhood to open the mind of the child
to understand the life processes. The lack of knowledge brings sorrow and
sin to the family and injures society. Seeking information elsewhere, the
boy and girl fall into bad habits and lay the foundation of permanent ills.
The adolescent boy should be taught to avoid self-abuse, to practise
healthful habits, and to keep from contact with physical and moral impurity;
the adolescent girl should be given ample instruction in taking care of
herself and in preparing for the responsibility of adult life.
60. Mental and Moral Education.—Mental education in the home is no
less important. It is there that the child's instinctive impulses first find
expression and he learns to imitate the words and actions of other members
of the home. The things he sees and handles make their impressions upon
him. He feels and thinks and wills a thousand times a day. The channels of
habit are being grooved in the brain. It is the function of the home to protect
him from that which is evil, to stimulate in him that which is good. Mental
and moral education are inseparably interwoven. The first stories told by the
mother's lips not only produce answering thoughts in the child mind, but
answering modes of conduct also. The chief function of the intellect is to
guide to right choice.
Character building is the supreme object of life. It begins early. Learning
to obey the parent is the first step toward self-control. Learning to know the

beautiful from the ugly, the true from the false, the good from the evil is the
foundation of a whole system of ethics. Learning to judge others according
to character and attainment rather than according to wealth or social
position cultivates the naturally democratic spirit of the child, and makes
him a true American. Sharing in the responsibility of the home begets self-
reliance and dependableness in later life.
The supreme lesson of life is to learn to be unselfish. The child in the
home is often obliged to yield his own wishes, and finds that he gets greater
satisfaction than if he had contended successfully for his own claims. In the
home the compelling motive of his life may be consecrated to the highest
ideals, long before childhood has merged into manhood. Such consecration
of motive is best secured through a knowledge of the concrete lives of noble
men and women. The noble characters of history and literature are portraits
of abstract excellences. It is the task of moral education in the home to
make the ideal actual in life, to show that it is possible and worth while to
be noble-minded, and that the highest ambition that a person can cherish is
to be a social builder among his fellows.
61. Child Dependents.—Many children are not given the rights that
belong to them in the home. They come into the world sickly or crippled,
inheriting a weak constitution or a tendency toward that which is ill. They
have little help from environment. One of a numerous family on a
dilapidated farm or in an unhealthy tenement, the child struggles for an
existence. Poverty, drunkenness, crime, illegitimacy stamp themselves upon
the home life. Neglect and cruelty take the place of care and education. The
death of one or both parents robs the children of home altogether. The child
becomes dependent on society. The number of such children in the United
States approximates one hundred and fifty thousand.
In the absence of proper home care and training, society for its own
protection and for the welfare of the child must assume charge. The State
becomes a foster-parent, and as far as possible provides a substitute for the
home. The earlier method was to place the individual child, with many
other similar unfortunates, in a public or private philanthropic institution. In
such an environment it was possible to maintain discipline, to secure
instruction and a wholesome atmosphere for social development, and to
have the advantage of economical management. But experience proved that
a large institution of that kind can never be a true home or provide the

proper opportunity for the development of individuality. The placing-out
system, therefore, grew in favor. Results were better when a child was
adopted into a real home, and received a measure of family affection and
individual care. Even where a public institution must continue to care for
dependent children, it is plainly preferable to distribute them in cottages
instead of herding them in one large building. The principle of child relief is
that life shall be made as nearly normal as possible.
It is an accepted principle, also, that children shall be kept in their own
home whenever possible, and if removal is necessary that they be restored
to home associations at the earliest possible moment. In case of poverty, a
charity organization society will help a needy family rather than allow it to
disintegrate; in case of cruelty or neglect such an organization as the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children will investigate, and if
necessary find a better guardian; but the case must be an aggravated one
before the society takes that last step, so important does the function of the
home seem to be.
62. Special Institutions.—It is, of course, inevitable that some children
should be misplaced and that some should be neglected by the civil
authorities, but public interest should not allow such conditions to persist.
Social sensitiveness to the hard lot of the child is a product of the modern
conscience. Time was when the State remanded all chronic dependents to
the doubtful care of the almshouse, and children were herded
indiscriminately with their elders, as child delinquents were herded in the
prisons with hardened criminals. Idiots, epileptics, and deformed and
crippled children were given no special consideration. A kindlier public
policy has provided special institutions for those special cases where under
State officials they may receive adequate and permanent attention, and for
normal dependent children there is a variety of agencies. The most
approved form is the State school. This is virtually a temporary home where
the needy child is placed by investigation and order of the court, is given a
training in elementary subjects, manual arts, and domestic science, and after
three or four years is placed in a home, preferably on a farm, where he can
fill a worthy place in society.
63. Children's Aid Societies.—Another aid society is the private aid
society supervised and sometimes subsidized by the State. This is a
philanthropic organization supported by private gifts, making public

reports, managed by a board of directors, with a secretary or superintendent
as executive officer, and often with a temporary home for the homeless.
With these private agencies the placing-out principle obtains, and children
are soon removed to permanent homes. The work of the aid societies is by
no means confined to finding homes. It aids parents to find truant children,
it gives outings in the summer season, it shelters homeless mothers with
their children, it administers aid in time of sickness. In industrial schools it
teaches children to help themselves by training them in such practical arts
as carpentry, caning chairs, printing, cooking, dressmaking, and millinery.
Efficient oversight and management, together with co-operation among
child-saving agencies, is a present need. A national welfare bureau is a
decided step in advance. Prevention of neglect and cruelty in the homes of
the children themselves is the immediate goal of all constructive effort. The
education of public opinion to demand universal consideration for child life
is the ultimate aim.

READING REFERENCES

ngold: Problems of Child Welfare, pages 166-184, 271-341.

pper: Child Labor in the City Street.

Keever: Training the Boy, pages 203-213.
Keever: Farm Boys and Girls, pages 26-36.
Constructive and Preventive Philanthropy, pages 123-184.
ks: Care of Destitute and Neglected Children.

CHAPTER VIIIToC

HOME ECONOMICS

64. The Economic Function of the Home.—Up to this point the
domestic function of the family has been under consideration. Marriage and
parenthood must hold first place, because they are fundamental to the
family and to the welfare of the race. But the family has an economic as
well as a domestic function. The primitive instinct of hunger finds
satisfaction in the home, and economic needs are supplied in clothing,
shelter, and bodily comforts. Production, distribution, and consumption are
all a part of the life of the farm. Domestic economy is the foundation of all
economics, and the family on the farm presents the fundamental principles
and phenomena that belong to the science of economics as it presents the

fundamentals of sociology. The hunger for food demands satisfaction even
more insistently than the mating instinct. Birds must eat while they woo
each other and build their nests, and when the nest is full of helpless young
both parents find their time occupied in foraging for food. Similarly, when
human mating is over and the family hearth is built, and especially when
children have entered into the home life, the main occupation of man and
wife is to provide maintenance for the family. The need of food, clothing,
and shelter is common to the race. The requirements of the family
determine largely both the amount and the kind of work that is done to meet
them. However broad and elevated may be the interests of the modern
gentleman and his cultured wife, they cannot forget that the physical needs
of their family are as insistent as those of the unrefined day laborer.
65. Primitive Economics.—In primitive times the family provided
everything for itself. In forest and field man and woman foraged for food,
cooked it at the camp-fire that they made, and rested under a temporary
shelter. If they required clothing they robbed the wild beasts of their hide
and fur or wove an apron of vegetable fibre. Physical wants were few and
required comparatively little labor. In the pastoral stage the flocks and herds
provided food and clothing. Under the patriarchal system the woman was
the economic slave. She was goatherd and milkmaid, fire-tender and cook,
tailor and tent-maker. It was she who coaxed the grains to grow in the first
cultivated field, and experimented with the first kitchen garden. She was the
dependable field-hand for the sowing and reaping, when agriculture became
the principal means of subsistence. But woman's position has steadily
improved. She is no longer the slave but the helper. The peasant woman of
Europe still works in the fields, but American women long ago confined
themselves to indoor tasks, except in the gathering of special crops like
cotton and cranberries. Home economics have taught the advantage of
division of labor and co-operation.
66. Division of Labor.—Because of greater fitness for the heavy labor of
the field and barn, the man and his sons naturally became the agriculturists
and stock-breeders as civilization improved. It was man's function to
produce the raw material for home manufacture. He ploughed and fertilized
the soil, planted the various seeds, cultivated the growing crops, and
gathered in the harvest. It was his task to perform the rougher part of
preparing the raw material for use. He threshed the wheat and barley on the

threshing-floor and ground the corn at the mill, and then turned over the
product to his wife. He bred animals for dairy or market, milked his cows,
sheared his sheep, and butchered his hogs and beeves; it was her task to turn
then to the household's use. She learned how to take the wheat and corn, the
beef and pork, and to prepare healthful and appetizing meals for the
household; she practised making butter and cheese for home use and
exchange. She took the flax and wool and spun and wove them into cloth,
and with her needle fashioned garments for every member of the household
and furnishings for the common home. She kept clean and tidy the home
and its manufacturing tools.
When field labor was slack the man improved the opportunity to fashion
the plough and the horseshoe at the forge, to build the boat or the cart in the
shop, to hew store or cut timber for building or firewood, to erect a mill for
sawing lumber or grinding grain. Similarly the woman used her spare time
in knitting and mending, and if time and strength permitted added to her
duties the care of the poultry-house.
67. The Servant of the Household.—Long before civilization had
advanced the household included servants. When wars broke out the victor
found himself possessed of human spoil. With passion unrestrained, he
killed the man or woman who had come under his power, but when reason
had a chance to modify emotion he decided that it was more sensible to
save his captives alive and to work them as his slaves. The men could
satisfy his economic interest, the women his sex desire. The men were
useful in the field, the women in the house. Ancient material prosperity was
built on the slave system of industry. The remarkable culture of Athens was
possible because the citizens, free from the necessity of labor, enjoyed
ample leisure. Lords and ladies could live in their mediæval castles and
practise chivalry with each other, because peasants slaved for them in the
fields without pay. Slowly the servant class improved its status. Slaves
became serfs and serfs became free peasants, but the relation of master and
servant based on mutual service lasted for many centuries.
The time came when it was profitable for both parties to deal on a money
basis, and the workman began to know the meaning of independence. The
actual relation of master and servant remained about the same, for the
workman was still dependent upon his employer. It took him a long time to
learn to think much for himself, and he did not know how to find

employment outside of the community or even the household where he had
grown up. In the growing democracy of England, and more fully in
America, the workman learned to negotiate for himself as a free man, and
even to become himself a freeholder of land.
68. Hired Labor on the Farm.—In the process of production in doors
and out it was impossible on a large farm for the independent farmer and his
wife to get on alone. There must be help in the cultivation of many acres
and in the care of cattle and sheep. There must be assistance in the home
when the birth and care of children brought an added burden to the
housewife. Later the growing boys and girls could have their chores and
thus add their contribution to the co-operative household, but for a time at
least success on the farm depended on the hired laborer. Husband and wife
became directors of industry as well as laborers themselves. In the busy
summer season it was necessary to employ one or more assistants in the
field, less often indoors, and the employee became for a time a member of
the family. Often a neighbor performed the function of farm assistant, and
as such stood on the same level as his employer; there was no servant class
or servant problem, except the occasional shortage of laborers. Young men
and women were glad of an opportunity to earn a little money and to save it
in anticipation of the time when they would set up farming in homes of
their own. The spirit and practice of co-operation dignified the employment
in which all were engaged.
69. Co-operation.—The control of the manufacturing industry on a large
scale by corporations makes hearty co-operation between the employing
group and the employees difficult, but on the farm the personal relations of
the persons engaged made it easy and natural. The art of working together
as well as living together was an achievement of the home, at first
beginning unconsciously, but later with a definite purpose. The practice of
co-operation is a continual object-lesson to the children, as they become
conscious of the mutual dependence of each and all. The farmer has no time
to do the small tasks, and so the boy must do the chores. There is a limit to
the strength of the mother, and so the daughter or housemaid must
supplement her labors. Without the grain and vegetables the housewife
cannot provide the meals, but the man is equally dependent upon the
woman for the preparation of the food. Without the care and industry of the
parents through the helpless years of childhood, the children could not win

in the struggle for existence. Nor is it merely an economic matter, but health
and happiness depend upon the mutual consideration and helpfulness of
every member of the household.
70. Economic Independence of the Farm.—Until well into the
nineteenth century the American farm household provided for most of its
own economic needs. A country store, helped out if necessary by an
occasional visit to town, supplied the few goods that were not produced at
home. Economic wants were simple and means of purchase were not
abundant. On the other hand, most of the products of the farm were
consumed there. In the prevailing extensive agriculture the returns per acre
were not great, methods of efficiency were not known or were given little
attention, families were large and children and farm-hands enjoyed good
appetites, and production and consumption tended to equalize themselves.
In the process of the home manufacture of clothing it was difficult to keep
the family provided with the necessary comforts; there was no thought of
laying by a surplus beyond the anticipated needs of the family and
provision for the wedding store of marriageable daughters.
The distribution of any accumulated surplus was effected by the simplest
mechanism of exchange. If the supply of young cattle was large or the
wood-lot furnished more firewood than was needed, the product was
bartered for seed corn or hay. There was swapping of horses by the men or
of fruit or vegetable preserves by the women. Eggs and butter disposed of at
the store helped to pay for sugar, salt, and spices. New incentives to larger
production came with the extension of markets. When wood and hay could
be shipped to a distance on the railroad, when a milk route in the
neighborhood or a milk-train to the city made dairy products more
profitable, or when market gardening became possible on an extensive
scale, better methods of distribution were provided to take care of the more
numerous products.
71. Social and Economic Changes in the Family.—The fundamental
principles that govern the economic activities of the family are the same as
they used to be. Industry, thrift, and co-operation are still the watchwords of
prosperity. But with the development of civilization and the improvements
in manufacture, communication, and transportation, the economic function
of the family has changed. Instead of producing all the crops that he may
need or the tools of his occupation, the farmer tends to produce the

particular crops that he can best cultivate and that will bring him the largest
returns. Because of increasing facilities of exchange he can sell his surplus
and purchase the goods that will satisfy his other needs. The farmer's wife
no longer spins and weaves the family's supply of clothing; the men buy
their supply at the store and often even she turns over the task of making up
her own gowns to the village dressmaker. Where there is a local creamery
she is relieved of the manufacture of butter and cheese, and the cannery lays
down its preserves at her door. Household manufacturing is confined almost
entirely to the preparation of food, with a varying amount of dressmaking
and millinery. In the towns and cities the needs of the family are even more
completely supplied from without. Children are relieved of all
responsibility, women's care are lightened by the stock of material in the
shops, and the bakery and restaurant help to supply the table. Family life
loses thereby much of its unity of effort and sympathy. The economic task
falls mainly upon the male producer. Even he lives on the land and in the
house of another man; he owns not the tools of his industry and does
business in another's name. He hires himself to a superior for wage or
salary, and thereby loses in a measure his own independence. But there is a
gain in social solidarity, for the chain of mutual dependence reached farther
and binds more firmly; there is gain in community co-operation, for each
family is no longer self-sufficient.

READING REFERENCES

anquet: The Family, pages 221-227, 324-333.

mas: Sex and Society, pages 123-146.

all and Vincent: Introduction to the Study of Society, pages 105-108.

son: Woman's Share in Primitive Culture.

eden: Economic and Social History of New England, I, pages 324-326.

CHAPTER IXToC

CHANGES IN THE FAMILY

72. Causes of Changes in the Family.—The family at the present time
is in a transition era. Its machinery is not working smoothly. Its
environment is undergoing transformation. A hundred years ago the family
was strictly rural; not more than three per cent of the people lived in large
communities. Now nearly one-half are classified as urban by the United
States census of 1910, and those who remain rural feel the influences of the
town. There is far less economic independence on the farm than formerly,
and in the towns and cities the home is little more than a place in which to
sleep and eat for an increasing number of workers, both men and women.
The family on the farm is no longer a perfectly representative type of the
family in the more populous centres.
These changes are due mainly to the requirements of industry, but partly
at least to the desire of all members of the family to share in urban life. The
increasing ease of communication and travel extends the mutual
acquaintance of city and country people and, as the city is brought nearer,
its pull upon the young people of the community strengthens. There is also
an increasing tendency of the women folk to enter the various departments
of industry outside of the home. It is increasingly difficult for one person to
satisfy the needs of a large family. This tends to send the family to the city,
where there are wider opportunities, and to drive women and children into
socialized industry; at the same time, it tends to restrict the number of
children in families that have high ideals for women and children. Family
life everywhere is becoming increasingly difficult, and at the same time
every member of the family is growing more independent in temper. The
result is the breaking up of a large number of homes, because of the
departure of the children, the separation of husband and wife, the desertion
of parents, or the legal divorce of married persons. The maintenance of the
family as a social institution is seriously threatened.

73. Static vs. Dynamic Factors.—There are factors entering into family
life that act as bonds to cement the individual members together. Such are
the material goods that they enjoy in common, like the home with its
comforts and the means of support upon which they all rely. In addition to
these there are psychical elements that enter into their relations and
strengthen these bonds. The inheritance of the peculiar traits, manners, and
customs that differentiate one family from another; the reputation of the
family name and pride in its influence; an affection, understanding, and
sympathy that come from the intimacy of the home life and the appreciation
of one another's best qualities are ties that do not easily rend or loosen.
On the other hand, there are centrifugal forces that are pushing the
members of the family apart. At the bottom is selfish desire, which frets at
restriction, and which is stimulated by the current emphasis upon personal
pleasure and individual independence. The family solidarity which made
the sons Democrats because their father voted that party ticket, or the
daughters Methodists because their mother's religious preferences were for
that denomination, has ceased to be effective. Every member of the family
has his daily occupations in diverse localities. The head of the household
may find his business duties in the city twenty miles away, or on the road
that leads him far afield across the continent. For long hours the children
are in school. The housewife is the only member of the family who remains
at home and her outside interests and occupations have multiplied so
rapidly as to make her, too, a comparative stranger to the home life. Modern
industrialism has laid its hand upon the women and children, and thousands
of them know the home only at morning and night.
74. The Strain on the Urban Family.—The rapid growth of cities, with
the increase of buildings for the joint occupancy of a number of families,
tends to disunity in each particular family and to a reduction in the size of
families. The privacy and sense of intimate seclusion of the detached home
is violated. The modern apartment-house has a common hall and stairway
for a dozen families and a common dining-room and kitchen on the model
of a hotel. The tenements are human incubators from which children
overflow upon the streets, boarders invade the privacy of the family
bedroom, and even sanitary conveniences are public. Home life is violated
in the tenement by the pressure of an unfavorable environment; it perishes

on the avenue because of a compelling desire to gain as much freedom as
possible from household care.
The care of a modern household grows in difficulty. Although the
housekeeper has been relieved of performing certain economic functions
that added to the burden of her grandmother, her responsibilities have been
complicated by a number of conditions that are peculiar to the modern life
of the town. Social custom demands of the upper classes a far more careful
observance of fashion in dress and household furnishings, and in the
exchange of social courtesies. The increasing cost of living due to these
circumstances, and to a constantly rising standard of living, reacts upon the
mind and nerves of the housewife with accelerating force. And not the least
of her difficulties is the growing seriousness of the servant problem.
Custom, social obligations, and nervous strain combine to make essential
the help of a servant in the home. But the American maid is too independent
and high-minded to make a household servant, and the American matron in
the main has not learned how to be a just and considerate mistress. The
result has been an influx of immigrant labor by servants who are untrained
and inefficient, yet soon learn to make successful demands upon the
employer for larger wages and more privileges because they are so essential
to the comfort and even the existence of the family. Family life is
increasingly at the mercy of the household employee. It is not strange that
many women prefer the comfort and relief of an apartment or hotel, that
many more hesitate to assume the responsibility of marriage and children,
preferring to undertake their own self-support, and that not a few seek
divorce.
75. Family Desertion.—While the burden of housekeeping rests upon
the wife, there are corresponding weights and annoyances that fall upon the
man. Business pressure and professional responsibility are wearying; he,
too, feels the strain upon his nerves. When he returns home at evening he is
easily disturbed by a worried wife, tired and fretful children, and the
unmistakable atmosphere of gloom and friction that permeates many
homes. He contrasts his unenviable position with the freedom and good-
fellowship of the club, and chafes under the family bonds. In many cases he
breaks them and sets himself free by way of the divorce court. The course
of men of the upper class is paralleled by that of the working man or idler
who meets similar conditions in a home where the servant does not enter,

but where there is a surplus of children. He finds frequent relief in the
saloon, and eventually escapes by deserting his family altogether, instead of
having recourse to the law. This practice of desertion, which is the poor
man's method of divorce, is one of the continual perplexities of organized
charity, and constitutes one of the serious problems of family life. There are
gradations in the practice of desertion, and it is not confined to men. The
social butterfly who neglects her children to flutter here and there is a
temporary deserter, little less culpable than the lazy husband who has an
attack of wanderlust before the birth of each child, and who returns to enjoy
the comforts of home as soon as his wife is again able to assume the
function of bread-winner for the growing family. From these it is but a step
to the mutual desertion of a man and a woman, who from incompatibility of
temper find it advisable to separate and go their own selfish ways, to wait
until the law allows a final severance of the marriage bond.
It is indisputable that this breaking up of the home is reacting seriously
upon the moral character of the present generation; there is a carelessness in
assuming the responsibility of marriage, and too much shirking of
responsibility when the burden weighs heavily. There is a weakening of real
affection and a consequent lack of mutual forbearance; there is an
increasing feeling that marriage is a lottery and not worth while unless it
promises increased satisfaction of sexual, economic, or social desires and
ambitions.
76. Feminism.—There can be no question that the growing
independence of woman has complicated the family situation. In reaction
against the long subjection that has fallen to her lot, the modern woman in
many cases rebels against the control of custom and the expectations of
society, refuses to regard herself as strictly a home-keeper, and in some
cases is unwilling to become a mother. She seeks wider associations and a
larger range of activities outside of the home, she demands the same rights
and privileges that belong to man, and she dreams of the day when her
power as well as her influence will help to mould social institutions. The
feminist movement is in the large a wholesome reaction against an
undeserved subserviency to the masculine will. Undoubtedly it contains
great social potencies. It deserves kindly reception in the struggle to reform
and reconstruct society where society is weak.

The present situation deserves not abuse, but the most careful
consideration from every man. In countless cases woman has not only been
repressed from activities outside of the family group, but has been
oppressed in her own home also. America prides itself on its consideration
for woman in comparison with the general European attitude toward her,
but too often chivalry is not exercised in the home. Often the wife has been
a slave in the household where she should have been queen. She has been
subject to the passion of an hour and the whim of a moment. She has been
servant rather than helpmeet. Upon her have fallen the reproaches of the
unbridled temper of other members of the family; upon her have rested the
burdens that others have shirked. Husband and children have been free to
find diversion elsewhere; family responsibilities or broken health have
confined her at home. Her husband might even find sex satisfaction away
from home, but public opinion would be more lenient with him than with
her if she offended. The time has come when it is right that these
inequalities and injustices should cease. Society owes to woman not only
her right to her own person and property, but the right to bear, also, her fair
share of social responsibility in this modern world.
Yet in the process of coming to her own, there is danger that the wife will
forget that marriage is the most precious of human relations; that the home
has the first claim upon her; that motherhood is the greatest privilege to
which any woman, however socially gifted, can aspire; and that social
institutions of tried worth are not lightly to be cast upon the rubbish heap. It
is by no means certain that society can afford or that women ought to
demand individualistic rights that will put in jeopardy the welfare of the
remainder of the family. The average woman has not the strength to carry
properly the burden of home cares plus large political and social
responsibilities, nor has she the money to employ in the home all the
modern improvements of labor-saving devices and skilled service that
might in a measure take her place. Nor is it at all certain that the granting of
individual rights to women would tend to purify sex relations, but it is quite
conceivable that the old moral and religious sanctions of marriage may
disappear and the State assume the task of caring for all children. It is clear
that the rights and duties of women constitute a very serious part of the
problem of family life.

77. Individual Rights vs. Social Duties.—The greatest weakness to be
found in twentieth-century society is the disposition on the part of almost
all individuals to place personal rights ahead of social duties. The modern
spirit of individualism has grown strong since the Renaissance and the
Reformation. It has forced political changes until absolutism has been
yielding everywhere to democracy. It has extended social privileges until it
has become possible for any one with push and ability to make his way to
the top rung of the ladder of social prestige. It has permitted freedom to
profess and practise any religion, and to advocate the most bizarre ideas in
ethics and philosophy. It has brought human individuals to the place where
they feel that nothing may be permitted to stand between them and the
satisfaction of personal desire. The disciples of Nietzsche do not hesitate to
stand boldly for the principle that might makes right, that he who can crush
his competitors in the race for pleasure and profit has an indisputable claim
on whatever he can grasp, and that the principle of mutual consideration is
antiquated and ridiculous. Such principles and privileges may comport with
the elemental instincts and interests of unrestrained, primitive creatures, but
they do not harmonize with requirements of social solidarity and efficiency.
Social evolution in the past has come only as the struggle for individual
existence was modified by consideration for the needs of another, and social
welfare in the future can be realized only as men and women both are
willing to sacrifice age-long prejudice or momentary pleasure and profit to
the permanent good of the larger group.

READING REFERENCES

ley: Social Organization, pages 356-371.

ndt and Baldwin: Family Desertion.

ley: The Family in Its Sociological Aspects, pages 85-95, 109-118.

odsell: The Family as a Social and Educational Institution, pages 456-477.

ward: History of Matrimonial Institutions, III, pages 239-250.

CHAPTER XToC

DIVORCE

78. The Main Facts About Divorce.—An indication of the emphasis on
individual rights is furnished by the increase of divorce, especially in the
United States, where the demands of individualism and industrialism are
most insistent. The divorce record is the thermometer that measures the heat
of domestic friction. Statistics of marriage and divorce made by the
National Government in 1886 and again in 1906 make possible a
comparison of conditions which reveal a rapid increase in the number of
divorces granted by the courts. Certain outstanding facts are of great
importance.
(1) The number of divorces in twenty years increased from 23,000 to
72,000, which is three times the rate of increase of the population of the
country. If this rate of progress continues, more than half the marriages in
the United States will terminate in divorce by the end of the present century.
(2) In the first census it was discovered that the number of divorces in the
United States exceeded the total number of divorces in all the European
countries; in the second census it was shown that the United States had
increased its divorces three times, while Japan, with the largest divorce rate
in the world, had reduced its rate one-half.
(3) Divorces in the United States are least common among people of the
middle class; they are higher among native whites than among immigrants,
and they are highest in cities and among childless couples.
(4) Two-thirds of the divorces are granted on the demands of the wife.

(5) Divorce laws are very variable in the different States, but most
divorces are obtained from the States where the applicants reside.
79. Causes of Divorce.—The causes recorded in divorce cases do not
represent accurately the real causes, for the reason that it is easier to get an
uncontested decision when the charges are not severe, and also for the
reason that State laws vary and that which best fits the law will be put
forward as the principal cause. Divorce laws in the United States generally
recognize adultery, desertion, cruelty, drunkenness, lack of support, and
crime as legitimate grounds for divorce. In the five years from 1902 to 1906
desertion was given as the ground for divorce in thirty-eight per cent of the
cases, cruelty in twenty-three per cent, and adultery in fifteen per cent.
Intemperance was given as the direct cause in only four per cent, and
neglect approximately the same. The assignment of marital unfaithfulness
in less than one-sixth of the cases, as compared with one-fourth twenty
years before does not mean, however, that there is less unfaithfulness, but
that minor offenses are considered sufficient on which to base a claim; the
small percentage of charges of intemperance as the principal cause ought
not to obscure the fact that it was an indirect cause in one-fifth of the cases.
It is natural that the countries of Europe should present greater variety of
laws and of causes assigned. In England, where the law has insisted on
adultery as a necessary cause, divorces have been few. In Ireland, where the
church forbids it, divorce is rare, less than one to thirty-five marriages. In
Scotland fifty per cent of the cases reported are due to adultery. Cruelty was
the principal cause ascribed in France, Austria, and Rumania; desertion in
Russia and Sweden. The tendency abroad is to ascribe more rather than less
to adultery.
The real causes for divorce are more remote than the specific acts of
adultery, desertion, or cruelty that are mentioned as grounds for divorce.
The primary cause is undoubtedly the spirit of individual independence that
demands its rights at the expense of others. In the case of women there is
less hesitancy than formerly in seeking freedom from the marriage bond
because of the increasing opportunity of self-support. The changing
conditions of home life in the city, with the increasing cost of living,
coupled with the ease of divorce, encourage resort to the courts. The
unscrupulousness of some lawyers, who fatten their purses at the expense of
marital happiness, and the meddlesomeness of relatives are also

contributing causes. Finally the restraint of religion has relaxed, and
unhappy and ill-mated persons do not shrink from taking a step which was
formerly condemned by the church.
80. History of Divorce.—The history of divorce presents various
opinions and practices. The Hebrews had high ideals, but frequently fell
into lax practices; the Greeks began well but degenerated sadly to the point
where marriage was a mere matter of convenience; the Romans, noted for
their sterling qualities in the early days of the republic, practised divorce
without restraint in the later days of the empire.
The influence of Christianity was greatly to restrict divorce. The teaching
of the Bible was explicit that the basis of marriage was the faithful love of
the heart, and that impure desire was the essence of adultery. Illicit
intercourse was the only possible moral excuse for divorce. True to this
teaching, the Christian church tried hard to abolish divorce, as it attempted
to check all sexual evils, and the Catholic Church threw about marriage the
veil of sanctity by making it one of the seven sacraments. As a sacrament
wedlock was indissoluble, except as money or influence induced the church
to turn back the key which it alone possessed. Separation was allowed by
law, but not divorce. Greater stability was infused into the marriage
relation. Yet it is not possible to purify sex relations by tying tightly the
marriage bond. Unfaithfulness has been so common in Europe among the
higher classes that it occasioned little remark, until the social conscience
became sensitive in recent decades, and among the lower classes divorce
was often unnecessary, because so many unions took place without the
sanction of the church. In Protestant countries there has been a variable
recession from the extreme Catholic ground. The Episcopal Church in
England and in colonial America recognized only the one Biblical cause of
unfaithfulness; the more radical Protestants turned over the whole matter to
the state. In New England desertion and cruelty were accepted alongside
adultery as sufficient grounds for divorce, and the legislature sometimes
granted it by special enactment.
81. Investigation and Legislation in the United States and England.—
The divorce question provoked some discussion in this country about the
time of the Civil War, and some statistics were gathered. Twenty years later
the National Government was induced by the National Divorce Reform
League to take a careful census of marriage and divorce. This was

published in 1889, and revised and reissued in 1909. These reports aroused
the States which controlled the regulation of marriage and divorce to
attempt improved legislation. Almost universally among them divorce was
made more difficult instead of easier. The term of residence before divorce
could be obtained was lengthened; certain changes were made in the legal
grounds for divorce; in less than twenty years fourteen States limited the
privilege of divorced persons to remarry until after a specified time had
elapsed, varying from three months to two years. Congress passed a
uniform marriage law for all the territories. It was believed almost
universally that the Constitution should be amended so as to secure a
federal divorce law, but experience proved that it was better that individual
States should adopt a uniform law. The later tendency has been in this
direction.
At the same time, the churches of the country interested themselves in the
subject. The Protestant Episcopal Church took strong ground against its
ministers remarrying a divorced person, and the National Council of
Congregational Churches appointed a special committee which reported in
1907 in favor of strictness. Fourteen Protestant churches combined in an
Interchurch Committee to secure united action, and the Federal Council of
Churches recorded itself against the prevailing laxness. The purpose of all
this group action was to check abuses and to create a more sensitive public
opinion, especially among moral and religious leaders.
In Great Britain, on the other hand, divorce had always been difficult.
There the strictness of the law led to a demand for a study of the subject and
a report to Parliament. The result was the appointment of a Royal
Commission on Divorce and Matrimonial Causes, consisting of twelve
members, which investigated for three years, and in 1912 presented its
report. It recognized the fact that severe restrictions were in force, and a
majority of the commission regarding marriage as a legal rather than a
sacramental bond, favored easier divorce and a single standard of morality
for both sexes. It was proposed that the grounds for legal divorce should be
adultery, desertion extending over three years, cruelty, incurable insanity
after confinement for five years, habitual drunkenness found incurable after
three years, or imprisonment carrying with it a sentence of death. A
minority of the committee still regarding marriage as a sacrament, favored
no relaxation of the law as it stood.

82. Proposed Remedies.—Various remedies have been proposed to stem
the tide of excessive divorce. There are many who see in divorce nothing
more than a healthy symptom of individual independence, a revolt against
conditions of the home that are sometimes almost intolerable. Many others
are alarmed at the rapid increase of divorce, especially in the United States,
and believe that checks are necessary for the continued existence of the
family and the well-being of society. The first reform proposed as a means
of prevention of divorce is the revision of the marriage laws on a higher
model. The second is a stricter divorce law, made as uniform as possible.
The third is the adoption of measures of reconciliation which will remove
the causes that provoke divorce.
The proposed laws include such provisions as the prohibition of marriage
for those who are criminal, degenerate, or unfitted to perform the sex
function; the requirement of six months' publication of matrimonial banns
and a physical certificate before marriage; a strictly provisional decree of
divorce; the establishment of a court of domestic relations, and a
prohibition of remarriage of the defendant during the life of the plaintiff.
These are reasonable restrictions and seem likely to be adopted gradually, as
practicable improvements over the existing laws. It is also proposed that the
merits of every case shall be more carefully considered, and the judicial
procedure improved by the appointment of a divorce proctor in connection
with every court trying divorce cases, whose business it shall be to make
investigations and to assist in trying or settling specific cases. Experiment
has proved the value of such an officer.
83. Court of Domestic Relations.—One of the most significant
improvements that has taken place is the establishment of a court of
domestic relations, which already exists in several cities, and has made an
enviable record. In the early experiments it seemed practicable in Kansas to
make such a court a branch of the circuit and juvenile courts, so arranged
that it would be possible to deal with the relations of the whole family; in
Chicago the new tribunal was made a part of the municipal court. By means
of patient questioning, first by a woman assistant and then by the judge
himself, and by good advice and explicit directions as to conduct, with a
warning that failure would be severely treated, it has been possible to
unravel hundreds of domestic entanglements.

84. Tendencies.—There can be no question that the present tendency is
in the direction of greater freedom in the marriage relation. Society will not
continue to sanction inhumanity and immorality in the relations of man to
woman. Marriage is ideally a sacred relation, but when it is not so treated,
when love is dead and repulsion has taken its place, and especially when
physical contact brings disease and suffering, public opinion is likely to
consider that marriage is thereby virtually annulled, and to permit
ratification of the fact by a decree of divorce. On the other hand, it is
probable that increasing emphasis will be put on serious and well-prepared
marriage, on the inculcation of a spirit of mutual love and forbearance
through the agency of the church, and on the exhaustion of every effort to
restore right relations, if they have not been irreparably destroyed, before
any grant of divorce will be allowed. In this, as in all problems of the
family, the spirit of mutual consideration for the interests of all concerned is
that which must be invoked for a speedy and permanent solution. Education
of young people in the importance of the family as a social institution and
in the responsibility which every individual member should feel to make
and keep the family pure and strong as a bulwark of social stability, is the
surest means of preventing altogether its dissolution.

READING REFERENCES

port on Marriage and Divorce," 1906, Bureau of the Census, I, pages 272-
274, 331-333.
ports of the National League for the Protection of the Family."
t: Ethics of Marriage and Divorce, pages 62-84.

ley: The Family in Its Sociological Aspects, pages 96-108.

ward: History of Matrimonial Institutions, III, pages 3-160.

lcox: The Divorce Problem.

CHAPTER XIToC

THE SOCIAL EVIL

85. Sexual Impurity.—A prime factor in the breaking up of the home is
sexual impurity. The sex passion, an elemental instinct of humanity, is
sanctified by the marriage relation, but unbridled in those who seek above
all else their own pleasure, becomes a curse in body and soul. It is not
limited to either sex, but men have been more self-indulgent, and have been
treated more leniently than erring women. Sexual impurity is wide-spread,
but public opinion against it is steadily strengthening, and the tendency is to
hold men and women equally responsible. For the sake of clearness it is
advisable to distinguish between various forms of impurity, and to observe
the proper terms. The sexual evil appears in aggravated form in commercial
prostitution, but is more prevalent as an irregularity among non-
professionals. Sexual intercourse before marriage, or fornication, was not
infrequent in colonial days, and in Europe is startlingly common; very
frequently among the lower classes there is no marriage until a child is
born. Sexual infidelity after marriage, or adultery, is the cause of the ruin of
many homes. In the cities and among the well-to-do classes the keeping of
mistresses is an occasional practice, but it is far less common than was the
case in former days, when it was the regular custom at royal courts and
imitated by those lower in the social scale.
86. Prostitution.—Prostitution, softened in common speech to "the
social evil," is a term for promiscuity of sex relationship for pay or its
equivalent. It is a very old practice, and has existed in the East as a part of
religious worship in veneration of the power of generation. In the West it is
a frequent accompaniment of intemperance and crime. Modern prostitutes
are recruited almost entirely from the lower middle class, both in Europe
and America. Ignorant and helpless immigrant girls are seduced on the
journey, in the streets of American cities, and in the tenements. Domestic
servants and employees in factories and department stores seem to be most

subject to exploitation, but no class or employment is immune. A great
many girls, while still in their teens, have begun their destructive career.
They are peculiarly susceptible in the evening, after the strain of the day's
labor, when they are hunting for fun and excitement in theatres, dance-halls,
and moving-picture shows. In summer they are themselves hunted on
excursion steamers, and at the parks and recreation grounds. The seduction
and exploitation of young women has become a distinct occupation of
certain worthless young men, commonly known as cadets, who live upon
the earnings of the women they procure. Three-fourths of the prostitutes
have such men dependent on them, to whom they remain attached through
fear or need of pecuniary relief in case of arrest, or even through a species
of affection, though they receive nothing but abuse in return. Once secured,
the victim is not permitted to escape. Not many women enter the life of
prostitution from choice, but when they have once yielded to temptation or
force, they lose their self-respect and usually sink into hopeless
degradation, and then do not shrink from soliciting business within doors or
on the streets.
87. Promotion and Regulation of Vice.—The social evil is centred in
houses of ill fame managed by unprincipled women. The business is
financed and the profits enjoyed by men who constantly stimulate the trade
to make it more profitable. As a result of investigations in New York, it is
estimated that the number of prostitutes would be not more than one-fourth
of what it is were it not for the ruthless greed of these men. The houses are
usually located in the poorer parts of the city, but they are also to be found
scattered elsewhere. In cases where public opinion does not warrant rigid
enforcement of the law against it, the illicit traffic is disregarded by the
police, and often they are willing to share in the gains as the price of their
leniency. As a rule the business is kept under cover and not permitted to
flaunt itself on the streets. Definite segregation in a particular district has
been attempted, and has sometimes been favored as a means of checking
vice, but this means is not practised or favored after experiment has shown
its uselessness as a check upon the trade. Government regulation by a
system of license, with registration of prostitutes and regular though
superficial examination of health, is in vogue in parts of western and
southern Europe, but it is not favored by vice commissions that have
examined into its workings.

88. Extent of the Social Evil.—It is probable that estimates as to the
number of prostitutes in the great urban centres has been much exaggerated.
In the nature of the case it is very difficult to get accurate reports, but when
it is remembered that the number of men who frequent the resorts is not less
than fifteen times the number of women, and that in most cases the
proportion is larger, it is not difficult to conceive of the immense profits to
the exploiters, but also of the enormous economic waste, the widely
prevalent physical disease, and the untold misery of the women who sin,
and of the innocent women at home who are sinned against by those who
should be their protectors.
A "white-slave traffic" seems to have developed in recent years that has
not only increased the number of local prostitutes, but has united far-distant
urban centres. It is very difficult to prove an intercity trade, but
investigation has produced sufficient evidence to show that there is an
organized business of procuring victims and that they have been exported to
distant parts of the world, including South America, South Africa, and the
Far East.
89. The Causes.—The social evil has usually been blamed upon the
perversity of women and their pecuniary need, but investigation makes it
plain that the causes go deeper than that. The first cause is the ignorance of
girls who are permitted to grow up and go out into the world innocently,
unaware of the snares in which they are liable to become enmeshed. Added
to this ignorance is the lack of moral and religious training, so that there is
often no firm conviction of right and wrong, an evil which is intensified in
the city tenements by the conditions of congested population. A third grave
cause is the public neglect of persons of defective mentality and morality.
Women who are not capable of taking care of themselves are allowed full
liberty of conduct, and frequently fall victims to the seducer. An
investigation of cases in the New York Reformatory for Women at Bedford
in 1913 showed one-third very deficient mentally; the Massachusetts Vice
Commission in 1914 reported one-half to three-fourths of three hundred
cases to be of the same class. It seems clear that a large proportion of
prostitutes generally belong in this category. It has been estimated that there
are now (1915) as many defective women at large in Massachusetts as there
are in public institutions.

Poverty is an important factor in the extension of the sexual evil. It is
notorious that thousands of women workers are underpaid. In factories,
restaurants, and department stores they frequently receive wages much less
than the eight dollars a week required by women to maintain themselves, if
dependent on their own resources. The American woman's pride in a good
appearance, the natural human love of ease, luxury, and excitement, the
craving for relaxation and thrill, after the exacting labor of a long day, all
contribute to the welcome of an opportunity for an indulgence that brings
money in return. The agency of the dance-hall and the saloon has also an
important place in the downfall of the tempted. Intemperance and
prostitution go together, and places where they can be enjoyed are factories
of vice and crime. Many so-called hotels with bar attachment are little more
than houses of evil resort. Especially notorious for a time were the Raines
Law hotels in New York City, designed to check intemperance, but proving
nurseries of prostitution. Commercial profit is large from both kinds of
traffic, and one stimulates the other.
Among minor causes of the social evil is the postponement or
abandonment of marriage by many young people, the celibate life imposed
upon students and soldiers, the declaration of some physicians that
continence is injurious, and lax opinion, especially in Europe.
90. The Consequences.—It is impossible to measure adequately the
consequences of sexual indulgence. It is destructive of physical health
among women and of morals among both sexes. It results in a weakening of
the will and a blunting of moral discernment. It is an economic waste, as is
intemperance, for even on the level of economic values it is plain that
money could be much better spent for that which would benefit rather than
curse. But the great evil that looms large in public view is the legacy of
physical disease that falls upon self-indulgent men and their families. The
presence of venereal disease in Europe is almost unbelievable; so great has
it been in continental armies that governments have become alarmed as to
its effects upon the health and morale of the troops. College men have been
reckless in sowing wild oats, and have suffered serious physical
consequences. Most pathetic is the suffering that is caused to innocent
wives and children in blindness, sterility, and frequent abdominal disease.
This is a subject that demands the attention of every person interested in
human happiness and social welfare.

91. History of Reform.—Spasmodic efforts to suppress the social evil
have occurred from time to time. The result has been to scatter rather than
to suppress it, and after a little it has crept back to its old haunts. Scattering
it in tenements and residential districts has been very unfortunate. The cure
is not so simple a process. Neither will segregation help. It is now generally
agreed, especially as a result of recent investigations by vice commissioners
in the large cities, that there must be a brave, sustained effort at suppression,
and then the patient task of reclaiming the fallen and preventing the evil in
future.
Organization and investigation are the two words that give the key to the
history of reform. International societies are agitating abroad; other
associations are directly engaged in checking vice in the United States,
most prominent of which is the American Vigilance Association. Rescue
organizations are scattered through the cities. Especially active have been
the commissions of investigation appointed privately and by municipal,
State, and Federal Governments, which have issued illuminating reports.
The United States in 1908 joined in an international treaty to prevent the
world-wide traffic in white slaves, and in 1910 Congress passed the Mann
White Slave Act to prevent interstate traffic in America.
92. Measures of Prevention and Cure.—The social evil is one about
which there have been all sorts of wild opinions, but the facts are becoming
well substantiated by investigations, and these investigations are the basis
upon which all scientific conclusions must rest, alike for public education
and for constructive legislation. No one remedy is adequate. There are those
who believe that the church has it in its power to stir a wave of indignation
that would sweep the whole traffic from the land, but it is not so simple a
process. It is generally agreed that both education and legislation are
necessary to check the evil. The first is necessary for the public health, and
to support repressive laws. As a helpful means of repression it is proposed
that the social evil, along with questions of social morals, like gambling,
excise, and amusements, shall be taken out of the hands of the municipal
police and the politicians, and lodged with an unpaid morals commission,
which shall have its own special corps of expert officers and a morals court
for the trial of cases appropriate to its jurisdiction. This experiment actually
has been tried in Berlin. Measures of prevention as well as measures of
repression are needed. Restraint is needed for defectives; protection for

immigrants and young people, especially on shipboard, in the tenements,
and in the moving-picture houses; better housing, better amusements, and
better wages for all the people. Finally, the wrecks must be taken care of.
Rescue homes and other agencies manage to save a few to reformed lives;
homes are needed constantly for temporary residence. Private philanthropy
has provided them thus far, but the United States Government has discussed
the advisability of building them in sufficient numbers to meet every local
need. Many old and hardened offenders need reformatories with farm and
hospital where they can be cared for during a long time; some of the States
have provided these already. The principles upon which a permanent cure of
the social evil must be based are similar to those that underlie all family
reform, namely, the rescue as far as possible of those already fallen, the
social and moral education of youth to nobler purpose and will, the removal
of unfavorable economic and social conditions, and the improvement of
family life until it can satisfy the human cravings that legitimately belong to
it.

READING REFERENCES

dams: A New Conscience and an Ancient Evil.

lson: The American Boy and the Social Evil.

rrow: Social Diseases and Marriage, pages 331-353.

eland: Commercialized Prostitution in New York City, pages 253-271.

CHAPTER XIIToC

CHARACTERISTICS AND PRINCIPLES

93. Social Characteristics Illustrated by the Family.—A study of the
family such as has been made illustrates the characteristics of social life that
were noted in the introductory chapter. There is activity in the performance
of every domestic, economic, and social function. There is association in
various ways for various purposes between all members of the family.
Control is exercised by paternal authority, family custom, and personal and
family interest. The history of the family shows gradual changes that have
produced varieties of organization, and the present situation discloses
weaknesses that are precipitating upon society very serious problems.
Present characteristics largely determine future processes; always in
planning for the future it is necessary to take into consideration the forces
that produce and alter social characteristics. Specific measures meet with
much scepticism, and enthusiastic reformers must always reckon with
inertia, frequent reactions, and slow social development. In the face of
sexualism, divorce, and selfish individualism, it requires patience and
optimism to believe that the family will continue to exist and the home be
maintained.
94. Principles of Family Reform.—It is probably impossible to restore
the home life of the past, as it is impossible to turn back the tide of urban
migration and growth. But it is possible on the basis of certain fundamental
principles to improve the conditions of family life by means of methods that
lie at hand. The first principle is that the home must function properly.
There must be domestic and economic satisfactions. Without the
satisfaction of the sexual and parental instincts and an atmosphere of
comfort and freedom from anxiety, the home is emptied of its attractions.
The second principle is that social sympathy and service rather than
individual independence shall be the controlling motive in the home. As
long as every member of the family consults first his own pleasure and
comfort and contributes only half-heartedly to create a home atmosphere
and to perform his part of the home functions, there can be no real gain in
family life. The home is built on love; it can survive on nothing less than
mutual consideration.

95. The Method of Economic Adjustment.—The first method by which
these principles can be worked out is economic adjustment. It is becoming
imperative that the family income and the family requirements shall be
fitted together. Less extravagance and waste of expenditure and a living
wage to meet legitimate needs, are both demanded by students of economic
reform. It is not according to the principles of social righteousness that any
family should suffer from cold or hunger, nor is it right that any social
group should be wasteful of the portion of economic goods that has come to
it. There is great need, also, that the expense of living should be reduced
while the standards of living shall not be lowered. The business world has
been trying to secure economies in production; there is even greater need of
economies in distribution. Millions are wasted in advertising and in the
profits of middlemen. Some method of co-operative buying and selling will
have to be devised to stop this economic leakage. It would relieve the
housewife from some of the worries of housekeeping and lighten the heart
of the man who pays the bills. A third adjustment is that of the household
employee to the remainder of the household. The servant problem is first an
economic problem, and questions of wages, hours, and privileges must be
based on economic principles; but it is also a social problem. The servant
bears a social relation to the family. The family home is her home, and she
must have a certain share in home comforts and privileges. A fourth reform
is better housing and equipment. Attractive and comfortable houses in a
wholesome environment of light, air, and sunshine, built for economical
and easy housekeeping, are not only desirable but essential for a permanent
and happy family life.
96. The Method of Social Education.—A second general method by
which the principles of home life may be carried out is social education.
Given the material accessories, there must be the education of the family in
their use. Children in the home need to know the fundamentals of personal
and sex hygiene and the principles of eugenics. In home and in school the
emphasis in education should be upon social rather than economic values,
on the significance of social relationships and the opportunities of social
intercourse in the home and the community, on the personal and social
advantages of intellectual culture, on the importance of moral progress in
the elimination of drunkenness, sexualism, poverty, crime, and war, if there
is to be future social development, and on the value of such social
institutions as the home, the school, the church, and the state as agencies for

individual happiness and group progress. Especially should there be
impressed upon the child mind the transcendent importance of affectionate
co-operation in the home circle, parents sacrificing personal preferences
and anticipations of personal enjoyment for the good of children, and
children having consideration for the wishes and convictions of their elders,
and recognizing their own responsibility in rendering service for the
common good. Sanctioned by law, by the custom of long tradition, by
economic and social valuations, the home calls for personal devotion of will
and purpose from every individual for the welfare of the group of which he
is a privileged member. The family tie is the most sacred bond that links
individuals in human society; to strengthen it is one of the noblest
aspirations of human endeavor.

READING REFERENCES

ley: The Family in Its Sociological Aspects, pages 119-134.

t: Ethics of Marriage and Divorce, pages 105-127.

ward: History of Matrimonial Institutions, III, pages 253-259.

wing: The Recovery of the Home. A Pamphlet.

PART III—SOCIAL LIFE IN THE RURAL
COMMUNITY

CHAPTER XIIIToC

THE COMMUNITY AND ITS HISTORY

97. Broadening the Horizon.—Out of the kindergarten of the home the
child graduates into the larger school of the community. Thus far through
his early years the child's environment has been restricted almost entirely to
the four walls of the home or the limits of the farm. His horizon has been
bounded by garden, pasture, and orchard, except as he has enjoyed an
occasional visit to the village centre or has found playmates on neighboring
farms. He has shared in the isolation of the farm. The home of the nearest
neighbor is very likely out of sight beyond the hill, or too far away for
children's feet to travel the intervening distance; on the prairie the next door
may be over the edge of the horizon. The home has been his social world. It
has supplied for him a social group, persons to talk with, to play with, to
work with. Inevitably he takes on their characteristics, and his life will
continue to be narrow and to grow conservative and hard, unless he
enlarges his experience, broadens his horizon, tries new activities, enjoys
new associations, tests new methods of social control, and lets the forces
that produce social change play upon his own life.
Happy is he when he enters definitely into community life by taking his
place in the district school. The schoolhouse may be at the village centre or
it may stand aloof among the trees or stark on a barren hillside along the
country road; physical environment is of small consequence as compared
with the new social environment of the schoolroom itself. The child has
come into contact with others of his kind in a permanent social institution

outside the home, and this social contact has become a daily experience.
Every child that goes to school is one of many representatives from the
homes of the neighborhood. He brings with him the habits and ideas that he
has gathered from his own home, and he finds that they do not agree or fuse
easily with the ideas and habits of the other children. In the schoolroom and
on the playground he repeats the process of social adjustments which the
race has passed through. Conflicts for ascendancy are frequent. He must
prove his physical prowess on the playground and his intellectual ability in
the schoolroom. He must test his body of knowledge and the value of his
mental processes by the mind of his teacher. He must have strength of
conviction to defend his own opinions, but he must have an open mind to
receive truths that are new to him. One of the great achievements of the
school is to fuse dissimilar elements into common custom and opinion, and
thus to socialize the independent units of community life.
98. Learning Social Values in the Community.—The school is the door
to larger social opportunity than the home can provide, but it is not the only
door. The child in passing to and from school comes into touch with other
institutions and activities. He passes other homes than his own. He sees
each in the midst of its own peculiar surroundings, and he makes
comparisons of one with another and of each with his own. He estimates
more or less consciously the value of that which he sees, not so much in
terms of economic as of social worth, and congratulates or pities himself or
his schoolmates, according to the judgments that he has made. He stops at
the store, the mill, or the blacksmith shop, through frequent contact
becomes familiar with their functions, and thinks in turn that he would like
to be storekeeper, miller, and blacksmith. He sees the farmer on other farms
than his own gathering his harvest in the fall, hauling wood in the winter, or
ploughing his field in the spring, and he becomes conscious of common
habits and occupations in this rural community. He gets acquainted with the
variety of activities that enter into life in the country district in which his
home is located, and he learns to appreciate the importance of the
instruments upon which such activity depends for travel from place to
place. By all these means the child is learning social values. After a little he
comes to understand that the community, with its roads, its public buildings,
and its established institutions, exists to satisfy certain economic and social
needs that the single family cannot supply. By and by he learns that, like the
family, it has grown out of the experience of relationships, and can be

traced far back in history, and that as time passes it is slowly changing to
adapt itself to the changing wants and wishes of its inhabitants. He becomes
aware of a present tendency for the community to imitate the larger social
life outside, to make its village centre a reproduction in miniature of the
urban centres; later he realizes that the introduction of foreign elements into
the population is working for the destruction of the simple, unified life of
former days, and is introducing a certain flavor of cosmopolitanism.
It is this growth of social consciousness in a single child, multiplied by
the number of children in the community, that constitutes the process of
social education. A community with no dynamic influences impinging upon
it reproduces itself in this way generation after generation, and at best
seems to maintain but a static existence. In reality, few communities stand
still. The principle of change that is characteristic of social life is
continually working to build up or tear down the community structure and
to modify community functioning. The causes of change and their methods
of operation appear in the history of the rural community.
99. Rural History.—The history of the rural community falls into two
periods—first, when the village was necessary to the life of the individual;
second, when the individual pioneer pushed out into the forest or prairie,
and the village followed as a convenient social institution. The community
came into existence through the bond of kinship. Every clan formed a
village group with its own peculiar customs. These were primitive, even
among semi-civilized peoples. Among the ancient Hebrews the village
elders sat by the gate to administer justice in the name of the clan; in China
the old men still bask on a log in the sun and pronounce judgment in
neighborly gossip. The village existed for sociability and safety. The
mediæval Germans left about each village a broad strip of waste land called
the mark, and over this no stranger could come as a friend without sounding
a trumpet. Later the village was surrounded by a wall called a tun, and by a
transfer of terms the village frequently came to be called a mark, or tun,
later changed to town. Place names even in the United States are often
survivals of such a custom, as Charlestown or Chilmark. The Indian village
in colonial America was similarly protected with a palisade, and village
dogs heralded the approach of a stranger, as they do still in the East.
100. The Mediæval Village.—The peasant village of the Middle Ages
constitutes a distinct type of rural community. A consciousness of mutual

dependence between the owner of the land and the peasants who were his
serfs produced a feudal system in which the landlord undertook to furnish
protection and to permit the peasant to use portions of his land in exchange
for service. Strips of fertile soil were allotted to the village families for
cultivation, while pasture-land, meadow, and forest were kept for
community use. Even in the heart of the city Boston Common remains as a
relic of the old custom. On the mediæval manor people lived and worked
together, most of them on the same social level, the lord in his manor-house
and the peasants in a hamlet or larger village on his land, huddling together
in rude huts and in crude fashion performing the social and economic
functions of a rural community. In the village church the miller or the
blacksmith held his head a little higher than his neighbors, and sometimes
the lord of the manor did not deign to worship in the common parish
church, but the mass of the people were fellow serfs, owning a common
master, working at the same tasks, by custom sowing and reaping the same
kind of grain on the same kind of land in the same week of the year. They
attended the court of the master, who exercised the functions of
government. They worshipped side by side in the church. The same
customs bound them and the same superstitions worried their waking hours.
There was thus a community solidarity that less commonly exists under
modern conditions.
There was no stimulus to progress on the manor itself. There were no
schools for the peasant's children, and there was little social intelligence.
The finer side of life was undeveloped, except as the love of music was
stirred by the travelling bard, or martial fervor or the love of movement
aroused the dance. There was no desire for religious independence or
understanding of religious experience. The mass in the village church
satisfied the religious instinct. There was no dynamic factor in the
community itself. Besides all this, the community lived a self-centred life,
because the people manufactured their own cloth and leather garments and
most of the necessary tools, and, except for a few commodities like iron and
salt, they were independent of trade. The result was that every stimulus of
social exchange between villages was lacking.
The broadening influence of the Crusades with their stimulus to thought,
their creation of new economic wants, and their contact of races and
nationalities, set in motion great changes. Out of the manorial villages went

ambitious individuals, making their way as industrial pioneers to the
opportunity of the larger towns, as now young people push out from the
country to the city. New towns were founded and new enterprises were
begun. Trade routes were opened up. The feudal principality grew into the
modern state. Cultural interests demanded their share of attention. Schools
were founded, and art and literature began again to develop. Even law and
religion, most conservative among social institutions, underwent change.
101. The Village in American History.—The spirit of enterprise and the
disturbed political and religious conditions impelled many groups in
western Europe to emigrate to new lands after the geographical discoveries
that ushered in the sixteenth century. They were free to go, for serfdom was
disappearing from most of the European countries. The village life of
Europe was transplanted to America. In the South the mediæval feudal
village became the agricultural plantation, where the planter lived on his
own estate surrounded by the rude cabins of his dusky peasantry. The more
democratic, homogeneous village life of middle-class Englishmen
reproduced itself in New England, where the houses of the settlers clustered
about the village meeting-house and schoolhouse, and where habits of
industry, frugality, and sobriety characterized every local group. In this new
village life there came to be a stronger feeling of self-respect, and under the
hard conditions of life in a new continent there developed a self-reliance
that was destined to work wonders in days to come. The New World bred a
spirit of independence that suited well the individualistic philosophy and
religion of the modern Englishman. All these qualities prophesied much of
individual achievement. Yet this tendency toward individualism threatened
the former social solidarity, though there was a recognition of mutual
interests and a readiness to show neighborly kindness in time of stress, and
a perception of the social value of democracy in church and state.
102. Individual Pioneering.—The pioneer American colonies were
group settlements, but they produced a new race of individual pioneers for
the West. Occasionally a whole community emigrated, but usually hardy,
venturesome individuals pushed out into the wilderness, opening up the
frontier continually farther toward the setting sun. By the brookside the
pioneer made a clearing and erected his log house; later on the unbroken
prairie he built a rude hut of sod. On the land that was his by squatter's right
or government claim he planted and reaped his crops. About him grew up a

brood of children, and as the years passed, others like himself followed in
the path that he had made, single men to work for a time as hired laborers,
families to break new ground, until the countryside became sparsely settled
and the nucleus of a village was made.
Such pioneers were hard-working people, lonely and introspective. They
knew little of the comforts and none of the refinements of life. They
prescribed order and administered justice at the weapon's point. They were
emotional in religion. They required the stimulus of abundant food and
often of strong drink to goad them to their various tasks. Frontier pioneering
in America reproduced many of the features of former ages of primitive life
and compressed centuries into the space of a generation. It was distinctly
individualistic, and needed socializing. The large farm or cattle-range kept
men apart, the freedom of the open country attracted an unruly population,
and in consequence frontier life tended to rough manners and lawlessness.
Isolation and loneliness produced despondency and inertia, and tended to
individual and group degeneration.
Even in a growing village men and women of this type had few social
institutions. There was little time for schooling or recreation. A circuit-
riding preacher held religious services once or twice a month, and in certain
regions at a certain season religious enthusiasm found vent in a camp-
meeting, but religion often had little effect on habits and morals. Local
government and industry were home-made. The settlers brought with them
customs and traditions which they cherished, but in the mingling of
pioneers from different districts there was continual change and fusion,
until the West became the most enterprising and progressive part of the
nation, continually open to new ideas and new methods. There was a
wholesome respect for church and school, and as villages grew the settlers
did not neglect the organization and housing of such institutions; store, mill,
and smithy found their place as farther east, and later the lawyer and
physician came, but the pioneer could do without them for a time.
Inventiveness and individual initiative were characteristics of the rural
people, made necessary by their remoteness and isolation.
103. The Development of the West.—With increasing settlement the
rural pioneer gave place to the farmer. It was no longer necessary for him to
break new ground, for arable acres could be purchased; neither was it
necessary to turn from one occupation to another to satisfy personal or

household needs, for division of labor provided specialists. Hardship gave
way to comfort, for the land was fertile and experience had taught its values
for the cultivation of particular crops. Loneliness and isolation were felt less
severely as neighbors became more frequent and travelled roads made
communication easier. Group life expanded and institutions became fixed.
Every neighborhood had its school-teacher, and even the academy and
college began to dot the land. Churches of various denominations found
root in rural soil, and a settled minister became more common. A general
store and post-office found place at the cross-roads, and the permanent
machinery of local government was set up. Out of the forest clearings and
prairie settlements evolved the prosperous farm life that has been so
characteristic of the Middle West.
But the prosperous life of these rural communities has not remained
unchanged. Speculation in land has been creating a class of non-resident
agricultural capitalists and tenant cultivators, and has been transforming the
type of agricultural population over large sections of country. Soil
exhaustion is leading to abandonment of the poorest land and is compelling
methods of scientific agriculture on the remainder. These conditions are
producing their own social problems for the rural community.

READING REFERENCES

all and Vincent: Introduction to the Study of Society, pages 112-126.

yney: Industrial and Social History of England, pages 31-56.

berley: Rural Life and Education, pages 1-62.

son: Evolution of the Country Community, pages 1-61.

ver: Principles of Rural Economics, pages 74-116.

s: "The Agrarian Revolution in the Middle West," North American Review,
September, 1909.
lette: "The Drift to the City in Relation to the Rural Problem," American
Journal of Sociology, March, 1911.

CHAPTER XIVToC

THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE

104. Physical Types.—To understand the continually changing rural life
of the present, it is necessary to examine into the physical characteristics of
the country districts, the elements of the population, the functions of the
rural community, and its social institutions.
The physical characteristics have a large part in determining occupations
and in fashioning social life. A natural harbor, especially if it is at the mouth
of a river, seems destined by nature for a centre of commerce, as the falls of
a swift-flowing stream indicate the location of a manufacturing plant. A
mineral-bearing mountain invites to mining, and miles of forest land
summon the lumberman. Broad and well-watered plains seem designed for
agriculture, and on them acres of grain slowly mature through the summer
months to turn into golden harvests in the fall. The Mississippi valley and
the Western plain into which it blends have become the granary of the
American nation. The railroad-train that rushes day and night from the
Great Lakes toward the setting sun moves hour after hour through the
extensive rural districts that characterize the great West. There are the
mammoth farms that are given to the one enormous crop of wheat or corn.
Alongside the railroad loom the immense elevators where the grain is stored
to be shipped to market. Here and there are the farm-buildings where the
owner or tenant lives, but villages are small and scattered and community
activity is slight.

Similarly, in the South before the Civil War there were large plantations
of cotton and tobacco, dotted only here and there with the planter's mansion
and clumps of negro cabins. Village life was not a characteristic of Southern
society. The old South had its picturesque plantation life, and the
aristocracy made its sociable visits from family to family, but that rural type
disappeared with the war. With the breaking up of the old plantations there
came a greater diversification of agriculture, which is going on at an
accelerated pace, and social centres are increasing, but there is still much
rural isolation. Among the remoter mountains lingers the most conservative
American type of citizens in the arrested development of a century ago,
with antique tools and ancient methods, scratching a few acres for a garden
and corn-field, and living their backward, isolated life, without comfort or
even peace, and almost without social institutions.
In the East the country is more broken. Large farms are few, and
agriculture is carried on intensively as a business, or is united with another
occupation or as a diversion from the cares and tasks of the town. Farms of
a score to a few hundred acres, only part of which are cultivated, form rural
communities among the hills or along a river valley. Here and there a few
houses cluster in village or hamlet, where each house yard has its garden
patch, but the inhabitants of the village depend on other means than
agriculture for a living. On the farms dairy and poultry products share with
agriculture in rural importance, and no one crop constitutes an agricultural
staple. In New England the villages are comparatively near together, and
social life needs only prodding to produce a healthy development.
105. Characteristics of Population.—Rural life feels in each region the
reactions of nature. The narrow life of the hills, the open life of the plains,
the peaceful life of the comfortable plantation with its lazy river and its
delightful climate, each has its peculiar characteristics that are due in part at
least to nature. But these features are complicated by social elements of
population. The American rural community of to-day is composed of
individuals who differ in age and fortune and kinship, and who vary in
qualities and resemblances. There are old and young and middle-aged
persons, men and women, married and single, persons with many relatives
and others with few, native and foreign born, strong and weak, well and ill,
good and bad, educated and illiterate. Yet there are certain characteristics
that are typical.

In the first place, for example, there is a considerable uniformity of age in
the population of a certain type of community. In those agricultural districts
where individuals own their own homes, the number of elderly people is
larger than it is in the city, and the young people are comparatively few, for
the reason that their ambitions carry them to the city for its larger
opportunities, and in the older States many a farm becomes abandoned on
the death of the old people. In districts where tenant-farming is largely in
vogue, gray hairs are much fewer. The tendency is for the original farmers
who have been successful to sell or rent their property and move to town to
enjoy its comforts and attractions, leaving the tenants and their families of
children.
In the second place, it is characteristic of long-settled rural communities
that there is an interlocking of family relationship, with a number of
prevailing family names and a great preponderance of native Americans;
but in portions of the West and in rural districts not very remote from the
large cities of the East there is a large mixture, and in spots a predominance
of the foreign element. In the third place, small means rather than wealth
and a sluggish contentment rather than ambition is characteristic of the
older rural sections; in newer districts ambition to push ahead is more
common, and prosperity and an air of opulence are not unusual.
106. The Composition of Rural Communities.—In an analysis of
population it is proper to consider its composition and its manner of growth.
In making a survey or taking a census of a community there are included at
least statistics as to age, sex, number and size of families, degree of kinship,
race parentage, and occupations. Records of age, sex, and size of family
show the tendencies of a community as to growth or race suicide; kinship
and race parentage indicate whether population is homogeneous; and
occupations indicate the place that agriculture holds in a particular section
of country. By a comparative study of statistics it is easy to determine
whether a community is advancing, retrograding, or standing still, and what
its position is relative to its neighbors; also to find out whether or not its
occupations and characteristics are changing.
107. Manner of Growth.—The manner of growth of a community is by
natural excess of births over deaths, and by immigration of persons from
outside. As long as the former condition obtains, population is
homogeneous, and the community is conservative in customs and beliefs;

when immigration is extensive, and more especially when it goes on at the
same time with a declining birth-rate and a considerable emigration of the
native element, the population is becoming heterogeneous, and the customs
and interests of the people are growing continually more divergent. The
immigration of an earlier day was from one American community to
another, or from northern Europe, but rural communities East and West are
feeling the effects of the large foreign immigration of the last decade from
southern and eastern Europe and from Asia.
108. Decline of the Rural Population.—The rural exodus to the cities is
even more impressive and more serious in its consequences than the foreign
influx into the country, though both are dynamic in their effects. This
exodus is partly a matter of numbers and partly of quality. A distinction
must be made first between the relative loss and the actual loss. The rural
population in places of less than twenty-five hundred persons is steadily
falling behind in proportion to the urban population in the country at large.
There are many localities where there is also an actual loss in population,
and in the North and Middle West the States generally are making no rural
gain. But the most disheartening element in the movement of population
from the point of view of rural communities is the loss of the most
substantial of the older citizens, who move to the city to enjoy the reward of
years of toil, and of the most ambitious of the young people who hope to
get on faster in the city. Loss of such as these means loss of competent,
progressive leaders. Added to this is the loss of laborers needed to cultivate
the farms to their capacity for urban as well as rural supply. The loss of
labor is not a serious economic misfortune, for it can be remedied to a large
extent by the introduction of more machinery and new methods, but the loss
of population reproduces in a measure the isolation of earlier days, and so
tends to social degeneration. It is idle to expect that the far-reaching causes
that are contributing to city growth will stop working for the sake of the
rural community, but it is possible to enrich community life so that there
will be less relative attraction in the city, and so that those who remain may
enjoy many of the advantages that hitherto have been associated with the
city alone.

READING REFERENCES

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 11-37.

lette: Rural Sociology, pages 32-46, 281-292.

derson: The Country Town, pages 57-91.

ple: Influences of Geographic Environment.

pin: "Method of Making a Social Survey in a Rural Community," University
of Wisconsin Circular of Information, No. 29.
roll: The Community Survey.

CHAPTER XVToC

OCCUPATIONS

109. Rural Occupations.—An important part of the study of the rural
community is its social functions. These do not differ greatly in name from
the functions of the family, but they have wider scope. The domestic
functions are confined almost entirely to the homes. The village usually
includes a boarding-house or a country inn for the homeless few, and here
and there an almshouse shelters the few derelicts whom the public must
support.
Economic activities in the main are associated with the farm home. The
common occupation in the country is agriculture. Individuals are born into
country homes, learn the common occupation, and of necessity in most
cases make it their means of livelihood. Rural people are accustomed to
hard labor for long hours. There are seasons when comparative inactivity
renders life dull; there are individuals who enjoy pensions or the income of

inherited or accumulated funds, and so are not compelled to resort to
manual labor, and there are directors of agricultural industry; there are
always a shiftless few who are lazy and poor; but these are only exceptions
to the general rule of active toil. Not all rural districts are agricultural. Some
are frontier settlements where lumbering or mining are the chief interests.
Even where agriculture prevails there are varieties such as corn-raising or
fruit-growing regions; there are communities that are progressively making
use of the latest results of scientific agriculture, and communities that are
almost as antique in their methods as the ancient Hebrews. Also, even in
homogeneous districts, like those devoted to cotton-growing or tobacco-
culture, there are always individuals who choose or inherit an occupation
that supplies a special want to the community, such as carpenters,
blacksmiths, and masters of other crafts. Occupations indicate an attempt to
gear personal energies to the opportunities or requirements of a physical or
social environment.
All these occupations have more than economic value; they are
fundamental to social prosperity. It is self-evident that the physician and the
school-teacher render community service, but it is not so clear that the
farmer who keeps his house well painted and his grounds in order, and who
is improving his cattle and increasing the yield of his fields and woodland
by scientific methods, and who organizes his neighbors for co-operative
endeavor, is doing more than an economic service. Yet it is by means of
inspiration, information, and co-operation that the community moves
forward, and he who supplies these is a social benefactor.
110. Differentiation of Occupation.—If community life is to continue
there must be the producers who farm or mine or manufacture; in rural
districts they are farmers, hired laborers, woodcutters, threshers, and
herdsmen. In the co-operation of village life there must be the craftsmen
and tradesmen who finish and distribute the products that the others have
secured, such as the miller, the carpenter, the teamster, and the storekeeper.
For comfort and peace in the neighborhood there must be added the
physician, the minister, the school-teacher, the justice of the peace, and such
public functionaries as postmaster, mail-carrier, stage-driver, constable or
sheriff, and other town or county officials. Without specific allotment of
lands as on the feudal estate, or distribution of tasks as in a socialistic
commonwealth, the community accomplishes a natural division of labor

and diversification of industry, supports its own institutions by self-imposed
taxes and voluntary contributions, and supplies its quota to the larger State
of which it forms a democratic part. In spite of the constant exercise of
individual independence and competition, there is at the foundation of every
rural community the principle of co-operation and service as the only
working formula for human life.
111. Co-operation.—One great advantage of community life over the
home is the increased opportunity for co-operation. In new communities
families work together to erect buildings, make roads, support schools, and
organize and maintain a church. They aid each other in sickness, accident,
and distress. Farmers find it profitable to unite for purposes of production,
distribution, communication, transportation, and insurance. It may not seem
worth while for a single farmer to buy an expensive piece of agricultural
machinery for his own use, but it is well worth while for four or five to club
together and buy it. The cost of an irrigation plant is much too high for one
man, but a community can afford it when it will add materially to the
production of all the farms in a district. In a region interested mainly in
dairying a co-operative creamery can be made very profitable; in grain-
producing sections co-operative elevator service makes possible the storage
of grain until the demand increases values; in fruit-raising regions co-
operation in selling has made the difference between success and failure. A
co-operative telephone company has been the means of supplying several
adjacent communities with easy communication. Co-operative banks are a
convenient means of securing capital for agricultural use, and co-operative
insurance companies have proved serviceable in carrying mutual risks.
The advantages of such co-operation are by no means confined to
economic interests. The best result is the increasing realization of mutual
dependence and common concern. Co-operation is an antidote to the evils
of isolation and independence. A co-operative telephone company may not
pay large dividends, and may eventually sell out to a larger corporation, but
it has introduced people to one another, brightened circumscribed lives, and
taught the people social understanding and sympathy. But aside from all
such artificial forms of co-operation, the very custom of providing such
common institutions as the school and the church is a valuable form of
social service, entirely apart from the specific results that come from the
exercises of the schoolroom and the meeting-house.

112. Why Co-operation May Fail.—Many co-operative enterprises fail,
and this is not strange. There is always the natural conservatism and
individualism of the American people to contend with; there is jealousy of
the men who have been elected to responsible offices, and there is lack of
experience and good judgment by those who undertake to engineer the
active organization. Sometimes the method of organization or financing is
faulty. Such enterprises work best among foreigners who have a good
opinion of them, and know how to conduct them because they have seen
them work well in Europe. Every successful attempt at economic co-
operation is a distinct gain for rural community betterment, for upon co-
operation depends the success of the efforts being put forth for rural
improvement generally.
113. Competition Within the Group.—Co-operation is of greatest value
when it includes within it a wholesome amount of individual competition
for the sake of general as well as individual gain. Boys' agricultural clubs,
organized in the South and West, have raised the standards of corn and
tomato production by stimulating a friendly spirit of rivalry among boys,
and as a result the fathers of the boys have adopted new and more scientific
methods to increase their own production. Agricultural fairs may be made
powerful agencies for a similar stimulus. At State and county fairs
agricultural colleges and experiment stations find it worth while to exhibit
their methods and processes with the results obtained; wide-awake farmers
get new ideas, which they try out subsequently at home; young people are
encouraged to try for the premiums offered the next year, and steadily the
general level of excellence rises throughout the district.

READING REFERENCES

Keever: Farm Boys and Girls, pages 171-196, 275-305.
lette: Rural Sociology, pages 20-31.

untry Life," Annals of American Academy, pages 58-68.
n: Among Country Schools, pages 129-157.

d: Co-operation in New England, pages 87-185.

lter: Co-operation Among Farmers, pages 3-23.

rick: Rural Credits, pages 456-480.

CHAPTER XVIToC

RECREATION

114. Recreation and Culture.—Besides the economic function the
community has recreative and cultural functions to perform, and these need
recognition and improvement. As the child in the home has a right to time
and means for play, so the community, especially the young people, may lay
claim to an opportunity for recreation; as the child has the right to learn in
the home, so the people of the community should have cultural privileges.
These demands are the more imperative, because the city has so much of
this sort to offer, and the country community cannot hold its young people
unless it provides a reasonable amount of attractions. It needs no particular
institution to bring this about, but it needs a new spirit to recognize and
enjoy the advantages that are possible even in thinly settled localities. Every
opportunity for sociability strengthens just so much a natural instinct,
increases the sense of social values, and enlarges the sphere of
relationships.
In the community, as in the home, children have the first claim to
consideration. The recreative impulse is strong in them. When they graduate
from the home into the school they find opportunity for the expression of
this impulse through their new associations. On the way to and from school
and at recess they have opportunity to indulge their impulses and to use
their powers of invention. Among the younger children the desire for

muscular activity makes running games of all sorts popular; as boys grow
older they imitate the primitive impulse to hit and run, so well provided for
in games of ball; girls enjoy their recreation in a quieter way as they grow
older, and show a tendency to association in pairs. Associations formed in
play are not usually lasting ones, but the playground reveals individual
temperament and personal qualities that are likely to determine popularity
or unpopularity. These play associations develop qualities of leadership,
loyalty, honesty, and co-operation that tend to label a child among his mates
with a reputation that he carries into later life.
115. The Gang.—Since play is a natural instinct it is to be expected that
children will seek a natural rather than an artificial way of expressing the
instinct. Organization at best can only direct activities, giving recognition to
the social inclinations of childhood. For example, it is not easy for a school-
teacher to organize a boys' society and to direct it in such activities as
appeal to him. The boys prefer to choose their own mates and their own
chief, and the activities that appeal to them are not the same as those that
seem to their elders to be most suitable. Between the ages of ten and sixteen
the boy tends to gang life. He may work on the farm all day, but evenings
and Sundays, if he is permitted to amuse himself, he joins a gang.
Obviously the characteristics of the gang are seen best in the city, but they
are not materially different in the country. Hunting and fishing may be
enjoyed at odd times of leisure by the boy without companions, but the
delights of the swimming-hole can be enjoyed thoroughly only as he has the
companionship of other boys, and skating gains in virtue as a sport with the
possibility of hockey on the ice. This liking for companionship exhibits
itself in the habitual association of boys of a certain district for mutual
enjoyment. On every possible opportunity they get together in the woods,
pretend they are Indians, hunt, fish, and fight in company, build their own
camps and plunder the camps of other gangs, and practise other activities
characteristic of the savage age through which they are passing. Gangs
exhibit a love of cruelty to those whom they may plague, a fondness for
appropriating property which does not belong to them, and if possible
provoking chase for the sake of the thrill that comes from the attempt to get
away. Group athletics of various sorts are popular. Six out of seven gangs
have physical activities as the purpose of their organization. The boys do
not necessarily adopt any particular organization or choose a leader; on the
contrary, they are a natural group, tacitly acknowledging the leadership of

the most masterly and versatile individual, finding their own headquarters
and adopting the forms of activity that appeal most to the group, according
to the season and the opportunities of the region of country where they
belong.
116. Leadership of Boys.—The gang is but one expression of the group
instinct. It is often a nursery of bad habits that sometimes lead to crime and
degeneracy, but it is capable of being used for the good of boyhood. The
gang develops the virtues of loyalty to the group and loyalty to the group
principles. It stimulates self-sacrifice and co-operation, honor and courage.
These virtues can be cultivated by the man who aspires to boy leadership
and directed into channels of usefulness as the boy passes on toward
manhood. But there must be a frank recognition of the place of the gang in
boy life, and not only a remembrance of one's own boyhood days, but also
an appreciation of them. One of the best ways that has been devised for
securing adult leadership without loss of the gang spirit and characteristics
is the Boy Scout movement. It transforms the unorganized gang into the
organized patrol, and affiliates it with other patrols in a wide organization,
adopts the natural activities of boys as a part of its programme, and adds
others of absorbing interest. Obedience is added to the boy's other virtues,
and social education is acquired rapidly.
117. Varieties of Boys' Clubs.—The gang is one of the few natural
groups of the community, and should be related to other institutions. It
should not be hampered by them, but should receive the encouragement and
assistance of home, school, and church. The Boy Scout movement has been
associated with the churches; other boys' organizations have been connected
with the Sunday-schools; the home and the day-school may well provide
resources or quarters for the gang, and recognize its activities. But the gang
is not the only organization suited to the boys of a community. There are
special interests provided for in more artificial groups, such as athletic,
debating, agricultural, or natural history clubs. These attract like-minded
individuals from all parts of the community, and help to balance the clan
spirit developed by the gang. These clubs may centre in school or meeting-
house or have quarters of their own. One provision that is needed for the
satisfaction of boy life in the rural community is the field or green where
two rival gangs may contend legitimately for supremacy in sport, or clubs
from different neighborhoods may test their prowess and arouse local pride

and enthusiasm. The green needs little or no equipment, but it gains
recognition as the boys' own training-field and serves as a safeguard to the
health and morals of the youth of the community. The gang and the green
are the proper social institutions of boy life in the rural community.
118. Girls' Clubs.—The instinct of the girl is not the same as that of the
boy. She has other interests that require different organization. Her
disposition is less active, and she does not so readily form a group
organization. She associates with other girls in a set that is less democratic
than her brother's gang. It has its rivalries and enmities, but hateful
thoughts, angry words, and slighting attitudes take the place of the active
warfare of the boys. Girls enjoy clubs that are adapted to their interests.
Reading clubs, cooking clubs, sewing clubs, musical organizations, and
philanthropic societies are useful forms of neighborhood association, and
their activities may be correlated with the work of the home, the school, and
the church more easily than those of their brothers.
In the country girls' organizations are very properly based on the interests
of the farm, with which they are so closely related. They combine, as their
brothers do, on the economic principle, organizing their poultry clubs,
preserving clubs, or knitting clubs, but the social purpose is not lost sight of
in the particular economic concern. An hour of sociability properly follows
an hour of economic discussion or activity. Schoolgirls are very willing to
accept the leadership of their teacher in a nature or culture club which will
broaden their interests and stimulate their ambitions. One of the
organizations that has sprung into existence on the model of the Boy Scout
movement is the organization of Camp-Fire Girls. It is designed to meet the
demand for companionship in a wholesome, pleasant way, and by its
incentives to healthy activity and womanly virtue it helps to build character.
119. Recreation in the Country.—The recreative instinct is not confined
to children. For the adult labor is lightened, worries banished, and carking
care is less corroding, if now and then an evening of diversion interrupts the
monotony of rural life, or a day off is devoted to a picnic or neighborhood
frolic. There is the same interest in the country that there is in the city in
methods of entertainment that satisfy primitive instincts. The instinct for
human society enters into all of them. Other specific causes produce a
fondness for the various forms of diversion indulged in. Among uncultured
people especially an evening gathering soon proves dull unless there is

something to do. Cards occupy the mind and hands and create a mild
excitement that banishes troublesome thoughts and anxieties. Dancing
breaks up the stiffness of a party, brings the sexes together, and provides the
exhilaration of rhythmic motion. Barn frolics at maple-sugar or harvest time
accomplish the same end, only less satisfactorily. Musicales and amateur
theatricals provide an exhibition of skill, cultivate the æsthetic nature,
gratify the dramatic instinct, and furnish opportunity for mutual
acquaintance among the people of the community, who meet all too seldom
in social gatherings, and at the same time they furnish wholesome
entertainment for the community at small expense. The proceeds are used
for local advantage, instead of being carried out of town. The passing show
and moving pictures are less desirable. They are often cheap and degrading,
though the kinetoscope can be made valuable for education.
The out-of-door gatherings that occur when the countryside is not too
busy to plan or enjoy them are a helpful means of cultivating a community
spirit. Athletic contests on the boys' own field readily become a community
affair, with a speech and refreshments afterward, and the award of a prize or
pennant to the victorious individual or team. The old-fashioned picnic to
lake or woods or hilltop is one of the best means for forming and
strengthening friendships and for giving persons of all ages a good time.
Friendly contests of various sorts all come into play to add to the pleasure
of the day. Fourth of July, Arbor Day, Old Home Week, and other occasions,
give opportunity for recreation and the cultivation of neighborhood
interests.
120. A Community Centre.—Aside from the natural isolation and lack
of energy and social interest among country people, the lack of efficient
leadership is the most serious handicap to organized sociability. Added to
these is the want of a neighborhood centre both convenient and suitable. A
community building, tasteful in architecture and equipped for community
use, is a great desideratum, but is not often available. There seems to be no
good reason why the schoolhouse should not be such a social centre as the
community needs, but most school buildings are not adapted to such use. In
the absence of any other provision it is the privilege of the rural church to
furnish the opportunity for neighborhood gatherings, and there is a growing
conviction that this is one of the opportunities of the church to ally itself to
general community interests. The church represents, or should represent, the

whole community of men, women, young people, and children. It has all
their interests at heart. It makes provision for them in Sunday-school, young
people's societies, and other groups. It recognizes the social interests in
festivals and sociables. It may usefully add to its functions that of raising
the standards of community recreation, if no other proper provision for it
exists; it is under obligation to find wholesome substitutes for the abuses
that exist in the field of amusement which it commonly condemns.

READING REFERENCES

tis: Play and Recreation for the Open Country.

fer: The Boy and His Gang.

Scout Handbook; Handbook for Scout Masters.
Book of the Campfire Girls.
rn: Neighborhood Entertainments.

berley: Rural Life and Education, pages 117-126.

CHAPTER XVIIToC

RURAL INSTITUTIONS

121. The Complexity of Social Life.—Closely allied to the agencies of
recreation are the institutions that promote sociability and incidentally
provide means of culture. It is not possible to separate social life into

compartments and designate an institution as purely recreational or cultural
or religious. There is a blending of interests and of functions in such an
organization as the grange or the church, as there is in one individual or
group a variety of interests and activities. The whole social system is
complex, interwoven with a multitude of separate strands of personal
desires and prejudices, group clannishness and conservatism, rival
institutions developing friction and continually compelled to find new
adjustments. Society in constantly in motion like the sea, its units
continually striking against one another in perpetual conflict, and as
continually melting into the harmony of a mighty wave breaking against the
shore and forming anew to repeat the process. The difference is that social
life is on an upward plane, its activities are not mere repetitions of a
process, but they result in definite achievement, which in the process of
centuries becomes an accumulated asset for the race. The most lasting
achievements are the social institutions.
122. The Village and the Country Store.—Of all the social institutions
of the rural community, the most important is the village itself. There
scattered homesteads find their common centre of attraction; there houses
are located nearer together and the spirit of neighborliness develops; there
tradesmen and professional persons make their homes and at the same time
diversify interests and provide for the wants of the community. The school
and the church are often located in the open country, but the village forms
the nucleus of social intercourse and there are most of the institutions of the
community.
The most primitive among these institutions is the country store. It has
economic, social, and educational functions. It supplies goods that cannot
be produced in the community, it serves as a mercantile exchange for local
produce. It helps to remove the necessity of home manufacture of many
articles. On occasion it may include an agency for insurance or real estate;
it is frequently the village post-office; it contains the public bulletin-board;
often the proprietor undertakes to perform the banking function to the
extent of cashing checks. Socially the store serves a useful purpose, for it is
the centre to which all the inhabitants come, and from which radiate lines of
communication all over the neighborhood. It is a clearing-house for news
and gossip, and takes the place of a local press. It was formerly, and to
some extent is still, the social club of the men of the community during the

long winter evenings. As such it performed in the past an educational
function. Boxes, firkins, bales of goods, superannuated chairs, and the end
of a counter constituted the sittings, and men of all ages occupied them, as
they listened to harangues and joined in the discussions. The group
constituted the forum of democracy, where politics were frequently on
debate, where public opinion was formed, where conservatism and
progressivism fought their battles before they tested conclusions at the
ballot-box, where science and religion entered the lists, where local
interests were threshed out in the absence of more general excitement and
crops and agricultural methods filled in the pauses. In recent years the store
circle has degenerated. The better class of habitual members has organized
its lodges or found satisfaction in the grange, while the hangers-on at the
store, barber-shop, or other loafing-place indulge in small talk on matters of
no real concern.
123. The Sewing Circle.—What the country store has done for the men
as a means of communication and stimulus, the ladies' aid society or church
sewing circle has done for the women. Its opportunities are less frequent,
but it provides an outlet for ideas and opinions that without it cannot easily
find expression. At the same time it provides active occupation for a good
cause, which is more than can be said of the men's forum. When it adds to
its exercises a supper to which the other sex is admitted, it performs a yet
wider social service.
124. The Grange.—The grange is an institution that includes both sexes
and combines the interests of young people with those of their elders. Its
primary purpose was to consolidate the common interests of a farming
community and to stimulate economic prosperity, but it has included several
social features, and in many localities exists merely for social purposes. It is
an institution that is well adapted to become a social and educational centre
for the rural community. When the child has advanced from the home to the
school and, graduating from school, has entered into the adult life of the
community, the grange serves as a training-school for civic service. In the
grange-room, in company with his like-minded parents and friends in the
community, he learns how to hold his own in debate in parliamentary
fashion, he discusses improved agriculture and listens to lectures from
masters of the science, he gains literary and historical knowledge, and from
time to time he participates in the social diversions that take place under

grange auspices. Music enlivens the meetings, and occasionally a feast is
spread or an entertainment elaborated. The Farmers' Union is a similar
organization, originating in the South in 1902.
Such rural interests as these have come into existence spontaneously and
continue to provide social centres of community life because other
institutions do not satisfy. The home, the school, and the church are often
spoken of as the essential institutions of the American community, but they
do not at best perform all the functions of neighborhood life. The boys'
gang, the circle of men about the stove at the corner grocery, the women's
sewing circle or club, and the grange, each in its own way performs a
necessary part of the group activities, and deserves recognition among the
institutions that are worth while. It is scarcely necessary to note that they
have their evils, but these are not of the nature of the institution. As the
gang can be guided to worthy ends, so the energies of the store club and the
sewing circle can be turned into channels of usefulness and low talk and
scandal-mongering abolished. As for the grange, it is capable of becoming
the most valuable social centre of the community, if it maintains the ideals
of its existence and co-operates heartily with other social institutions of
worth, like the church.
125. Farmers' Institutes.—Another type of organization exists which
can hardly be called institutional, but which performs a useful community
service. As illustrations may be mentioned the farmers' club, the farmers'
institute, and the Chautauqua movement. These are organizations or
movements for stimulating and broadening the interests of farm regions.
They bring together the farmers and their families, sometimes from several
neighborhoods and for several days, for the consideration of agricultural
problems and for entertainment and mutual acquaintance. They are able to
attract speakers from the State agricultural college or board, and even from
national halls, and they become a valuable clearing-house of ideas and
experience. They serve much the same purpose as a church or teachers'
convention, and are restricted to a limited number of persons. Farmers'
institutes have become a regular part of the State system of agricultural
education throughout the country, and a large staff of lecturers and
demonstrators exists for local instruction. The particular interests of women
and young people are receiving recognition in institutes of their own in
connection with the larger gatherings. The expense of such institutes is met

by the government. Their success is, of course, dependent on the attendance
and intelligent interest of the farm people, who gain greatly in inspiration
and knowledge from contact with one another and from the experts to
whom they listen. The institutes prove the value of association for the
enrichment of individual and family life by means of suggestion,
communication, and concerted activity.

READING REFERENCES

k: The Granger Movement.

terfield: Chapters in Rural Progress, pages 104-120, 136-161.

ney: Country Life and the Country School, pages 90-107.

lette: Rural Sociology, pages 208-213.

berley: Rural Life and Education, pages 117-159.

CHAPTER XVIIIToC

RURAL EDUCATION

126. The School as a Social Institution.—There is one institution in
every American community that stands as the gateway into the promised
land of a richer life. This is the school. It supplements home training and
prepares for the broader experiences of community existence. Into it goes
the raw material of the bodies and minds of the children, and out of it

comes the product of years of education for the making or marring of the
children of the community. The school of the present is of two types. One is
the relic of an earlier time, with few changes in equipment, organization, or
function; it has not shared in the process of evolution enjoyed by certain
other institutions of society. The other type is progressive. It has been
continually finding adjustment to its environment, fitting itself to meet local
needs, and is therefore abreast of the times in educational science. The
demand of the age is that the progressive school keep advancing, and as fast
as possible the backward school work up to the standard of efficiency.
It is a sociological principle that every social institution approximates to
the standards of the community as a whole. If community life is static,
school and church stay in the ruts; if it is retrograding, they are losing
ground; if it is progressive, they gradually show improvement. On the other
hand, the community frequently feels external stimulus, first through one of
its institutions, so that the institution becomes a means of betterment.
Recent years furnish examples of a new impulse generated in the
neighborhood by a teacher or a minister who enters the locality with new
ideas and unquenchable zeal.
127. Three Fundamental Principles of Education.—There are three
fundamental principles that ought to have recognition in every school. The
first of these is the principle that education is to be social. The pupil has to
learn how to live in the community. In the home he becomes socialized so
far as to learn how to get along with his own relatives and intimates, but the
school teaches him how to deal with all sorts of people. He gets acquainted
with his environment, both social and physical. What kind of people are
living in the homes of the neighborhood? What are their characteristics,
their ideals, their failings? What are their occupations, their race or
nationality, their measure of comfort, poverty, or wealth? How are they
hindered or helped by their natural surroundings, and have they easy means
of communication and transit with the outside world? What are the
principles that govern social intercourse, and how can the pupil learn to put
them into practice? How is he to reconcile his own individual rights with
his social obligations? These are fundamental questions that deserve careful
answer, and that must be made a part of the school curriculum if the
community is to enjoy social health. It matters little how such subjects are

named in any course of study, but it is essential that the principles of social
living should be taught under some title.
A second principle of education is that it should be vocational. The
school children, after graduation, must make their own way in the world.
Every normal youth looks forward in anticipation to the time when he will
be earning his own support and the support of a family of his own. Every
normal girl hopes to be mistress of a home of her own. There are certain
things that they need to know if they are to make a success and to build
happy homes. Their first business is to know how to make a home.
Naturally they want to know the story of the family as a social institution,
how the home is purchased or rented, the essentials of a good home, both in
its equipment and in the spirit that animates it, the duties and rights of every
member of the family, and the relations of the family to the community. The
question arises: How may the home-maker provide for the support of the
family? What are the available occupations, and how by manual and mental
training may he equip himself for usefulness? How may the home-keeper
do her part to make the home attractive and comfortable by a study of
domestic science and home-management? Obviously, the curriculum should
have a place for such studies as these that are so essential to peace and
happiness and comfort in the home.
A third principle is that education is to be cultural. Social and vocational
knowledge are essential, broad culture of the mind is highly desirable. No
citizen of the United States is expected to grow to maturity ignorant of the
simple arts of reading or spelling correctly, writing a fair hand, and solving
correctly the simple problems of arithmetic. Beyond this many schools
provide a smattering of æsthetic training through music and drawing. These
are subjects of study in the elementary schools. But culture involves more
than these. An appreciation of literature, of the meaning and value of
history, of the importance of science in the modern world, of the life of
nations and races outside of our own country, of right thinking and right
conduct with reference to all our individual relations, constitutes for all
persons a mental training that is almost indispensable. To acquire this
cultural education requires time and the elimination of the less valuable
from the accepted course of study. It is a most wholesome tendency that is
prolonging the terms and the years of compulsory education if that
education is based on the right principles, and that is discussing the

possibility, first, of using part of the long summer vacation to supplement
the work of the present school year, and, secondly, of giving to the young
people of every State a free university education. It is never to be forgotten
that culture may and should go on through life, but that will not occur
unless habits of study are formed in early years, and the school years will
always remain the golden opportunity for an education.
128. Education as It Is.—On these fundamental principles every
educational system should be built. Actual education falls far short of the
standard. This standard cannot be reached without proper educational
ideals, expert teaching, and adequate equipment. The ideal has been narrow.
Stress is put upon one type of education. In the past it has been cultural
above the lower grades, and, because it has been almost exclusively so,
more than half the pupils have dropped out of school before entering high
school. In recent years there has been a new emphasis on practical training,
and vocational courses have tended to crowd out some of the cultural
courses. The social education which is most important of all has been
incidental or omitted altogether. Public opinion needs to be educated to the
point of understanding that all three types of training are imperatively
needed.
There is a serious difficulty, however, in the way of a supply of teachers
for this broad education. It is necessary to extend reform among the normal
schools, but this can take place only after they have felt the demand from
the grades. Another difficulty is the expense of providing the necessary
equipment for vocational education. This does not prevent the introduction
of social teaching or a proper attention to culture, but courses in manual
training and domestic science usually cost more than most school boards
are willing to meet. This is not an insurmountable obstacle, for cheap
appliances are in the market and better school boards can be elected when
the people want them.
129. Wanted—a Better Rural Education.—The school in the rural
community has its own peculiar weaknesses. First among these weaknesses
is the fact that education is not in terms of rural experience. It is an accepted
educational principle of instruction to begin with that which is simple and
familiar, and to work out to that which is complex and more remote. On that
principle the rural school should make use of local geography, of rural
material in arithmetic, of literature and music with a rural flavor, of nature

study with drawings from nature. The opposite has been the case, with the
result that the child appreciates neither his surroundings nor his
opportunities, but looks upon them as something to be avoided for the more
important urban life, with whose activities he has become familiar through
his daily tasks.
A second weakness is that rural education omits so much of importance
to the child who must make his living in the country. To discuss rural
conditions in a natural and systematic way, beginning with the family and
working out into the social life of the community; to study the economic
side of life first on the farm and then in the neighborhood, getting hold of
the underlying principles of agriculture, becoming familiar with the action
of various soils and crops and the best methods of cultivation and protection
from harm, to prepare by a few simple lessons in household science for the
responsibility of the home, is to provide the bases of success and happiness
for the boys and girls of the country. Rural education, therefore, needs
redirection.
130. The Quality of Teaching.—The child in the country has a right to
as good instruction as the city child, but because of the poverty and
penuriousness of school districts and the maintenance of too many small
schools, rural communities pay small salaries and cannot command good
teaching. There are thousands of schools scattered over the country with
less than ten pupils in attendance, housed in cheap, unattractive buildings,
with teachers who have had no normal-school training, and who have no
enthusiasm for the work they have to do. They may hear twenty or more
classes recite on numerous subjects in the course of a day, but there is no
stimulus to teacher or pupil, and school hours provide little more than a
conventional method for passing the time. In such communities as these
there is rarely any efficient superintendence of teaching by a paid
supervisor, and the school board is unqualified to judge on any other basis
than the cost of schooling for a limited number of weeks.
The small district school has the effect of strengthening the isolation that
is the bane of the country regions. It continues to exist because every farmer
wants the school near by for the convenience of his own family. The history
of the "little red schoolhouse" throws a glamour of romance about the
district headquarters, but in actual experience the district school has
outlived its usefulness. There is a strong movement to consolidate district

schools and at some conveniently central point, with attractive and ample
grounds, to build, equip, and man a school adequate to the needs of the
community. Experience shows that the expense need be no greater, because
better teachers can be secured for a given expenditure when fewer are
needed, and with a greater number of scholars there may be a regular
system of grading and classes large enough to arouse enthusiasm and
ambition. The district school operates on the principle of division of labor
in educational production, but it does not enjoy the benefits of co-operation
or combination for efficiency, while the consolidated school secures these
advantages and at the same time a better division of labor through the
grades. Rural education needs reorganization.
131. A Discouraging Environment.—Too many a rural community, like
old China, has been facing the past. It has lacked courage and ambition. The
atmosphere has been one of gloom and discouragement. This community
temper appears in the social groups; it is felt in the home, and it is present in
the school. It has been typical of whole sections of rural country.
Dilapidated school buildings, plain and unkempt in appearance and cheap in
construction, have been set in the midst of barren surroundings, unshaded
by trees and unadorned with shrubs, without walks or drives to the entrance,
and without even a flagpole as an evidence of patriotic enthusiasm. Inside
the building there is insufficient light and ventilation, and the old-fashioned
furniture is ill adapted to the needs of the pupils. The whole structure is
almost devoid of the conveniences and modern devices for making school
life either comfortable or worth while. In such an environment there is none
of the stimulus that the school should furnish. The best pupil, who might
respond quickly to stimulus, tends to sink to the level of the meanest, the
mental horizon, cramped at home, is hardly broadened during school hours,
and the main purpose for the existence of the institution is not achieved.

READING REFERENCES

ke: The Challenge of the Country, pages 151-170.

ht: The American Rural School, pages 154-253.

ney: Country Life and the Country School, pages 133-301.

n: Among Country Schools.

lette: Rural Sociology, pages 233-263.

an: Poems of Country Life.

CHAPTER XIXToC

THE NEW RURAL SCHOOL

132. Nature Study in the New Rural School.—In striking contrast to
such a defective rural institution as has been presented is the new rural
school and the country-life movement of which it is a vital part. The first
step in the new education is a growing recognition of the function of the
school to relate its courses of study and its activities to the daily experience
of the pupil. The background of country life is nature; therefore nature
study is fundamental in the new curriculum. Careful observation of natural
objects comes first, until the child is able to identify bird and bee and
flower. To knowledge is added appreciation. The beauty of fern and leaf, of
brookside and hillside, of star-dotted and cloud-dappled sky, is not

appreciated by mere observation, but waits on the education of the mind.
This is part of the task of the teacher. The economic use of natural objects
and natural forces is secondary, and should remain so, but the new
education takes the knowledge which has been gained by observation and
the enthusiasm which has been distilled through appreciation, and applies
them to the social need. Agriculture comes to seem not only an occupation
for economic ends, but a vocation for social welfare also. With all the rest
there is a moral and religious value in nature study. Nature is pre-eminently
under the reign of law; obedience to that law, adjustment to the inexorable
demands of nature, are essential to nature's children. No more wholesome
moral lesson than this can be taught to the present generation of children.
Nature ministers also to the spiritual. Power, order, beauty, intelligence
speak through the language of the natural world to the human soul, and the
thoughtful child can be led to see through nature to nature's God. Such a
God is not a theory; in nature the divine presence is self-evident.
All theory in the new rural school is based on experimentation. Together
the new teacher and the pupils beautify the grounds and the interior of the
school building; they plan and make gardens and try all sorts of gardening
experiments; they grow the plants that they study, and, best of all, they see
the process of growth; from the use of soil and seed and proper care they
learn lessons in practical agriculture that give satisfaction to all employed as
book studies alone never could, and they make possible a far better type of
agriculture when the pupils have fields of their own. Nor is it necessary for
pupils to wait for their maturity, for many a lesson learned at school and
demonstrated in the neighborhood is promptly applied on the neighboring
farms.
133. The Study of the Individual.—A second subject of study in the
new rural schools is the individual. Nature study is essential to a rural
school, but "the noblest study of mankind is man." Though it is highly
important that the individual should regard social responsibility as out-
weighing his own rights, it would be unfortunate if the importance of the
individual were ever overlooked. The nature of the physical self, the
requirement of diet and hygiene, the moral virtues that belong to noble
manhood and womanhood, the possible self-development in the midst of
the rural environment that is the pupil's natural habitat are among the
worthy subjects of patient and serious study through the grades. Neither

physiology, psychology, nor ethics need be taught as such, but the
elementary principles that enter into all of them belong among the mental
assets of every individual.
134. Rural Social Science.—In the same way it is not necessary and
perhaps may not be advisable to teach rural sociology or economics by
name, even in the high school. With the extension of the curriculum to
include agriculture, there is need of some consideration of the principles of
the ownership and use of land, farm management, and marketing. Practical
instruction in accounts, manual training, and domestic science find place in
the new school. Fully as important as these is it to explain the social
relations that properly exist in the home, the school, and the neighborhood,
to show the mutual dependence of all upon one another, and to point out the
advantages of co-operation over a prideful individualism and frequent
social friction. Along with these relationships, or supplementary to them,
belong the larger relations of country and town and the reciprocal service
that each can render to the other, the characteristics and tendencies of social
life in both types of community, and the effects of the changes that are
taking place in methods of doing business and in the nature and
characteristics of the people of either community. Following these topics
come the problems of rural socialization through such agencies as the
school, the grange, and the church, and the application of the principles
already learned in a study of social relations.
135. Improvement in Economy and Efficiency.—While the curriculum
of the schools is being fitted to the needs of the community, it is desirable
that there should be improvement of economy and efficiency in the whole
system of education. This is being accomplished partly by better
supervision and teaching, but also by a consolidation of schools which
makes possible better grading, an enlarged curriculum, improved teaching,
and a deeper interest among the pupils. But one of the best results that come
from school consolidation is to the community itself. A consolidated school
means a larger and better-equipped building. It often has a large assembly
hall, a library, and an agricultural laboratory. The new school has within it
tremendous potencies. It may become under proper direction an educational
centre for people of all ages and degrees of attainment. Continuation
schools for adults, especially the young and middle-aged people, who were
born too soon to enjoy the advantages of the new education, are possible in

the late autumn and winter. Popular lectures and demonstrations on subjects
of common concern and entertainments based on rural interests find place at
this centre. Mixed occasionally with a rural programme belongs instruction
in wider social relations and world affairs.
136. The Teacher a Community Leader.—With the consolidated school
comes the well-trained teacher, and such a teacher deserves new recognition
as a community leader. In Europe and in some parts of rural America the
teacher has a permanent home near the schoolhouse, as a minister has a
parsonage near the meeting-house. Such a teacher has an interest in
community welfare, and a willingness to aid in community betterment.
Whether man or woman, he becomes naturally a community leader, and
with the backing of public sentiment and adequate support a distinct
community asset. Such a teacher is more than a school instructor. He
becomes a social educator of the people by interpreting to them their
community life; he becomes a social inspirer to hope, ambition, and
courage as he unfolds possible social ideals; he becomes a guide to a new
prosperity as he defines the methods and principles on which other
communities have worked out their own local successes. Through the
medium of the teacher the neighborhood may be brought into vital contact
with other communities in a district or whole county, and may be brought
together to consider their common interests and to try experiments in co-
operation, first for educational purposes and then for general community
prosperity.
At first the rural teacher in many localities will have enough to do with
securing proper accommodations for the children in school, for good
buildings frequently wait for a teacher who has the courage to demand and
persist in getting them; but the larger work for the community is only
second in importance and adds greatly to the responsiveness of the older
people to the suggestions of the teacher. One great weakness in the past has
been the short term of service of the average teacher. It takes time to
accomplish changes in a conservative community, and the new education
will be successful only as the new teacher becomes a comparative fixture.
To build oneself into the life of a rural community as does the physician,
and to ennoble it with new ideas and higher ideals, is a missionary service
that can hardly be surpassed at the present time in America.

137. Higher Education.—The normal school, the rural academy or
county high school, and the college have their part in rural education. It
rests with the normal school to supply the trained teacher and the normal
schools rapidly are meeting the demands of the present situation. Training
classes for rural teachers have been established in high schools or
academies in twelve or more States. More and more these higher schools
are relating their courses of study to the rural life in which so many of them
are placed.
138. What the University Can Do.—An increasing number of young
people from the country are going to college. The college was founded on
the principle of educating American youth in a higher culture than local
elementary schools could provide. It is the function of the college and the
university to open wider vistas for the individual mind than is otherwise
possible, to do on an infinitely larger scale what the teacher is attempting in
the elementary grades. These higher schools are passing through a
humanizing process; they are making more of the social sciences and the art
of living well; and they are allying themselves with practical life. In the
case of established institutions with traditions, and often with trustees and
alumni of conservative tastes and tendencies, there are difficulties in the
way of their rapid adaptation to vocational needs. It is probably best that a
certain class of them should stand primarily for intellectual culture, as
technical and agricultural schools stand for their specialties, but the true
university should be representative of all the social interests of all the
people in the State.
An illustration of what the university can do in social service for a whole
State occurs in the recent history of the University of Wisconsin. It
conceived its function to be not solely to educate students who came for the
full university course. It considered the needs of the people of the State, and
it planned to provide information and intellectual stimulus for as wide a
circle as possible. It provided correspondence courses. It sent out a corps of
instructors to carry on extension courses. It made affiliations with other
State institutions. It reached all classes of the people and touched all their
social interests. It became especially useful to the farmers. In spite of
scepticism on the part of the people and some of the university officers,
those who had faith in the wider usefulness of the university pushed their
plan until they succeeded in organizing a short winter course in agriculture

for farmers' sons and then for the older farmers, branched out into domestic
courses for the women, and even made provision for the interests of the
boys and girls. Reaching out still further, the university organized farmers'
courses in connection with the county agricultural schools, established
experiment stations, and encouraged the boys to enter local contests for
agricultural prizes. By these means the university has become widely
popular and has been exceedingly beneficial to the people of the State.
139. The Public Library.—While the school stands out as the leading
educational institution of the rural community, it is by no means the sole
agency of culture. Alongside it is the library. Home libraries in the country
rarely contain books of value, either culturally or for practical purposes.
Circulating libraries of fiction are little better. School libraries and village
libraries that contain well-selected literature are to be included among the
desiderata of every countryside. A few of the great books of all time belong
there, a small collection of current literature, including periodicals, and an
abundant literature on country life in all its phases. It is the function of the
library to instruct the people what to read and how to read by supplying
book lists and book exhibits, and by demonstrating occasionally through the
school or the church how books may be read to get the most out of them. In
the days before public libraries were common in this country, library
associations were formed to secure good literature. Such associations are
still useful in small communities that find it impossible to sustain a public
library, and they serve as a medium for securing from the State a travelling
library, which has the special advantage of frequent substitution of books.
Or the school library may be the nucleus of a literary collection for the
whole community—advantageously so if the school building is kept open
as a community centre.
140. Reading Circles and Musical Clubs.—The value of the library to
the public consists, of course, not in the presence of books on the shelves,
but in their use. Such use is encouraged by the existence of literary or art
clubs and reading circles. They supply the twofold want of companionship
and culture. The proper basis of association is similarity of interests. Local
history or geology, nature study, current public events in State or nation, art
in some of its phases, or the literature of a particular country or period, may
be the special consideration of a club or reading circle; in every case the
library is the laboratory of investigation. One of the conspicuously

successful organizations of the last thirty years, showing how organization
grows out of social need, is the Chautauqua movement. Starting as an
undertaking in Sunday-school extension by means of a summer assembly
and local reading circles, in which the study of history, literature, and
science was added to Bible study, the movement has grown, until it is
represented by a thousand summer institutes, with numerous popular
lectures and entertainments, and it is one of the most useful educational
agencies anywhere in the United States.
Every community is interested in music. Music has a place on every
programme, whether of church, school, or public assembly. A musical club
is one of the effective types of organization for those who are like-minded
in country or town. There are two varieties of organization, the first of
persons who join for the pleasure that comes from agreeable society, the
second of those who enter the organization for the musical culture to be
obtained. Whether for diversion or study, a musical club is well worth
while. Under the influence of music antagonisms soften, moroseness
disappears, and sociability and good cheer take their place. The old-
fashioned singing-school was one of the most popular of local social
institutions; something is needed to fill its place. A club or band for the
serious study of instrumental music not only gives culture to individuals,
but is also an asset of increasing value to a church or community.
141. Woman's Clubs.—These have become so common that they need
no special description, but as a social phenomenon they have their
significance. They mark a new era in the emancipation of ideas; they are
indicative of a new interest and ambition, and they are training-schools for
future citizenship. They are of special value because of the wide areas of
human interest that are brought within scope of discussion. For rural
women they are a great boon, and while they have been most numerous in
the larger centres, they may easily become a universal stimulus and guide to
higher culture everywhere. In the absence of a grange they may serve as a
centre of farm interests, and discussion may be made practical by the
application of acquired knowledge to local problems, but their great value is
in broadening the women's horizon of thought and interest beyond their
own affairs. If rural men would organize local associations or brotherhoods
for similar assembly and discussion of State and national interests they
could multiply many times the benefits that come from the associations and

discussions that occur on special days of political rally and voting. The rural
mind needs frequent stimulus, and it needs frequent association with many
minds. For this reason the cultural function is to be provided for by a
method of congregation and organization approved by experience,
leadership is to be provided and occasional stimulus applied, and life is to
be enriched at many points. It is for the people themselves to carry on such
enterprises, but the initiation of them often comes from outside. Usually,
perhaps, the number of people locally who have a real desire for culture are
few, but it is through the training of these few that judicious, capable
leaders of the community are to be obtained.

READING REFERENCES

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 197-277.

berley: Rural Life and Education, pages 161-347.

ney: Country Life and the Country School, pages 336-340.

is: Agricultural Education in the Public Schools.

leston and Bruére: The Work of the Rural School, pages 193-223.

we: Wisconsin: an Experiment in Democracy, pages 140-182.

ntry Life, pages 200-210.
ht: The American Rural School, pages 254-281.

CHAPTER XXToC

RURAL GOVERNMENT

142. The Necessity of Government.—Institutions of recreation and
culture are in most cases the voluntary creation of local groups of
individuals, except as the state has adopted a system of compulsory
education. Government may be self-imposed or fixed by external authority,
in any case it cannot be escaped. It can be changed in form and efficiency; it
depends for its worth upon standards of public opinion; but it cannot cease
to exist. As the activity of the child needs to be regulated by parental control
in the home and by the discipline of the teacher in the school, so the activity
of the people in the community needs to be regulated by the authority of
government. Self-control on the part of each individual or the existence of
custom or public opinion without an executive agency for the enforcement
of the social will, is not sufficient to safeguard and promote the interests of
all. Government has everywhere been necessary.
143. The Reign of Law.—The existence of regulation in the community
is continually evident. The child comes into relation to law when he is sent
to school to conform to the law of compulsory education. He goes to school
along a road built and maintained by law, takes his place in a school
building provided by a board of education or school committee that
executes the law, and accepts the instruction of a teacher who is employed
and paid according to the law. His hours of schooling and the length of
terms and vacations are determined by the same authority. During his
periods of recreation he is still under the reign of law, for game laws
regulate the times when he may or may not hunt and fish. When he grows
older and assumes the rights of citizenship he must bear his part of the
burdens of society. He has the right to vote as one of the lawmakers of the
land, but he is not thereby free to cast off the restraints of law. He must pay
his proportion of the taxes that sustain the government that binds him, local,
State, and federal taxes. He must perform the public duty of sitting on a jury
or administering civic office if he is summoned thereto. Even in his own
domicile, though he be householder and head of a family, he may not injure
the public health or morals by nuisances on his own premises, his financial
obligations to creditors are secured against him by law, even the possession
of his acres is made certain only by public record. It makes no difference
whether the legal restrictions under which he lives are local or national,

they are all a part of the system for which he and his neighbors are
responsible, and which as citizens they are under obligation to maintain.
144. Political Terms.—It is important to understand and use correctly
certain terms which occur in this connection. The state is the people
organized for the purpose of exercising the authority of social control. In its
sociological sense it is not restricted to a large or small area, but in political
parlance it is used with reference to a large district which possesses a
certain degree of authority over all the people, as the State of New York, or
the sovereign state of Great Britain. Government is the institution that
functions for social control in accordance with the will of the people or of
an individual to whose authority they submit. Politics is the science and art
of government, and includes statesmanship as its highest type and the
manipulation of party machinery as its lowest type. Law is the body of
social regulations administered by government ostensibly for the public
good. Each of these may be and in the past has been prostituted for private
advantage. In the state one man or a small group has seized and held the
sovereign power through the force of personal ascendancy or the prestige of
birth or wealth, and has used it for himself, as history testifies by numerous
examples. The forms of government in many cases have not been well
adapted to the functions that they were designed to perform. The despotic
administrative agencies that were overthrown by the French Revolution
were ill-adapted to the governmental needs of the lower classes. Much of
the governmental machinery of the American republic has not matched the
constitutional forms that were originally provided, and the Constitution has
had to be stretched or amended if the government of the founders of the
republic was not to be revolutionized. So law and politics have had to be
reorganized, revised, and reinterpreted to fit into the social need. Law is a
conservative factor in progress, but it adapts itself of necessity to the
demands of equity.
145. The Will of the People.—On the continent of Europe rural
government is arranged usually by the central authority of the nation; in
America it is more independent of national control. On this side of the
water the colonial governments often interfered little with local freedom,
and after the Revolution the people fashioned their own national
organization, and in giving it certain powers jealously guarded their own
local privileges. They were willing to sacrifice a general lawmaking power

and grudgingly to permit the nation to have executive and judicial authority,
but they retained the management of local affairs, including the raising and
expenditure of direct taxes. Local government, therefore, has continued to
reflect the mind of the community, a mind occasionally swayed by
emotional impulse, but usually controlled by a love of order, and by an
Anglo-Saxon pride in self-restraint. The will of the people has made the
government and sanctions its actions. It may be that the will is not fixed or
united enough to force itself effectually upon a set of public officials, and
may await reform or revolution to become forceful, yet in the last resort and
in the long run the will of the people prevails. By the provisions of a
democratic constitution judgment is frequently passed by the people upon
the administration of government, and it is within their power to change the
administrative policy or to reject the agents of government whom they have
previously elected. Locally they have the advantage of knowing all
candidates for office. The efficiency of rural government depends much on
its revenue, and farmers are reluctant to increase the tax rate; slowly they
are learning the value of good roads and good schools.
146. The Ancient History of the Community.—The government of the
rural community has a history of its own, as has the community itself. This
government gradually fits itself to meet local needs, but it is slow to put
away the survivals of earlier forms and customs that have outlived their
usefulness. The history of the community goes back to primitive times,
when the clan group recognized common interests and acknowledged the
leadership of the chief or head man. Custom was the law of the clan, and its
older members assisted the chief in interpreting custom. Government in the
community developed in two ways, one along the path of centralization of
authority, the other in the growth of democracy. One tendency was to attach
an undue importance to ancient custom, and to throw about it a veil of
sanctity by connecting it with religion. Such a community in its
conservatism came to possess in time a static civilization, but it lacked
virility and commonly fell under the control of a neighboring energetic
community or prince. This is the usual history of the Oriental community.
The other tendency was to adapt local law and organization to changing
circumstances, and to make use of the abilities of all the members of the
community, to give them a voice in the local assembly, and a right to hold
public office. Such progressive communities were the city states of Greece,
the republic of Rome, and the rural communities of the barbarian Germans

before they settled in the Roman Empire. When the Greek communities
became decadent they fell under foreign dominion; Rome imperialized the
republic, but never forgot how to rule well in her municipalities; the
Germans passed on their democratic ways to the English, and from that
source they were brought to America.
147. Two Types of Rural Government.—In America there have been
two types of rural government growing out of the manner of original
settlement. In New England the colonists settled near together in villages
grouped about the meeting-house. One or more villages constituted a town
for purposes of government. In these small districts it was possible for all
the citizens to meet frequently, and in an annual assembly the voters of the
community elected their officers and adopted the necessary local
regulations. Long custom transplanted oversea had kept a close connection
between church and state, and until the new American principle of
separation was universally adopted, the annual town meeting in
Massachusetts was a parish meeting, in which the community voted with
reference to the needs of the church as well as of the state. In the South
community life was less closely knit, and town meetings were not in vogue.
The parish held its vestry meetings for the transaction of ecclesiastical
business, for episcopacy was the established church; overseers of the poor
were elected at the same meetings. There were county assemblies for social
and judicial purposes, but in each a few prominent people in the
neighborhood managed affairs and perpetuated their privileges, as among
the landed gentry of England. It was in these ways that popular government
continued along the path of material and social progress in the North, while
in the South a plantation aristocracy conservatively maintained its colonial
ideas and institutions, including slavery.
With wider settlement there was an extension of these sectional
differences, except near the border of both, where a blending of the two
took place to some extent. County organization was necessary for a time,
while the country was thinly settled, but neighborhoods organized as school
districts, and by a natural process the school district became the nucleus of
a township government, at first for school purposes and later for the self-
government of the whole community. In some cases, as in Illinois, it was
made optional with the people of a county whether they would organize a
township government or not, but wherever the two systems entered into

comparison and competition the township government proved the more
popular. As long as pure democracy remains there must be a small local unit
of government, and the New England town meeting seems wonderfully well
adapted to the purpose of self-government. The recent tendency to extend
democracy in the form of political primaries and the referendum is a
stimulus to such organization, and it may be expected that the town system
will continue to extend, even in the South.
148. Town and County Officials.—The town meeting is held in a public
building. In colonial days the close connection between church and state
made it proper that the meeting should be in the meeting-house; in the West,
where the school was the nucleus of local organization, the schoolhouse
was the natural voting place. In present-day New England even a small
village has its town house, containing a large hall, which serves for town
meetings and for community assemblies for various social purposes. In the
town meeting the administrative officers, called selectmen, are chosen
annually, and minor officers, including clerk, treasurer, constables, and
school committee; there the community taxes itself for the salaries of its
officials, for the support of the town poor, for the maintenance of highways,
and for such modern improvements as street lights and a public library.
Personal ability counts for more than party allegiance, though each political
party usually puts its candidates in the field. An important function of the
local voters is the decision under the local-option system that prevails in the
East, as to whether the sale of intoxicating liquors shall be licensed for the
ensuing year; under an increasing referendum policy the acts of the State
legislature are frequently submitted for review to the local voters.
Where the town system does not exist or is part of a larger county,
officers are elected for more extended responsibility. The functions of
county officers are mainly judicial. Among the county officers are the
sheriff elected by the people to preserve order and justice throughout the
region, the coroner whose duty has been to investigate sudden death or
disaster, and to hold an inquest to determine the origin of crime if it existed.
The county commissioners or supervisors are executive officers,
corresponding to the selectmen of the town; the clerk and treasurer of the
county have duties similar to the town officers with those titles.
149. Political Relations and Responsibilities.—The local community,
alike under township and county government, is a part of a larger political

unit, and so has relations with and responsibilities to the greater State. The
town meeting may legislate on such matters as the erection of a new
schoolhouse or the building of a town highway, but it cannot locate the
post-office or change the location of a State or county road. It may make its
local taxes large or small, but it cannot increase or diminish the amount of
the State tax or regulate the national tariff. The townsman lives under the
jurisdiction of a law that is made by his representatives in the State
legislature or the national Congress, and he is tried and punished for the
infraction of law in a county, State, or national court. As a citizen of these
larger political units he may vote for county, State, and national officials,
and may himself aspire to the highest office in the gift of his countrymen.
150. Political Standards.—To a foreigner such a system of government
may seem exceedingly complex, but by it self-government is preserved to
the people of the nation, and a good degree of efficiency is maintained.
There are problems of social control that need study and that produce
various experiments in one State or another before they are widely adopted;
there is corruption of party politics with unscrupulous methods and
machinery that is too well oiled with "tainted" money; but local government
averages up to the level of the intelligence and morals of the community. If
the schoolhouse is an efficient centre for the proper training of boys and
girls to understand their social relations and civic responsibilities, and if the
meeting-house is an efficient centre for the discussion of social ethics and a
religion that moves on the plane of earth as well as heaven, then the town
house will give a good account of itself in intelligent voting and clean
political methods. If the school-teacher and the minister have won for
themselves positions of community leadership, and are educators of a
forceful public opinion, and if the community is sufficiently in touch with
the best constructive forces in the national political arena to feel their
stimulus, the political type locally is not likely to be very low. A self-
governing people will always have as good a government as it wants, and if
the government is not what it should be, the will of the people has not been
well educated.

READING REFERENCES

rlie: Local Government in Counties, Towns, and Villages.

ke: Civil Government in the United States, pages 34-95.

derson: Social Elements, pages 292-317.

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 92-105.

ley: Social Organization, pages 402-410.

CHAPTER XXIToC

HEALTH AND BEAUTY

151. Health and Beauty in the Community.—Rural government
formerly limited its range of activity to political and economic concerns.
The individualism of Americans resented the interference of government in
other matters. If property was made secure and taxed judiciously for the
maintenance of public institutions, the duty of government was
accomplished. The individual man was prepared to assume all further
responsibility for himself and family. Such matters as the health of a rural
community and its æsthetic appearance were left to individual initiative and
generally were neglected. On many occasions the housewife showed her
sympathy and kindliness by nursing a sick neighbor, but the members of the
community had little appreciation of the seriousness of contagion and
infection, no knowledge of germs, and small thought of preventive
measures. The appearance of their buildings and grounds was nobody's
business but their own. They had no conception of the social obligation of
each for all and of all for each. The result was an unnecessary amount of
illness, especially of tuberculosis and typhoid fever, because of insanitary

buildings and grounds, and a general air of shabbiness and neglect that
pervaded many communities. It was not that the people lacked the æsthetic
sense, but it had not been trained, and in the struggle for the subjugation of
a new continent all such minor considerations must give way to the
satisfaction of elemental wants.
Slowly it is becoming understood that health and beauty are matters that
demand public attention and regulation. Good fortune and happiness are not
purely economic and political concerns. Well-kept roads, clean and well-
planned public buildings, sanitary farm structures, properly drained farm
lands, and pure drinking water may not add to the number of bushels an
acre, but they prolong life and add to its comfort and satisfaction.
When it seems no longer strange to bother about health conditions, it will
be relatively easy to give attention to rural æsthetics. If a schoolhouse or a
meeting-house is to be erected, it will give greater satisfaction to the
community if the principles of good architecture are observed and the
building is set in the midst of trees and shrubbery and well-kept lawn. With
such an object-lesson, the people of the community will presently contrast
their own property with that of the public, the imitative impulse will begin
to work, and individuals will begin to make improvements as leisure
permits. There are villages that are ugly scars on a landscape which nature
intended should be beautiful. With misdirected energy, farmers have
destroyed the wild beauty of the fence corners and roadsides, mowing down
the weeds and clearing out the brush and vines in an effort to make practical
improvements, while with curious oversight they have permitted the weeds
to grow in the paths and the grass to lengthen in the yard. Many a farm in
rural communities has untidy refuse heaps, tottering outbuildings, rusting
machinery, and general litter that reveal the absence of all sense of beauty
or even neatness, yet the farmer and his wife may be thrifty, hard-working
people, and scrupulously particular indoors. Their minds have not been
sensitized to outdoor beauty and hideousness. They forget that nature is
æsthetic; they live in the midst of her beauty, but their eyes are dim and
their ears are dull, and it is difficult to instruct them. Happily, recent years
have brought with them a new sense of the possibilities of rural beauty.
Children are learning to appreciate it in the surroundings of the schoolhouse
and the tasteful decorations of its interior; their elders are buying lawn-

mowers and painting their fences, and America may yet rival in
attractiveness the fair countryside of old England.
152. Is the Town Healthier than the Country?—It has been commonly
believed that country people are healthier than townspeople. Their life in
the open, with plenty of exercise and hard work, toughens fibre and
strengthens the body to resist disease. It has also been supposed that the
city, with its crowded quarters, vitiated air, and communicable diseases, has
a much larger death-rate. It is true that city life is more dangerous to health
than a country existence if no health precautions are taken, but city
ordinances commonly regulate community health, while in the country
there is greater license. Exposure gives birth to colds and coughs in the
country; these are treated with inadequate home remedies, because
physicians are inconveniently distant or expensive, and chronic diseases
fasten themselves upon the individual. Ignorance of hygienic principles,
absence of bathrooms, poor ventilation, unscreened doors and windows,
and impure water and milk are among the causes of disease.
There is as much need of pure air, pure water, and pure food in the
country as in the city, and the danger from disease is no less menacing. The
farmer loses vitality through long hours of labor, and is susceptible to
disease scarcely less than is the working man in town. And he is more at
fault if he suffers, for there is room to build the home in a healthful
location, where drainage is easy and pure air and sunshine are abundant;
there is water without price for cleansing purposes, and sanitation is
possible without excessive cost. In most cases it is lack of information that
prevents a realization of perils that lurk, and every rural community should
have instruction in hygiene from school-teacher, physician, or resident
nurse.
153. Rural Health Preservers.—Three health preservers are needed in
every rural community. These are the health official, the physician, and the
nurse. There is need first of one whose business it shall be to inspect the
sanitary conditions of public and private buildings, and to watch the health
of the people, old and young. It matters little whether the official is under
State or local authority, if he efficiently and fearlessly performs his duty.
Constant vigilance alone can give security, and it is a small price to pay if
the community is compelled to bear even the whole expense of such a
health official. Community health is often intrusted to the town fathers or a

district board with little interest in the matter; on the other hand, the agent
of a State board is not always a local resident, and is liable to overlook local
conditions. It is desirable that the health official be an individual of good
training, familiar with the locality, and with ample authority, for in this way
only can safety be reasonably secure.
It is by no means impracticable to give a local physician the necessary
official authority. He is equipped with information and skilled by
experience to know bad conditions when he sees them and to appreciate
their seriousness. Whether or not a physician is the official health protector
of the community, a physician there should be who can be reached readily
by those who need him, and who should be required to produce a certificate
of thorough training in both medicine and surgery. If such a medical
practitioner does not establish himself in the district voluntarily, the
community might well afford to employ such a physician on a salary and
make him responsible for the health of all. As civilization advances it will
become increasingly the custom in the country as well as in the city to
employ a physician to keep one's general health good, as now one employs
a dentist to examine and preserve the teeth. Medical practice must
continually become more preventive and less remedial. It may seem as if it
were an unwarranted expansion of the social functions of a community that
it should care for the health of individuals, but as the interdependence of
individuals becomes increasingly understood, the community may be
expected to extend its care for its own welfare.
154. The Village Nurse.—Alongside the physician belongs the village or
rural nurse. Already there are many communities that are becoming
accustomed to such a functionary, who visits the schools, examines the
children, prescribes for their small ailments or recommends a visit to the
physician, and who stands ready to perform the duties of a trained nurse at
the bedside of any sufferer. The support of such a nurse is usually
maintained by voluntary subscription, but there seems to be no good reason
why she should not be appointed and paid by the organized community as a
local official. She is as much needed as a road-surveyor, surely as valuable
as hog-reeve or pound-keeper. It is a valid social principle, though rural
observation does not always justify it, that human life is not only
intrinsically more valuable to the individual or family than the life of an
animal of the herd, but it is actually worth more to the community.

155. The Village Improvement Society.—To secure good health
conditions, interested persons in the community may organize a health club.
Its feasibility is well proved by the history of the village improvement
society. There are two hundred such societies in Massachusetts alone, and
the whole movement is organized nationally in the American Civic
Federation. Their object is the toning up of the community by various
methods that have proved practicable. They owe their organization to a few
public-spirited individuals, to a woman's club, or sometimes to a church.
Their membership is entirely voluntary, but local government may properly
co-operate to accomplish a desired end. Expenses are met by voluntary
contribution or by means of public entertainments, and its efforts are
limited, of course, by the fatness of its purse. Examples of the useful public
service that they perform are the demolition of unsightly buildings and the
cleaning up of unkempt premises, the beautification of public structures and
the building of better roads, the erection of drinking troughs or fountains,
and the improvement of cemeteries. Besides such outdoor interests village
improvement societies create public spirit, educate the community by
means of high-class entertainments, art and nature exhibits, and public
discussion of current questions of local interest. They stand back of
community enterprises for recreation, fire protection, and other forms of
social service, including such economic interests as co-operative buying
and marketing and the extension of telephone or transportation service.
The initial impulse that sets in motion various forms of village
improvement frequently comes from the summer visitor or from a teacher
or minister who brings new ideas and a will to carry them into action. In
certain sections of country, like the mountain region of northern New
England, summer people are very numerous, through the weeks from June
to October, and not a few of them revisit their favorite rural haunts for a
briefer time in the winter. It is not to be expected that they are always a
force for good. Sometimes they make country residents envious and
dissatisfied. But it is not unusual that they give an intellectual stimulus to
the young people and the women, compel the men to observe the proprieties
of social intercourse, and encourage downcast leaders of church and
neighborhood to renewed industry and hope. They demand multiplied
comforts and conveniences, and expect attractive and healthful
accommodations. Where they purchase and improve lands and buildings of

their own they provide useful models to their less particular neighbors, and
thus the leaven of a better type of living does its work in the neighborhood.
156. Principles of Organization.—The principles that lie at the basis of
every organization for improvement are simple and practicable everywhere.
They have been enumerated as a democratic spirit and organization, a wide
interest in community affairs, and a perennial care for the well-being of all
the people. Public spirit is the reason for its existence, and the same public
spirit is the only force that can keep the organization alive. Every
community in this democratic country has its fortunes in its own hands. If it
is so permeated with individualism or inertia that it cannot awake to its
duties and its privileges, it will perish in accordance with the law of the
survival of the fittest; if, on the contrary, it adopts as its controlling
principles those just mentioned, it will find increasing strength and profit
for itself, because it keeps alive the spirit of co-operation and mutual help.

READING REFERENCES

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 66-82,
106-130.
lette: Rural Sociology, pages 147-167.

rris: Health on the Farm.

well: Village Improvement, pages 47-53, Appendix.

ters: Village Nursing in the United States.

CHAPTER XXIIToC

MORALS IN THE RURAL COMMUNITY

157. Social Disease and Its Causes.—Rural morals are a phase of the
public health of the community. Immorality is a kind of social disease, for
which the community needs to find a remedy. The amount of moral ill
varies widely, but it can be increased by neglect or lessened by effort, as
surely as can the amount of physical disease. Moral ill is due to the
individual and to the community. The judgment of the individual may be
warped, his moral consciousness defective, or his will weak. He may have
low standards and ill-adjusted relationships. Selfishness may have blunted
his sympathy. All these conditions contribute to the common vices of
community life. But the individual is sometimes less to blame than the
community. Much moral ill is a consequence of the imperfect functioning
of the community. A man steals because he is hungry or cold, and the
motive to escape pain is stronger than the motive to deal lawfully with his
neighbor; but if the community saw to it that adequate provision was made
for all economic need, and if moral instruction was not lacking, it would be
unlikely to happen. Similar reasons may be found for other evils. It is as
much the business of the community to keep the social atmosphere
wholesome as it is to keep the air and water of its farms pure. It should
provide moral training and moral exercise.
158. How Morals Develop.—Without attempting a thoroughly scientific
definition of morals, we may call good morals those habitual acts which are
in harmony with the best individual and social interests of the people of the
community, and bad morals the absence of such habits. Of course the acts
are the consequence of motives, and in the last analysis the question of
morals is rooted in the field of psychology or religion; but the inner motive
is revealed in the outward act, and it is customary to speak of the act as
moral or immoral. Moral standards are not unvarying. One race differs from
another and one period of history differs from another. Primitive custom
was the first standard, and was determined by what was good for the group,
and the individual conformed to it from force of circumstances. If he was to
remain a member of the group and enjoy its benefits he must be willing to
sacrifice his selfish desires. His consciousness of the solidarity of the group
deepens with experience, and his feelings of sympathy grow stronger, until

impulsive altruism becomes a habit and eventually a fixed and purposeful
patriotism. By and by religion throws about conduct its sanctions and
interprets the meaning of morality. However imperfect may be the relations
between good morals and pagan religions, Judaism and Christianity have
combined religion with high moral ideals. The Hebrew prophets declared
that God demanded justice, kindness, and mercy in human relations rather
than acts of ceremony and sacrifice to himself, and Jesus made love to
neighbor as fundamental to holiness as love to God. Such a religion
becomes dynamic in producing moral deeds.
159. The Social Stimulus to Morality.—It is customary to think of the
homely virtues of truthfulness, sobriety, thrift, and kindliness as individual
obligations, but they are not wrought out in isolation. Isolation is never
complete, and virtue is a social product. The farmer makes occasional visits
to the country store, where he experiences social contacts; there is habitual
association with individual workers on the farm or traders with whom the
farmer carries on a business transaction. His personal contacts may not be
helpful, and his wife may lack them almost altogether outside of the home;
the result is often a tendency toward vice or degeneration, sometimes to
insanity or suicide, but it is seldom that there are not helpful influences and
relations available if the individual will put himself in the way of enjoying
them. Good morals are dependent on right associations. Human beings need
the stimulus of good society, otherwise the mind vegetates or broods upon
real or fancied wrongs until the moral nature is in danger of atrophy or
warping. Family feuds develop, as among the Scotch highlanders or the
mountain people in certain parts of the South. Lack of social sympathy
increases as the interests become self-centred; out of this characteristic
grow directly such evils as petty lawlessness, rowdyism, and crime. The
country districts need the help of high-grade schools and proper places of
recreation, of the Young Men's Christian Association or an association of
like principles, and most of all of a virile church that will interpret moral
obligation and furnish the power that is needed to move the will to right
action.
160. Rural Vices.—The moral problems of the rural community do not
differ greatly from those of the town. The most common rural vices are
profanity, drunkenness, and sexual immorality. Profanity is often a habit
rather than a defect in moral character, and is due sometimes to a narrow

vocabulary. It is a mark of ignorance and boorishness. In many localities it
is less common than it used to be. The average community life is
wholesome. Not more than twenty per cent of American rural communities
have really bad conditions in any way, according to the investigations made
by the United States Rural Life Commission in 1908. Considering the
monotony and hardships of rural life, it is much to the credit of the people
that most communities are temperate and law-abiding. Intemperance is one
of the most common evils; there is a longing for the stimulant of liquor,
which appears in some cases in moderate drinking and in other cases in the
habit of an occasional spree in a near-by town, when reason abdicates to
appetite. Lumbermen and miners, whose work is especially hard and
isolation from good society complete, have been notorious for their lapses
into intemperance, but it is not a serious problem in three out of four
communities the country over, and a wave of temperance sentiment has
swept strongly over rural districts. Gambling is a diversion that appeals to
those who have few mental and pecuniary resources as an offset to the daily
monotony, but this habit is not typical of rural communities.
Investigations of the Rural Life Commission showed that sexual
immorality prevails in ten to fifteen per cent of the rural communities, and
they trace much of it to late evening drives and dances and unchaperoned
calls, but on the whole the perversion of the sex instinct is less common
than in the cities. The young are generally trained in moral principles, the
religious sanctions are more strongly operative, and the conduct and
character of every individual is constantly under the public eye. Young
people in the country marry at an earlier age than in the city, and husband
and wife are normally faithful. Crime in the country is peculiar to
degenerate communities, elsewhere it is rare. Juvenile delinquency occurs,
and there are not such helpful influences as the juvenile court of the city; on
the other hand, most boys are in touch with home influences, feel the
restraint of a law-abiding community, and know that lawbreaking is almost
certain to be found out and punished.
161. Community Obligation.—Moral delinquency in the rural
community lies in the failure to provide social stimulus to individual
members. The farmer has as good reason to be ambitious for success and to
feel pride in it as has the city merchant, but he has small local
encouragement to develop better agriculture on his own farm. He has as

much right to the benefits of association in toil and co-operation in effecting
economies and disposing of his products as the employer or working man in
town. He is equally entitled to good government, to wholesome recreation,
to a suitable and efficient education, and to the spiritual leadership of a
progressive church. Without the spur of community fellowship his life
narrows and his abilities are not developed. With the help of community
stimulus the individual may develop capacity for individual achievement
and social leadership of as fine a quality as any urban centre can supply. It
is well known that the strong men of the cities in business and the
professions have come in large proportion from the country. If such
qualities developed in the comparative isolation and discomfort of the past,
it is a moral obligation of rural communities of the future to do even more
to produce the brawn and brain of city leaders in days to come.

READING REFERENCES

son: The Evolution of the Country Community, pages 171-188.

derson: The Country Town, pages 95-106.

ley: Sociology, pages 146-165.

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 166-175.

house: Morals in Evolution, I, pages 364-375.

ncer: Data of Ethics, chapter 8.

ort of Committee on Morals and Rural Conditions of the General
Association of Congregational Churches of Massachusetts, 1908.

CHAPTER XXIIIToC

THE RURAL CHURCH

162. The Value of the Rural Church.—Of all the local institutions of
the rural community, none is so discouraging and at the same time so
potential for usefulness as the country church. It has had a noble past; it is
passing through a dubious present; it should emerge into a great future. The
church is the conserver of the highest ideals. Like every long-established
institution, it is conservative in methods as well as in principles. It regards
itself as the censor of conduct and the mentor of conscience, and it fills the
rôle of critic as often as it holds out an encouraging hand to the weary and
hard pressed in the struggle for existence and moral victory. It is the guide-
post to another world, which it esteems more highly than this. Sometimes it
puts more emphasis on creed than on conduct, on Sunday scrupulousness
than on Monday scruple. But in spite of its failings and its frequent local
decline, the church is the hope of rural America. It is notorious that the
absence of a church means a distinctly lower type of community life, both
morally and socially. Vice and crime flourish there. Property values tumble
when the church dies and the minister moves away. Many residents rarely if
ever enter the precincts of the meeting-house or contribute to the expense of
its maintenance, yet they share in the benefits that it gives and would not
willingly see it disappear when they realize the consequences. In the
westward march of settlement the missionary kept pace with the pioneer,
and the church on the frontier became the centre of every good influence. It
is impossible to estimate the value of the rural church in the onrush of
civilization. Religion has been the saving salt of humanity when it was in
danger of spoiling. In the lumber and the mining camp, on the cattle-ranch
and the prairie, the missionary has sweetened life with his ministry and
given a tone to the life of the open and the wild that in value is past
calculation.
163. The Church in Decline.—In the days when it seems declining, the
strength of the rural church is worth preserving. There are hundreds of rural
communities where the young people have gone to the town and population
has steadily fallen behind. There are hundreds more where the people of a

community have drawn wealth from the soil, and with a succession of good
crops and high prices have accumulated enough to keep them comfortable,
and then have sold or leased their property and moved into town. The
purchasers or tenants who replaced them have been less able to contribute
to church support or have been of a different faith or race, and the churches
have found it difficult to survive. Doubtless some of these churches could
be spared without great loss, for in the rush of real or expected settlement,
certain localities became over-churched, but the spectacle of scores of
abandoned churches in the Middle West has as doleful an appearance as
abandoned farms in New England.
164. Is It Worth Preserving?—It would be a misfortune for the church
to perish out of the rural districts, for it performs a religious function that no
other institution performs. It cherishes the beliefs that have strengthened
man through the ages and given him the upward look that betokens faith in
his destiny and power in his life. It calls out the best that is in him to meet
the tasks of every day. It ministers to him in times of greatest need. It
teaches him how to relate himself to an Unseen Power and to the fellowship
of human kind. The meeting-house is a community centre drawing to itself
like a magnet family groups and individuals from miles around, overcoming
their isolation and breaking into the daily monotony of their lives, and with
its worship and its sermon awakening new thoughts and impulses for the
enrichment of life. Nor does its ministry confine itself to things of the spirit.
The weekly Sunday assembly provides opportunity for social intercourse, if
no more than an exchange of greetings, and now and then a sociable
evening gathering or anniversary occasion brings an added social
opportunity.
165. The Country Minister.—The faithful rural minister also carries the
church to the people. His parish is broad, but he finds his way into the
homes of his parishioners, acquaints himself with their characteristics and
their needs, and fits his ministrations to them. Especially does he carry
comfort to the sick and soothe the suffering and the dying. No other can
quite fill his place; no other so builds himself into the hearts of the people.
He may not be a great thinker or preach polished sermons; his hands may
be rough and his clothes ill-fitting; but if he is a loyal friend and ministers
to real spiritual need, he is saint and prophet to those whom he has
brothered.

In the rural economy each public functionary is worthy or unworthy,
according to his personal fidelity to his particular task. A poorly equipped
board of government is not worth half the salary of the school-teacher. That
official may not hold his place or gain the respect of his pupils unless he
meets their needs of instruction with a degree of efficiency. But a public
servant who fills full the channels of his usefulness is worth twice what he
is likely to get as his stipulated wage. The community can well afford to
look kindly upon a minister of that type, to encourage him in his efforts for
the upbuilding of the community, and to contribute to an honorable stipend
for his support.
166. The Problems.—The rural church has its problems and so has the
rural minister. There are the indifferent people who are irreligious
themselves and have no share in the activities of the religious institution.
There are the insincere people who belong to the church but are not
sympathetic in spirit or conduct. There are the cold-blooded people who
gather weekly in the meeting-house but do not respond to intellectual or
spiritual stimulus, and who chill the heart of the minister and soon quench
his enthusiasm. It is not surprising if he is restless and changes location
frequently, or if he becomes listless and apparently indifferent to the welfare
of his flock, when he meets no response and himself enjoys no stimulus
from his own kind. All these conditions constitute the spiritual problem.
Beyond this there is the institutional problem. The church finds
maintenance difficult, often impossible without outside assistance. Failing
to minister to any purely community need except on special occasions, or to
assume any responsibility of leadership in civic or social affairs, it does not
receive the cordial support of the community to which as a social
institution, conserving the highest interests, it is reasonably entitled. It must
be remembered that in America there can be no established church
supported by the State, as in England. The church is on a different footing
in every community from that of the public school. It is therefore dependent
on the good-will of the community and must cultivate that good-will if it is
to succeed. Most rural churches have yet to become a vital force, not only
energizing their own members, but reaching out also to the whole
community, seeking not their own growth as their chief end, but by
ministering to the community's needs, realizing a fuller, richer life of their
own.

167. The Needs of the Church.—The rural church needs reorganization
for efficiency, but changes must be gradual. A local church that is
democratic in its form of organization, with no external oversight, is likely
to need strengthening in administration; a church that intrusts control to a
small board or is governed from the outside probably needs to get closer to
the people, but differences in church government are of small practical
consequence. It does not appear that it makes much difference in the
success of a rural church whether its organization is Episcopal,
Presbyterian, or Congregational. The machinery needs modernizing,
whatever the pattern. It is a part of the task to be undertaken by every up-to-
date country minister to consider possible improvements in the various
departments of the church. It is as likely that the children are being as
inefficiently taught in the Sunday-school as in the every-day school, that
organizations and opportunities for the young people are as lacking as in the
community at large, that discussions in the Bible class are as pointless as
those in any local forum. It is more than likely that the church is failing to
make good in a given locality because it is depending on a few persons to
carry on its activities, and these few do not co-operate well with one
another or with other Christian people. The functions of the church are
neither well understood nor properly performed. It has small assets in
community good-will, and it is in no real sense a going concern.
168. The New Rural Church.—Here and there a church of a new type is
meeting manfully these various needs. It has set itself first to answer the
question whether the church is a real religious force in the community, and
what method may best be used to energize the countryside more effectually
for moral and religious ends. Old forms or times of worship have needed
changing, or an innovating individual has taken a hand temporarily. Then it
has faced the practical problem of religious education. Most churches
maintain a Sunday-school and a Woman's Missionary or Aid Society.
Certain of them have young people's organizations, and a few have
organized men's classes or clubs. Each of these groups goes on its own
independent course. There is no attempt to correlate the studies with which
each concerns itself, and there is much waste of effort in holding group
sessions that accomplish nothing. The new church directors simplify,
correlate, and systematize all the educational work that is being attempted,
improve courses of study and methods of teaching, and propose to all
concerned the attainment of certain definite standards. In the third place, the

new rural church adopts for itself a well-considered programme of
community service. Its opportunity is unlimited, but its efforts are not worth
much unless it approaches the subject intelligently, with a knowledge of
local conditions, of its own resources, and of the methods that have been
used successfully in other similar localities. Nothing less than these three
tasks of investigation, education, and service belong to every church;
toward this ideal is moving an increasing number of churches in the
country.

READING REFERENCES

terfield: The Country Church and the Rural Problem.

ke: The Challenge of the Country.

son: The Church of the Open Country.

mith: Chapter on "The Rural Church" in Social Ministry.

rt: Educational Resources of Village and Rural Communities, pages 176-196.

ort of Country Life Commission, 1908.

CHAPTER XXIVToC

A NEW TYPE OF RURAL INSTITUTION

169. A New Type of Institution.—The rural community everywhere is
in need of a new social institution. Those which exist have been

individualistic in purpose and method and only incidentally have been
socially constructive. The school has existed to make individuals efficient
intellectually, that they might be able to struggle successfully for existence.
The church has existed as a means to individual salvation from future ill.
Social good has resulted from these institutions, but it has not been
fundamental in their purpose. The new rural institution that is needed is a
centre for community reconstruction. If the school or the church can adapt
itself to the need, either may become such an institution; if not, there must
be a new type.
It has often been said that the characteristic evil of rural life is the
isolation of the people, but this must be understood to mean not merely an
isolated location of farm dwellings but a lack of human fellowship. In the
city the majority of people might as well live in isolated houses as far as
acquaintance with neighbors is concerned, but they do not lack human
fellowship because they have group connections elsewhere. In the country it
is hardly possible to choose associates or institutional connections. There is
one school prepared to receive the children of a certain age, and no other,
unless they are conveyed to a distance at great inconvenience; the variety of
suitable churches is not large. It is necessary to cultivate neighbors or to go
without friendships. But rural social relations are not well lubricated. There
are few common topics of conversation, except the weather, the crops, or a
bit of gossip. There are few common interests about which discussion may
centre. There is need of an institution that shall create and conserve such
common interests.
170. A Community House.—The first task is to bring people together to
a common gathering place, where perfect democracy will prevail, and
where there may be unrestricted discussion. There is no objection to using
the schoolhouse for the purpose, but ordinarily it is not adapted to the
purposes of an assembly-room. The meeting-house may serve the purpose,
but to many persons it seems a desecration of a sacred building, and except
in the case of a single community church there is too much of the
denominational flavor about it to make it an unrestricted forum. Ideally
there should be a community house erected at a convenient location, and
large enough to accommodate as many as might desire to assemble. It
should be equipped for all the social uses to which it might be put. It should
be paid for by the voluntary contributions of all the people, but title to the

property should be in the hands of a board of trustees or associates who
would be responsible for its maintenance and for the uses to which it would
be put. These persons must be men and women of the town in whose
judgment the people have full confidence. Regular expenses should be met
by annual payments, as the Young Men's Christian Association is sustained
in cities all over the country, and by occasional entertainments. A limited
endowment fund would be helpful, but too large endowment tends to
pauperize a local institution.
171. Intellectual Stimulus.—The second task is to put the community
house to use. There are numerous ways by which this can be done, but the
best are those that fit local need. Of all the needs the greatest is stimulus to
thought. Ideally this should come from the pulpit of the rural church, but its
stimulus is usually not strong, it is commonly confined to religious
exhortation, and it reaches only a few. All the people of the community
need to think seriously about their economic and social interests, and to be
drawn out to express themselves on such subjects. The old-fashioned town
meeting provided a channel for such discussion once a year. What is needed
is a town-meeting extension through eight or nine months of the year. The
community house offers an opportunity for such an extension. Under the
initiative and guidance of one or two energetic local leaders, inspired by an
occasional outside lecturer, such as can be obtained at small expense from
agricultural colleges and other public agencies, almost any American
community ought to carry on a forum of public discussion for weeks, taking
up first the most urgent questions of community interest and passing on
gradually to matters of broader concern.
172. Social Satisfaction.—As the adults of the community need
intellectual stimulus, so the young people need social satisfactions. The
salvation of the American rural community lies largely in the contentment
of the young people, for without that quality of mind they leave the country
for the town, or settle back in an unprogressive, unsocial state of sullen
resignation. There must be opportunity for recreation. The community
house should function for the entertainment of its constituency in ways that
approve themselves to the associates in charge. But it is not so much
entertainment that is wanted as an opportunity for sociability, occasions
when all the youth of the community can meet for mutual acquaintance and
the beginnings of courtship, and for the stimulus that comes from human

association. If association and activity are characteristic of normal social
life, it is unreasonable to suppose that rural young people will be contented
to vegetate. If they cannot have legitimate opportunities to realize their
impulse to associated activity, they will provide less satisfactory
unconventional opportunities. One of the best means for promoting
sociability and providing an outlet for youthful energy in concert has been
found in the use of music. The old-fashioned singing-school filled a real
need and its passing has left a distinct gap. Where musical gatherings have
been revived experience has shown that they are a most effective stimulus
to a new community consciousness. The country church choir has long been
regarded as a useful social as well as religious institution, but the
community chorus is far more effective. It is possible to uncover latent
talent and to cultivate it so that it will furnish more attractive entertainment
for the people than that which is imported at far greater expense from
outside. Among the foreigners who are finding their way into rural
localities, there is sometimes discovered a musical ability that outranks the
native, and no other method of approach to the immigrant is so easy as by
giving his young people a place in the social activities of the community.
173. Continuation Schooling.—A further use for the community house
is educational. The older education of the district school was defective, and
the new education is not enjoyed by many a farmer's boy or girl, because
they cannot be spared in the later years of youth for long schooling. An
adaptation of the idea of continuation schools for rural young people so that
they may apply the new sciences to country life is greatly to be desired. The
local school principal or county superintendent or an extension teacher from
a State institution may be found available as director, and it belongs to the
community to provide the necessary funds. For older people some of the
same courses are suitable, but they should be supplemented with lectures of
all sorts. It has been demonstrated many times that popular lecturers can be
secured at small expense in different parts of the country, especially in these
days when there are so many agencies to push the new agricultural science,
and other subjects over a wide range of interests will not fail to find
exponents if a demand for them can be created.
174. Community Leadership.—In the last analysis the prime factor in
the rural situation is the community leader. Institutions can do little for the
enrichment of rural life if personality is wanting. It is the leader's energy

that keeps the wheels of the machinery turning, his wisdom that gears their
action to the needs of the community. It is desirable that the leader should
spring from the community itself, acquainted with its needs and voicing its
aspirations. But more communities get their leaders from outside and are
often more willing to accept such a leader than if he came up out of their
midst, for the proverb is often true that a prophet is without honor in his
own country.
175. Qualities of Leadership.—Social leadership is dependent upon
certain qualities in the person who leads and in those who are led. The
attitude of the people of the community is fundamental. The stimulus that
the leader applies must find response in their inner natures if his energy is to
become socially effective. If there is not a latent capacity to action, no
amount of stimulus will avail. It is safe to assume that there are few local
communities in America that will fail to respond to the right kind of
leadership, but certain qualities in the leader are essential for inspiration. It
is not necessary that he should be country born, but it is essential that he
love the country, appreciate its opportunities, and be conscious of its needs.
He cannot hope to call out these qualities in the people if he does not
himself possess them. And it must be a genuine love and appreciation that is
in him, for only sincerity and perfect honesty can win men for long. It is
essential that he have breadth of sympathy for all the interests of the people
that he seeks for his own; he may not think lightly of farming or
storekeeping, of education or recreation, of morals or religion. He must be
devoted to the community, its servant as well as its leader, content to build
himself into its life. It is not necessary that the leader should be a trained
expert, a finished product of the schools, desirable as such equipment is, but
it is essential that he know how to call out the best that is in others, to play
upon their emotions, to appeal to their intellects, to energize their wills. He
must not only understand their present mental processes, but he must have a
vision of them when they have become transformed with new impulses and
ambitions, and converted to new and nobler purposes. He needs an
unquenchable enthusiasm, a gentle patience, an invincible, aggressive
persistency, a contagious optimism that will carry him over every obstacle
to ultimate victory. It is essential that he possess fertility of resource to
adapt himself to circumstances, that he have power to call out action and
executive ability to direct it. Most important of all is a magnetic personality
such as belonged to the great chieftains of history who in war or peace have

been able to attract followers and to mould them in obedience to their own
will.
176. Broad Opportunities.—A leader such as that described has an
almost unlimited field of opportunity to mould social life. In the city the
opportunity for leadership may seem to be larger, but few can dominate
more than a small group. In the country the start may be slower and more
discouraging, but the goal reaches out ahead. From better agriculture the
leader may draw on the people to better social ideals, to a new appreciation
of education and broad culture, to a truer understanding of ethics and
religion. He may refashion institutions that may express the new in modern
terms. But when this is accomplished his work is not done. He may reach
out over the countryside and make his village a nucleus for wider progress
through a whole county. Even then his influence is not spent. The rural
communities in America are feeders of the cities; in them is the nursery of
the men and women who are to become leaders in the larger circles of
business and professional life, in journalism and literature, in religion and
social reform. Many a rural teacher or pastor has built himself into the
affections of a boy or a girl, incarnating for them the noblest ideals and
stimulating them to achievement and service in an environment that he
himself could never hope to fill and with a power of influence that he could
never expect to wield. The avenues of opportunity are becoming more
numerous. The teacher and the minister have advantages of leadership over
the county Young Men's Christian Association secretary and the village
nurse, but since personal qualities are the determining factors, no man or
woman, whatever their position, can make good the claim without proving
ability by actual achievement. Any man or woman who enters a particular
community for the first time, or returns to it from college, may become a
dynamo of blessing to it. There waits for such a leader the loyalty of the
boys who may be won for noble manhood, of the girls who may become
worthy mothers of a better generation of future citizens, of men and women
for whom the glamour of youth has passed into the sober reality of maturer
years, but who are still capable of seeing visions of a richer life that they
and their children may yet enjoy. There are ready to his hand the institutions
that have played an important part, however inefficiently in rural life, the
heritage of social custom and community character that have come down
from the past, and the material environment that helps or hinders but does
not control human relations and human deeds. These constitute the measure

of his world; these are clay for the potter and instruments for his working;
upon him is laid the responsibility of the product.

READING REFERENCES

tis: Play and Recreation for the Open Country, pages 195-259.

ke: The Challenge of the Country, pages 225-266.

ley: Human Nature and the Social Order, pages 283-325.

Nutt: "Ten Years in a Country Church," World's Work, December, 1910.
Keever: Farm Boys and Girls, pages 129-145.
ney: Country Life and the Country School, pages 1-17, 302-327.

PART IV—SOCIAL LIFE IN THE CITY

CHAPTER XXVToC

FROM COUNTRY TO CITY

177. Enlarging the Social Environment.—In the story of the family and
the rural community it has become clear that the normal individual as he
grows to maturity lives in an expanding circle of social relations. The
primary unit of his social life is the family in the home. There the elemental
human instincts are satisfied. There while a child he learns the first lessons
of social conduct. From the home he enters into the larger life of the
community. He takes his place in the school, where he touches the lives of
other children and learns that he is a part of a larger social order. He gets
into the current of community life and finds out the importance of local
institutions like the country store and the meeting-house. He becomes
accustomed to the ways that are characteristic of country people, and finds a
place for himself in the industry and social activity of the countryside.
When the boy who has grown up in a rural community comes to manhood,
his natural tendency is to accept the occupation of farming with which he
has become acquainted in boyhood, to woo a country maid for a mate, and
to make for himself a rural home after the pattern of his ancestors. In that
case his social environment remains restricted. His relations are with nature
rather than with men. His horizon is narrow, his interests limited. The
institutions that mould him are few, the forces that stimulate to progress are
likely to be lacking altogether. He need not, but he usually does, cease to
grow.
178. Characteristics of the City.—Certain individuals find the static life
of the country unbearable. Their nature demands larger scope in an
expanding environment. To them the stirring town beckons, and they are

restless until they escape. The city is a centre of social life where the
individual feels a greater stimulus than in the home or the rural community.
It resembles the family and the village in providing social relations and an
interchange of ideas, but it surpasses them in the large scale of its activities.
It presents many of the same social characteristics that they do, but geared
in each case for higher speed. Its activities are swifter and more varied. Its
associations are more numerous and kaleidoscopic. Its people are less
independent than in the country; control, economic and political, is more
pervasive, even though crude in method. Change is more rapid in the city,
because the forces that are at work are charged with dynamic energy.
Weakness in social structure and functioning is conspicuous. In the large
cities all these are intensified, but they are everywhere apparent whenever a
community passes beyond the village stage. The line that separates the
village or small town from the city is an arbitrary one. The United States
calls those communities rural that have a population not exceeding twenty-
five hundred, but it is less a question of population than of interests and
activities. When agriculture gives place to trade or manufacturing as the
leading economic interest; when the community takes on the social
characteristics that belong to urban life; and when places of business and
amusement assume a place of importance rather than the home, the school,
and the church, the community passes into the urban class. Names and
forms of government are of small consequence in classification compared
with the spirit and ways of the community.
179. How the City Grows.—The city grows by the natural excess of
births over deaths and by immigration. Without immigration the city grows
more slowly but more wholesomely. Immigration introduces an alien
element that has to adjust itself to new ways and does not always fuse
readily with the native element. This is true of immigration from the
country village as well as from a foreign country, but an American, even
though brought up differently, finds it easier to adapt himself to his new
environment. An increasingly large percentage of children are born and
grow to maturity in the city. There are thousands of urban communities of
moderate size in America, where there are few who come in from any
distance, but for nearly a hundred years in the older parts of the country a
rural migration has been carrying young people into town, and the recent
volume of foreign immigration is spilling over from the large cities into the

smaller urban centres, so that the mixture of population is becoming
general.
180. The Attraction of the City.—Foreign immigration is a subject that
must be treated by itself; rural immigration needs no prolonged discussion
once the present limitations of life in the country are understood. Multitudes
of ambitious young people are not contented with the opportunities offered
by the rural environment. They want to be at the strategic points of the
world's activities, struggling for success in the thick of things. The city
attracts the country boy who is ambitious, exactly as old Rome attracted the
immature German. The blare of its noisy traffic, the glare of its myriad
lights, the rush and the roar and the rabble all urge him to get into the
scramble for fun and gain. The crowd attracts. The instinct of sociability
draws people together. Those who are unfamiliar with rural spaces and are
accustomed to live in crowded tenements find it lonesome in the country,
and prefer the discomfort of their congested quarters in town to the pure air
and unspoiled beauty of the country. They love the stir of the streets, and
enjoy sitting on the door-steps and wandering up and down the sidewalks,
feeling the push of the motley crowd. Those who leave the country for the
city feel all these attractions and are impelled by them, but beyond these
attractions, re-enforcing them by an appeal to the intellect, are the economic
advantages that lie in the numerous occupations and chances for promotion
to high-salaried positions, the educational advantages for children and
youth in the better-graded schools, the colleges, the libraries, and the other
cultural institutions, and such social advantages as variety of entertainment,
modern conveniences in houses and hotels, more beautiful and up-to-date
churches, well-equipped hospitals, and comfortable and convenient means
of transportation from place to place.
181. Making a Countryman into a Citizen.—It is important to enter
into the spirit of the young people who prefer the streets and blocks of the
town to the winding country roads, and are willing to sacrifice what there is
of beauty and leisure in rural life for the ugliness, sordidness, and
continuous drive of the city; to understand that a greater driving force,
stirring in the soul of youth and thrusting upon him with every item of news
from the city, is impelling him to disdain what the country can give him and
to magnify the counter-attractions of the town. He has felt the monotony
and the contracted opportunity of farm life as he knows it. He has

experienced the drudgery of it ever since he began to do the chores.
Familiar only with the methods of his ancestors, he knows that labor is hard
and returns are few. He may look across broad acres that will some day be
his, but he knows that his father is "land poor." As a farmer he sees no
future for agriculture. He has known the village and the surrounding
country ever since he graduated from the farmyard to the schoolhouse, and
came into association with the boys and girls of the neighborhood. He
knows the economic and social resources of the community and is satisfied
that he can never hope for much enjoyment or profit in the limited rural
environment. The school gave him little mental stimulus, but opened the
door ajar into a larger world. The church gave him an orthodox gospel in
terms of divinity and its environment rather than humanity on earth, but
stirred vaguely his aspirations for a fuller life. He has sounded the depths of
rural existence and found it unsatisfying. He wants to learn more, to do
more, to be more.
One eventful day he graduates from the village to the city, as years before
he graduated from the home into the community. By boat or train, or by the
more primitive method of stage-coach or afoot, he travels until he joins the
surging crowd that swarms in the streets. He feels himself thrilling with the
consciousness that he is moving toward success and possibly greatness. He
does not stop to think that hundreds of those who seek their fortune in the
city have failed, and have found themselves far worse off than the contented
folk back in the home village. The newcomer establishes himself in a
boarding-house or lodging-house which hundreds of others accept as an
apology for a home, joins the multitude of unemployed in a search for
work, and is happy if he finds it in an office that is smaller and darker than
the wood-shed on the farm, or behind a counter where fresh air and sunlight
never penetrate. He will put up with these non-essentials, for he expects in
days ahead to move higher up, when the large rewards that are worth while
will be his.
In the ranks of business he measures his wits with others of his kind. He
apes their manners, their slang, and their tone inflections. He imitates their
fashions in clothes, learns the popular dishes in the restaurants, and if of
feminine tastes gives up pie for salad. He goes home after hours to his small
and dingy bedroom, tired from the drain upon his vitality because of ill-
ventilated rooms and ill-nourishing food, but happy and free. There are no

chores waiting for him now, and there is somewhere to go for
entertainment. Not far away he may have his choice of theatres and
moving-picture shows. If he is æsthetically or intellectually inclined, there
are art-galleries and libraries beckoning him. If his earnings are a pittance
and he cannot afford the theatre, and if his tastes do not draw him to library
or museum, the saloon-keeper is always ready to be his friend. The youth
from the country would be welcomed at the Young Men's Christian
Association on the other side of the city, or at a church if there happened to
be a social or religious function that opened the building, but the saloon is
always near, always open, and always cordial. Poor or rich, or a stranger, it
matters not, let him enter and enjoy the poor man's club. It is warm and
pleasant there and he will soon make friends.
182. Mental and Moral Changes.—The readjustments that are
necessary in the transfer from country to city are not accomplished without
considerable mental and moral shock. Changing habits of living are
paralleled by changing habits of thought. Old ideas are jostled by new every
hour of the day. At the table, on the street, in office or store, at the theatre or
church the currents of thought are different. Social contacts are more
numerous, relations are more shifting, intellectual affinities and repulsions
are felt constantly; mental interactions are so frequent that stability of
beliefs and independence of thought give way to flexibility and uncertainty
and openness to impression. Group influence asserts its power over the
individual.
Along with the influence of the group mind goes the influence of what
may be called the electrical atmosphere of the city. The newcomer from the
country is very conscious of it; to the old resident it becomes second nature.
City life is noisy. The whole industrial system is athrob with energy. The
purring of machinery, the rattle and roar of traffic, the clack and toot of the
automobile, the clanging of bells, and the chatter of human tongues create a
babel that confuses and tires the unsophisticated ear and brain. They
become accustomed to the sounds after a time, but the noise registers itself
continually on the sensitive nervous system, and many a man and woman
breaks at last under the strain. Another element that adds to the nervous
strain is haste. Life in the city is a stern chase after money and pleasure.
Everybody hurries from morning until night, for everything moves on
schedule, and twenty-four hours seem not long enough to do the world's

work and enjoy the world's fun. Noise and hurry furnish a mental tension
that charges the urban atmosphere with excitement. Purveyors of news and
amusement have learned to cater to the love of excitement. The newspaper
editor hunts continually for sensations, and sometimes does not scruple to
twist sober fact into stirring fiction. The book-stall and the circulating
library supply the novel and the cheap magazine to give smack to the jaded
palate that cannot relish good literature. The theatre panders to the appetite
for a thrill.
In these circumstances lie the possibilities of moral shock. In the city
there is freedom from the old restraint that the country community imposed.
In the city the countryman finds that he can do as he pleases without the
neighbors shaking their heads over him. In the absence of such restraint and
with the social contact of new friends he may rapidly lower his moral
standards as he changes his manners and his mental habits. It does not take
long to shuffle off the old ways; it does not take much push or pull to make
the unsophisticated boy or girl lose balance and drift toward lower ideals
than those with which they came. Not a few find it hard to keep the moral
poise in the whirlpool of mental distraction. It is these effects of the urban
environment that help to explain the social derelicts that abound in the
cities. It is the weakness of human nature, along with the economic
pressure, that accounts for the drunkenness, vice, and crime that constitute
so large a problem of city life and block the path of society's development.
They are a part of the imperfection that is characteristic of this stage of
human progress, and especially of the twentieth-century city. They are not
incurable evils, they demand a remedy, and they furnish an inspiring object
of study for the practitioner of social disease.
He who escapes business and moral failure has open wide before him in
the city the door of opportunity. He may, if he will, meet all the world and
his wife in places where the people gather, touching elbows with
individuals from every quarter of the country, with persons of every class
and variety of attainment, with believers of every political, æsthetic, and
religious creed. In such an atmosphere his mind expands like the exotic
plant in a conservatory. His individual prejudices fall from him like worn-
out leaves from the trees. He begins to realize that other people have good
grounds for their opinions and practices that differ from his own, and that in
most cases they are better than his, and he quickly adjusts himself to them.

The city stimulates life by its greater social resources, and forms within its
borders more highly developed human groups. Beyond the material
comforts and luxuries that the city supplies are the social values that it
creates in the associations and organizations of men and women allied for
the philanthropic, remedial, and constructive purposes that are looking
forward to the slow progress of mankind toward its highest ideals.
183. The City as a Social Centre.—The city is an epitome of national
and even world life, as the farm is community life in miniature. Its social
life is infinitely complex, as compared with the rural village. Distances that
stretch out for miles in the country, over fields and woods and hills, are
measured in the city by blocks of dwellings and public buildings, with
intersecting streets, stretching away over a level area as far as the eye can
see. Social institutions correspond to the needs of the inhabitants, and while
there are a few like those in the country, because certain human needs are
the same, there is a much larger variety in the city because of the great
number of people of different sorts and the complexity of their demands.
Every city has its business centres for finance, for wholesale trade, and for
retail exchange, its centres for government, and for manufacturing; it has its
railroad terminals and often its wharves and shipping, its libraries,
museums, schools, and churches. All these are gathering places for groups
of people. But there is no one social centre for all classes; rather, the people
of the city are associated in an infinite number of large and small groups,
according to the mutual interests of their members. But if the city has no
four corners, it is itself a centre for a large district of country. As the village
is the nucleus that binds together outlying farms and hamlets, so the city has
far-flung connections with rural villages and small towns in a radius of
many miles.
184. The Importance of the City.—The city has grown up because it
was located conveniently for carrying on manufacturing and trade on a
large scale. It is growing in importance because this is primarily an
industrial age. Its population is increasing relatively to the rural population,
and certain cities are growing enormously, in spite of Mr. Bryce's warning
that it is unfortunate for any city to grow beyond a population of one
hundred thousand. The importance of the city as a social centre is apparent
when we remember that in America, according to the census of 1910, 46.3
per cent of the people live in communities of more than 2,500 population,

while 31 per cent of the whole are inhabitants of cities of 25,000 or more
population. When nearly one-third of all the people of the nation live in
communities of such size, the large city becomes a type of social centre of
great significance. At the prevailing rate of growth a majority of the
American people will soon be dwelling in cities, and there seems to be no
reason to expect a reversal of tendency because modern invention is making
it possible for fewer persons on the farm to supply the agricultural products
that city people need. This means, of course, that the temper and outlook of
mind will be increasingly urban, that social institutions generally will have
the characteristics of the city, that the National Government will be
controlled by that part of the American citizens that so far has been least
successful in governing itself well.
185. Municipal History.—The city has come to stay, and there is in it
much of good. It has come into existence to satisfy human need, and while
it may change in character it is not likely to be less important than now. Its
history reveals its reasons for existence and indicates the probabilities of its
future. The ancient city was an overgrown village that had special
advantages for communication and transportation of goods, or that was
located conveniently for protection against neighboring enemies. The cities
of Greece maintained their independence as political units, but most social
centres that at first were autonomous became parts of a larger state. The
great cities were the capitals of nations or empires, and to strike at them in
war was to aim at the vitals of an organism. Such were Thebes and
Memphis in Egypt, Babylon and Nineveh in the Tigris-Euphrates valley,
Carthage and Rome in the West. Such are Vienna and Berlin, Paris and
London to-day. Lesser cities were centres of trade, like Corinth or
Byzantium, or of culture, such as Athens. Such was Florence in the Middle
Ages, and such are Liverpool and Leipzig to-day. The municipalities of the
Roman Empire marked the climax of civic development in antiquity.
The social and industrial life of the Middle Ages was rural. Only a few
cities survived the fall of the Roman Empire in the West, and new centres of
importance did not arise until trade revived and the manufacturing industry
began to concentrate in growing towns about the time of the Crusades. Then
artisans and tradesmen found their way to points convenient to travel and
trade, and a city population began the processes of aggregation and
congregation. They grew up rough in manners and careless of sanitation and

hygiene, but they developed efficiency in local government and an
inclination to demand civic rights from those who had any outside claim of
control; they began to take pride in their public halls and churches, and
presently they founded schools and universities. Wealth increased rapidly,
and some of the cities, like the Hansa towns of the north, and Venice and
Genoa in the south, commanded extensive and profitable trade routes.
Modern cities owe their growth to the industrial revolution and the
consequent increase of commerce. The industrial centres of northern
England are an illustration of the way in which economic forces have
worked in the building of cities. At the middle of the eighteenth century that
part of Great Britain was far less populous and progressive than the eastern
and southern counties. It had small representation in Parliament. It was
provincial in thought, speech, and habits. It was given over to agriculture,
small trade, and rude home manufacture. Presently came the revolutionary
inventions of textile machinery, of the steam-engine, and of processes for
extracting and utilizing coal and iron. The heavy, costly machinery required
capital and the factory. Concentrated capital and machinery required
workers. The working people were forced to give up their small home
manufacturing and their unprofitable farming and move to the industrial
barracks and workrooms of the manufacturing centres. These centres sprang
up where the tools were most easily and cheaply obtained, and where lay
the coal-beds and the iron ore to be worked over into machinery. From
Newcastle on the east, through Sheffield, Leeds, Birmingham, and
Manchester, to Liverpool on the west and Glasgow over the Scottish border
grew up a chain of thriving cities, and later their people were given the
ballot that was taken from certain of the depopulated rural villages. These
cities have obtained a voice of power in the councils of the nation. In
America the industrial era came somewhat later, but the same process of
centralizing industry went on at the waterfalls of Eastern rivers, at railroad
centres, and at ocean, lake, and Gulf ports. Commerce has accelerated the
growth of many of these manufacturing towns. Increase of industry and
population has been especially rapid in the great ports that front the two
oceans, through whose gates pour the floods of immigrants, and in the
interior cities like Chicago, that lie at especially favorable points for
railway, lake, or river traffic. As in the Middle Ages, universities grew
because teachers went where students were gathered, and students were
attracted to the place where teachers were to be found, so in the larger cities

the more people there are and the more numerous is the population, the
greater the amount of business. It pays to be near the centre of things.

READING REFERENCES

we: The Modern City and Its Problems, pages 9-49.

lette: Constructive Rural Sociology, pages 32-46.

ong: Our World, pages 228-283.

ring and Watson: Economics, pages 123-132.

y and Reville: Emancipation of the Mediæval Towns.

ss: New Encyclopedia of Social Reform, art. "Cities."

CHAPTER XXVIToC

THE MANUFACTURING ENTERPRISE

186. Preponderance of Economic Interests.—Such a social centre as
the city has several functions to perform for its inhabitants. Though
primarily concerned with business, the people have other interests to be
conserved; the city, therefore, has governmental, educational, and
recreational functions as a social organization, and within its limits all kinds
of human concerns find their sponsors and supporters. Unquestionably, the
economic interests are preponderant. On the principle that social structure
corresponds to function, the structure of the city lends itself to the

performance of the economic function. Business streets are the principal
thoroughfares. Districts near the great factories are crowded with the
tenements that shelter the workers. Little room is left for breathing-places in
town, and little leisure in which to breathe. Government is usually in the
hands of professional politicians who are too willing to take their orders
from the cohort captains of business. Morals, æsthetics, and recreation are
all subordinate to business. Even religion is mainly an affair of Sunday, and
appears to be of relatively small consequence compared with business or
recreation. The great problems of the city are consequently economic at
bottom. Poverty and misery, drunkenness, unemployment, and crime are all
traceable in part, at least, to economic deficiency. Economic readjustments
constitute the crying need of the twentieth-century city.
187. The Manufacturing Industry.—It is the function of the
agriculturist and the herdsman, the miner and the lumberman, to produce
the raw material. The sailor and the train-hand, the longshoreman and the
teamster, transport them to the industrial centres. It is the business of the
manufacturer and his employees to turn them into the finished product for
the use of society. Manufacturing is the leading occupation in thousands of
busy towns and small cities of all the industrial nations of western Europe
and America, and shares with commerce and trade as a leading enterprise in
the cosmopolitan centres. The merchant or financier who thinks his type of
emporium or exchange is the only municipal centre of consequence, needs
only to mount to the top of a tall building or climb a suburban hill where he
can look off over the city and see the many smoking chimneys, to realize
the importance of the factory. With thousands of tenement-house dwellers it
is as natural to fall into the occupation of a factory hand as in the rural
regions for the youth to become a farmer. The growing child who leaves
school to help support the family has never learned a craftsman's trade, but
he may find a subordinate place among the mill or factory hands until he
gains enough skill to handle a machine. From that time until age compels
him to join the ranks of the unemployed he is bound to his machine, as
firmly as the mediæval serf was bound to the soil. Theoretically he is free to
sell his labor in the highest market and to cross the continent if he will, but
actually he is the slave of his employer, for he and his family are dependent
upon his daily wage, and he cannot afford to lose that wage in order to
make inquiries about the labor market elsewhere. Theoretically he is a
citizen possessed of the franchise and equal in privilege and importance to

his employer as a member of society, but actually he must vote for the party
or the man who is most likely to benefit him economically, and he knows
that he occupies a position of far less importance politically and socially
than his employer. Employment is an essential in making a living, but it is
an instrument that cuts two ways—it establishes an aristocracy of wealth
and privilege for the employer and a servile class of employees who often
are little better than peasants of the belt and wheel.
188. History of Manufacturing.—The history of the manufacturing
industry is a curious succession of enslavement and emancipation. Until
within a century and a half it was closely connected with the home.
Primitive women fashioned the utensils and clothing of the primitive
family, and when slaves were introduced into the household it became their
task to perform those functions. The slave was a bondman. Neither his
person nor his time was his own, and he could not hold property; but he was
taken care of, fed and clothed and housed, and by a humane master was
kindly treated and even made a friend. When the slave became a serf on the
manorial estate of mediæval Europe, manufacturing was still a household
employment and old methods were still in use. These sufficed, as there was
little outside demand from potential buyers, due to general poverty and lack
of the means of exchange and transportation. Certain industries became
localized, like the forging of iron instruments at the smithy and the grinding
of grain at the mill, and the monastery buildings included apartments for
various kinds of handicraft, but the factory was not yet. Then artisans found
their way to the town, associated themselves with others of their craft, and
accepted the relation of journeyman in the employ of a master workman;
there, too, the young apprentice learned his trade without remuneration. The
group was a small one. For greater strength in local rivalries they organized
craft guilds or associations, and established over all members convenient
rules and restrictions. Increasing opportunities for exchange of goods
stimulated production, but the output of hand labor was limited in amount.
The position of the craftsman locally was increasingly important, and his
fortunes were improving. The craft guilds successfully disputed with their
rivals for a share in the government of the city; there was democracy in the
guild, for master and journeyman were both included, and they had interests
much in common. A journeyman confidently expected to become a master
in a workshop of his own.

189. Alteration of Status.—Under the factory system the employee
becomes one of many industrial units, having no social or guild relation to
his employer, receiving a money wage as a quit claim from his employer,
and dependent upon himself for labor and a living. For a time after the
factory system came into vogue there were small shops where the employer
busied himself among his men and personally superintended them, but the
large factory tends to displace the small workshop, the corporation takes the
place of the individual employer, and the employee becomes as impersonal
a cog in the labor system as is any part of the machine at which he works. It
used to be the case that a thrifty workman might hope to become in the
future an employer, but now he has become a permanent member of a
distinct class, for the large capital required for manufacturing is beyond his
reach. The manufacturing industry is continually passing under the
management of fewer individuals, while the number of operatives in each
factory tends to increase. With concentration of management goes
concentration of wealth, and the gap widens between rich and poor. Out of
the modern factory system has come the industrial problem with all its
varieties of skilled and unskilled work, woman and child labor, sweating,
wages, hours and conditions of labor, unemployment, and other difficulties.
190. The Working Grind.—There are many manufacturing towns and
small cities that are built on one industry. Thousands of workers, young and
old, answer the morning summons of the whistle and pour into the factory
for a day's labor at the machine. A brief recess at noon and the work is
renewed for the second half of the day. Weary at night, the workers tramp
home to the tenements, or hang to the trolley strap that is the symbol of the
five-cent commuter, and recuperate for the next day's toil. They are cogs in
the great wheel of industry, units in the great sum of human energy,
indispensable elements in the progress of economic success. Sometimes
they seem less prized than the costly machines at which they work,
sometimes they fall exhausted in the ranks, as the soldier in the trenches
drops under the attack, but they are absolutely essential to wealth and they
are learning that they are indispensable to one another. In the development
of social organization the working people are gaining a larger part. The
factory is educating them to a consciousness of the solidarity of their class
interests. All class organizations have their faults, but they teach their
members group values and the dependence of the individual on his fellows.

191. The Benefits of the New Industry to the Workers.—It must not
be supposed that the industrial revolution and the age of machinery have
been a social misfortune. The benefits that have come to the laboring
people, as well as to their employers, must be put into the balance against
the evils. There is first of all the great increase of manufactured products
that have been shared in by the workers and the greatly reduced price of
many necessaries of life, such as matches, pins, and cooking utensils.
Invention has eased many kinds of labor and taken them away from the
overburdened housewife, and new machinery is constantly lightening the
burden of the farm and the home. Invention has broadened the scope of
labor, opening continually new avenues to the workers. It is difficult to see
how the rapidly increasing number of people in the United States could
have found employment without the typewriter, the automobile, and the
numerous varieties of electrical application. The great number of modern
conveniences that have come to be regarded as necessaries even in the
homes of the working people, and the local improvements in streets and
sidewalks, schools and playgrounds that are possible because of increasing
wealth, are all due to the new type of industry.
Conditions of labor are better. Where building laws are in force, factories
are lighter, cleaner, and better ventilated than were the houses and shops of
the pre-factory age, and the hours of labor that are necessary to earn a living
have been greatly reduced in most industries. There have been mental and
moral gains, also. It requires mental application to handle machinery. An
uneducated immigrant may soon learn to handle a simple machine, but the
complicated machinery that the better-paid workmen tend requires
intelligence, care, and sobriety. The age of machinery has brought with it
emancipation from slavery, indenture, and imprisonment for debt, and has
made possible a new status for the worker and his children. The laborer in
America is a citizen with a vote and a right to his own opinion equal to that
of his employer; he has time and money enough to buy and read the
newspaper; and he is encouraged and helped to educate his children and to
prepare them for a place in the sun that is ampler than his own.

READING REFERENCES

yney: Industrial and Social History of England, pages 199-239.

ring and Watson: Economics, pages 206-212, 256-266.

derson: Social Elements, pages 143-156.

ams and Sumner: Labor Problems, pages 3-15.

art: Economic History of the United States, pages 130-169, 356-399.

CHAPTER XXVIIToC

THE INDUSTRIAL PROBLEM

192. What It Means.—The industrial problem as a whole is a problem
of adjusting the relations of employer and employee to each other and to the
rapidly changing age in the midst of which industry exists. It is a problem
that cannot be solved in a moment, for it has grown out of previous
conditions and relationships. It must be considered in its causes, its
alignments, the difficulties of each party, the efforts at solution, and the
principles and theories that are being worked out for the settlement of the
problem.
193. Conflict Between Industrial Groups.—The industrial problem is
not entirely an economic problem, but it is such primarily. The function of
employer and employee is to produce material goods that have value for
exchange. Both enter into the economic relation for what they can get out of
it in material gain. Selfish desire tends to overcome any consideration of
each other's needs or of their mutual interests. There is a continual conflict
between the wage-earner who wants to make a living and the employer who
wants to make money, and neither stops long to consider the welfare of

society as a whole when any specific issue arises. The conflict between
individuals has developed into a class problem in which the organized
forces of labor confront the organized forces of capital, with little
disposition on either side to surrender an advantage once gained or to put an
end to the conflict by a frank recognition of each other's rights.
It is not strange that this conflict has continued to vex society. Conflict is
one of the characteristics of imperfectly adjusted groups. It seems to be a
necessary preliminary to co-operation, as war is. It will continue until
human beings are educated to see that the interests of all are paramount to
the interests of any group, and that in the long run any group will gain more
of real value for itself by taking account of the interests of a rival. Railroad
history in recent years has made it very plain that neither railway employees
nor the public have gained as much by hectoring the railroad corporations
as either would have gained by considering the interests of the railroad as
well as its own.
Industrial conflict is due in great part to the unwillingness of the
employer to deal fairly by his employee. There have been worthy
exceptions, of course, but capitalists in the main have not felt a
responsibility to consider the interests of the workers. It has been a constant
temptation to take advantage of the power of wealth for the exploitation of
the wage-earning class. Unfortunately, the modern industrial period began
with economic control in the hands of the employer, for with the transfer of
industry to the factory the laborer was powerless to make terms with the
employer. Unfortunately, also, the disposition of society was to let alone the
relations of master and dependent in accordance with the laisser-faire
theory of the economists of that period. Government was slow to legislate
in favor of the helpless employee, and the abuses of the time were many.
The process of adjustment has been a difficult one, and experiment has been
necessary to show what was really helpful and practicable.
194. More than an Industrial Problem.—In the process of experiment
it has become clear that the industrial problem is more than an economic
problem; secondarily, it is the problem of making a living that will
contribute to the enrichment of life. It is not merely the adjustment of the
wage scale to the profits of the capitalist by class conflict or peaceful
bargaining, nor is it the problem of unemployment or official labor. The
primary task may be to secure a better adjustment of the economic interests

of employer and employee through an improvement of the wage system,
but in the larger sense the industrial problem is a social and moral one.
Sociologists reckon among the social forces a distinction between elemental
desires and broader interests. Wages are able to satisfy the elemental desires
of hunger and sex feeling by making it possible for a man to marry and
bring up a family and get enough to eat; but there are larger questions of
freedom, justice, comity, personal and social development that are involved
in the labor problem. If wages are so small, or hours so long, or factory
conditions so bad that health is affected, proper education made impossible,
and recreation and religion prevented, the individual and society suffer
much more than with reference to the elemental desires. The industrial
problem is, therefore, a complex problem, and not one that can be easily or
quickly solved. Although it is necessary to remember all as parts of one
problem of industry, it is a convenience to remember that it is:
(1) An economic problem, involving wages, hours, and conditions of
labor.
(2) A social problem, involving the mental and physical health and the
social welfare of both the individual worker, the family, and the community.
(3) An ethical problem, involving fairness, justice, comity, and freedom
to the employer, the employee, and the public.
(4) A complex problem, involving many specific problems, chief of
which are the labor of women and children, immigrant labor, prison labor,
organization of labor, insurance, unemployment, industrial education, the
conduct of labor warfare, and the interest of the public in the industrial
problem.
195. Characteristics of Factory Life.—Group life in the factory is not
very different in characteristics from group life everywhere. It is an active
life, the hand and brain of the worker keeping pace with the speedy
machine, all together shaping the product that goes to exchange and storage.
It is a social life, many individuals working in one room, and all the
operatives contributing jointly to the making of the product. It is under
control. Captains of industry and their lieutenants give direction to a group
that has been thoroughly and efficiently organized. Without control and
organization industry could not be successfully carried on, but it is open to
question whether industrial control should not be more democratic, shared

in by representatives of the workers and of the public as well as by the
representatives of corporate capital or a single owner. It is a life of change.
It does not seem so to the operative who turns out the same kind of a
machine product day after day, sometimes by the million daily, but the
personnel of the workers changes, and even the machines from time to time
give way to others of an improved type. It is a life that has its peculiar
weaknesses. The relations of employer and employee are not cordial; the
health and comfort of the worker are often disregarded; the hours of labor
are too long or the wages too small; the whole working staff is driven at too
high speed; the whole process is on a mechanical rather than a human basis,
and the material product is of more concern than the human producer. These
weaknesses are due to the concentration of control in the hands of
employers. The industrial problem is, therefore, largely a problem of
control.
196. Democratizing Industry.—When the modern industrial system
began in the eighteenth century the democratic principle played a small part
in social relations. Parental authority in the family, the master's authority in
the school, hierarchical authority in the church, official authority in the
local community, and monarchical authority in the nation, were almost
universal. It is not strange that the authority of the capitalist in his business
was unquestioned. Only government had the right to interfere in the interest
of the lower classes, and government had little care for that interest. The
democratic principle has been gaining ground in family and school, state
and church; it has found grudging recognition in industry. This is because
the clash of economic interests is keenest in the factory. But even there the
grip of privilege has loosened, and the possibility of democratizing industry
as government has been democratized is being widely discussed. There is
difference of opinion as to how this should be done. The socialist believes
that control can be transferred to the people in no other way than by
collective ownership. Others progressively inclined accept the principle of
government regulation and believe that in that way the people, through their
political representatives, can control the owners and managers. Others think
that the best results can be obtained by giving a place on the governing
board of an industry to working men alongside the representatives of capital
and permitting them to work out their problems on a mutual basis. Each of
these methods has been tried, but without demonstrating conclusively the
superiority of any one. Whatever method may come into widest vogue,

there must be a recognition of the principle of democratic interest and
democratic control. No one class in society can dictate permanently to the
people as a whole. Industry is the concern of all, and all must have a share
in managing it for the benefit of all.
197. Legislation.—The history of industrial reform is first of all a story
of legislative interference with arbitrary management. When Great Britain
early in the nineteenth century overstepped the bounds of the let-alone
policy and began to legislate for the protection of the employee, it was but a
resumption of a paternal policy that had been general in Europe before. But
formerly government had interfered in behalf of the employing class, now it
was for the people who were under the control of the exploiting capitalist.
The abuses of child labor were the first to receive attention, and Parliament
reduced the hours of child apprentices to twelve a day. Once begun,
restriction was extended. Beginning in 1833, under the leadership of Lord
Shaftesbury, the working man's friend, the labor of children under thirteen
was reduced to forty-eight hours a week, and children under nine were
forbidden to work at all. The work of young people under eighteen was
limited to sixty-nine hours a week, and then to ten hours a day; women
were included in the last provision. These early laws were applicable to
factories for weaving goods only, but they were extended later to all kinds
of manufacturing and mining. These laws were not always strictly enforced,
but to get them through Parliament at all was an achievement. Later
legislation extended the ten-hour law to men; then the time was reduced to
nine hours, and in many trades to eight.
In the United States the need of legislation was far less urgent.
Employers could not be so masterful in the treatment of their employees or
so parsimonious in their distribution of wages, because the laborer always
had the option of leaving the factory for the farm, and land was cheap.
Women and children were not exploited in the mines as in England, pauper
labor was not so available, and such trades as chimney-sweeping were
unknown. Then, too, by the time there was much need for legislation, the
spirit of justice was becoming wide-spread and legislatures responded more
quickly to the appeal for protective legislation. It was soon seen that the
industrial problem was not simply how much an employee should receive
for a given piece of work or time, but how factory labor affected working
people of different sex or age, and how these effects reacted upon society.

Those who pressed legislation believed that the earnings of a child were not
worth while when the child lost all opportunity for education and healthful
physical exercise, and that woman's labor was not profitable if it deprived
her of physical health and nervous energy, and weakened by so much the
stamina of the next generation. The thought of social welfare seconded the
thought of individual welfare and buttressed the claims of a particular class
to economic consideration in such questions as proper wages.
Massachusetts was the first American State to introduce labor legislation in
1836; in 1869 the same State organized the first labor bureau, to be
followed by a National bureau in 1884, four years later converted into a
government department. Among the favorite topics of legislation have been
the limitation of woman and child labor, the regulation of wage payments,
damages and similar concerns, protection from dangerous machinery and
adequate factory inspection, and the appointment of boards of arbitration.
The doctrine of the liability of employers in case of accident to persons in
their employ has been increasingly accepted since Great Britain adopted an
employers' liability act in 1880, and since 1897 compulsory insurance of
employees has spread from the continent of Europe to England and the
United States.
198. The Organization of Labor.—These measures of protection and
relief have been due in part to the disinterested activity of philanthropists,
and in part to the efforts of organized labor, backed up by public opinion;
occasionally capitalists have voluntarily improved conditions or increased
wages. The greatest agitation and pressure has come from the labor-unions.
Unlike the mediæval guilds, these unions exist for the purpose of opposing
the employer, and are formed in recognition of the principle that a group
can obtain guarantees that an individual is helpless to secure. Like-
mindedness holds the group together, and consciousness of common
interests and mutual duties leads to sacrifice of individual benefit for the
sake of the group. The moral effect of this sense and practice of mutual
responsibility has been a distinct social gain, and warrants the hope that a
time may come when this consciousness of mutual interests may extend
until it includes the employing class as in the old-time guild.
The modern labor-union is a product of the nineteenth century. Until
1850 there was much experimenting, and a revolutionary sentiment was
prevalent both in America and abroad. The first union movement united all

classes of wage-earners in a nation-wide reform, and aimed at social gains,
such as education as well as economic gains. It hoped much from political
activity, spoke often of social ideals, and did not disdain to co-operate with
any good agency, even a friendly employer. Class feeling was less keen
than later. But it became apparent that the lines of organization were too
loose, that specific economic reforms must be secured rather than a whole
social programme, and that little could probably be expected from political
activity. Labor began to organize on a basis of trades, class feeling grew
stronger, and trials of strength with employers showed the value of
collective bargaining and fixed agreements. Out of the period grew the
American Federation of Labor. More recently has come the industrial
union, which includes all ranks of labor, like the early labor-union, and is
especially beneficial to the unskilled. It is much more radical in its methods
of operation, and is represented by such notorious organizations as the
United Mine Workers and the International Workers of the World.
199. Strikes.—The principle of organization of the trade-union is
democratic. The unit of organization is the local group of workers which is
represented on the national governing bodies; in matters of important
legislation, a referendum is allowed. Necessarily, executive power is
strongly centralized, for the labor-union is a militant organization, but much
is left to the local union. Though peaceful methods are employed when
possible, warlike operations are frequent. The favorite weapon is the strike,
or refusal to work, and this is often so disastrous to the employer that it
results in the speedy granting of the laborers' demands. It requires good
judgment on the part of the representatives of labor when to strike and how
to conduct the campaign to a successful conclusion, but statistics compiled
by the National Labor Bureau between 1881 and 1905 indicate that a
majority of strikes ordered by authority of the organization were at least
partially successful.
The successful issue of strikes has demonstrated their value as weapons
of warfare, and they have been accepted by society as allowable, but they
tend to violence, and produce feelings of hatred and distrust, and would not
be countenanced except as measures of coercion to secure needed reforms.
The financial loss due to the cessation of labor foots up to a large total, but
in comparison with the total amount of wages and profits it is small, and
often the periods of manufacturing activity are so redistributed through the

year that there is really no net loss. Yet a strike cannot be looked upon in
any other way than as a misfortune. Like war, it breaks up peaceful if not
friendly relations, and tends to destroy the solidarity of society. It tends to
strengthen class feeling, which, like caste, is a handicap to the progress of
mankind. Though it may benefit the working man, it is harmful to the
general public, which suffers from the interruption of industry and
sometimes of transportation, and whose business is disturbed by the blow to
confidence.
200. Peaceful Methods of Settlement.—Strikes are so unsettling to
industry that all parties find it better to use diplomacy when possible, or to
submit a dispute to arbitration rather than to resort to violence. It is in
industrial concerns very much as it is in international politics, and methods
used in one circle suggest methods in the other. Formerly war was a
universal practice, and of frequent occurrence, and duelling was common in
the settlement of private quarrels; now the duel is virtually obsolete, and
war is invoked only as a last resort. Difficulties are smoothed out through
the diplomatic representatives that every nation keeps at the national
capitals, and when they cannot settle an issue the matter is referred to an
umpire satisfactory to both sides. Similarly in industrial disputes the
tendency is away from the strike; when an issue arises representatives of
both sides get together and try to find a way out. There is no good reason
why an employer should refuse to recognize an organization or receive its
representatives to conference, especially if the employer is a corporation
which must work through representatives. Collective bargaining is in
harmony with the spirit of the times and fair for all. Conference demands
frankness on the part of all concerned. It leads more quickly to
understanding and harmony if each party knows the situation that confronts
the other. If the parties immediately concerned cannot reach an agreement, a
third party may mediate and try to conciliate opposition. If that fails, the
next natural step is voluntarily to refer the matter in dispute to arbitration,
or by legal regulation to compel the disputants to submit to arbitration.
201. Boards of Conciliation.—The history of peaceful attempts to settle
industrial disputes in the United States helps to explain the methods now
frequently employed. In 1888, following a series of disastrous labor
conflicts, Congress provided by legislation for the appointment of a board
of three commissioners, which should make thorough investigation of

particular disputes and publish its findings. The class of disputes was
limited to interstate commerce concerns and the commissioners did not
constitute a permanent board, but the legislative act marked the beginning
of an attempt at conciliation. Ten years later the Erdman Act established a
permanent board of conciliation to deal with similar cases when asked to do
so by one of the parties, and in case of failure to propose arbitration; it
provided, also, for a board of arbitration. Meantime the States passed
various acts for the pacification of industrial disputes; the most popular
have been the appointment of permanent boards of conciliation and
arbitration, which have power to mediate, investigate, and recommend a
settlement. These have been supplemented by State and national
commissions, with a variety of functions and powers, including
investigation and regulation. The experience of government boards has not
been long enough to prove whether they are likely to be of permanent
value, but the results are encouraging to those who believe that through
conciliation and arbitration the industrial problem can best be solved.
202. Public Welfare.—There can be no reasonable complaint of the
interference of the government. The government, whether of State or
nation, represents the people, and the people have a large stake in every
industrial dispute. Society is so interdependent that thousands are affected
seriously by every derangement of industry. This is especially true of the
stoppage of railways, mines, or large manufacturing establishments, when
food and fuel cannot be obtained, and the delicate mechanism of business is
upset. At best the public is seriously inconvenienced. It is therefore proper
that the public should organize on its part to minimize the derangement of
its interests. In 1901 a National Civic Federation was formed by those who
were interested in industrial peace, and who were large-minded enough to
see that it could not be obtained permanently unless recognition should be
given to all three of the interested parties—the employers, the employees,
and the public. Many small employers of labor are bitterly opposed to any
others than themselves having anything to say about the methods of
conducting industry, but the men of large experience are satisfied that the
day of independence has passed. This organization includes on its
committees representatives of all parties, and has helped in the settlement of
a number of controversies.

203. Voluntary Efforts of Employers.—It is a hopeful sign that
employers themselves are voluntarily seeking the betterment of their
employees. It is a growing custom for corporations to provide for the
comfort, health, and recreation of men and women in their employ. Rest-
rooms, reading-rooms, baths, and gymnasiums are provided; athletic clubs
are organized; lunches are furnished at cost; continuation schools are
arranged. Some manufacturing establishments employ a welfare manager or
secretary whose business it shall be to devise ways of improving working
conditions. When these helps and helpers are supplied as philanthropy, they
are not likely to be appreciated, for working people do not want to be
patronized; if maintained on a co-operative basis, they are more acceptable.
But the employer is beginning to see that it is good business to keep the
workers contented and healthy. It adds to their efficiency, and in these days
when scientific management is putting so much emphasis on efficiency, any
measures that add to industrial welfare are not to be overlooked.
204. Profit-Sharing.—Another method of conferring benefit upon the
employee is profit-sharing. By means of cash payment or stock bonuses, he
is induced to work better and to be more careful of tools and machinery,
while his expectation of a share in the success of the business stimulates his
interest and his energy and keeps him better natured. The objections to the
plan are that it is paternalistic, for the business is under the control of the
employer and the amount of profits depends on his honesty, good
management, and philanthropic disposition. There are instances where it
has worked admirably, and from the point of view of the employer it is
often worth while, because it tends to weaken unionism; but it cannot be
regarded as a cure for industrial ills, because it is a remedy of uncertain
value, and at best is not based on the principle of industrial democracy.
205. Principles for the Solution of the Industrial Problem.—Three
principles contend for supremacy in all discussions and efforts to solve the
industrial problem. The first is the doctrine of employer's control. This is
the old principle that governed industrial relations until governmental
legislation and trade-union activity compelled a recognition of the worker's
rights. By that principle the capitalist and the laborer are free to work
together or to fight each other, to make what arrangements they can about
wages, hours, and health conditions, to share in profits if the employer is
kindly disposed, but always with labor in a position of subordination and

without recognized rights, as in the old political despotisms, which were
sometimes benevolent but more often ruthless. Only the selfish, stubborn
capitalist expects to see such a system permanently restored.
The second principle is the doctrine of collective control. This theory is a
natural reaction from the other, but goes to an opposite extreme. It is the
theory of the syndicalist, who prefers to smash machinery before he takes
control, and of the socialist, who contents himself with declaring the right
of the worker to all productive property, and agitates peacefully for the
abolition of the wage system in favor of a working man's commonwealth.
The socialist blames the wage system for all the evils of the present
industrial order, regards the trade-unions as useful industrial agencies of
reform, but urges a resort to the ballot as a necessary means of getting
control of industry. There would come first the socialization of natural
resources and transportation systems, then of public utilities and large
industries, and by degrees the socialization of all industry would become
complete. Then on a democratic basis the workers would choose their
industrial officers, arrange their hours, wages, and conditions of labor, and
provide for the needs of every individual without exploitation, overexertion,
or lack of opportunity to work. Serious objections are made to this
programme for productive enterprise on the ground of the difficulty of
effecting the transfer of the means of production and exchange, and of
executive management without the incentive of abundant pecuniary returns
for efficient superintendency; even more because of the natural selfishness
of human beings who seek personal preferment, and the natural inertia of
those who know that they will be taken care of whether they exert
themselves or not. More serious still are the difficulties that lie in the way
of a satisfactory distribution of the rewards of labor, for there is sure to be
serious difference of opinion over the proper share of each person who
contributes to the work of production, and no method of initiative,
referendum, and recall would avail to smooth out the difficulties that would
be sure to arise.
206. Co-operation.—The third principle is co-operation. The principle
of co-operation is as important to society as the principle of division of
labor. By means of co-operative activity in the home the family is able to
maintain itself as a useful group. By means of co-operation in thinly settled
communities local prosperity is possible without any individual possessing

large resources. But in industry where competition rules and the aim of the
employer is the exploitation of the worker, general comfort is sacrificed for
the enrichment of the few and wealth flaunts itself in the midst of misery.
There will always be a problem in the industrial relations of human beings
until there is a recognition of this fundamental principle of co-operation.
The application of the principle to the complicated system of modern
industrialism is not easy, and attempts at co-operative production by
working men with small and incapable management have not been
successful, but it is becoming clear that as a principle of industrial relation
between classes it is to obtain increasing recognition. If it is proper to admit
the claims of the employer, the employee, and the public to an interest in
every labor issue, then it is proper to look for the co-operation of them all in
the regulation of industry. The usual experiments in co-operative industry
have been the voluntary organization of production, exchange, or
distribution by a group of middle or working class people to save the large
expense of superintendents or middlemen. Co-operation in production has
usually failed; in America co-operative banks and building associations,
creameries, and fruit-growing associations have had considerable success,
and in Europe co-operative stores and bakeries have had a large vogue in
England and Belgium, and co-operative agriculture in Denmark. But
industry on a large scale requires large capital, efficient management,
capable, interested workmanship, and elimination of waste in material and
human life. To this end it needs the good-will of all parties and the
assistance of government. Unemployment, for instance, may be taken care
of by giving every worker a good industrial education and doing away with
inefficiency, and then establishing a wide-spread system of labor exchanges
to adjust the mass of labor to specific requirements. Industry is such a big
and important matter that nothing less than the co-operation of the whole of
society can solve its problems.
This co-operation, to be effective, requires a genuine partnership, in
which the body of stockholders and the body of working men plan together,
work together, and share together, with the assistance of government
commissions and boards that continually adjust and, if necessary, regulate
the processes of production and distribution on a basis of equity, to be
determined by a consensus of expert opinion. In such a system there is no
radical derangement of existing industry, no destruction of initiative, no
expulsion of expert management or confiscation of property. Individual and

corporate ownership continue, the wage system is not abolished, efficient
administration is still to be obtained, but the body of control is not a board
of directors responsible only to the stockholders of the corporation, and
managing affairs primarily for their own gain, but it consists of
representatives of those who contribute money, superintendence, and labor,
together with or regulated by a group of government experts, all of whom
are honestly seeking the good of all parties and enjoying their full
confidence. Toward such an outcome of present strife many interested
social reformers are working, and it is to be hoped that its advantages will
soon appear so great that neither extreme alternative principle will have to
be tried out thoroughly before there will be a general acceptance of the co-
operative idea. It may seem utopian to those who are familiar with the
selfishness and antagonism that have marked the history of the last hundred
years, but it is already being tried out here and there, and it is the only
principle that accords with the experiences and results of social evolution in
other groups. It is the highest law that the struggle for individual power fails
before the struggle for the good of the group, and a contest for the success
of the few must give way to co-operation for the good of all.

READING REFERENCES

wood: Sociology in Its Psychological Aspects, pages 188-194.

ams and Sumner: Labor Problems, pages 175-286, 379-432, 461-500.

etins of the United States Department of Labor.
lton: History and Problems of Organized Labor, pages 228-261.

dden: The Labor Question, pages 77-113.

derson: Social Elements, pages 167-206.

ss: Essentials of Socialism, pages 11, 12, 106-111.

ckoff: The Workers.

CHAPTER XXVIIIToC

EXCHANGE AND TRANSPORTATION

207. Mercantile Exchange.—Important as is the manufacturing industry
in the life of the city, it is only a part of the economic activity that is
continually going on in its streets and buildings. The mercantile houses that
carry on wholesale and retail trade, the towering office-buildings, and the
railway and steamship terminals contain numerous groups of workers all
engaged in the social task of supplying human wants, while streets and
railways are avenues of traffic. The manufacture of goods is but a part of

the process; distribution is as important as production. All these sources of
supply are connected with banks and trust companies that furnish money
and credit for business of every kind. The economic activities of a city form
an intricate network in which the people are involved.
Hardly second in importance to manufacturing is mercantile exchange.
The manufacturer, after he has paid his workers, owns the goods that have
been produced, but to get his living he must sell them. To do this he
establishes relations with the merchant. Their relations are carried on
through agents, some of whom travel from place to place taking orders,
others establish office headquarters in the larger centres of trade. Once the
merchant has opened his store or shop and purchased his goods he seeks to
establish trade relations with as many individual customers as he can
attract. Mercantile business is carried on in two kinds of stores, those which
supply one kind of goods in wholesale or retail quantities, like groceries or
dry goods, and those which maintain numerous departments for different
kinds of manufactured goods. Large department stores have become a
special feature of mercantile exchange in cities of considerable size, but
they do not destroy the smaller merchants, though competition is often
difficult.
208. The Ethics of Business.—The methods of carrying on mercantile
business are based, as in the factory, on the principle of getting the largest
possible profits. The welfare of employees is a secondary consideration.
Expense of maintenance is heavy. Rents are costly in desirable locations;
the expense of carrying a large stock of merchandise makes it necessary to
borrow capital on which interest must be paid; the obligations of a large
pay-roll must be met at frequent intervals, whether business is good or bad.
All these items are present in varying degree, whatever the size of the
business, except where a merchant has capital enough of his own to carry
on a small business and can attend to the wants of his customers alone or
with the help of his family. The temptation of the merchant is strong to use
every possible means to make a success of his business, paying wages as
low as possible, in order to cut down expenses, and offering all kinds of
inducements to customers in order to sell his goods. The ethics of trade
need improvement. It is by no means true, as some agitators declare, that
the whole business system is corrupt, that honesty is rare, and that the
merchant is without a conscience. General corruption is impossible in a

commercial age like this, when the whole system of business is built on
credit, and large transactions are carried on, as on the Stock Exchange, with
full confidence in the word or even the nod of an operator. Of course,
shoddy and impure goods are sold over the counter and the customer often
pays more than an article is really worth, but every mercantile house has its
popular reputation to sustain as well as its rated financial standing, and the
business concern that does not deal honorably soon loses profitable trade.
Exchange constitutes an important division of the science of economics,
but its social causes and effects are of even greater consequence. Exchange
is dependent upon the diffusion of information, the expansion of interests,
and growing confidence between those who effect a transaction. When
mutual wants are few it is possible to carry on business by means of barter;
when trade increases money becomes a necessary medium; world
commerce requires a system of credit which rests on social trust and
integrity. Conversely, there are social consequences that come from customs
of exchange. It enlarges human interests. It stimulates socialization of habits
and broader ideas. It encourages industry and thrift and promotes division
of labor. It strengthens social organization and tends to make it more
efficient. Altogether, exchange of goods must be regarded as among the
most important functions of society.
209. Business Employees.—The business ethics that are most open to
criticism are those that govern the relations of the merchant and his
employees. Here the system of employment is much the same as in the
factory. The merchant deals with his employees through superintendents of
departments. The employment manager hires the persons who seem best
qualified for the position, and they are assigned to a department. They are
under the orders of the head of the department, and their success or failure
depends largely on his good-will. Wages and privileges are in his hand, and
if he is morally unscrupulous he can ruin a weak-willed subordinate. There
is little coherence among employees; there are always men and women who
stand ready to take a vacant position, and often no particular skill or
experience is required. There has been no such solidifying of interests by
trade-unions as in the factory; the individual makes his own contract and
stands on his own feet. On the other hand, there is an increasing number of
employers who feel their responsibility to those who are in their employ,
and, except in the department stores, they are usually associated personally

with their employees. Welfare work is not uncommon in the large
establishments, and a minimum wage is being adopted here and there.
One of the worst abuses of the department store is the low-paid labor of
women and girls. It is possible for girls who live at home to get along on a
few dollars a week, but they establish a scale of wages so low that it is
impossible for the young woman who is dependent on her own resources to
get enough to eat and wear and keep well. The physical and moral wrecks
that result are disheartening. Nourishing food in sufficient quantities to
repair the waste of nerve and tissue cannot be obtained on five or six dollars
a week, when room rent and clothing and necessary incidentals, like car-
fare, have to be included. There are always human beasts of prey who are
prepared to give financial assistance in exchange for sex gratification, and it
is difficult to resist temptation when one's nervous vigor and strength of
will are at the breaking-point. It is not strange that there is an economic
element among the causes of the social evil; it is remarkable that moral
sturdiness resists so much temptation.
210. Offices.—The numerous office-buildings that have arisen so rapidly
in recent years in the cities also have large corps of women workers. They
have personal relations with employers much more frequently, for there are
thousands of offices where a few stenographers or even a single secretary
are sufficient. Office work is skilled labor, is better paid, and attracts
women of better attainments and higher ideals than in department store or
factory. Office relations are pleasant as well as profitable. The demands are
exacting; labor at the typewriter, the proof-sheets, or the bookkeeper's desk
is tiresome, but the society of the office is congenial, working conditions
are healthful and cheerful in most cases, and there are many opportunities
for increasing efficiency and promotion. The office has its hardships.
Everything is on a business basis, and there is little allowance for feelings
or disposition. There are days when trials multiply and an atmosphere of
irritation prevails; there are seasons when the constant rush creates a
wearing nervous tension, and other seasons, when business is so poor that
occasionally there are breakdowns of health or moral rectitude; but on the
whole the office presents a simpler industrial problem than the factory or
the store.
211. Transportation.—A third industry that has its centre in the city but
extends across continents and seas is the business of transportation.

Manufactured goods are conveyed from the factory to the warehouse and
the store, goods sold in the mercantile establishment are delivered from
door to door, but enormous quantities of the products of economic activity
are hauled to greater distances by truck, car, and steamship. The city is a
point to which roads, railways, and steamship lines converge, and from
which they radiate in every direction. By long and short hauls, by express
and freight, vast quantities of food products and manufactured goods pour
into the metropolis, part to be used in its numerous dwellings, part to be
shipped again to distant points. Along the same routes passengers are
transported, journeying in all directions on a multitude of errands, jostling
for a moment as they hurry to and from the means of conveyance, and then
swinging away, each on its individual orbit, like comet or giant sun that
nods acquaintance but once in a thousand years.
The business of transportation occupies the time and attention of
thousands of workers, and its ramifications are endless. It is not limited to a
particular region like agriculture, or to towns and cities like manufacturing;
it is not stopped by tariff walls or ocean boundaries. An acre of wheat is cut
by the reaper, threshed, and carted to the elevator by wagon or motor truck.
The railroad-car is hauled alongside, and with other bushels of its kind the
grain is transported to a giant flour-mill, where it is turned into a whitened,
pulverized product, packed in barrels, and shipped across the ocean to a
foreign port. Conveyed by rail or truck to the bakery, the flour undergoes
transformation into bread, and takes its final journey to hotel, restaurant,
and dwelling-house. Similarly, every kind of raw material finds its
destination far from the place of its production and is consumed directly or
as a manufactured product. This gigantic business of transportation is the
means of providing for the sustenance and comfort of millions of human
beings, and in spite of the extensive use of machinery it requires at every
step the co-operative labor of human beings.
212. Growth of Interdependence.—It is the far-flung lines of commerce
that bind together the peoples of the world. Formerly there were periods of
history, as in the European Middle Ages, when a social group produced
nearly everything that it needed for consumption and commerce was small;
but now all countries exchange their own products for others that they
cannot so readily produce. The requirements of commerce have broken
down the barriers between races, and have compelled mutual acquaintance

and knowledge of languages, mutual confidence in one another's good
intentions, and mutual understanding of one another's wants. The demands
of commerce have precipitated wars, but have also brought victories of
peace. They have stimulated the invention of improved means of
communication, as the demands of manufacturing stimulated invention of
machinery. The slow progress of horse-drawn vehicles over poor roads
provoked the invention of improved highways and then of railroads. The
application of steam to locomotives and ships revolutionized commerce,
and by the steady improvements of many years has given to the eager trader
and traveller the speedy, palatial steamship and the train de luxe.
Transportation depends, however, on the man behind the engine rather
than on the mass of steel that is conjured into motion. Successful commerce
waits for the willingness and skill of worker and director. There must be the
same division and direction of labor and the same spirit of co-operation;
there must be intelligence in planning schedules for traffic and overcoming
obstacles of nature and human frailty and incompetence. The teamster, the
longshoreman, the freight-handler, and the engineer must all feel the push
of the economic demand, keeping them steadily at work. A strike on any
portion of the line ties up traffic and upsets the calculations of
manufacturer, merchant, and consumer, for they are all dependent upon the
servants of transportation.
213. Problems of Transportation.—There are problems of
transportation that are of a purely economic nature, but there are also
problems that are of social concern. The first problem is that of safe and
rapid transportation. The comfort and safety of the millions who travel on
business or for pleasure is a primary concern of society. If the roads are not
kept in repair and the steamship lanes patrolled, if the rolling-stock is
allowed to deteriorate and become liable to accident, if engine-drivers and
helmsmen are intemperate or careless, if efficiency is not maintained, or if
safety is sacrificed to speed, the public is not well served. Many are the
illustrations of neglect and inefficiency that have culminated in accident and
death. Or the transportation company is slow to adopt new inventions and to
meet the expense that is necessary to equip a steamer or a railroad for
speed, or to provide rapid interurban or suburban transit. Poor management
or single tracks delay fast freights, or congested terminals tie up traffic.
These inconveniences not only consume profits and ruffle the tempers of

working men, but they are a social waste of time and effort, and they stand
in the way of improved living conditions. The congestion of population in
the cities can easily be remedied when rapid and cheap transit make it
possible for working men to live twenty or thirty miles out of town. The
standard of living can be raised appreciably when fast trolley or steam
service provides the products of the farms in abundance and in fresh
condition.
Another problem is that of the worker. The same temptation faces the
transportation manager that appears in the factory and the mercantile house.
The expenses of traffic are enormous. Railways alone cost hundreds of
millions for equipment and service, and there are periods when commerce
slackens and earnings fall away. It is easier to cut wages than to postpone
improvements or to raise freight or passenger rates. In the United States an
interstate commerce commission regulates rates, but questions of wages and
hours of labor are between the management and the men. Friction
frequently develops, and hostility in the past has produced labor
organizations that are well knit and powerful, so that the railroad man has
succeeded in securing fair treatment, but there are other branches of
transportation service where the servants of the public find their labor
poorly paid and precarious in tenure. Teamsters and freight-handlers find
conditions hard; sailors and dock-hands are often thrown out of
employment. Whole armies of transportation employees have been enrolled
since trolley-lines and automobile service have been organized. Fewer
persons drive their own horses and vehicles, and many who walked to and
from business or school now ride. Transportation service has been vastly
extended, but there are continually more people to be accommodated, and
motor-men, conductors, and chauffeurs to be adjusted to wage scales and
service hours.
214. Monopoly.—A persistent tendency in transportation has been
toward monopoly. Express service between two points becomes controlled
by a single company, and the charges are increased. A street-railway
company secures a valuable city franchise, lays its tracks on the principal
streets, and monopolizes the business. Service may be poor and fares may
be raised, unless kept down by a railroad commission, but the public must
endure inconvenience, discomfort, and oppression, or walk. Railroad
systems absorb short lines and control traffic over great districts; unless

they are under government regulation they may adjust their time schedules
and freight charges arbitrarily and impose as large a burden as the traffic
will bear; the public is helpless, because there is no other suitable
conveyance for passengers or freight. It is for these reasons that the United
States has taken the control of interstate commerce into its own hands and
regulated it, while the States have shown a disposition to inflict penalties
upon recalcitrant corporations operating within State boundaries. It is the
policy of government, also, to prevent control of one railroad by another, to
the added inconvenience and expense of the public. But since 1890 there
has been a rapid tendency toward a consolidation of business enterprises, by
which railroads became united into a few gigantic systems, street railways
were consolidated into a few large companies, and ocean-steamship
companies amalgamated into an international combination.
215. Government Ownership vs. Regulation.—Nor did monopoly
confine itself to transportation. The control of public utilities has passed
into fewer hands. Coal companies, gas and electric light corporations,
telegraph and telephone companies tend to monopolize business over large
sections of country. Some of these possess a natural monopoly right, and if
managed in the interests of the public that they serve, may be permitted to
carry on their business without interference. But their large incomes and
disposition to oppress their constituents has produced many demands for
government ownership, especially of coal companies and railroads, and
though for less reason of telephone and telegraph lines. Government
ownership has been tried in Europe and in Australasia, but experience does
not prove that it is universally desirable. There are financial objections in
connection with purchase and operation, and the question of efficiency of
government employees is open to debate. Enough experiments have been
tried in the United States to render very doubtful the advisability of
government ownership of any of these large enterprises where politics wield
so large a power and democracy delights to shift office and responsibility.
But it is desirable that the government of State and nation have power to
regulate business associations that control the public welfare as widely as
do railroads, telegraph-lines, and navigation companies. By legislation,
incorporation, and taxation the government may keep its hand upon
monopoly and, if necessary, supersede it, but the system which has grown
up by a natural process is to be given full opportunity to justify itself before
government assumes its functions. It is hardly to be expected that

government regulation will be faultless, American experience with
regulating commissions has not been altogether satisfactory, but society
needs protection, and this the government may well provide.
216. Trusts.—The tendency to monopoly is not confined to any one
department of economic activity. Manufacturing, mercantile, and banking
companies have all tended to combine in large corporations, partly for
greater economy, partly for an increase of profits through manipulating
reorganization of stock companies, and partly for centralization of control.
In the process, while the cost of certain products has been reduced by
economy in operating expenses, the enormous dividend requirements of
heavily capitalized corporations has necessitated high prices, a large
business, and the danger of overproduction, and a virtual monopoly has
made it possible to lift prices to a level that pinches the consumer. By a
grim irony of circumstance, these giant and often ruthless corporations have
taken the name of trusts, but they do not incline to recognize that the
people's rights are in their trust. Not every trust is harmful to society, and
certainly trusts need not be destroyed. They have come into existence by a
natural economic process, and as far as they cheapen the cost of production
and improve the manufacture and distribution of the product they are a
social gain, but they need to be controlled, and it is the function of
government to regulate them in the interests of society at large. It has been
found by experience that publicity of corporate business is one of the best
methods of control. In the long run every social organization must obtain
the sanction of public opinion if it is to become a recognized institution, and
in a democratic country like the United States no trust can become so
independent or monopolistic that it can afford to disregard the public will
and the public good, as certain American corporations have discovered to
their grief.
217. The Chances of Progress.—Every economic problem resolves
itself into a social problem. The satisfaction of human wants is the province
of the manufacturer, the merchant, and the transporter, but it is not limited
to any one or all of these, nor is society under their control. The range of
wants is so great, the desires of social beings branch out into so many broad
interests, that no one line of enterprise or one group of men can control
more than a small portion of society. The whole is greater than any of its
parts. There will be groups that are unfortunate, communities and races that

will suffer temporarily in the process of social adjustment, but the welfare
of the many can never long be sacrificed to the selfishness of the few.
Social revolution in some form will take place. It may not be accomplished
in a day or a year, but the social will is sure to assert itself and to right the
people's wrongs. The social process that is going on in the modern city has
aggravated the friction of industrial relations; the haste with which business
is carried on is one of its chief causes; but the very speed of the movement
will carry society the sooner out of its acute distresses into a better adjusted
system of industry. So far most of the world's progress has been by a slow
course of natural adjustment of individuals and groups to one another; that
process cannot be stopped, but it can be directed by those who are
conscious of the maladjustments that exist and perceive ways and means of
improvement. Under such persons as leaders purposive progress may be
achieved more rapidly and effectually in the near future.

READING REFERENCES

dley: Standards of Public Morality, pages 33-96.

ring: Wages in the United States, pages 93-96.

ring and Watson: Economics, pages 241-255, 314-320.

oman: American Railway Problems, pages 1-181.

en: Plain Facts as to the Trusts and the Tariff, pages 3-236.

art: Economic History of the United States, pages 186-216, 305-337, 400-
418.
ntgomery: Vital American Problems, pages 3-91.

CHAPTER XXIXToC

THE PEOPLE WHO WORK

218. Economic vs. Social Values.—Economic interests may receive first
attention in the city, but the work that is done is of less importance than the
people who work. Things may so fill the public mind that the real values of
the various elements that enter into life may become distorted. A penny may
be held so close to the eye as to hide the sun. Making a living may seem
more important than making the most of life. Persons who are absorbed in
business are liable to lose their sense of proportion between people and
property; the capitalist overburdens himself with business cares until he
breaks down under the nervous strain, and overworks his subordinates until
they often become physical wrecks, but it is not because he personally
intends to do harm. Eventually the social welfare of every class will become
the supreme concern and the study of social efficiency will fill a larger
place than the study of economic efficiency.
219. The Social Classes.—There is a natural line of social cleavage that
has made it a customary expression to speak of the upper, the middle, and
the lower classes. It is impossible to separate them sharply, for they shade
into one another. Theoretically, in a democratic country like America there
should be no class distinctions, but in colonial days birth and education had
an acknowledged social position that did not belong to the common man,
and in the nineteenth century a wealthy class came into existence that
wrested supremacy from professional men and those who could rely alone
on their intellectual achievements. It has never been impossible for
individuals to push their way up the social path of success, but it has been
increasingly difficult for a self-made man to break through into the circle of
the élite. There are still young men who come out of the country without
pecuniary capital but with physical strength and courage and, after years of
persistent attack, conquer the citadel of place and power, but the odds are
against the youth without either capital or a higher education than the high
school gives. Without unusual ability and great strength of will it is
impossible to rise high if one lacks capital or influential friends, but with
the help of any two of these it is quite possible to gain success. Employers

complain that the vast majority of persons whom they employ are lacking in
energy, ambition, and ability. Important as is the possession of wealth and
influence it seems to be the psychic values that ultimately determine the
individual's place in American society. We shall expect, therefore, to find an
upper class in society composed of some who hold their place because of
the prestige that belongs to birth or property, and of others who have made
their own way up because they had the necessary qualities to succeed.
Below them in the social scale we shall expect to find a larger class who,
because they were not consumed by ambition to excel, or because they
lacked the means to achieve distinction, have come to occupy a place
midway between the high and the low, to fill the numerous professional and
business positions below the kings and great captains, and to hold the
balance of power between the aristocracy and the proletariat. Below these,
in turn, are the so-called masses, who fill the lower ranks of labor, and who
are essential to the well-being of those who are reckoned above them.
220. The Worth of the Upper Class.—It is a common belief among the
lowly that the people who hold a place in the upper ranks are not worthy of
their lofty position, and there are many who hope to see such a general
levelling as took place during the French Revolution. They are fortified in
their opinion by the lavish and irresponsible way in which the wealthy use
their money, and they are tantalized by the display of luxury which, if times
are hard, are in aggravating contrast to the hardship and suffering of the
poor. The scale of living of the millionaire cannot justify itself in the eyes of
the man who finds it difficult to make both ends meet. Undoubtedly society
will find it necessary some day to devise a more equitable method of
distribution. But it is a mistake to suppose that most of the rich are idle
parasites on society, or that their service, as well, as their wealth, could be
dispensed with in the social order. In spite of the impression fostered by a
sensational press that the average person of wealth devotes himself to the
gaieties and dissipations of a pleasure-loving society, the truth is that after
the self-centred years of callow youth are over most men and women take
life seriously and only the few are idlers. If the investigator should go
through the wealthy sections of the cities and suburbs, and record his
observations, he would find that the men spend their days feeling the pulse
of business in the down-town offices, directing the energies of thousands of
individuals, keeping open the arteries of trade, using as productive capital
the wealth that they count their own, making possible the economic activity

and the very existence of the persons who find fault with their
worthlessness. He would find the women in the nature of the case less
occupied with public affairs, but interested and enlisted in all sorts of good
enterprises, and, while often wasteful of time and money, bearing a part
increasingly in the promotion of social reforms by active participation and
by generous contributions. The immense gains that have come to society
through philanthropy and social organization, as well as through the
channels of industry, would have been impossible without the sympathetic
activity of the so-called upper class.
221. Who Belong to the City Aristocracy?—Most of those who belong
to the upper class are native Americans. They may not be far removed from
European ancestry, but for themselves they have had the advantage of a
rearing in American ways in the home, the school, and society at large.
They are both city and country bred. The country boy has the advantage of
physical strength and better manual training, but he often lacks intellectual
development, and usually has little capital to start with. The city youth
knows the city ways and possesses the asset of acquaintances and
friendships, if not of capital, in the place where he expects to make a living.
He is helped to success if the way is prepared for him by relatives who have
attained place and property, but he is as often cursed by having more money
and more liberty than is good for him, while still in his irresponsible years.
No place is secure until the young man has proved his personal worth,
whether he is from the city or the country and has come up out of poverty
or from a home of wealth.
222. Sources of Wealth.—The large majority of persons of wealth have
won or inherited their property from the economic industries of
manufacturing, trade, commerce, and transportation, or real estate. Certain
individuals have been fortunate in their mining or public-service
investments; others make a large income as corporation officials, lawyers,
physicians, engineers, and architects, but most of them have attained their
success as capitalists, and they are able to maintain a position of
prominence and ease because they use rather than hoard their wealth. It is
easy to underestimate the usefulness of human beings who finance the
world of industry, and in estimating the returns that are due to members of
the various social classes this form of public service that is so essential to
the prosperity of all must receive recognition.

223. How They Live.—Unfortunately, the possession of money
furnishes a constant temptation to self-indulgence which, if carried far, is
destructive of personal health and character, weakens family affection, and
threatens the solidarity of society. The dwelling-house is costly and the
furnishings are expensive. A retinue of servants performs many useless
functions in the operation of the establishment. Ostentation often carried to
the point of vulgarity marks habits of speech, of dress, and of conduct both
within and outside of the home. Every member of the family has his own
friends and interests and usually his own share of the family allowance. The
adults of the family are unreasonably busy with social functions that are not
worth their up-keep; the children are coddled and supplied with predigested
culture in schools that cater to the trade, and if they are not spoiled in the
process of preparation go on to college as a form of social recreation. There
are exceptions, of course, to this manner of life, but those who follow it
constitute a distinct type and by their manner of living exert a disintegrating
influence in American society.
224. The Middle Class.—The middle class is not so distinct a stratum of
society as are the upper and lower classes. It includes the bulk of the
population in the United States, and from its ranks come the teachers,
ministers, physicians, lawyers, artists, musicians, authors, and statesmen;
the civil, mechanical, and electrical engineers, the architects, and the
scientists of every name; most of the tradesmen of the towns and the
farmers of the country; office managers and agents, handicraftsmen of the
better grade, and not a few of the factory workers. They are the people who
maintain the Protestant churches and their enterprises, who make up a large
part of the constituency of educational institutions and buy books and
reviews, and who patronize the better class of entertainments and
amusements. These people are too numerous to belong to any one race, and
they include both city and country bred. The educated class of foreigners
finds its place among them, assimilates American culture, and intermarries
in the second generation. Into the middle class of the cities is absorbed the
constant stream of rural immigration, except the few who rise into the upper
class or fall into the lower class. In the city itself grow up thousands of boys
and girls who pass through the schools and into business and home life in
their native environment, and who constitute the solid stratum of urban
society.

These people have not the means to make large display. They are
influenced by the fashions of the upper class, sometimes are induced to
applaud their poses or are hypnotized to do their bidding, but they have
their own class standards, and most of them are contented to occupy their
modest station. Only a minority of them own their homes, but as a class
they can afford to pay a reasonable rent and to furnish their houses
tastefully, to hire one or two household servants, and to live in comfort.
Twenty years ago they owned bicycles and enjoyed century runs into the
country on Sunday: since then some of them have been promoted to
automobiles and enjoy a low-priced car as much as the wealthy appreciate
their high-priced limousines. As in rural villages, so in the city they form
various groups of neighbors or friends based on a common interest, and find
entertainment and intellectual stimulus from such companionship. On the
roster of social organizations are musical societies and bridge clubs, literary
and art circles, dramatic associations, women's clubs, and men's fraternities.
The people meet at dances, teas, and receptions; they mingle with others of
their kind at church or theatre, and co-operate with other workers in
settlements and charity organizations. They educate their children in the
public schools and in increasing numbers give them the benefit of a college
education.
People of the middle class are by no means debarred from passing up to a
higher social grade if they have the ability or good fortune to get ahead, nor
are they guaranteed a permanent place in their own native group unless they
are competent to keep their footing. There is no surety to keep the
independent tradesman from failing in business or the careless youth from
falling into intemperate or vicious habits; many hazards must be crossed
and hindrances overcome before an assured position is secured in the
community, but the opportunities are far better than for the handicapped
strugglers below.
225. Bonds of Union Between Classes.—Though the middle class is
distinct from the aristocracy of society in America, it is not shut off from
association with it. The same is true in a less degree of the lowest class.
Party lines are vertical, not horizontal. Religious and intellectual lines are
only less so. The politician cannot afford to ignore a single vote, and the
working man's counts as much as the plutocrat's. There are few churches
that do not have representatives of all classes, from the gilded pew-holder to

the workman with dingy hands who sits under the gallery. The school is no
respecter of class lines. The store, the street-car, and the railroad are all
common property, where one jostles another without regard to class.
Friendship oversteps all boundaries, even of race and creed.
226. The Lower Class.—The lower class consists of those who are
dependent upon others for the opportunity to work or for the charity that
keeps them alive. They commonly lack initiative and ambition; if they have
those qualities they are hindered by their environment from ever getting
ahead. Sometimes they make an attempt in a small way to carry on trade on
their own resources, but they seldom win success. Their skill as factory
operatives is not so great as to gain for them a good wage, and when
business is slack they are the first to be laid off the pay-roll, and they help
to swell the ranks of the unemployed. Because of the American system of
compulsory education they are not absolutely illiterate, but their ability is
small; they leave school early, and what little education they have does not
help them to earn a living. They do not usually choose an occupation, but
they follow the line of least resistance, taking the first job that offers, and
often finding later that they never can hope for advancement in it.
Frequently they are the victims of weak will and inherited tendencies that
lead to intemperance, vice, and crime. Thousands of them are living in the
unwholesome tenements that lack comfort and attractiveness. There is no
inducement to cultivate good habits, and no possibility of keeping the
children free from moral and physical contamination. As a class they are
continually on the edge of poverty and often submerged in it. They know
what it is to feel the pinch of hunger, to shiver before the blasts of winter,
and to look upon coal and ice as luxuries. They become discouraged from
the struggle as they grow older, often get to be chronically dependent on
charity, and not infrequently fall at last into a pauper's grave.
227. The Degenerate American.—Many of these people are Americans,
swarms of them are foreigners who have come here to better their fortunes
and have been disappointed or, finding the difficulties more than they
anticipated, have settled down fairly contented in the city. Many persons
think that it is the alien immigrant who causes the increase in intemperance
and crime that has been characteristic of city life, but statistics lay much of
the guilt upon the degenerate American. There are poor whites in the cities
as there are in the South country. The riffraff drifts to town from the country

as the Roman proletariat gravitated to the capital in the days of decadence.
A great many young persons who enter the city with high hopes of making
a fortune fail to get a foothold or gradually lose their grip and are swept
along in the current of the city's débris. Illness, accident, and repeated
failure are all causes of degeneration.
Along with misfortune belongs misconduct. Those causes which produce
poverty like intemperance, idleness, and ignorance, are productive of
degeneracy, also. They render the individual unfit to meet the
responsibilities of life, and tend not only to incompetence but also to
sensuality and even crime. Added to the various physical causes are such
psychical influences as contact with degraded minds or with base literature
or art, loss of religious faith, and loss of self-confidence as to one's ability
to succeed.
Personal degeneracy tends to perpetuate itself in the family. Drunken,
depraved, or feeble-minded parents usually produce children with the same
inheritances or tendencies; family quarrelling and an utter absence of moral
training do not foster the development of character. A slum environment in
the city strengthens the evil tendencies of such a home, as it
counterbalances the good effects of a wholesome home environment.
Mental and moral degeneracy is always present in society, and if unchecked
spreads widely; physical degeneracy is so common as to be alarming,
resulting in dangerous forms of disease, imbecility, and insanity. Society is
waking to the need of protecting itself against degeneracy in all its forms,
and of cutting out the roots of the evil from the social body.

READING REFERENCES

ring: Social Religion, pages 104-157.

mmons: "Is Class Conflict in America Growing?" art. in American Journal of
Sociology, 13: 756-783.
derson: Social Elements, pages 276-283.

ring and Watson: Economics, pages 185-193.

rner: American Charities, pages 59-117, 276-292.

ten: Social Basis of Religion, pages 107-133.

ckmar and Gillin: Outlines of Sociology, pages 499-512.

CHAPTER XXXToC

THE IMMIGRANT

228. The Immigrant Problem.—An increasing proportion of the city's
population is foreign born or of foreign parentage. For a hundred years
America has been the goal of the European peasant's ambition, the magnet
that has drawn him from interior hamlet and ocean port. Migration has been
one of the mighty forces that have been reshaping society. The American
people are being altered by it, and it is a question whether America will
maintain its national characteristics if the volume of immigration continues
unchecked. Europe has been deeply affected, and the people who constitute
the migrating mass have been changed most of all. And the end is not yet.
The immigrant constitutes one of the problems of society. Never has
there been in history such a race movement as that which has added to one
nation a population of more than twenty million in a half century. It is a
problem that affects the welfare of races and continents outside of America,
as well as here, and that affects millions yet unborn, and millions more who
might have been born were it not for the unfavorable changes that have
taken place because of the shift in population. It is a problem that has to do
with all phases of group life—its economic, educational, political, moral,
and religious interests. It is a problem that demands the united wisdom of
all who care for the welfare of humanity in the days to come. The heart of
the problem is first whether the immigrant shall be permitted to crowd into

this country unhindered, or whether sterner barriers shall be placed in the
way of the increasing multitude; secondly, if restrictions are decided upon
what shall be their nature, and whose interests shall be considered first—
those of the immigrant, of the countries involved, or of world progress as a
whole?
The problem can be approached best by considering (1) the history of
immigration, (2) the present facts about immigration, (3) the tendencies and
effects of immigration. Migrations have occurred everywhere in history,
and they are progressing in these days in other countries besides the United
States. Canada is adding thousands every year, parts of South America are
already German or Italian because of immigration, in lesser numbers
emigrants are going to the colonies that the European nations, especially the
English, have located all over the world. European immigration to North
America has been so prolonged and abundant that it constitutes the
particular phenomenon that most deserves attention. Other nations have
fought wars to secure additional territory for their people; the immigrant
occupation of America has been a peaceful conquest.
229. The Irish.—Although the early occupation of this continent was by
immigration from Europe, after the Revolution the increase of population
was almost entirely by natural growth. Large families were the rule and a
hardy people was rapidly gaining the mastery of the eastern part of the
continent. It was not until 1820 that the new immigration became noticeable
and the government took legislative action to regulate it (1819). Between
1840 and 1880 three distinct waves of immigration broke on American
shores. The first was Irish. The Irish peasants were starving from a potato
famine that extended over several years in the forties, and they poured by
the thousand into America, the women becoming domestic servants and the
men the unskilled laborers that were needed in the construction camps.
They built roads, dug canals, and laid the first railways. Complaint was
made that they lowered the standards of wages and of living, that their
intemperate, improvident ways tended to complicate the problem of
poverty, and that their Catholic religion made them dangerous, but they
continued to come until the movement reached its climax, in 1851, when
272,000 passed through the gates of the Atlantic ports. The Irish-American
has become an important element of the population, especially in the
Eastern cities, and has shown special aptitude for politics and business.

230. Germans and Scandinavians.—The Irishman was followed by the
German. He was attracted by-the rich agricultural lands of the Middle West
and the opportunities for education and trade in the towns and cities.
German political agitators who had failed to propagate democracy in the
revolutionary days of 1848 made their way to a place where they could
mould the German-American ideas. While the Irish settled down in the
seaboard towns, the Germans went West, and constituted one of the solid
groups that was to build the future cosmopolitan nation. The German was
followed by the Scandinavian. The people of Norway, Sweden, and
Denmark were increasing in number, but their rough, cold country could not
support them all. As the Norsemen took to the sea in the ninth century, so
the Scandinavian did in the nineteenth, but this time in a peaceful migration
toward the setting sun. They began coming soon after the Civil War, and by
1882 they numbered thirteen per cent of the total immigration. They were a
specially valuable asset, for they were industrious agriculturists and
occupied the valuable but unused acres of the Northwest, where they
planted the wheat belt of the United States, learned American ways and
founded American institutions, and have become one of the best strains in
the American blood.
231. The New Immigrants.—If the United States could have continued
to receive mainly such people as these from northern Europe, there would
be little cause to complain of the volume of immigration, but since 1880 the
tide has been setting in from southern and eastern Europe and even from
Asia, bringing in large numbers of persons who are not of allied stock, have
been little educated, and do not understand or fully sympathize with
American principles and ideals, and for the most part are unskilled
workmen. These have come in such enormous numbers as to constitute a
real menace and to compel attention.

TABLE OF IMMIGRATION FOR THE YEAR ENDING JUNE 30,
1914

(Races numbering less than 10,000 each are not included)

South Italians 251,612
Jews 138,051
Poles 122,657
Germans 79,871
English 51,746
Greeks 45,881
Russians 44,957
North Italians 44,802
Hungarians 44,538
Croatians and
37,284
Slovenians
Ruthenians 36,727
Scandinavians 36,053
Irish 33,898
Slovaks 25,819
Roumanians 24,070
Lithuanians 21,584
Scotch 18,997
French 18,166
Bulgarians,
Servians, and 15,084
Montenegrins
Mexicans 13,089
Finns 12,805
Dutch and Flemings 12,566
Spanish 11,064

232. Italians and Slavs.—Most numerous of these are the Italians. At
home they feel the pressure of population, the pinch of small income, and
heavy taxation. Here it costs less to be a citizen and there are more
opportunities for a livelihood. Gangs of Italian laborers have taken the place
of the Irish. Italians have established themselves in the small trades, and
some of them find a place in the factory. Two-thirds of them are from the

country, and they find opportunity to use their agricultural knowledge as
farm laborers. In California and Louisiana they have established settlements
of their own, and in the East they make a foreign fringe on the outskirts of
suburban towns. North Italy is more progressive than the south and the
qualities of the people are of higher grade, but the bulk of emigration is
from the region of Naples and Sicily. Among the southern Italians the
percentage of illiteracy is high, they have the reputation of being slippery in
business relations, and not a few anarchists and criminals are found among
them. It is not reasonable to expect that these people will measure up to the
level of the steady, reliable, and hard-working American or north European,
especially as large numbers of them are birds of passage spending the
winter in Italy or going home for a time when business in America is
depressed. Yet the great majority of those who settle here are peaceable,
ambitious, and hard-working men and women.
Alongside the Italian is the Slav. There are so many varieties of him that
he is confusing. He comes from the various provinces of Russia, from the
conglomerate empire of Austro-Hungary, and from the Balkan states. In
physique he is sturdier than the Italian and mentally he is less excitable and
nervous, but he drinks heavily and is often murderous when not sober. The
Slav has come to America to find a place in the sun. At home he has
suffered from political oppression and poverty; he has had little education
of body or mind; he is subject to his primitive impulses as the west
European long ago ceased to be. It is not easy for America to assimilate
large numbers of such backward peoples, but the Slav is coming at the rate
of three hundred thousand a year. The Slav is depended upon for the hard
labor of mine and foundry, of sugar and oil refineries, and of meat-packing
establishments. Hundreds and thousands are in the coal and iron regions of
Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, and West Virginia. The Bohemians and Poles
more frequently than the others bring their families with them, and to some
extent settle in the rural districts, but the bulk of the Slavs are men who
herd in congested boarding-houses, move frequently from one industrial
centre to another, and naturally are very slow to become assimilated.
233. The Jews.—Of all the races that have found asylum in America
none have felt abroad the heavy hand of oppression more than the Jew. He
has been the world's outcast through nineteen centuries, but in America he
has found freedom to expand. One-fifth of all the Jews are already in

America, and the rate of immigration is not far from 140,000 a year. The
immigrant Jews are of different grades, some are educated and well-to-do,
but the masses are poor, and the most recent immigrants have low ideals of
living. Few of those who come settle in the country districts; the large
majority herd in the city tenements and engage in small trades and
manufacturing. Jewish masters are unmerciful as sweaters, unprincipled as
landlords, and disreputable as white slavers, but no man rises above
limitations that others have set for him like the Jew, and with ambition,
ability, and persistence the race is pushing its way to the front. The young
people are eager for an education, and are often among the keenest pupils in
their classes. Later they make their mark in the professions as well as in
business. The Jew has found a new Canaan in the West.
234. The Lesser Peoples.—Besides these great groups that constitute the
bulk of the incoming millions, there are representatives from all the nations
and tribes of Europe. All parts of Great Britain have sent their people, and
from Canada so many have come as almost to impoverish certain sections.
French-Canadians are numerous in the mill cities of New England. From
the Netherlands there has always been a small contingent. Portugal has sent
islanders from the Azores and Cape Verde. The Finns are here, the
Lithuanians from Russia, the Magyars from Hungary. The Greeks are
pouring in from their sunny hills and valleys; they rival the Italians in the
fruit trade, and monopolize the bootblack industry in certain cities. With the
twentieth century have come the Turks and their Asiatic subjects, the
Syrians and the Armenians. All these peoples have race peculiarities,
prejudices, and superstitions. Most of their members belong in the lower
grades of society and their coming is a distinct danger to the nation's future.
There can be no question, of course, that individuals among them possess
ability and even talent, and that certain groups like those from Great Britain
and the Netherlands are exceptions to the general rule, but there is a strong
conviction among social workers and students that those who are here
should be assimilated before many more arrive. Definite measures are
advocated by which it is expected that the government or private agencies
may be able to make over these latest aliens into reputable, useful American
citizens.
235. Public Attitude toward Immigration.—Although interest in
national and immigrant welfare is far less keen than it well might be, the

tremendous consequences of the wide-spread movement have not passed
unnoticed. Wage-earners already here have felt the effects of low-grade
competition and have clamored for restrictive legislation. On race rather
than economic grounds Asiatics have been excluded except for the few
already here. Federal regulation has been increased with reference to all
immigrant traffic. This has been based increasingly on investigation by
private effort and government commission, and governments and churches
have established bureaus on immigration. Aid associations maintain agents
to safeguard the newcomer from exploitation, both on the journey and in
port. From all these sources a body of information has been gathered that
throws light on the causes and effects of immigration.
236. Causes and Effects.—The primary cause is industrial. The desire of
the people to improve their economic and social condition is the compelling
motive that drives them, in spite of homesickness and ignorance, to venture
into an unknown country and to face dangers and difficulties that could not
be foreseen. Three out of four who come are males, pioneers oftentimes of a
family that looks forward to a larger migration later on. Friends on this side
encourage others and commonly supply the necessary funds. Eighty per
cent of all who come into Massachusetts make the venture in hope of
finding better industrial conditions or to join relatives or friends. In some
countries, like Russia, religious and political oppression are expelling
causes, and the military service required by the European Powers drives
young men away. It has been demonstrated that forty per cent of the
immigration is not permanent, but that for various reasons individuals
return for a season, some permanently.
Immigration has its good and bad effects. There are certain good qualities
in many of the immigrant strains that are valuable to American character,
and it cannot be denied that the exploitation of national resources and the
execution of public works could not have been accomplished so rapidly
without the immigrant. But the bad effects furnish a problem that is not
easily solved. Immigrants come now in such large numbers that they tend to
form alien groups of increasing proportions in the midst of the great cities.
There is danger that the city will become a collection of districts—little
Italy, little Hungary, and little Syria—and the sense of civic unity be
destroyed. Even more significant is the high birth-rate of the foreigner.
Statistics show that with the greater birth-rate of the immigrants there is a

corresponding decline in the native birth-rate, so that the alien is
supplanting the native American stock. Along with race degeneracy goes
lack of industrial skill and declining wages, for the foreigner is ignorant,
often unorganized, and willing to work and live under worse conditions
than the native American. Among the disastrous social effects are increasing
poverty and crime, lack of sanitation, and an increase of diseases that thrive
in filth. Illiteracy and slow mentality lower the general level of intelligence.
Lack of training in democracy renders the average immigrant a poor citizen,
though some State laws give him the ballot without delay. In morals and
religion there is more loss than gain by immigration. American liberty tends
to become license, scores of thousands lose all interest in the church, and
moral restraint is thrown off with the ecclesiastical yoke. Plainly when the
immigrant population is predominant in a great city the problem of
immigration becomes vital not only to the local municipality but also to the
nation, which is fast becoming urban.
237. Americanizing the Alien.—After all is said, the immigrant problem
is not insoluble. There is much in the situation to make one optimistic. Thus
far the native stock has been able to survive and to give its best to the
newcomer. The immigrant himself has no desire to destroy American
institutions. He comes longing to share in their benefits. America is to him
an Eldorado, a promised land flowing with milk and honey. His children,
through the schools and other contacts, learn the language that his tongue is
slow to acquire, and absorb the ideas and ideals that are typically American.
After all, it is the spirit rather than the form of the institutions that make
them valuable. The upper-class American, who is too indifferent to go to the
polls on election day, is less patriotic and more harmful to American
institutions than the Italian who is too ignorant to vote, but would die on the
battle-field for the defense of his adopted country. Many agencies are at
work to help the alien adjust himself to American ways and to make him
into a good citizen. In the last resort the Americanization of the foreigner
rests with the attitude of the native American toward him rather than with
the immigrant himself.

READING REFERENCES

s: The Old World in the New, pages 24-304.

rchild: Immigration, pages 213-368.

mmons: Races and Immigrants in America, pages 198-238.

erts: The New Immigration.

ks and Lauck: Immigration.

ods: Americans in Process.

lis: "Findings of the Immigration Commission," art. in The Survey, 25: 571-
578.

CHAPTER XXXIToC

HOW THE WORKING PEOPLE LIVE

238. In Europe.—A large proportion of the immigrants from Europe
have been peasants who have come out of rural villages to find a home in
the barracks of American cities. In the Old World they have lived in houses
that lacked comfort and convenience; they have worked hard through a long
day for small returns; and a government less liberal and more burdened than
the United States has mulcted them of much of their small income by heavy
taxes. Young men have lost two or three years in compulsory military
training, and their absence has kept the women in the fields. From the
barracks men often return with the stigma of disease upon them, which,
added to the common social evils of intemperance and careless sex
relations, keeps moral standards low. Thousands of them are illiterate, few
of them have time for recreation, and those who do understand little of its

possibilities. Religion is largely a matter of inherited superstition, and as a
superior force in life is quite lacking. To people of this sort comes the vision
of a land where government is democratic, military conscription is
unknown, wages are high, and there is unlimited opportunity to get ahead.
Encouraged by agents of interested parties, many a man accumulates or
borrows enough money to pay his passage and to get by the immigration
officer on the American side, and faces westward with high hope of
bettering his condition.
239. In America.—On the pier in America he is met by a friend or finds
his way by force of gravity into the immigrant district of the city. Usually
unmarried, he is glad to find a boarding place with a compatriot, who
cheerfully admits him to a share of his small tenement, because he will help
to pay the rent. With assistance he finds a job and within a week regards
himself as an American. Later if it seems worth while he will take steps to
become a citizen, but recently immigrants are less disposed to do this than
formerly. Many immigrants do not find their new home in the port of
landing; they are booked through to interior points or locate in a
manufacturing town within comfortable reach of the great city; but they
find a place in the midst of conditions that are not far different. Unskilled
Italians commonly join construction gangs, and for weeks at a time make
their home in a temporary shack which quickly becomes unsanitary.
Wherever the immigrant goes he tends to form foreign colonies and to
reproduce the low standards of living to which he has been accustomed. If
he could be introduced to better habits and surrounded with improved
conditions from the moment of his arrival he would gain much for himself,
and far more speedily would become assimilated into an American; as it is,
he is introducing foreign elements on a large scale into a city life that is
overburdened with problems already.
Changes in the manner of living are often for the worse. Instead of their
village houses set in the midst of the open fields here, they herd like rabbits
in overpopulated, unhealthy warrens, frequently sleeping in rooms
continually dark and ill-ventilated. They still work for long hours, but here
under conditions that breed discouragement and disease, in the sweat-shop
or the dingy factory, and often in an occupation dangerous to life or limb.
Though they are free from the temptations of the military quarters, they find
them as numerous at the corner saloon and the brothel, and even in the

overcrowded tenement itself. If they bring over their families or marry here,
they can expect no better home than the tenement, unless they have the
courage to get out into the country, away from all that which is familiar.
Rather than do that or knowing no better way, they swarm with others of
their kind in the immigrant hive.
240. Tenement House Conditions.—In New York large tenements from
five to seven stories high, with three or four families on each floor, shelter
many thousands of the city's workers. These are often built on lots too small
to permit of air and light space between buildings. Some of them contain
over a hundred individuals. Three-fourths of the population of Manhattan is
in dwellings that house not less than twenty persons each. The density of
population is one hundred and fifty to the acre. Twelve to eighteen dollars a
month are charged for a suite of four rooms, some of them no better than
dark closets. Instances can be multiplied where adults of both sexes and
children are crowded into one or two rooms, where they cook, eat, and
sleep, and where privacy is impossible. Thousands of children grow up
unmoral, if not immoral, because their natural sense of modesty and
decency has been blunted from childhood. The poorest classes live in
cellars that reek with disease germs of the worst kind, and sanitary
conditions are indescribable.
If these conditions were confined to the immigrant population,
Americans might shrug their shoulders and dismiss the subject with
disparaging remarks about the dirty foreigner, but housing conditions like
these are not restricted to the immigrant, whether he be Jew or Gentile. The
American working man who finds work in the factory towns is little better
off. The natural desire of landlords to spend as little as possible on their
property, and to get the largest possible returns, makes it very difficult for
the worker to find a suitable home for his family that he can afford to pay
for. Yet he must live near his work to save time and expense. Old and
dilapidated houses are ready for his occupancy, but though they are often
not so bad as the large tenements, with their more attractive exteriors, they
are not fit dwellings for his growing family. A flat in a three-decker may be
obtained at a moderate rental, but such houses are usually poorly built, of
the flimsiest inflammable material, and they, too, lack privacy and modern
conveniences.

241. Effects of these Conditions.—It must not be supposed that these
evils have been overlooked. Building associations and private
philanthropists have erected improved tenements, and have proved that the
right sort of structures may be made paying investments. State and
municipal governments have appointed commissions and departments on
housing, fire protection has been provided, better sanitary conditions have
been enforced, and hopelessly bad buildings have been destroyed. But
slums grow faster than they can be improved, and the rapidly growing
tenement districts need more drastic and comprehensive measures than have
yet been taken. The housing problem affects the tenant first of all, and in
countless instances his unwholesome environment is ruining his health,
ability, and character; but it also affects the community and the nation, for
persons produced by such an environment do not make good citizens. The
roots of family life are destroyed, gaunt poverty and loathsome disease hold
hands along dark and dirty stairways and through the halls, foul language
mingles with the foul air, and drunkenness is so common as to excite no
remark. Sexual impurity finds its nest amid the darkness and ill-endowed
children swarm in the streets.
242. Possible Improvements.—There must be some way out of these
evil conditions that is practicable and that will be permanent. Those who are
interested in housing reform favor two kinds of measures—first, the
prevention of building in the future the kind of houses that have become so
common but so unsatisfactory, and the improvement of those already in
existence; second, provision of inexpensive, attractive, and sanitary
dwellings outside of the city, and cheap and rapid transit to and from the
places of labor. Both of these methods are practicable either by voluntary
association or State action, and both are called for by the social need of the
present. There are definite principles to be observed in the redistribution of
population. The principle of association calls for group life in a
neighborhood, and it is as idle to think that people from the slums can be
contented on isolated farms as it is to suppose that they can be converted
readily into prosperous American agriculturists. Close connection with the
town is indispensable. The principle of adaptation demands that the new
homes shall answer to the needs of the people for whom they are provided,
and that the neighborhood shall be suited to those needs. The houses will
need to be enough better than those in town to offset the greater effort of
travel. The principle of control demands that the new life of the people be

regulated as effectively as it can be by municipal authority, and if necessary
that such municipal authority be extended or State authority be localized.
There are difficulties in the way of all such enterprises, but social welfare
requires improvements in the way the working people live.
It is notorious that immigrants and working people generally have larger
families than the well-to-do. The children of the city streets form a class of
future citizens that deserve most careful attention. The problem of the
tenement and the flat is especially serious, because they are the factories of
human life. There the next generation is in the making, and there can be no
doubt about the quality of the product if conditions continue as they are. It
is important to inquire how the children live, what are their occupations and
means of recreation, their moral incentives and temptations, and their
opportunities for the development of personality.
243. How the Children Live.—The best way to understand how the
children live is to put oneself in their place. Imagine waking in the morning
in a stuffy, overcrowded room, eating a slice of bread or an onion for
breakfast and looking forward to a bite for lunch and an ill-cooked evening
meal, or in many cases starting out for the day without any breakfast, glad
to leave the tenement for the street, and staying there throughout waking
hours, when not in school, using it for playground, lunch-room, and loafing-
place, and regarding it as pleasanter than home. Imagine going to school
half fed and poorly clothed, sometimes the butt of a playmate's gibes
because of a drunken father or a slatternly mother, required to study
subjects that make no appeal to the child and in a language that is not
native, and then back to the street, perhaps to sell papers until far into the
night, or to run at the beck and call of the public as a messenger boy. Many
a child, in spite of the public opposition to child labor, is put to work to help
support the family, and department store and bootblack parlor are
conspicuous among their places of occupation. Mills and factories employ
them for special kinds of labor, and States are lax in the enforcement of
child-labor laws after they are on the statute books.
244. The Street Trades.—Employment in the street trades is very
common among the children of the tenements. There are numerous
opportunities to peddle fruit and small wares at a small wage; messenger
and news boys are always in demand, and the bootblacking industry
absorbs many of the immigrant class. By these means the family income is

pieced out, sometimes wholly provided, but the ill effects of such child
labor are disturbing to the peace of mind of the well-wishers of children.
Street labor works physical injury from exposure to inclement weather and
to accident, from too great fatigue, and from irregular habits of eating and
sleeping. It provokes resort to stimulants and sows the seeds of disease,
vice, and petty crime. Moral deterioration follows from the bad habits
formed, from the encouragement to lawbreaking and independence of
parental authority, and from the evil environment of the people and places
with which they come into contact. Children are susceptible to the influence
of their elders, and easily form attachments for those who treat them well.
Saloons and disorderly houses are their patrons, and when still young the
children learn to imitate those whom they see and hear. Even for the
children who do not work, the street has its influence for evil. The street
was intended as a means of transit, not for trade or play, but it is the most
convenient place for games and social enjoyments of all sorts. The little
people become familiar with profane and obscene language, with
quarrelling and dishonesty, and even with more serious crime, and no
intellectual education in the schoolroom can counteract the moral lessons of
the street.
245. Playgrounds.—Various experiments for keeping children off the
street have been proposed and tried. Vacation schools in the summer
provide interesting occupations and talks for those who can be induced to
attend; their success is assured, but they reach only a small part of the
children. Gymnasiums in the winter attract others of the older class, but the
most useful experiments are equipped and supervised playgrounds. For the
small children sand piles have met the desire for occupation, and
kindergarten games have satisfied the instinct for association. The primitive
nature of the child demanded change, and one kind of game after another
was added for those of different ages. Swings, climbing ladders, and poles
are always popular, and for the older boys opportunities for ball playing,
skating, and coasting. All these activities must be under control. The
characteristics of children on the playground are the same as those of their
elders in society. Authority and instruction are as necessary as in school;
indeed, playgrounds are a supplement to the indoor education of American
children.

246. The City School.—The school is expected to be the foster-mother
of every American child, whether native or adopted. It is expected to take
the children from the avenue and the slum, those with the best influences of
heredity and environment, and those with the worst, those who are in good
health and those who are never well, and putting them all through the same
intellectual process, to turn out a finished product of boys and girls
qualified for American citizenship. It is an unreasonable expectation, and
the American school falls far short of meeting its responsibility. It often has
to work with the poorest kind of material, sometimes it has to feed the pupil
before his mental powers can get to work. It has to see that the physical
organs function properly before it can get satisfactory intellectual results.
The school is the victim of an educational system that was made to fit other
conditions than those of the present-day city; the whole system needs
reconstructing, but the management is conservative, ignorant, or
parsimonious in many cases, or too radical and given to fads and
experiments. Yet, in spite of all its faults and delinquencies, the public
schools of the city are the hope of the future.
The school is the melting-pot of the city's youth. It is the training-school
of municipal society. In the absence of family training it provides the social
education that is necessary to equip the child for life. It accustoms him to an
orderly group life and establishes relations with others of similar age from
other streets or neighborhoods than those with which he is familiar. It
teaches him how intelligent public opinion is formed, and brings him within
the circle of larger interests than those with which he is naturally connected.
He learns how to accommodate himself to the group rather than to fight or
worm his way through for a desired end, as is the method of the street. He
learns good morals and good manners. He finds out that there are better
ways of expressing his ideas than in the slang of the alley, and in time he
gains an understanding of a social leadership that depends on mental and
moral superiority instead of physical strength or agility. As he grows older
he becomes acquainted with the worth of established institutions, and his
hand is no longer against every man and every man's hand against him. He
likes to share in the social activities that occur as by-products of the school
—the musical and dramatic entertainments, the athletic contests, and the
debating and oratorical rivalries. By degrees he becomes aware that he is a
responsible member of society, that he is an individual unit in a great
aggregation of busy people doing the work of the world, and that the school

is given him to make it possible for him to play well his part in the activities
of the city and nation to which he belongs.

READING REFERENCES

ller: Housing Reform, pages 3-46.

: How the Other Half Lives.
pper: Child Labor in the City Streets.

rtin: "Exhibit of Congestion," art. in The Survey,20: 27-39.

odyear: "Household Budgets of the Poor," art. in Charities, 16: 191-197.

e Pittsburgh Survey," arts, in The Survey, vol. 21.
Constructive and Preventive Philanthropy, pages 109-184.

CHAPTER XXXIIToC

THE DIVERSIONS OF THE WORKING PEOPLE

247. The Demand for Recreation.—The natural instinct for recreation
is felt by the working people in common with persons of every class. They
cannot afford to spend on the grand scale of those who patronize the best
theatres and concerts, nor can they relax all summer at mountains or
seashore, or play golf in the winter at Pinehurst or Palm Beach. They get
their pleasures in a less expensive way in the parks or at the beach resorts in

the summer, and at the "movies," dance-halls, and cheap theatres in the
winter. They have little money to spend, but they get more real enjoyment
out of a dime or a quarter than thousands of dollars give to some society
buds and millionaires who are surfeited with pleasure. Recreation to the
working people is not an occupation but a diversion. Their occupation is
usually strenuous enough to furnish an appetite for entertainment, and they
are not particular as to its character, though the more piquant it is the greater
is the satisfaction. Craving for excitement and a stimulus that will restore
their depleted energies, they flock into the dance-halls and the saloons,
where they find the temporary satisfaction that they wanted, but where they
are tempted to lose the control that civilization has put upon the primitive
passions and to let the primitive instincts have their sway.
It is a prerogative of childhood to be active. If activity is one of the
striking characteristics of all social life, it is especially so of child life. The
country child has all out-of-doors for the scope of his energies, the city boy
and girl are cramped by the tenement and the narrow street, with occasional
resort to a small park. It requires ingenuity to devise methods of diversion
in such small areas, but necessity is the mother of invention, and the
children of the city become expert in outwitting those whose business it is
to keep them within bounds. This kind of education has a smack of
practicality in that it sharpens the wits for the struggle for existence that
makes up much of the experience of city folk, but it also tends to develop a
crookedness in mental and moral habits through the constant effort to get
ahead of the agents of social control.
248. Street Games.—To understand how the youth of the city get their
diversions it is well to examine a cross-section of city life on Saturday
afternoon or Sunday. Family quarters are crowded. Tenements and
apartments have little spare space inside or outside. Children find it
decidedly irksome indoors and naturally gravitate to the street, to the relief
of their elders and their own satisfaction. There they quickly find associates
and proceed to give expression to their restless spirits. It is the child's nature
to play, and he uses all his wits to find the materials and the room for sport.
His ingenuity can adapt sticks and stones to a variety of uses, but the street
makes a sorry substitute for a ball-field, and while the girl may content
herself with the sidewalk and door-steps, the boy soon looks abroad for a
more satisfying occupation. Among the gangs of city boys no diversion is

more enjoyable than the game of craps, learned from the Southern negro.
With a pair of dice purchased for a cent or two at the corner news-stand and
a few pennies obtained by newspaper selling or petty thieving the youngster
is equipped with the necessary implements for gambling, and he soon
becomes adept in cleaning out the pockets of the other fellows.
249. Young People's Amusements.—Meantime the older boys and girls
are seeking their diversions. At fourteen or fifteen most of them have found
work in factory or store, but evenings and Sundays they, too, are looking for
diversion. The girls find it attractive to walk the streets, while the boys
frequent the cheap pool-room, where they find a chance to gamble and
listen to the tales of the idlers who find employment as cheap thieves and
hangers-on of immoral houses. From these headquarters they sally forth
upon the streets to find association with the other sex, and together they
give themselves up to a few hours' entertainment. A few are contented to
promenade the streets, but amusement houses are cheap, and the "movies"
and vaudeville shows attract the crowd. For a few dimes a couple can have
a wide range of choice. If the tonic of the playhouse is not sufficient, a
small fee admits to the public dance-hall, where it is easy to meet new
acquaintances and to find a partner who will go to any length in the mad
hunt for pleasures that will satisfy. From the dance-hall it is an easy path to
the saloon and the brothel, as it is from the game of craps and the pool-
room to the gambling-den and the criminal joint. It is the lack of proper
means for diversion and proper oversight of places of entertainment that is
increasing the vice, drunkenness, and crime that curse the lives of thousands
and give to the city an evil reputation.
250. The Saloon as the Poor Man's Club.—The saloon is an institution
peculiar to America, but it is the successor of a long line of public drinking
houses. There were cafés among the ancients, public houses among the
Anglo-Saxons, and taverns in the colonies. At such places the traveller or
the working man could find social companionship along with his glass of
wine or grog, and by a natural evolution the saloon became the poor man's
club. It is successful as a place of business, because it caters to primitive
wants and social interests in considerable variety. It is a never-failing source
of supply of the strong waters that bring the good cheer of intoxication, and
lull into torpid content the mind that wants to forget its worry or its misery.
It is a place where conventionality is laid aside and human beings meet on

the common level of convivial good-fellowship. It is the avenue to fuller
enjoyment in billiard-room, at card-table, in dance-hall, and in house of
assignation, but though the door is open to them there is no obligation to
enter. It is first aid to the sporting fraternity, the resort of those who delight
in pugilism, baseball, and the racetrack, the dispenser of athletic news of all
sorts that is worth talking about. It frequently provides a free lunch, music,
and games. It is the agent of the political boss who mixes neighborhood
charity with the dispensing of party jobs. "The saloon is a day-school, a
night-school, a vacation-school, a Sunday-school, a kindergarten, a college,
a university, all in one. It runs without term ends, vacations, or holidays.... It
influences the thoughts, morals, politics, social customs, and ideals of its
patrons."
251. Substitutes for the Saloon.—An institution that fills a place as
large as this in the social life of the American city must be given careful
consideration, and cannot be impatiently dismissed as an unmitigated social
evil. The saloon is unsparingly denounced as the cause of intemperance,
prostitution, poverty, and crime, and much of the charge is a fair indictment,
but it is easier to condemn its abuses than to find a satisfactory substitute
for the social service that it performs. If the saloon must go, something must
be put in its place to perform its helpful functions. It may have to be
legislated out of existence in order to check intemperance, for the
satisfaction of thirst is its principal attraction, and its prime function is to
furnish drink, but the law can be more easily enforced if other social centres
are available where the average man can feel equally at home. A model
saloon managed by church people or labor unionists has been tried, but has
failed to solve the problem. The Young Men's Christian Association on its
present basis does not reach the class of men that frequents the saloon.
Coffee-houses, reading-rooms, municipal gymnasiums, and baths, may each
provide a small part, but none of these nor all together fill the gap that is left
after the saloon is abolished. Attractive quarters, recreational facilities, and
a spirit of democracy and freedom appear absolutely essential to any
successful experiment in substitution. The patrons wish to be consulted as
to what they want and what they will pay for, and unless the substitute is
self-supporting it is sure to fail. The most promising experiment is an
athletic club maintained by regular dues, where there is abundant room for
sport and conversation, and where it is possible to secure food at a moderate
price and to enjoy lively music at the same time. Under a reasonable

amount of regulation such an establishment cannot become a public
nuisance, and it supplies a social need on a sound economic basis.
252. Monopoly Experiments.—It has been proposed to draw the virus
of the saloon by removing the element of private profit and placing the
traffic under State management. The South Carolina dispensary system was
such an attempt. It broke up the saloon as a social centre, for drinking was
not allowed on the premises, but it did not stop the consumption of liquor,
the profits went to the public, and the saloon element became a vicious
element in politics. The Norwegian or Gothenburg system was another
experiment of a similar sort. The liquor traffic was made respectable by the
government chartering a monopoly company and by putting business on the
basis not of profit, but of supplying a reasonable demand of the working
class. Fifty years' trial has reduced consumption one-half, has improved the
character of the saloon, and has removed the immoral annexes. The system
is not compulsory, but the people must choose between it and prohibition.
The main objection raised against State monopoly or charter is that the
government makes an alliance with a traffic that is injurious to society, and
that is contrary to the fundamental principle of government. At best it can
be regarded as only a half measure toward the abolition of the trade in
intoxicants.
253. The Seriousness of the Liquor Problem.—There can be no doubt
that the liquor problem is one of the serious menaces to modern health,
morals, and prosperity. Intemperance is closely bound up with the home, it
is a regular accompaniment of unchastity, it is both the cause and the result
of poverty, it vitiates much charity, it is a leading cause of imbecility and
insanity, and a provocative of crime. It stands squarely in the way of social
progress. It is a complex problem. It is first a personal question, affecting
primarily the drinker; secondly, a social question, affecting the family and
the community; thirdly, an economic and political question, affecting
society at large. Consequently the solution of the problem is not simple.
Different phases of the problem demand a variety of methods. Intemperance
may be approached from the standpoint of disease or immorality. It may be
treated in medical or legislative fashion. It may receive the special
condemnation of the churches. One of the most effective arguments against
it is on the basis of economic waste. The best statistics are incomplete, but
the conservative estimate of a national trade journal gave as the total direct

expense in 1912, $1,630,000,000. This minimum figure means eighteen
dollars for every man, woman, and child in the country. The indirect cost to
society of the wretchedness and crime that result from intemperance is
vastly greater. United States internal-revenue statistics indicate an increased
consumption in all kinds of liquor between 1900 and 1910, although the
territory under prohibition was steadily enlarging.
254. Causes and Effects of the Traffic.—The leading causes of
intemperance are the natural craving of appetite and the pleasure of mild
intoxication, the congenial society of the saloon and the habit of treating,
and the presence of the public bar on the streets of the poorer districts of the
city. The mere presence of the saloon is a standing invitation to the men and
boys of the neighborhood, and it grows to seem a natural part of the
environment. It is far more attractive than the cheerless tenement and the
tiresome street. The sedative to tired nerves and stimulant for weary
muscles is there; the social customs of the past or of the homeland re-
enforce the social instincts of the present and draw with the power of a
magnet.
The effects of intemperance may be classified as physical losses,
economic losses, and social losses. The immediate physical effect is
exhilaration, but this is succeeded by lassitude and incompetency. The
stimulus gained is momentary, the loss is permanent. It is well established
that even small quantities of alcohol weaken the will power and benumb the
mental powers. Habitual use depletes vitality and so predisposes to disease.
Life-insurance policies consider the alcoholic a poor risk. The economic
effect is a great preponderance of loss over gain. Somebody makes money
out of the consumer, but it is not the farmer who produces the grain, the
railroad company that transports it, or the government that taxes it; less than
formerly is it the individual saloon-keeper, but the brewer and distiller who
in increasing numbers own the local plant as well as manufacture the liquor.
Neither the nation that taxes the manufacture for the sake of the internal
revenue, nor the city or town that licenses the sale, gets enough to
compensate for the economic loss to society. Among the specific losses to
consumers are irregularity and cessation of employment, due to the
unreliability of the intemperate workman and the consequent reluctance of
employers to hire him—a reluctance increased since employers are made
liable to compensate workmen for accidents; the poverty and destitution of

the families of habitual drinkers; and the enormous waste of millions of
dollars that, if not thus wasted, might have gone into the channels of
legitimate trade. Finally, there is a wide-spread social effect. Intemperance
ranks next to heredity as the cause of insanity. One-third to one-half of the
crime in the country is charged to intemperance. Alcohol makes men
quarrelsome, upsets the brain balance, and introduces the user to illegal and
immoral practices. The saloon corrupts politics. It has been estimated that
the liquor traffic controls two million votes, and some of it is easily
purchasable. When it is remembered that the saloon is in close alliance with
the gambling interest, the white-slave interest, the graft element, the
political bosses, and the corrupt lobbies, it is easy to see that it constitutes a
serious danger to good government throughout the nation.
255. The Temperance Crusade.—Intemperance has grown to be so
wide-spread and serious an evil that a crusade against it has gathered
strength through the nineteenth century. In colonial days the use of liquors
was universal and excited little comment, but groups of persons here and
there, especially the church people, opposed the common practice of
tippling and began to organize in order to check it. It was not a total-
abstinence movement at first, but was designed particularly to check the use
of spirituous liquors. Temperance revivals swept over whole States, but
were too emotional to be permanent. When the second half of the century
began organization became more thorough and the Good Templars and
Woman's Christian Temperance Union assumed the leadership of the cause.
These organizations stood for total abstinence and State prohibition, and by
temperance evangelism and temperance education the women especially
pushed their campaign nationally and abroad. Among all temperance
agencies the Anti-Saloon League organized in Ohio in 1893, and extending
through the United States, has been most effective. It has federated existing
agencies and enlisted organized religion. It has pushed no-license
campaigns in States that had an optional law, has secured the extension of
prohibition to scores of counties in the South and West, and has extended
the area of State-wide prohibition, an experiment begun in Maine in 1851,
until eighteen States are now under a prohibitory law (1915).
256. Remedies for Intemperance.—There is a general agreement
among people who reflect upon social ills that intemperance is a curse upon
large numbers of individuals and families through both its direct and

indirect effects. It seems well established that even moderate drinking
produces physical and mental weakness and even as a temporary stimulant
is of small value. It is not so clear how to check the evil without injuring
personal interests and violating the liberty which every citizen claims for
himself as a right. Three methods have been proposed and tried as remedies
for intemperance. The first of these is public appeal and education. Public
addresses in which arguments are presented and an appeal made to the
emotions have led to the signing of pledges, and sometimes to the control of
elections, but they have to be repeated frequently to keep the individual
who is moved by his impulses up to the standard. Slower is education
through the press and through the school, where the evil effects of alcohol
are demonstrated scientifically, but it has been tried patiently, and there is
continually a large output of temperance literature.
257. Regulation.—A second method that has been used extensively is
regulation. It seems to many persons that the use of liquor cannot be
stopped, and if it is to be manufactured and sold, it is best to regulate it by a
form of license. In many of the American States the people are allowed
local option and vote periodically, whether they will permit the legal
manufacture and sale of intoxicants, or will attempt to prevent it for a time.
Local option has kept a great many towns and counties "dry" for years, and
it is a step toward wide-spread prohibition. It is regarded by many as a
better method than a State prohibition that is ineffective. Those who oppose
all licensing on principle, do so on the ground that there should be no legal
recognition of that which is known to be a social evil.
258. Prohibition.—Prohibition is to most temperance advocates the
master key that will unlock the door to happiness and prosperity. The
enforcement of prohibition in Russia after the European war began in 1914
had very impressive results in the better conduct and enterprise of the
people. Where it has been carried out effectively in the United States, the
results soon appear in diminished poverty and wretchedness and in a
decrease of vice and crime. The legitimacy of this method is recognized
even by liquor manufacturers, and they are willing to spend millions of
dollars to prevent national prohibition, realizing that though it would not
destroy their business it would greatly lessen the profits. The prohibition
policy has bitter enemies among some who are not personally interested in
the business. They think it is too drastic and call attention to the

sociological principle that prohibitions are a primitive method of social
control, but the trend of public opinion is strongly against them on the
ground that prohibitions are necessary in an imperfect human society.
Government increases its regulation of business of all kinds, and the police
their regulation of individuals. The failure of half-way measures has added
to the conviction that prohibition rigidly enforced is likely to be the only
effective method for the solution of the liquor problem.

READING REFERENCES

lzle: The Workingman and Social Problems, pages 21-50.

ore: "Social Value of the Saloon," art. in American Journal of Sociology, 3:
1-12.
lendy: "The Saloon in Chicago," art. in American Journal of Sociology, 6:
289-306, 433-464.
kins: Substitutes for the Saloon. Regulation of the Liquor Traffic (American
Academy), pages 1-127.
body: The Liquor Problem: A Summary.

ant: "Children's Street Games," art. in The Survey, 23: 232-236.

tridge: The Psychology of Intemperance, pages 222-239.

CHAPTER XXXIIIToC

CRIME AND ITS CURE

259. The Problem of Crime.—Habitual self-indulgence is at odds with
the idea of social control. The man who resents interference with his
diversions and pleasures is disposed to defy law, and if he feels that society
is not treating him properly he is liable to become a lawbreaker. This is one
of the reasons for the prevalence of crime, which on the whole increases
rather than diminishes, and is a factor of disturbance in city life. Statistics in
the United States show that in thirty years, from 1880 to 1910, the criminal
population increased relative to population by one-third. This is only partly
due to immigration, nor is it mainly because a large majority of criminals
escape punishment. Two facts are to be kept constantly in mind: (1) Crime
depends upon certain subjective and objective elements, and tends to
increase or decrease without much regard to police protection. (2) As long
as there are persons whose habits and character predispose them to crime,
as long as there are social inequalities and wants that provoke to criminal
acts, and as long as there are attractive or easy victims, so long will thieving
and arson, rape and murder take place.
The problem of crime is not a simple one. The individual and his family
and his social environment are all involved and changes in economic
conditions affect the amount of crime. The task of the social reformer is to
determine the causes of crime and to apply measures of reform and
prevention. The science of the phenomena of crime is called criminology,
that of punishment is named penology.
260. Its Causes.—If there is to be any effective prevention of crime there
is needed a clearer understanding of its causes. Criminologists are not
agreed about these; one school emphasizes physical abnormalities as
characteristic of the criminal, another considers environment the controlling
influence. The removal of physical defect has repeatedly made an antisocial
person normal in his conduct, and it seems plain, especially from the
investigations of European criminologists, that certain individuals are born
with a predisposition to crime, like the alcoholic inheriting a weak will, or
with insane or epileptic tendencies that may lead early to criminal conduct;
but it is not yet proven that a majority of offenders are hereditary perverts.
A stronger reason for crime is the unsatisfied desire or the uncontrolled
impulse that drives a man to take by force that to which he has no lawful
claim. This desire is strengthened by the social conditions of the present. In

all grades of society there are individuals who resort to all sorts of means to
get money and pleasure, and those who are brought up without moral and
social training, and who feel an inclination to disregard the interests of
others are ready to justify themselves by illegal examples in high life. Given
a tenement home, the streets for a playground, the saloon as a social centre,
hard, unpleasant, and poorly paid labor, a yellow press, and a prevailing
spirit of envy and hatred for the rich, and it is not difficult to manufacture
any amount of crime.
261. Special Reasons for Crime.—Certain special circumstances have
tended to encourage crime within the last few generations. The freedom and
natural roughness of frontier life gave an opportunity for lawlessness and
appealed to those who are scarcely to be reckoned as friends of society. In
the mining and lumber camps gambling and drinking were common, and
robbery and murder not infrequent. The American Civil War, like every war,
stimulated the elemental passions and nourished criminal tendencies.
Human life and rights were cheapened. The brute in man was evoked when
it became lawful to kill and plunder. The moral effects of war are among the
most lasting and the most pernicious. More recently the conditions of
existence in the cities have generated crime and are certain to continue to do
so as long as slums exist.
The liberty that is characteristic of America easily becomes license,
especially if restraint has been thrown off suddenly, as in the case of the
immigrant, or of the country youth arriving in the city for the first time and
dazzled by the opportunities of his new freedom or with a grudge against
society because it has not been hospitable to him. The amount of crime is
increased also by the constant increase of legislation. The social regulations
that are necessary in the city tend to become confused with the more serious
violations of the moral code, and because the first are frequently broken
with impunity acts of crime seem less iniquitous. All these reasons help to
explain the increase of crime in the cities. It is worth noticing that the blame
for it is not to be placed on the immigrant. In spite of his misunderstanding
of American law and custom, his overcrowding in houses and streets, his
ill-treatment economically and socially, and his common disappointment
and discouragement because his dreams of wealth and progress have not
materialized, the immigrant as a rule is law-abiding when sober and is less
responsible for crime than the degenerate American. It is important to

remember that there is a constant inflow of undesirable elements of
American population into the cities, as well as an influx of aliens from
Europe. The proletariat is not all foreign.
262. Measures of Prevention.—Crime calls for prevention and
punishment. Improvements in both are taking place. Various methods of
prevention are being proposed and these should be considered
systematically. The first step is to prevent the reproduction of the bad. It has
even been proposed to take away the life of all who are regarded as
hopeless delinquents. Less severe but still radical is the proposal, actually in
practice in several States, to sterilize such persons as idiots, rapists, and
confirmed criminals. The same end demanded by eugenics may be
accomplished by segregating in life confinement all but the occasional
criminals. A second step is the right training of children by the improvement
home conditions, to include pensioning the mother if necessary, that she
may hold the family together and bring the children up properly. The school
helps to train the children, but industrial training is needed to take the place
of the street trades.
A third step is provision for specific moral and religious education. Many
persons think that however good may be the moral influence of a school,
there is need of supplementary instruction in the home and the church. In
the school itself character study in history and literature helps, and attention
to the noble deeds in current life; the introduction of forms of self-
government and the study of the life and organization of society are also
useful; but some way should be devised for the definite training of children
in social and moral principles that will act as an antidote to antisocial
tendencies. Experiments have been tried in the affiliation of church and
school, and it has been urged that the State should appropriate money for
religious training in the church, but the objection is made that such
procedure is contrary to the American principle of the separation of church
and state. The need of such education awaits a satisfactory solution.
263. The Big Brother Idea.—The most hopeful method of prevention is
to provide a friend for the human being who needs safeguarding. Many a
grown person needs this help, but especially the boy who is often tempted
to go wrong. The Big Brother movement, starting in New York in 1905,
befriended more than five thousand boys in six years, and branches were
formed in cities all over the country. In Europe the minister is often made a

probation officer by the state, to see that the boy or youth keeps straight. In
this country through the agency of court or charitable society in some cities
each boy in need has his special adviser, as each family has its friendly
visitor; sometimes it is a probation officer, sometimes the judge of a
juvenile court, sometimes only a charitably minded individual who loves
boys. Through this friend work is found, to him difficulties are brought and
intimate thoughts confided, and the boy is encouraged to grow morally
strong. The immigrant, whether boy or man, often ignorant and stupid,
especially needs such friendly assistance. The Boy Scout movement may be
extended, or a substitute found for it, but some such organization is needed
for the immigrant boy and the native American who is compelled to rely on
his own resources. The fear of the law is undoubtedly a deterrent from
crime, but it is inferior to the inspiration that comes from friendliness.
264. Educating Public Opinion.—One of the important preventives of
crime is work—steady, well-paid, and not disagreeable work, with proper
intervals of recreation; added to this a social interest to take the place of the
saloon and the dance-hall. With these belong improved housing, a better
police system, and cleaner politics. The education of public opinion will
eventually lead to a general demand for all of these. The press has the great
opportunity to mould public opinion, but in its search for news, especially
of a sensational character, it discusses crime in such a way as to excite a
morbid interest in its details, and sometimes in its repetition, and the
newspaper rarely discusses measures of crime prevention. Many believe
that a large responsibility rests upon the church to educate public opinion
with regard to social obligation. They declare that the people need to be
taught that certain social conditions are turning out criminals as regularly as
the factory machine turns out its particular product, and then they need to
be aroused in conscience until the will to prevent the evil is fixed. The
minister, priest, or rabbi is summoned by the age to be both a prophet and a
teacher of ways and means to a people too often unheeding and careless.
265. Theories of Punishment.—The old theory of punishment was that
the state must punish the criminal in proportion to the seriousness of his
crime, and that the penalty must be sufficiently severe to deter others from
similar crime. This primitive theory has been giving way to the new theory
of reformation. This theory is that the object of arrest and imprisonment is
not merely the safety of the public during the criminal's term of

imprisonment, but even more the reformation of the guilty man that he may
be turned into a useful member of society. The reformatory method has
been introduced with conspicuous success into a number of the American
States, and is being extended until it seems likely to supplant the old theory
altogether.
266. Three Elements in the Method of Reformation.—The
reformatory system includes three elements that are comparatively new. The
first of these is the indeterminate sentence now generally in practice in the
United States. According to this principle, the sentence of a prisoner is not
for a fixed period, but maximum and minimum limits are set, and the actual
length of imprisonment is determined by the record the prisoner makes for
himself. The second element is reformatory discipline. The whole treatment
of the prisoner, his assignment to labor, his participation in mental, moral,
and religious class exercises, are all designed to stimulate manhood and to
work a complete reformation of character. The third element is conditional
liberation, or the dismissal of the prisoner on parole. According to this
method, the prisoner is freed on probation, if his record has been good,
before his full term has expired, and is under obligation to report to the
probation officer at stated intervals until his final discharge. If his conduct
is not satisfactory he can be returned to prison at any time. This probation
principle has been extended in application, so that most first offenders are
not sent to a penal institution at all, but are placed on their good behavior
under the watchful eye of the probation officer. Experience with the
reformatory method shows that about eighty per cent of the cases turn out
well. In the sifting process of the reformatory there are always a few
incorrigibles who are turned over to the penitentiary, and most recidivists,
or old offenders, are sentenced there directly.
267. Helping the Discharged Prisoner.—Two experiments have been
tried to help the discharged prisoner and to improve the treatment of the
juvenile criminal. It is a part of the reformatory system to prepare the way
for a prisoner's return to society by teaching him a trade while in
confinement, and finding him a place to work when he goes out, but under
the old system a man was turned loose from prison with a small sum of
money, to redeem himself, when he felt the timidity natural to an ex-convict
and the stigma of his reputation, and in most cases took the easiest road and
returned to crime. To aid him friendly societies were organized, and even

now they prove necessary to get a man on his feet. The Volunteer Prison
League was organized by Mrs. Ballington Booth to help in the reformation
of men in prison and to aid them when they return to society, and homes
have been established to give them temporary refuge. Through these efforts
not a few criminals that seemed incurable have been reformed.
268. The Juvenile Court.—The juvenile court is the result of the
enlightened modern policy of dealing with the criminal. It was the old
custom to conduct the trial of the juvenile offender in the same way as older
men were tried, and to commit them to the same prisons. They soon became
hardened criminals through their associations. But experience proves that
with the right treatment a majority of those who fall into crime before the
age of sixteen can be redeemed to normal social conduct. Experiments with
boys showed that there was a better way of trial and punishment than that
which had been in vogue, and the juvenile courts that they devised have
been widely adopted. The new plan is based on the principle of making
friends with the boy. Personal inquiry into the conditions of his life is made
before the trial, then the judge hears the case in private conference with the
boy, and after consultation gives directions for his future conduct.
It is plain that the right principle of dealing with crime is to secure the
reformation of the criminal and the protection of society with a minimum
amount of punishment. Retaliation is no longer the accepted principle;
reformation has taken its place. Fundamental to all the rest is the prevention
of crime by providing for the needs of children and youth. Methods of
reform and reclamation are made necessary, because youthful impulses are
not gratified in a way that would be beneficial, and habits are allowed to
develop that lead to antisocial practices. Society can protect itself only by
providing means for comfortable living, suitable employment, wholesome
recreation, and social education.

READING REFERENCES

derson: Cause and Cure of Crime.

es: Punishment and Reformation, pages 1-265.

rows: Reformatory System in the United States, pages 17-47.