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The Scientific Monthly, October to December, 1915

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Title: The Scientific Monthly, October to December, 1915

Author: Various

Editor: James McKeen Cattell


        
Release date: July 1, 1997 [eBook #987]
                Most recently updated: April 2, 2015

Language: English

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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY VOLUME LXXXVI JULY TO SEPTEMBER,
1915

THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY VOLUME I OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1915

EDITED BY J. McKEEN CATTELL




THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY ------ OCTOBER, 1915 -------------



THE EVOLUTION OF THE STARS AND THE FORMATION OF THE EARTH. II

BY DR. WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL

DIRECTOR OF THE LICK OBSERVATORY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

THE PRINCIPLES OF SPECTROSCOPY

THUS far our description of the stellar universe has been
confined to its geometrical properties. A serious study of the
evolution of the stars must seek to determine, first of all,
what the stars really are, what their chemical constitutions
and physical conditions are; and how they are related to each
other as to their physical properties. The application of the
spectroscope has advanced our knowledge of the subject by leaps
and bounds. This wonderful instrument, assisted by the
photographic plate, enables every visible celestial body to
write its own record of the conditions existing in itself,
within limits set principally by the brightness of the body.
Such records physicists have succeeded to some extent in
duplicating in their laboratories; and the known conditions
under which the laboratory experiments have been conducted are
the Rosetta Stones which are enabling us to interpret, with
more or less success, the records written by the stars.

It is well known that the ordinary image of a star, whether
formed by the eye alone, or by the achromatic telescope and the
eye combined, contains light of an infinite variety of colors
corresponding, speaking according to the mechanical theory of
light, to waves of energy of an infinite variety of lengths
which have traveled to us from the star. In the point image of
a star, these radiations fall in a confused heap. and the
observer is unable to say that radiations corresponding to any
given wave-lengths are present or absent. When the star's light
has been passed through the prism, or diffracted from the
grating of a spectroscope, these rays are separated one from
another and arranged side by side in perfect order, ready for
the observer to survey them and to determine which ones are
present in superabundance and which other ones are lacking
wholly or in part. The following comparison is a fair one: the
ordinary point image of a star is as if all the books in the
university library were thrown together in a disorderly but
compact pile in the center of the reading room: we could say
little concerning the contents and characteristics of that
library; whether it is strong in certain fields of human
endeavor, or weak in other fields. The spectrum of a star is as
the same library when the books are arranged on the shelves in
complete perfection and simplicity, so that he who looks may
appraise its contents at any or all points. Let us consider the
fundamental principles of spectroscopy.

1. When a solid body, a liquid, or a highly-condensed gas is
heated to incandescence, its light when passed through a
spectroscope forms a continuous spectrum: that is, a band of
light, red at one end and violet at the other, uninterrupted by
either dark or bright lines.

2. The light from the incandescent gas or vapor of a chemical
element, passed through a spectroscope, forms a bright-line
spectrum; that is, one consisting entirely of isolated bright
lines, distributed differently throughout the spectrum for the
different elements, or of bright lines superimposed upon a
relatively faint continuous spectrum.

3. If radiations from a continuous-spectrum source pass through
cooler gases or vapors before entering the spectroscope, a
dark-line spectrum results: that is, the positions which the
bright lines in the spectra of the vapors and gases would have
are occupied by dark or absorption lines. These are frequently
spoken of as Fraunhofer lines.

To illustrate: the gases and vapors forming the outer strata of
the Sun's atmosphere would in themselves produce bright-line
spectra of the elements involved. If these gases and vapors
could in effect be removed, without changing underlying
conditions, the remaining condensed body of the Sun should have
a continuous spectrum. The cooler overlying gases and vapors
absorb those radiations from the deeper and hotter sources
which the gases and vapors would themselves emit, and thus form
the dark-line spectrum of the Sun. The stretches of spectrum
between the dark lines are of course continuous-spectrum
radiations.

These principles are illustrated in Fig. 12. The essential
parts of a spectroscope are the slit--an opening perhaps
1/100th of an inch wide and 1/10th of an inch long--to admit
the light properly; a lens to render the light rays parallel
before they fall upon the prism or grating; a prism or grating;
a lens to receive the rays after they have been dispersed by
the prism or grating and to form an image of the spectrum a
short distance in front of the eye, where the eye will see the
spectrum or a sensitive dry-plate will photograph it. If we
place an alcohol lamp immediately in front of the slit and
sprinkle some common salt in the flame the two orange bright
lines of sodium will be seen in the eyepiece, close together,
as in the upper of the two spectra in the illustration. If we
sprinkle thallium salt in the flame the green line of that
element will be visible in the spectrum. If we take the lamp
away and place a lime light or a piece of white-hot iron in
front of the slit we shall get a brilliant continuous spectrum
not crossed by any lines, either bright or dark. Insert now the
alcohol-sodium-thallium lamp between the lime light and the
slit, and the observer will see the two sodium lines and one
thallium line in the same places as before, but as dark lines
on a background of bright continuous spectrum, as: illustrated
in the lower of the two spectra. Let us insert a screen between
the lamp and the lime light so as to cut out the latter, and we
shall see the bright lines of sodium and thallium reappear as
in the upper of the two spectra. These simple facts illustrate
Kirchhoff's immortal discovery of certain fundamental
principles of spectroscopy, in 1859. The gases and vapors in
the lamp flame are at a lower temperature than the lime source.
The cooler vapors of sodium and thallium have the power of
absorbing exactly those rays from the hotter lime or other
similar source which the vapors by themselves would emit to
form bright lines.

When we apply the spectroscope to celestial objects we find
apparently an endless variety of spectra. We shall illustrate
some of the leading characteristics of these spectra as in
Figs. 13 to 18, inclusive, and Figs. 21, 22, 23 and 24. The
spectra of some nebulae consist almost exclusively of isolated
bright lines, indicating that these bodies consist of luminous
gases, as Huggins determined in 1864; but a very faint
continuous band of light frequently forms a background for the
brilliant bright lines. Many of the nebular lines are due to
hydrogen, others are due to helium; but the majority, including
the two on the extreme right in Fig. 13, which we attribute to
the hypothetical element nebulium, and the close pair on the
extreme left, have not been matched in our laboratories and,
therefore, are of unknown origin. Most of the irregular nebulae
whose spectra have been observed, the ring nebulae, the
planetary and stellar nebulae, have very similar spectra,
though with many differences in the details.[1]

[1] My colleague, Wright, who has been making a study of the
nebular spectra, has determined the accurate positions of about
67 bright nebular lines.



The great spiral nebula in Andromeda has a continuous spectrum
crossed by a multitude of absorption lines. The spectrum is a
very close approach to the spectrum of our Sun. It is clear
that this spiral nebula is widely different from the
bright-line or gaseous nebulae in physical condition. The
spiral may be a great cluster of stars which are approximate
duplicates of our Sun, or there is a chance that it consists,
as Slipher has suggested, of a great central sun, or group of
suns, and of a multitude of small bodies or particles, such as
meteoric matter, revolving around the nucleus; this finely
divided matter being visible by reflected light which
originates in the center of the system.

There is an occasional star, like chi Carinae, whose spectrum
consists almost wholly of bright lines, in general bearing no
apparent relationship to the bright lines in the spectra of the
gaseous nebulae except that the hydrogen lines are there, as
they are almost everywhere. There is reason to believe that
such a spectrum indicates the existence of a very extensive and
very hot atmosphere surrounding the main body, or core, of the
star in question. This particular star is remarkable in that it
has undergone great changes in brilliancy and is located upon a
background of nebulosity. The chances are strong that the star
has rushed through the nebulosity with high rate of speed and
that the resulting bombardment of the star has expanded and
intensely heated its atmosphere.

There are the Wolf-Rayet stars, named from the French
astronomers who discovered the first three of this class, whose
spectra show a great variety of combinations of continuous
spectrum and bright bands. We believe that the continuous
spectrum in such a star comes from the more condensed central
part, or core, and that the bright-line light proceeds from a
hot atmosphere extending far out from the core.

The great majority of the stars have spectra which are
continuous, except for the presence of dark or absorption
lines: a few lines in the very blue stars, and an increasing
number of lines as we pass from the blue through the yellow and
red stars to those which are extremely red.

Secchi in the late 60's classified the spectra of the brighter
stars, according to the absorption lines in their spectra, into
Types I, II III and IV, which correspond: Type I, to the very
blue stars, such as Spica and Sirius; Type II, to the yellow
stars similar to our Sun; Type III, to the red stars such as
Aldebaran; and Type IV, to the extremely red stars, of which
the brightest representatives are near the limit of naked-eye
vision. Secchi knew little or nothing concerning stars whose
spectra contain bright lines, except as to the isolated
bright-line spectra of a few nebulae, and as to the bright
hydrogen lines in gamma Cassiopeia, and his system did not
include these.

One of the most comprehensive investigations ever undertaken by
a single institution was that of classifying the stars as to
their spectra, over the entire sky, substantially down to and
including the stars of eighth magnitude, by the Harvard College
Observatory, as a memorial to the lamented Henry Draper.
Professor Pickering and his associates have formulated a
classification system which is now in universal use. It starts
with the bright-line nebulae, passes to the bright-line stars,
and then to the stars in which the helium absorption lines are
prominent. The latter are called the helium stars, or
technically the Class B stars. The next main division includes
the stars in which hydrogen absorption is prominent, called
Class A. Classes B and A are blue stars. Then follows in
succession Class F, composed of bluish-yellow stars, which is
in a sense a transition class between the hydrogen stars and
those resembling our Sun, the latter called Class G. The Class
G stars are yellow. Class K stars are the yellowish-red; Class
M, the red; and Class N, the extremely red. Each of these
classes has several subdivisions which make the transition from
one main class to the next main class fairly gradual, and not
per saltum; though it should be said that the relationship of
Class N to Class M spectra is not clear. The illustration, Fig.
17, brings out the principal features of the spectra of Classes
B to M. The spectrum becomes more complicated as we pass from
Class B to the Class M, and the color changes from blue to
extreme red, because the violet and blue radiations become
rapidly weaker as we pass through the various classes.

GENERAL COURSE OF EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS

The general course of the evolutionary processes as applied to
the principal classes of celestial bodies is thought to be
fairly well known. With very few exceptions astronomers are
agreed as to the main trend of this order, but this must not be
interpreted to mean that there are no outstanding differences
of opinion. There are, in fact, some items of knowledge which
seem to run counter to every order of evolution that has been
proposed.

The large irregular nebulae, such as the great nebula in Orion,
the Trifid nebula, and the background of nebulosity which
embraces a large part of the constellation of Orion, are
thought to represent the earliest form of inorganic life known
to us. The material appears to be in a chaotic state. There is
no suggestion of order or system. The spectroscope shows that
in many cases the substance consists of glowing gases or
vapors; but whether they are glowing from the incandescence
resulting from high temperature, or electrical condition, or
otherwise, is unknown, though heat origin of their light is the
simplest hypothesis now available. Whether such nebulae are
originally hot or cold, we must believe that they are endowed
with gravitational power, and that their molecules or particles
are, or will ultimately be, in motion. It will happen that
there are regions of greater density, or nuclei, here and there
throughout the structure which will act as centers of
condensation, drawing surrounding materials into combination
with them. The processes of growth from nuclei originally small
to volumes and masses ultimately stupendous must be slow at
first, relatively more rapid after the masses have grown to
moderate dimensions and the supplies of outlying materials are
still plentiful, and again slow after the supplies shall have
been largely exhausted. By virtue of motions prevailing within
the original nebular structure, or because of inrushing
materials which strike the central masses, not centrally but
obliquely, low rotations of the condensed nebulous masses will
occur. Stupendous quantities of heat will be generated in the
building-up process. This heat will radiate rapidly into space
because the gaseous masses are highly rarefied and their
radiating surfaces are large in proportion to the masses. With
loss of heat the nebulous masses will contract in volume and
gradually assume forms more and more spherical. When the forms
become approximately spherical, the first stage of stellar life
may be said to have been reached.

It was Herschel's belief that by processes of condensation,
following the loss of heat by radiation into surrounding space,
formless nebulae gravitated into nebula of smaller and smaller
volumes until finally the planetary form was reached, and that
planetaries were the ancestors of stars in general. That the
planetaries do develop into stars, we have every reason to
believe; but that all nebulae, or relatively many nebulae, pass
through the planetary stage, or that many of our stars have
developed from planetaries, we shall later find good reason for
doubting. The probabilities are immensely stronger that the
stars in general have been formed directly from the irregular
nebulae, without the intervention of the planetaries. The
planetary nebula seem to be exceptional cases, but to this
point we shall return later.

It is quite possible, and even probable, that gaseous masses
have not in all cases passed directly to the stellar state. The
materials in a gaseous nebula may be so highly attenuated, or
be distributed so irregularly throughout a vast volume of
space, that they will condense into solids, small meteoric
particles for example, before they combine to form stars. Such
masses or clouds of non-shining or invisible matter are thought
to exist in considerable profusion within the stellar system.
The nebulosity connected more or less closely with the brighter
Pleiades stars may be a case in illustration. Slipher has
recently found that the spectra of two small regions observed
in this nebula are continuous, with absorption lines of
hydrogen and helium. This spectrum is apparently the same as
that of the bright Pleiades stars. Slipher's interpretation is
that the nebula is not shining by its own light, but is
reflecting to us the light of the Pleiades stars. That this
material will eventually be drawn into the stars already
existing in the neighborhood, or be condensed into new centers
and form other stars, we can scarcely doubt. The condensation
of such materials to form stars large enough to be seen from
the great distance of the Pleiades cluster must generate heat
in the process, and cause these stars in their earliest youth
to be substantially as hot as other stars formed directly from
gaseous materials. It is possible, also, that the spiral
nebulae will develop into stars, perhaps each such object into
many, or some of the larger ones into multitudes, of stars.

Let us attempt to visualize the conditions which we think exist
in a newly-formed star of average mass. It should be
essentially spherical, with surface fairly sharply defined. Our
Sun has average specific gravity of 1.4, as compared with that
of water. The average density of the very young star must
certainly be vastly lower; perhaps no greater than the density
of our atmosphere at the Earth's surface; it may even be
considerably lower than this estimate. The diameter of our Sun
is 1,400,000 kilometers. The diameter of the average young star
may be ten or twenty or forty times as great. The central
volume or core of the star is undoubtedly a great deal denser
than the surface strata, on account of pressure due to the
star's own gravitational forces. The conditions in the outer
strata should bear some resemblance to those existing in the
gaseous nebula. The star may or may not have a corona closely
or remotely similar to our Sun's corona. The deep interior of
the star must be very hot, though not nearly so hot as the
interiors of older stars; but the surface strata of the young
star should be remarkably hot; for, being composed of highly
attenuated gases, any lowering of the temperature by radiation
into surrounding space will be compensated promptly through the
medium of highly-heated convection currents which can travel
more rapidly from the interior to the surface than in the case
of stars in middle or old age. Even though the star, as
observed in our most powerful telescopes, is a point of light,
without apparent diameter, its outer strata should supply some
bright lines in the spectrum, because these strata project out
beyond what we may call the core of the star and themselves act
as sources of light. The spectrum should, therefore, consist of
some of the bright lines which were observed in the nebular
spectrum, these proceeding from the outer strata of the star;
and of a continuous spectrum made up of radiations proceeding
from the deeper strata or core of the star, in which a few dark
lines may be introduced by the absorption from those parts of
the outer gaseous strata which lie between us and the core.

A few hundred stellar spectra resembling this description are
well known, discovered mostly at the Harvard Observatory. Their
details differ greatly, but they have certain features in
common. The bright lines of helium are extremely rare in stars,
but they have been observed in a few stellar spectra. The
bright lines of nebulium have never been observed in a true
star: they and the radiations in the ultra-violet known as at
3726A, seem to be confined to the nebular state; and the
absorption lines of nebulium have never been observed in any
spectrum. As soon as the stellar state is reached nebulium is
no longer in evidence. Stellar spectra containing bright lines
seem always to include hydrogen bright lines. This is as we
should expect; hydrogen is the lightest known gas, and it is
probably the substance which can best exist in the outer strata
of stars in general. The extensive outer strata of very young
stars seem to be composed largely of hydrogen, though other
elements are in some cases present, as indicated by the weaker
bright lines in a few cases. This preference of hydrogen for
the outermost strata is illustrated by several very interesting
observations of the nebulae. The nebulium lines are relatively
strong in the central denser parts of the Orion and Trifid
nebulae, but the hydrogen bright-lines are relatively very
strong in the faint outlying parts of these nebulae. The
planetary nebula B.D.--12 degrees.1172 is seen in the ordinary
telescope to consist of a circular disc (probably a sphere or
spheroid) of light and a faint star in its center. When this
nebula is observed with a slitless spectrograph the hydrogen
and nebulium components are seen as circular discs, but the
hydrogen discs are larger than the nebulium discs. In other
words, the hydrogen forms an atmosphere about the central star
which extends out into space in all directions a great deal
farther than the nebulium discs extend. The Wolf-Rayet
star-planetary nebula D. M. + 30 degrees.3639 looks hazy in a
powerful telescope, and when examined in a spectroscope the
haziness is seen to be due to a sharply defined globe of
hydrogen 5 seconds of arc in diameter surrounding the star in
its center. Wolf and Burns have shown that in the Ring Nebula
in Lyra the 3726A and the hydrogen images are larger as to
outer diameter than the nebulium images, but that the latter
are the more condensed on the inner edge of the ring. Wright
has in the present year examined these and other nebulae with
special reference to the distribution of the principal
ingredients. He finds in general that the radiations at 4363A
and 4686A, of unknown or possibly helium origin, are most
closely compressed around the central nuclei of nebulae; that
the matter definitely known to be helium is more extended in
size; that the nebulium structure is still larger; and that the
hydrogen uniformly extends out farther than the nebulium; and
that the ultra violet radiation at 3726A seems to proceed from
the largest volume of all. The 37726A line, like the nebulium
line, is unknown in stellar spectra; it seems also to be
confined to true nebulosity. Neglecting the elements which have
never been observed in true stars, we may say that all these
observations are in harmony with the view that hydrogen should
be and is the principal element in the outer stratum of the
very young star. A few of the stars whose spectra contain
bright hydrogen lines have also a number of bright lines whose
chemical origin is not known. They appear to exist exactly at
this state of stellar life: several of them have not been found
in the spectra of the gaseous nebulae, and they are not
represented in the later types of stellar spectra. The strata
which produce these bright lines are thought to be a little
deeper in the stars than the outer hydrogen stratum.

A slightly older stage of stellar existence is indicated by the
type of spectrum in which some of the lines of hydrogen, always
those at the violet end, are dark, and the remaining hydrogen
lines, always those toward the red end, are bright. The
brightest star in the Pleiades group, Alcyone, presents
apparently the last of this series, for all of the hydrogen
lines are dark except H alpha, in the red. In some of the
bright-line stars which we have described, technically known as
Oe5, Harvard College Observatory found that the dark helium and
hydrogen lines exist, and apparently increase in intensity, on
the average, as the bright lines become fainter. Wright has
observed the absorption lines of helium and hydrogen in the
spectra of the nuclei of some planetary nebulae, although the
helium and hydrogen lines are bright in the nebulosity
surrounding the nuclei. We may say that when all of the bright
lines have disappeared from the spectra of stars, the helium
lines, and likewise the hydrogen lines, have in general become
fairly conspicuous. These stars are known as the helium stars,
or stars of Class B. Proceeding through the subdivisions of
Class B, the helium lines increase to a maximum of intensity
and then decrease. The dark hydrogen lines are more and more in
evidence, with intensities increasing slowly. In the middle and
later subdivisions of the helium stars silicon, oxygen and
nitrogen are usually represented by a few absorption lines.

Just as the gaseous nebulae radiate heat into space and
condense, so must the stars, with this difference: the nebulae
are highly rarified bodies, with surfaces enormously large in
proportion to the heat contents; and the radiation from them
must be relatively rapid. In fact, some of the nebulae seem to
be so highly rarified that radiation may take place from their
interiors almost as well as from their surfaces. The radiation
from a star just formed must occur at a much slower rate. The
continued condensation of the star, following the loss of heat,
must lead to a change of physical condition, which will be
apparent in the spectrum. It should pass from the so-called
helium group, to the hydrogen, or Class A group, not suddenly
but by insensible gradations of spectrum. In the Class A stars
the hydrogen lines are the most prominent features. The helium
lines have disappeared, except in a few stars where faint
helium remnants are in evidence. The magnesium lines have
become prominent and the calcium lines are growing rapidly in
strength. The so-called metallic lines, usually beginning with
iron and titanium lines, which have a few extremely faint
representatives in the last of the helium stars, become visible
here and there in the Class A spectra, but they are not
conspicuous.

In the next main division, the Class F spectra, the metallic
lines increase rapidly in prominence, and the hydrogen lines
decrease slightly in strength. These stars are not so blue as
the helium and hydrogen stars. They are intermediate between
the blue stars and the yellow stars, which begin with the next
class, G, of which our Sun is a representative.

The metallic lines are in Class G spectra in great number and
intensity, and the hydrogen lines are greatly reduced in
prominence. The calcium bands are very wide and intense.

Another step brings us to the very yellow and the
slightly-reddish stars, known as Class K. These stars are weak
in violet light, the hydrogen lines are substantially of the
same intensity as the most prominent metallic lines, and the
metallic lines are more and more in evidence.

Stars in the last subdivisions of the Class K and all of the
Class M stars are decidedly red. In these the hydrogen lines
are still further weakened and the metallic lines are even more
prominent. Their spectra are further marked by absorption bands
of titanium oxide, which reach their maximum strength in the
later subdivisions of Class M.

The extremely red stars compose Class N on the Harvard scale.
Their spectra are almost totally lacking in violet light, the
metallic absorption is very strong, and there are conspicuous
absorption bands of carbon.

Deep absorbing strata of titanium and carbon oxides seem to
exist in the atmospheres of the Class M and N stars,
respectively. The presence of these oxides indicates a
relatively low temperature, and this is what we should expect
from stars so far advanced in life.

The period of existence succeeding the very red stars has
illustrations near at hand, we think, in Jupiter, Saturn,
Uranus and Neptune, and in the Earth and the other small
planets and the Moon: bodies which still contain much heat, but
which are invisible save by means of reflected light.

The progression of stellar development, which we have
described, has been based upon the radiation of heat. This is
necessarily gradual, and the corresponding changes of spectrum
should likewise be gradual and continuous. It is not intended
to give the impression that only a few types of spectra are in
evidence: the variety is very great. The labels, Class B, Class
A, and so on to Class N, are intended to mark the miles in the
evolutionary journey. The Harvard experts have put up other
labels to mark the tenths of miles, so to speak, and some day
we shall expect to see the hundredths labeled. Further, it is
not here proposed that heat radiation is the only vital factor
in the processes of evolution. The mass of a star may be an
important item, and the electrical conditions may be concerned.
A very small star and a very massive star may develop
differently, and it is conceivable that there may be actual
differences of composition. But heat-radiation is doubtless the
most important factor.

The evolutionary processes must proceed with extreme
deliberation. The radiation of the heat actually present at any
moment in a large helium star would probably not require many
tens of thousands of years, but this quantity of heat is
negligible in comparison with the quantity generated within the
star during and by the processes of condensation from the
helium age down to the Class M state. We know that the
compression of any body against resistance generates or
releases heat. Now a gaseous star at any instant is in a state
of equilibrium. Its internal heat and the centrifugal force due
to its rotation about an axis are trying to expand it. Its own
gravitational power is trying to draw all of its materials to
the center. Until there is a loss of heat no contraction can
occur; but just as soon as there is such a loss gravity
proceeds to diminish the stellar volume. Contraction will
proceed more slowly than we should at first thought expect,
because in the process of contraction additional heat is
generated and this becomes a factor in resisting further
compression. Contraction is resisted vastly more by the heat
generated in the process of contraction than it is by the store
of heat already in evidence. The quantity of heat in our Sun,
now existing as heat, would suffice to maintain its present
rate of outflow only a few thousands of years. The heat
generated in the process of the Sun's shrinkage under gravity,
however, is so extensive as to maintain the supply during
millions of years to come. Helmholtz has shown that the
reduction of the Sun's radius at the rate of 45 meters per year
would generate as much heat within the Sun as is now radiated.
This rate of shrinkage is so slow that our most refined
instruments could not detect a change in the solar diameter
until after the lapse of 4,000 or 5,000 years. Again, there are
reasons for suspecting that the processes of evolution in our
Sun, and in other stars as well, may be enormously prolonged
through the influence of energy within the atoms or molecules
of matter composing them. The subatomic forces residing in the
radioactive elements represent the most condensed form of
energy of which we have any conception. It is believed that the
subatomic energy in a mass of radium is at least a million-fold
greater than the energy represented in the combustion or other
chemical transformation of any ordinary substance having the
same mass. These radioactive forces are released with extreme
slowness, in the form of heat or the equivalent; and if these
substances exist moderately in the Sun and stars, as they do in
the Earth, they may well be important factors in prolonging the
lives of these bodies.

Speaking somewhat loosely, I think we may say that the
processes of evolution from an extended nebula to a condensed
nebula and from the latter to a spherical star, are
comparatively rapid, perhaps normally confined to a few tens of
millions of years; but that the further we proceed in the
development process, from the blue star to the yellow, and
possibly but not certainly on to the red star, the slower is
the progress made, for the radiating surface through which all
the energy from the interior must pass becomes smaller and
smaller in proportion to the mass, and the convection currents
which carry heat from the interior to the surface must slow
down in speed.



A HISTORY OF FIJI.

BY DR. ALFRED GOLDSBOROUGH MAYER

IV

THE Fijians had a well-organized social system which recognized
six classes of society. (1) Kings and queens (Tuis and Andis).
(2) Chiefs of districts (Rokos). (3) Chiefs of villages,
priests (Betes), and land owners (Mata-ni-vanuas). (4)
Distinguished warriors of low birth, chiefs of the carpenter
caste (Rokolas), and chiefs of the turtle fishermen. (5) Common
people (Kai-si). (6) Slaves taken in battle.

The high chiefs still inspire great respect, and indeed it has
been the policy of the British government to maintain a large
measure of their former authority. Thus of the 17 provinces
into which the group was divided, 11 are governed by high
chiefs entitled Roko Tui, and there are about 176 inferior
chiefs who are the head men of districts, and 31 native
magistrates. In so far as may be consistent with order and
civilization these chiefs are permitted to govern in the old
paternal manner, and they are veritably patriarchs of their
people. The district chiefs are still elected by the land
owners, mata-ni-vanuas, by a showing of hands as of old.

Independent of respect paid to those in authority, rank is
still reverenced in Fiji. Once acting under the kind permission
and advice of our generous friend Mr. Allardyce, the colonial
secretary, and accompanied by my ship-mates Drs. Charles H.
Townsend, and H. F. Moore, I went upon a journey of some days
into the interior of Viti Levu, our guide and companion being
Ratu Pope Seniloli, a grandson of king Thakombau, and one of
the high chiefs of Mbau. Upon meeting Ratu Pope every native
dropped his burdens, stepped to the side of the wood-path and
crouched down, softly chanting the words of the tame, muduo!
wo! No one ever stepped upon his shadow, and if desirous of
crossing his path they passed in front, never behind him. Clubs
were lowered in his presence, and no man stood fully erect when
he was near. The very language addressed to high chiefs is
different from that used in conversation between ordinary men,
these customs being such that the inferior places himself in a
defenceless position with respect to his superior.

It is a chief's privilege to demand service from his subjects;
which was fortunate for us, for when we started down the
Waidina River from Nabukaluka our canoes were so small and
overloaded that the ripples were constantly lapping in over the
gunwale, threatening momentarily to swamp us. Soon, however, we
came upon a party of natives in a fine large canoe, and after
receiving their tama Ratu Pope demanded: "Where are you going"?
The men, who seemed somewhat awestricken, answered that it had
been their intention to travel up the river. Whereupon Ratu
Pope told them that this they might do, but we would take their
canoe and permit them to continue in ours. To this they acceded
with the utmost cheerfulness, although our noble guide would
neither heed our protests nor permit us to reward them for
their service, saying simply, "I am a chief. You may if you
choose pay me." In this manner we continued to improve our
situation by "exchanging" with every canoe we met which
happened to be better than our own, until finally our princely
friend ordered a gay party of merry-makers out of a fine large
skiff, which they cheerfully "exchanged" for our leaky canoes
and departed singing happily, feeling honored indeed that this
opportunity had come to them to serve the great chief Ratu Pope
Seniloli; and thus suffering qualms of conscience, we sailed to
our destination leaving a wake of confusion behind us. Moreover
I forgot to mention that many natives had by Ratu Pope's orders
been diverted from their intended paths and sent forward to
announce the coming of himself and the "American chiefs." Thus
does one of the Royal house of Mbau proceed through Fiji.

At first sight such behavior must appear autocratic, to say the
least, but it should be remembered that a high chief has it in
his power fully to recompense those about him, and this without
the payment of a penny. Indeed, many intelligent natives still
regret the introduction of money into their land, saying that
all the white man's selfishness had been developed through its
omnipotence. In Fiji to-day there are no poor, for such would
be fed and given a house by those who lived beside them. The
white man's callous brutality in ignoring the appeal of misery
is incomprehensible to the natives of Fiji. "Progress" they
have not in the sense that one man possesses vast wealth and
many around him struggle helplessly, doomed to life-long
poverty; nor have they ambition to toil beyond that occasional
employment required to satisfy immediate wants. Yet if life be
happy in proportion as the summation of its moments be
contented, the Fijians are far happier than we. Old men and
women rest beneath the shade of cocoa-palms and sing with the
youths and maidens, and the care-worn faces and bent bodies of
"civilization" are still unknown in Fiji. They still have
something we have lost and never can regain.

It is impossible to draw a line between personal service such
as was rendered to Ratu Pope and a regular tax (lala) for the
benefit of the entire community or the support of the communal
government; and the recognition of this fact actuated the
English to preserve much of the old system and to command the
payment of taxes in produce, rather than in money.

Land tenure in Fiji is a subject so complex that heavy volumes
might be written upon it. In general it may be said that the
chief can sell no land without the consent of his tribe.
Cultivated land belonged to the man who originally farmed it,
and is passed undivided to all his heirs. Waste land is held in
common. Native settlers who have been taken into the tribes
from time to time have been permitted to farm some of the waste
land, and for this privilege they and their heirs must pay a
yearly tribute to the chief either in produce or in service.
Thus this form of personal lala is simply rent. The whole
subject of land-ownership has given the poor English a world of
trouble, as one may see who cares to read the official reports
of the numerous intricate cases that have come before the
courts.

For example, one party based their claims to land on the
historic fact that their ancestors had eaten the chief of the
original owners, and the solemn British court allowed the
claim.

Basil Thomson in his interesting work upon "The Fijians; a
Study of the Decline of Custom," has given an authoritative
summary of the present status of taxation and land tenure, land
being registered under a modification of the Australian Torrens
system.

In order to protect these child-like people from the avarice of
our own race they are not permitted to sell their lands, and
the greater portion of the area of Fiji is still held by the
natives. The Hawaiian Islands now under our own rule furnish a
sad contrast, for here the natives are reduced by poverty to a
degraded state but little above that of peonage. The Fijians.
on the other hand, may not sell, but may with the consent of
the commissioner of native affairs lease their lands for a
period of not more than twenty years.

The Fijians appear never to have been wholly without a medium
of exchange, for sperm-whale's teeth have always had a
recognized purchasing power, but are more especially regarded
as a means of expressing good will and honesty of purpose. A
whale's tooth is as effective to secure compliance with the
terms of a bargain as an elaborately engraved bond would be
with us. More commonly, however, exchanges are direct, each man
bringing to the village green his taro, yaqona, yams or fish
and exchanging with his neighbors; the rare disputes being
settled by the village chief.

In traveling you will discover no hotels, but will be
entertained in the stranger's houses, and in return for your
host's hospitality you should make presents to the chief.
Indeed to journey in good fashion you should be accompanied by
a train of bearers carrying heavy bags full of purposed gifts,
and nowhere in the world is the "rate per mile" higher than in
Polynesia.

As in all communities, including our own world of finance, a
man's wealth consists not only in what he possesses but even
more so in the number of people from whom he can beg or borrow.
Wilkes records an interesting example of this, for he found
that the rifle and other costly presents he had presented to
King Tanoa were being seized upon by his (Tanoa's) nephew who
as his vasu had a right to take whatever he might select from
the king's possessions. Indeed, in order to keep his property
in sight, Tanoa was forced to give it to his own sons, thus
escaping the rapacity of his nephew. The construction of the
British law is such that a vasu who thus appropriates property
to himself could  be sued and forced to restore it, but not a
single Fijian has yet been so mean as to bring such a matter
into court.

An individual as such can hardly be said to own property, for
nearly all things belong to his family or clan, and are shared
among cousins. This condition is responsible for that absence
of personal ambition and that fatal contentment with existing
conditions, which strikes the white man as so illogical, but
which is nevertheless the dominant feature of the social fabric
of the Polynesians, and which has hitherto prevented the
introduction of "ideals of modern progress." The natives are
happy; why work when every reasonable want is already supplied?
None are rich in material things, but none are beggars
excepting in the sense that all are such. No one can be a
miser, a capitalist, a banker, or a "promoter" in such a
community, and thieves are almost unknown. Indeed, the honesty
of the Fijians is one of those virtues which has excited the
comment of travelers. Wilkes, who loathed them as "condor-eyed
savages," admits that the only thing which any native attempted
to steal from the Peacock was a hatchet, and upon being
detected the chief requested the privilege of taking the man
ashore in order that he might be roasted and eaten. Theft was
always severely punished by the chief; Maafu beating a thief
with the stout stalk of a cocoanut leaf until the culprit's
life was despaired of, and Tui Thakau wrapping one in a tightly
wound rope so that not a muscle could move while the wretch
remained exposed for an entire day to the heat of the sun.

During Professor Alexander Agassiz's cruises in which he
visited nearly every island of the Fijis, and the natives came
on board by hundreds, not a single object was stolen, although
things almost priceless in native estimation lay loosely upon
the deck. Once, indeed, when the deck was deserted by both
officers and crew and fully a hundred natives were on board, we
found a man who had been gazing wistfully for half an hour at a
bottle which lay upon the laboratory table. Somehow he had
managed to acquire a shilling, a large coin in Fiji, and this
he offered in exchange for the coveted bottle. One can never
forget his shout of joy and the radiance of his honest face as
he leaped into his canoe after having received it as a gift.

Even the great chief Ratu Epele of Mbau beamed with joy when
presented with a screw-capped glass tobacco jar, and Tui Thakau
of Somo somo had a veritable weakness for bottles and possessed
a large collection of these treasures.

Intelligent and well-educated natives who know whereof they
speak have told me that they desire not the white man's system,
entailing as it does untold privation and heart-burnings to the
many that the few may enjoy a surfeit of mere material things.
As the natives say, "The white man possesses more than we, but
his life is full of toil and sorrow, while our days are happy
as they pass."

Thus in the Pacific life is of to-day; the past is dead, and
the future when it comes will pass as to-day is passing. Life
is a dream, an evanescent thing, all but meaningless, and real
only as is the murmur of the surf when the sea-breeze comes in
the morning, and man awakens from the oblivion of night.

Hoarded wealth inspires no respect in the Pacific, and indeed,
were it discovered, its possession would justify immediate
confiscation. Yet man must raise idols to satisfy his instinct
to worship things above his acquisition, and thus rank is the
more reverenced because respect for property is low. Even
to-day there is something god-like in the presence of the high
chiefs, and none will cross the shadow of the king's house.
Even in war did a common man kill a chief he himself was killed
by men of his own tribe.

As it is with property so with relationships. The family ties
seem loosened; every child has two sets of parents, the adopted
and the real, and relationships founded upon adoption are more
respected than the real. Rank descends mainly through the
mother. The son of a high chief by a common woman is a low
chief, or even a commoner, but the son of a chieftainess by a
common man is a chief. Curiously, there are no words in Fijian
which are the exact equivalent of widow and widower. In the
Marshall group the chief is actually the husband of all the
women of his tribe, and as Lorimer Fison has said in his "Tales
from Old Fiji," their designation and understanding of
relationships suggests that there was once a time when "all the
women were the wives of every man, and all the men were the
husbands of every woman," as indeed was almost the case in
Tahiti at the time of Captain Cook's visit to this island.

The social customs of Fiji are rarely peculiar to Fiji itself,
but commonly show their relationship or identity with those of
the Polynesians or Papuans. Curiously indeed, while the
original stock of the Fijians was probably pure Papuan, their
social and economic systems are now dominated by Polynesian
ideas, and only among the mountain tribes do we find a clear
expression of the crude Papuan systems of life and thought.
This in itself shows that under stimulation the Fijians are
capable of advancement in cultural ideals.

This superposition of a Polynesian admixture upon a barbarous
negroid stock may account for the anomalous character of the
Fijians, for in the arts they equalled or in some things
excelled the other island peoples of the Pacific, and some of
their customs approached closely to the cultural level of the
Polynesians, but in certain fundamental things they remained
the most fiendish savages upon earth. Indeed we should expect
that contact with a somewhat high culture would introduce new
wants, and thus affect their arts more profoundly than their
customs.

In common with all primitive peoples, their names of men and
women are descriptive of some peculiarity or circumstance
associated with the person named. Indeed, names were often
changed after important events in a person's life, thus our old
friend Thakombau began life as Seru, then after the coup d'etat
in which he slaughtered his father's enemies and reestablished
Tanoa's rule in Mbau he was called Thakombau (evil to Mbau). At
the time he also received another name Thikinovu (centipede) in
allusion to his stealthiness in approaching to bite his enemy,
but this designation, together with his "missionary" name
"Ebenezer," did not survive the test of usage. Miss Gordon
Cumming gives an interesting list of Fijian names translated
into English. For women they were such as Spray of the Coral
Reef, Queen of Parrot's Land, Queen of Strangers, Smooth Water,
Wife of the Morning Star, Mother of Her Grandchildren, Ten
Whale's Teeth, Mother of Cockroaches, Lady Nettle, Drinker of
Blood, Waited For, Rose of Rewa, Lady Thakombau, Lady Flag,
etc. The men's names were such as The Stone (eternal) God,
Great Shark, Bad Earth, Bad Stranger, New Child, More Dead
Man's Flesh, Abode of Treachery, Not Quite Cooked, Die Out of
Doors, Empty Fire, Fire in the Bush, Eats Like a God, King of
Gluttony, Ill Cooked, Dead Man, Revenge, etc.

In the religion of a people we have the most reliable clue to
the history of their progress in culture and intelligence, for
religions even when unwritten are potent to conserve old
conceptions, and thus their followers advance beyond them, as
does the intelligence of the twentieth century look pityingly
upon the conception of the cruel and jealous God of the Old
Testament, whose praises are nevertheless still sung in every
Christian church. Thus in Tahiti the people were not cannibals,
but the gods still appeared in the forms of birds that fed upon
the bodies of the sacrificed. The eye of the victim was,
indeed, offered to the chief, who raised it to his lips but did
not eat it. In Samoa also where the practice of cannabalism was
very rare and indulged in only under great provocation, some of
the gods remained cannibals, and the surest way of appeasing
any god was to be laid upon the stones of a cold oven. In
Tahiti and Samoa, while most of the gods were malevolent, a few
were kindly disposed towards mortals; in Fiji, however, they
were all dreaded as the most powerful, sordid, cruel and
vicious cannibal ghosts that have ever been conjured into being
in the realm of thought.

All over the Pacific from New Zealand to Japan, and from New
Guinea to Hawaii, ancestor-worship forms the backbone of every
religion as clearly as it did in Greece or Rome. There are
everywhere one or more very ancient gods who may always have
existed and from whom all others are descended. Next in order
of reverence, although not always in power, come their
children, and finally the much more numerous grandchildren and
remote descendants of these oldest and highest gods. Finally,
after many generations, men of chieftain's rank were born to
the gods. Thus a common man could never attain the rank of a
high chief, for such were the descendants of the gods, while
commoners were created out of other clay and designed to be
servants to the chiefs.

But the process of god-making did not end with the appearance
of men, for great chiefs and warriors after death became kalou
yalo, or spirits, and often remained upon earth a menace to the
unwary who might offend them. Curiously, these deified mortals
might suffer a second death which would result in their utter
annihilation, and while in Fiji we heard a tale of an old chief
who had met with the ghost of his dead enemy and had killed him
for the second and last time; the club which served in this
miraculous victory having been hung up in the Mbure as an
object of veneration.

Of a still lower order were the ghosts of common men or of
animals, and most dreaded of all was the vengeful spirit of the
man who had been devoured. The ghosts of savage Fiji appear all
to have been malevolent and fearful beings, whereas those of
the more cultured Polynesians were some of them benevolent. As
Ellis says of the Tahitian mythology:

Each lovely island was made a sort of fairyland and the spells
of enchantment were thrown over its varied scenes. The
sentiment of the poet that

         "Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth,
   Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep"

was one familiar to their minds, and it is impossible not to
feel interested in a people who were accustomed to consider
themselves surrounded by invisible intelligences, anti who
recognized in the rising sun, the mild and silver moon, the
shooting star, the meteor's transient flame, the ocean's roar,
the tempest's blast, or the evening breeze the movements of
mighty spirits.

The gods and ghosts of Fiji often entered into the bodies of
animals or men, especially idiots.

Thus when the Carnegie Institution Expedition arrived at the
Murray Islands in Torres Straits, the scientific staff were
much pleased at the decided evidences of respect shown by the
natives until it came out that the Islanders considered their
white guests to be semi-idiots, and hence powerful sorcerers to
be placated. Fijian religion had developed into the oracular
stage, and the priest after receiving prayers and offerings
would on occasions be entered into by the god. Tremors would
overspread his body, the flesh of which would creep horribly.
His veins would swell, his eyeballs protrude with excitement
and his voice, becoming quavering and unnatural, would whine
out strange words, words spoken by the god himself and unknown
to the priest who as his unconscious agent was overcome by
violent convulsions. Slowly the contortions grew less and with
a start the priest would awaken, dash his club upon the ground
and the god would leave him. It may well be imagined that the
priests were the most powerful agents of the chiefs in
forwarding the interests of their masters, for, as in ancient
Greece or Rome, nothing of importance was undertaken without
first consulting the oracle.

Surrounded by multitudes of demons, ghosts, and genii who were
personified in everything about him, religion was the most
powerful factor in controlling Fijian life and politics. In
fact, it entered deeply into every act the native performed.
The gods were more monstrous in every way than man, but in all
attributes only the exaggerated counterparts of Fijian chiefs.

War was constantly occurring among these gods and spirits, and
even high gods could die by accident or be killed by those of
equal rank so that at least one god, Samu, was thus dropped out
of the mythology in 1847.

Ndengei was the oldest and greatest, but not the most
universally reverenced god. He lived in a cavern in the
northeastern end of Viti Levu, and usually appeared as a snake,
or as a snake's head with a body of stone symbolizing eternal
life. Among the sons and grandsons of Ndengei were Roko
Mbati-ndua, the one-toothed lord; a fiend with a huge tooth
projecting from his lower jaw and curving over the top of his
head. He had bat's wings armed with claws and was usually
regarded as a harbinger of pestilence. The mechanic's god was
eight-handed, gluttony had eighty stomachs, wisdom possessed
eight eyes. Other gods were the adulterer, the abductor of
women of rank and beauty, the rioter, the brain-eater, the
killer of men, the slaughter god, the god of leprosy, the
giant, the spitter of miracles, the gods of fishermen and of
carpenters, etc. One god hated mosquitoes and drove them away
from the place where he lived. The names and stations of the
gods are described by Thomas Williams, who has given the most
detailed account of the old religion.

As with all peoples whose religion is barbarous, there were
ways of obtaining sanctuary and many a man has saved his life
by taking advantage of the tabus which secured their operation.
No matter how desirous your host might be of murdering you, as
long as you remained a guest under his roof you were safe,
although were you only a few yards away from his door he would
eagerly attack you.

But not only did the Fijians live in a world peopled by
witches, wizards, prophets, seers and fortune-tellers, but
there was a perfect army of fairies which overran the whole
land, and the myths concerning which would have filled volumes
could they ever have been gathered. The gnome-like spirits of
the mountains had peaked heads, and were of a vicious, impish
disposition, but were powerless to injure any one who carried a
fern leaf in his hand.

Sacred relics such as famous clubs, stones possessing
miraculous powers, etc., were sometimes kept in Fijian temples,
but there were no idols such as were prayed to by the
Polynesians.

The fearful alternatives of heaven and hell were unknown to the
Fijians. They believed in an eternal existence for men,
animals, and even canoes and other inanimate things, but the
future life held forth no prospect either of reward for virtues
or punishment for evil acts committed while alive. So certain
were they of a future life that they always referred to the
dead as "the absent ones," and their land of shades (Mbulu) was
not essentially different from the world they lived in. Indeed,
their chief idea of death was that of rest, for as William's
states, they have an adage: "Death is easy: Of what use is
life? To die is rest."

There were, however, certain precautions the Fijian felt it
advisable to take before entering the world to come. If he had
been so unfortunate as not to have killed a man, woman or
child, his duty would be the dismal one of pounding filth
throughout eternity, and disgraceful careers awaited those
whose ears were not bored or women who were not tatooed upon
parts covered by the liku. Moreover, should a wife not
accompany him (be strangled at the time of his death) his
condition would be the dismal one of a spirit without a cook.
Thirdly, as one was at the time of death so would the spirit be
in the next world. It was therefore an advantage to die young,
and people often preferred to be buried alive, or strangled,
than to survive into old age. Lastly and most important, one
must not die a bachelor, for such are invariably dashed to
pieces by Nangganangga, even if they should succeed in elud-
ing the grasp of the Great Woman, Lewa-levu, who flaunts the
path of the departed spirits and searches for the ghosts of
good-looking men. Let us imagine, however, that our shade
departs this life in the best of form, young, married, with the
lobes of his ears pierced, not dangerously handsome and a
slayer of at least one human being. He starts upon the long
journey to the Valhalla of Fiji. Soon he comes to a spiritual
Pandanus at which he must throw the ghost of the whale's tooth
which was placed in his hand at time of burial. If he succeeds
in hitting the Pandanus, he may then wait until the spirit of
his strangled wife comes to join him, after which he boards the
canoe of the Fijian Charon and proceeds to Nambanggatai, where
until 1847 there dwelt the god Samu, and after his death
Samuyalo "the killer of souls."

This god remains in ambush in some spiritual mangrove bushes
and thrusts a reed within the ground upon the path of the ghost
as a warning not to pass the spot. Should the ghost be brave he
raises his club in defiance, whereupon Samuyalo appears, club
in hand, and gives battle. If killed in this combat, the ghost
is cooked and eaten by the soul killer, and if wounded he must
wander forever among the mountains, but if the ghost be
victorious over the god he may pass on to be questioned by
Ndengei, who may consign him either to Mburotu, the highest
heaven, or drop him over a precipice into a somewhat inferior
but still tolerable abode, Murimuria. This Ndengei does in
accordance with the caprice of the moment and without reference
either to the virtues or the faults of the deceased. Thus of
those who die only a few can enter the higher heaven for the
Great Woman and the Soul destroyer overcome the greater number
of those who dare to face them. As for the victims of cannibal
feasts, their souls are devoured by the gods when their bodies
are eaten by man.

In temperament and ambitions the spirits of the dead remained
as they were upon earth, but of more monstrous growth in all
respects, resembling giants greater and more vicious than man.
War and cannibalism still prevailed in heaven, and the
character of the inhabitants seems to have been fiendish or
contemptible as on earth; for the spirits of women who were not
tattooed were unceasingly pursued by their more fortunate
sisters, who tore their bodies with sharp shells, often making
mince-meat of them for the gods to eat. Also the shade of any
one whose ears had not been pierced was condemned to carry a
masi log over his shoulder and submit to the eternal ridicule
of his fellow spirits.

Altogether, this religion seems to have been as sordid, brutal
and vicious as was the ancestral negroid stock of the Fijians.
Connected with it there was, however, a rude mythology, clumsy
but romantic, too much of which has been lost; for the natives
of to-day have largely forgotten its stories or are ashamed to
repeat it to the whites. In recent times the natives have
tended to make their folk-lore conform to Biblical stories, or
to adapt them to conditions of the present day. The interesting
subject of the lingering influence of old beliefs upon the life
of the natives of to-day has engaged the attention of Basil
Thomson in "The Fijians, a Study of the Decay of Custom."

As in every British colony, the people are taught to respect
the law. Sentences of imprisonment are meted out to natives for
personal offences which if committed by white men would be
punished by small fines, but the reason for this is that in the
old native days such acts were avenged by murder, and it is to
prevent crime that a prison term has been ordained. The natives
take their imprisonment precisely as boys in boarding school
regard a flogging, the victim commonly becoming quite a hero
and losing no caste among his fellows. Indeed it is a common
sight to see bands of from four to eight stalwart "convicts" a
mile or more from the prison marching unguarded through the
woods as they sing merrily on their way "home" to the jail.
Once I recall seeing two hundred prisoners, all armed with long
knives, engaged in cutting weeds along the roadside, chanting
happily as they slashed, while a solitary native dressed only
in a waist-cloth and armed only with a club stood guard at one
end of the line, and this not near the prison, but in a lonely
wood fully a mile from the nearest house.

In 1874, the British undertook the unique task of civilizing
without exploiting a barbarous and degraded race which was
drifting hopelessly into ruin. They began the solution of this
complex problem by arresting the entire race and immuring them
within the protecting walls of a system which recognized as its
cardinal principle that the natives were unfit to think or act
for themselves. For a generation the Fijians have been in a
prison wherein they have become the happiest and best behaved
captives upon earth. During this time they have become
reconciled to a life of peace, and have forgotten the taste of
human flesh; and while they cherish no love for the white man,
they feel the might of his law and know that his decrees are as
finalities of fate. All are serving life sentences to the white
man's will, and the fire of their old ambition has cooled into
the dull embers of resignation and then died into the apathy of
contentment with things that are. Worse still, they have grown
fond of their prison world, and the most pessimistic feature in
the Fijian situation of to-day is the evident fact that there
is almost no discontent among the natives. Old things have
withered and decayed, but new ambition has not been born.

It is in no spirit of criticism of British policy that I have
written the above paragraph for it was absolutely necessary
that the race should "calm down" for a generation at least
before it could be trusted to arise. Now, however, there are no
more old chiefs whose memories hark back to days of savagery,
and now for the first and only time has come the critical
period in the unique governmental experiment the British have
undertaken to perform, for now is the time when the child must
learn to walk alone and the support of guardian arms must in
kindness be withdrawn, else there must be nurtured but a
cripple, not a man.

Among the generation of to-day the light of a new ambition must
appear in Fiji or the race shall dwindle to its death. No real
progress has been made by the Fijians; they have received much
from their teachers, but have given nothing in return. They are
in the position of a youth whose schooling has just been
finished, life and action lie before him; will he awaken to his
responsibility, develop his latent talent, character and power,
and recompense his teachers by achievement, or will he sink
into the apathy of a vile content?

The situation in Fiji is one of peculiar delicacy for the
desire for better things must arise among the Fijians
themselves, and should it once appear, the paternalism of the
present government must be wisely withdrawn to permit of more
and more freedom in proportion as the natives may become
competent to think and act rightly for themselves. A cardinal
difficulty is the unfortunate fact that the natives DESIRE no
change, and even if individually discontented and ambitious,
they know of no profession, arts or trades to which they might
turn with hope of fortune. The establishment of manual training
schools wherein money-making trades should be taught, if
possible BY NATIVE teachers, is sorely needed in Fiji.

At present there is too little freedom of thought in Fiji; fear
of the chief and of Samuyalo's club has been replaced by fear
of the European and his hell. Free, fearless thought is the
father of high action, and while their minds remain steeped in
an apathy of dread there can be no soil in which the seed of
independence can germinate.

Yet it is still possible that the Fijians may attain
civilization. Of all the archipelagoes of Polynesia, Fiji alone
may still be called the "Isles of Hope." As one who has known
and grown to love these honest, hospitable, simple people, I
can only hope that the day is not far distant when a leader may
arise among them who will turn their faces toward the light of
a brighter sky, and their hands to a worthier task than has
ever yet been performed in Polynesia.

Yet why civilize them? Often does one ask oneself this
question, but the answer comes as the voice of fate, "they must
attain civilization or they must die." Should the population
continue to decline at its present rate, the time is imminent
when the dark-skinned men of Fiji will be not the natives, but
the swarming progeny of the coolies of Calcutta.

Nowhere over all the wide Pacific have the natives been more
wisely or unselfishly ruled than in Fiji, yet even here native
life seems to be growing less and less purposeful year by year.
In time it is hoped a reaction may set in and that with the
decline of communism new ambitions may replace the old, but
then will come the problem of the rich and the poor--a thing
unknown in Fijian life to-day.

Hardly the first lessons in civilization have been taught in
Polynesia, yet who can predict the noon day, should even the
faintest glow appear in native hope. In former ages the
Japanese were a barbarous insular people, and as in our own
civilization the traditions and habits of rude Aryan ancestors
still color our fundamental thoughts so in Japan we find
evidences of a culture essentially similar to that of the
Pacific Islands of to-day. The ancient ancestor worship of
Japan is strangely like that of the tropical Pacific with its
gods, the ghosts of long departed chiefs, and its high chief a
living god to-day. Moreover in the Pacific Islands the house
consists of but a single room, and such to-day is essentially
the case in Japan, save only that delicate paper screens divide
its originally unitary floor-space into temporary compartments.
As in the South Seas, matting still covers the floor of the
Japanese house, its roof is thatched, and is constructed before
the sides are made, there is no chimney, the fire-place is an
earthen space upon the floor or is sustained within an
artistically molded bronze brazier, the refined descendant of
the cruder hearth. In Polynesia as in Japan one seats oneself
anywhere in tailor-fashion upon the floor, and upon this floor
the meals are served, and here one sleeps at night, nor will
the women partake of food in the presence of the men. In
essential fundamental things of life the Japanese show their
kinship in custom and tradition to the insular peoples of
Asiatic origin now occupying the Pacific, and if Japan has
attained to so great a height in culture and civilization, why
may we not hope for better days for the South Sea Islanders?



WAR SELECTION IN THE ANCIENT WORLD

BY CHANCELLOR DAVID STARR JORDAN

LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY

"The human harvest was bad!" Thus the historian sums up the
conditions in Rome in the days of the good emperor, Marcus
Aurelius. By this he meant that while population and wealth
were increasing, manhood had failed. There were men enough in
the streets, men enough in the camps, menial laborers enough
and idlers enough, but of good soldiers there were too few. For
the business of the state, which in those days was mainly war,
its men were inadequate.

In recognition of this condition we touch again the
overshadowing fact in the history of Europe, the effect of
"military selection" on the human breed.

In rapid survey of the evidence brought from history one must
paint the picture, such as it is, with a broad brush, not
attempting to treat exceptions and qualifications, for which
this article has no space and concerning which records yield no
data. Such exceptions, if fully understood, would only prove
the rule. The evil effects of military selection and its
associated influences have long been recognized in theory by
certain students of social evolution. But the ideas derived
from the sane application of our knowledge of Darwinism to
history are even now just beginning to penetrate the current
literature of war and peace. In public affairs most nations
have followed the principle of opportunism, "striking while the
iron is hot," without regard to future results, whether of
financial exhaustion or of race impoverishment.

The recorded history of Rome begins with small and vigorous
tribes inhabiting the flanks of the Apennines and the valleys
down to the sea, and blending together to form the Roman
republic. They were men of courage and men of action, virile,
austere, severe and dominant.[1] They were men who "looked on
none as their superior and none as their inferior." For this
reason, Rome was long a republic. Free-born men control their
own destinies. "The fault," says Cassius, "is not in our stars,
but in ourselves that we are underlings." Thus in freedom, when
Rome was small without glory, without riches, without colonies
and without slaves, she laid the foundations of greatness.

[1] Virilis, austerus, severus, dominous, good old words
applied by Romans to themselves.



But little by little the spirit of freedom gave way to that of
domination. Conscious of power, men sought to exercise it, not
on themselves but on one another. Little by little this meant
aggression, suppression, plunder, struggle, glory and all that
goes with the pomp and circumstance of war. So the
individuality in the mass was lost in the aggrandizement of the
few. Independence was swallowed up in ambition and patriotism
came to have a new meaning, being transferred from hearth and
home to the camp and the army.

In the subsequent history of Rome, we have now to consider only
a single factor, the reversal of selection." In Rome's
conquests, Vir, the real man, went forth to battle and foreign
invasion; Homo, the human being, remained on the farm and in
the workshop and begat the new generations. "Vir gave place to
Homo," says the Latin author. Men of good stock were replaced
by the sons of slaves and camp-followers, the riff-raff of
those the army sucked in but could not use.

The Fall of Rome was due not to luxury, effeminacy or
corruption, not to Nero's or Caligula's wickedness, nor to the
futility of Constantine's descendants. It began at Philippi,
where the spirit of domination overcame the spirit of freedom.
It was forecast still earlier in the rise of consuls and
triumvirs incident to the thinning out of the sturdy and
self-sufficient strains who brooked no arbitrary rule. While
the best men were falling in war, civil or foreign, or remained
behind in faraway colonies, the stock at home went on repeating
its weakling parentage. A condition significant in Roman
history is marked by the gradual swelling of the mob, with the
rise in authority of the Emperor who was the mob's exponent.
Increase of arbitrary power went with the growing weakness of
the Romans themselves. Always the "Emperor" serves as a sort of
historical barometer by which to measure the abasement of the
people. The concentrated power of Julius Caesar, resting on his
own tremendous personality, showed that the days of Cincinnatus
and of Junius Brutus were past. The strength of Augustus rested
likewise in personality. The rising authority of later emperors
had its roots in the ineffectiveness of the mob, until it came
to pass that "the little finger of Constantine was thicker than
the loins of Augustus." This was due not to Constantine's
force, but to the continued reversal of selection among the
people over whom he ruled. The emperor, no longer the strong
man holding in check all lesser men and organizations, became
the creature of the mob; and "the mob, intoxicated with its own
work, worshipped him as divine." Doubtless the last emperor,
Augustulus Romulus, before the Goths threw him into the
scrap-heap of history, was regarded by the mob and himself as
the most god-like of the whole succession.

The Romans of the Republic might perhaps have made a history
very different. Had they held aloof from world-conquering
schemes Rome might have remained a republic, enduring even down
to our day. The seeds of Rome's fall lay not in race nor in
form of government, nor in wealth nor in senility, but in the
influences by which the best men were cut off from parenthood,
leaving its own weaker strains and strains of lower races to be
fathers of coming generations.

"The Roman Empire," says Professor Seely, "perished for want of
men." Even Julius Caesar notes the dire scarcity of men, while
at the same time there were people enough. The population
steadily grew; Rome was filling up like an overflowing marsh.
Men of a certain type were plenty, but self-reliant farmers,
"the hardy dwellers on the flanks of the Apennines," men of the
early Roman days, these were fast going, and with the change in
type of population came the turn in Roman history.

The mainspring of the Roman army for centuries has been the
patient strength and courage, capacity for enduring hardships,
instinctive submission to military discipline of the population
that lined the Apennines.

"The effect of the wars was that the ranks of the small farmers
were decimated, while the number of slaves who did not serve in
the army multiplied," says Professor Bury. Thus "Vir gave place
to Homo," thus the mob filled Rome and the mob-hero rose to the
imperial throne. No wonder that Constantine seemed greater than
Augustus. No wonder that "if Tiberius chastised his subjects
with whips, Valentinian chastised them with scorpions."[2]

[2] The point of this is that the cruel Tiberius was less
severe on the Romans of his day than was the relatively
benevolent Valentinian on his decadent people.



With Marcus Aurelius and the Antonines came a "period of
sterility and barrenness in human beings." Bounties were
offered for marriage. Penalties were devised against
race-suicide. "Marriage," says Metellus, "is a duty which,
however painful, every citizen ought manfully to discharge."
Wars were conducted in the face of a declining birth-rate, and
the decline in quality and quantity in the human breed engaged
very early the attention of Roman statesmen. Deficiencies of
numbers were made up by immigration, willing or enforced.
Failure in quality was beyond remedy.

Says Professor Zumpt:

'Government having assumed godhead, took at the same time the
appurtenances of it. Officials multiplied. Subjects lost their
rights. Abject fear paralyzed the people and those that ruled
were intoxicated with insolence and cruelty.... The worst
government is that which is most worshipped as divine. . . .
The emperor possessed in the army an overwhelming force over
which citizens had no influence, which was totally deaf to
reason or eloquence, which had no patriotism because it had no
country, which had no humanity because it had no domestic ties.
. . . There runs through Roman literature a brigand's and
barbarian's contempt for honest industry. . . . Roman
civilization was not a creative kind, it was military, that is,
destructive.'

What was the end of it all? The nation bred Romans no more. To
cultivate the Roman fields "whole tribes were borrowed." The
man with quick eye and strong arm gave place to the slave, the
scullion, the pariah, whose lot is fixed because in him there
lies no power to alter it. So at last the Roman world, devoid
of power to resist, was overwhelmed by the swarming Ostrogoths.

The barbarian settled and peopled the empire rather than
conquered it. It was the weakness of war-worn Rome that gave
the Germanic races their first opportunity.

"The nation is like a bee," wisely observes Bernard Shaw, "as
it stings it dies."

In his monumental history of the "Downfall of the Ancient
World" (Der Untergang der Antikenwelt) Dr. Otto Seeck of the
University of Munster in Westphalia, treats in detail the
causes of such decline. He first calls attention to the
intellectual stagnation which came over the Roman Empire about
the beginning of the Christian Era. This manifested itself in
all fields of intellectual activity. No new idea of any
importance was advanced in science nor in technical and
political studies. In the realm of literature and art also one
finds a complete lack of originality and a tendency to imitate
older models. All this Seeck asserts, was brought about by the
continuous "rooting out (Ausrottung) of the best"[3] through
war.

[3] "Die Ausrottung der Besten, die jenen schwacheren Volken
die Vernichtung brachte, hat die starken Germanen erst
befahigt, auf den Trummern der antiken Welt neue dauerende
Gemeinschaften zu errichten." Seeck.



Such extermination which took place in Greece as well as in
Rome, was due to persistent internal conflicts, the constant
murderous struggle going on between political parties, in
which, in rapid succession, first one and then the other was
victorious. The custom of the victors being to kill and banish
the leaders and all prominent men in the defeated party, often
destroying their children as well, it is evident that in time
every strain distinguished for moral courage, initiative or
intellectual strength was exterminated. By such a systematic
killing off of men of initiative and brains, the intellectual
level of a nation must necessarily be lowered more and more. In
Rome as in Greece observes Seeck:

'A wealth of force of spirit went down in the suicidal wars. .
. . In Rome, Marius and Cinna slew the aristocrats by hundreds
and thousands. Sulla destroyed the democrats, and not less
thoroughly. Whatever of strong blood survived, fell as an
offering to the proscription of the Triumvirate. . . . The
Romans had less of spontaneous force to lose than the Greeks.
Thus desolation came sooner to them. Whoever was bold enough to
rise politically in Rome was almost without exception thrown to
the ground. ONLY COWARDS REMAINED, AND FROM THEIR BLOOD CAME
FORWARD THE NEW GENERATIONS.[4] Cowardice showed itself in lack
of originality and in slavish following of masters and
traditions.'

[4] Author's italics.



Certain authors, following Varro, have maintained that Rome
died a "natural death," the normal result of old age. It is
mere fancy to suppose that nations have their birth, their
maturity and their decline under an inexorable law like that
which determines the life history of the individual. A nation
is a body of living men. It may be broken up if wrongly led or
attacked by a superior force. When its proportion of men of
initiative or character is reduced, its future will necessarily
be a resultant of the forces that are left.

Dr. Seeck speaks with especial scorn of the idea that Rome died
of "old age." He also repudiates the theory that her fall was
due to the corruption of luxury, neglect of military tactics or
over-diffusion of culture.

'It is inconceivable that the mass of Romans suffered from
over-culture.[5] In condemning the sinful luxury of wealthy
Romans we forget that the trade-lords of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries were scarcely inferior in this regard to
Lucullus and Apicius, their waste and luxury not constituting
the slightest check to the advance of the nations to which
these men belonged. The people who lived in luxury in Rome were
scattered more thinly than in any modern state of Europe. The
masses lived at all times more poorly and frugally because they
could do nothing else. Can we conceive that a war force of
untold millions of people is rendered effeminate by the luxury
of a few hundreds? . . . Too long have historians looked on the
rich and noble as marking the fate of the world. Half the Roman
Empire was made up of rough barbarians untouched by Greek or
Roman culture.

Whatever the remote and ultimate cause may have been, the
immediate cause to which the fall of the empire can be traced
is a physical, not a moral decay. In valor, discipline and
science the Roman armies remained what they had always been,
and the peasant emperors of Illyricum were worthy successors of
Cincinnatus and Calus Marius. But the problem was, how to
replenish those armies. Men were wanting. The empire perished
for want of men.'

[5] "Damitsprechend hat man das Wort `Ueberkultur' uberhaupt
erfunden, als wenn ein zu grosses Maass von Kultur uberhaupt
denkbar ware."



In a volume entitled "Race or Mongrel" published as I write
these pages, Dr. Alfred P. Schultz of New York, author of "The
End of Darwinism," takes essentially the same series of facts
as to the fall of Rome and draws from them a somewhat different
conclusion. In his judgment the cause was due to "bastardy," to
the mixing of Roman blood with that of neighboring and
subjective races. To my mind, bastardy was the result and not
the cause of Rome's decline, inferior and subject races having
been sucked into Rome to fill the vacuum left as the Romans
themselves perished in war. The continuous killing of the best
left room for the "post-Roman herd," who once sold the imperial
throne at auction to the highest bidder. As the Romans vanished
through warfare at home and abroad, came an inrush of foreign
blood from all regions roundabout. As Schultz graphically
states:

'The degeneration and depravity of the mongrels was so great
that they deified the emperors. And many of the emperors were
of a character so vile that their deification proves that the
post-Roman soul must have been more depraved than that of the
Egyptian mongrel, who deified nothing lower than dogs, cats,
crocodiles, bugs and vegetables.'

It must not be overlooked, however, that the Roman race was
never a pure race. It was a union of strong elements of
frontier democratic peoples, Sabines, Umbrians, Sicilians,
Etruscans, Greeks, being blended in republican Rome. Whatever
the origins, the worst outlived the best, mingling at last with
the odds and ends of Imperial slavery, the "Sewage of Races"
("cloaca gentium") left at the Fall.

Gibbon says:

'This diminutive stature of mankind was daily sinking below the
old standard and the Roman world was indeed peopled by a race
of pygmies when the fierce giants of the north broke in and
mended the puny breed. They restored the manly spirit of
freedom and after the revolutions of ten centuries, freedom
became the parent of taste and science.'

But again, the redeemed Italian was of no purer blood than the
post-Roman-Ostrogoth ancestry from which he sprang. The "puny
Roman" of the days of Theodoric owed his inheritance to the
cross of Roman weaklings with Roman slaves. He was not weak
because he was "mongrel" but because he sprang from bad stock
on both sides. The Ostrogoth and the Lombard who tyrannized
over him brought in a great strain of sterner stuff, followed
by crosses with captive and slave such as always accompany
conquest. To understand the fall of Rome one must consider the
disastrous effects of crossings of this sort. Neither can one
overlook the waste of war which made them inevitable through
the wholesale influx of inferior tribes. Neither can one speak
of the Roman, the Italian, the Spaniard, the French, the
Roumanian, nor of any of the so-called "Latin" peoples as
representing a simple pure stock, or as being, except in
language, direct descendants of those ancient Latins who
constituted the Roman Republic. The failure of Rome arose not
from hybridization, but from the wretched quality on both sides
of its mongrel stock, descendants of Romans unfit for war and
of base immigrants that had filled the vacancies.

Greece.--Once Greece led the world in intellectual pursuits, in
art, in poetry, in philosophy. A large and vital part of
European culture is rooted directly in the language and thought
of Athens. The most beautiful edifice in the world was the
Peace Palace of the Parthenon, erected by Pericles, to
celebrate the end of Greece's suicidal wars. This endured 2,187
years, to be wrecked at last (1687) in Turkish hands by the
Christian bombs of the Venetian Republic.

But the glory of Greece had passed away long before the fall of
the Parthenon. Its cause was the one cause of all such
downfalls--the extinction of strong men by war. At the best,
the civilization of Greece was built on slavery, one freeman to
ten slaves. And when the freemen were destroyed, the slaves, an
original Mediterranean stock, overspread the territory of
Hellas along with the Bulgarians, Albanians and Vlachs,
barbarians crowding down from the north.

The Grecian language still lives, the tongue of a spirited and
rising modern people. But the Greeks of the classic period--the
Hellenes of literature, art and philosophy--will never be known
again. Says Mr. W. H. Ireland:

'Most of the old Greek race has been swept away, and the
country is now inhabited by persons of Slavonic descent.
Indeed, there is a strong ground for the statement that there
was more of the old heroic blood of Hellas in the Turkish army
of Edhem Pasha than in the soldiers of King George.'

The modern Greek has been called a "Byzantinized Slav." King
George himself and Constantine his son are only aliens placed
on the Grecian throne to suit the convenience of outer powers,
being in fact descendants of tribes which to the ancient Greeks
were merely barbarians.

It is maintained that the modern Greeks are in the main the
descendants of the population that inhabited Greece in the
earlier centuries of Byzantine rule. Owing to the operation of
various causes, historical, social and economic, that
population was composed of many heterogeneous elements and
represented in very limited degree the race which repulsed the
Persians and built the Parthenon. The internecine conflicts of
the Greek communities, wars with foreign powers, and the deadly
struggles of factions in the various cities had to a large
extent obliterated the old race of free citizens by the
beginning of Roman period. The extermination of the Plataeans
by the Spartans and of the Melians by the Athenians during the
Peloponnesian war, the proscription of the Athenian citizens
after the war, the massacre of the Coreyrean oligarchs by the
democratic party, the slaughter of the Thebans by Alexander and
of the Corinthians by Mummius are among the more familiar
instances of the catastrophes which overtook the civic element
in the Greek cities. The void can only have been filled from
the ranks of the metics or resident aliens and of the
descendants of the far more numerous slave population. In the
classic period four fifths of the population of Attica were
slaves; of the remainder, half were meties In A.D. 100 only
three thousand free arm-bearing men were in Greece. (James D.
Bourchier.)

The constant little struggles of the Greeks among themselves
made no great showing as to numbers compared to other wars, but
they wiped out the most valuable people, the best blood, the
most promising heredity on earth. This cost the world more than
the killing of millions of barbarians. In two centuries there
were born under the shadow of the Parthenon more men of genius
than the Roman Empire had in its whole existence. Yet this
empire included all the civilized world, even Greece herself.
(La Pouge.)

The downfall of Greece,[6] like that of Rome, has been ascribed
by Schultz to the crossing of the Greeks with the barbaric
races which flocked into Hellas from every side. These resident
aliens, or metics, steadily increased in number as the free
Greeks disappeared. Selected slaves or helots were then made
free in order to furnish fighting men, and again as these fell
their places were taken by immigrants.

[6] Certain recent writers who find in environment the causes
of the rise and fall of nations, ascribe the failure of Greece
to the introduction in Athens and Sparta of the malaria-bearing
mosquito. As to the facts in question, we have little evidence.
But while the prevalence of malaria may have affected the
general activity of the people, it could in no way have
obliterated the mental leadership which made the strength of
classic Hellas, nor could it have injected its poison into the
stream of Greek heredity.



It is doubtless true at this day that "no race inhabits
Greece," and the main difference between Greeks and other
Balkan peoples is that, inhabiting the mountains and valleys of
Hellas, they speak in dialects of the ancient tongue.
Environment, except through selection and segregation, can not
alter race inheritance and the modern "Greeks" have not been
changed by it. Schultz observes:

'We are told that the Hellenes owed their greatness largely to
the country it was their fortune to dwell in. To that same
country, with the same wonderful coast line and harbors,
mountains and brooks, and the same sun of Homer, the modern
Greeks owe their nothingness.'



In other words, it is quite true that the Greece of Pericles
owed its strength to Greek blood, not to Hellenic scenery. When
all the good Greek blood was spent in suicidal wars, only
slaves and foreign-born were left. " 'Tis Greece, but living
Greece no more."[7]

[7] In contrasting a new race with the old--as the modern
Greeks with the incomparable Hellenes--we must not be unjust to
the men of to-day whose limitations are evident, contrasted
with a race we know mainly by its finest examples. In spite of
poverty, touchiness and vanity characteristic of the modern
Greek, there is good stuff in him. He is frank, hopeful,
enthusiastic. The mountain Greek, at least, knows the value of
freedom, and has more than once put up a brave fight for it.
The valleys breed subserviency, and the Greeks of Thessaly are
said to be less independent than the mountain-born.



Furthermore, we do not know that even the first Hellenes of
Mycenae were an unmixed race, or that any unmixed races ever
rose to such prominence as to command the world's attention. We
do know that when war depletes a nation slaves and foreigners
come in to fill the vacuum, and that the decline of a great
race in history has always been accompanied by a debasing of
its blood.

Yet out of this decadence natural selection may in time bring
forward better strains, and with normal conditions of security
and peace nature may begin again her work of recuperation.

In the fall of Greece we have another count against war,
scarcely realized until the facts of Louvain and Malines, of
Rheims and Ypres, have brought it again so vividly before us.
War respects nothing, while the human soul increasingly demands
veneration for its own noble and beautiful achievements. As I
write this, there rise before me the paintings in the "Neue
Pinakothek" at Munich, representing the twenty-one Cities of
Ancient Greece, from Sparta to Salamis, from Eleusis to
Corinth, not as they were, "in the glory which was Greece," not
as they are now, largely fishing hamlets by the blue Aegean
Sea, but as ruined arches and broken columns half hid in the
ashes of war, wars which blotted out Greece from world history.



ANTI-SUFFRAGISTS AND WAR

BY ELSIE CLEWS PARSONS

NEW YORK CITY

ONE of the most curious of those misstatements of fact and
confusions of thought the conservative seems even more prone to
make than the radical has to do with a certain suppositiously
historical relation between women and war. It is assumed[1]
that early society is ever militant and that because of its
militarism it excludes women, women not being fighters, not
only from its government, but from all its privileges, even
making of them its drudges and its beasts of burden. And so,
argues the conservative, women are for the same reasons
disfranchised, and properly disfranchised, to-day. Whether more
or less militant than it was, society is still founded on
force, and because women are not as strong as men, men will not
give them the vote. Besides it is only right, since they can
not fight, they should not vote. It has always been so, and so
it should continue to be, at any rate until war becomes a thing
of the past, and that will never be, you can't change human
nature, etc., etc.

[1] And, let us admit, not merely by the conservative
anti-feminist. As radical and discerning a feminist as Thomas
Wentworth Higginson, after asserting that physical strength was
once "sole ruler," cites in agreement Walter Bagehot's
reference to "the contempt for physical weakness and for women
which marks early society." ("Women and the Alphabet," p. 49.
Boston and New York, 1900.)



There are of course various answers to this militarist
anti-suffrage argument, answers which in spite of the logic of
current events are still likely to be satisfactory or not
according to previous convictions, but the only point I wish to
challenge is the appeal in this connection to the past. Let the
militarist anti-suffragist assert his belief in government by
force if he likes, but let him not try to justify it by the
precedents of primitive life. Nor may he--or she--explain the
exclusion of women to-day as a survival of their subjection in
primitive society to brute force. The government of primitive
society is not based on physical prowess, and although modern
woman is excluded from men's activities for the same reason as
primitive woman was excluded, the reason is not muscular
inferiority.

It is a pity in the feminist controversies of the last hundred
years or so that the "exclusion of women" did not become a more
popular phrase than the "subjection of women." That term gave a
fallacious twist both to observation and analysis. Primitive
and modern men alike commonly EXCLUDE women, they seldom
subject them. Similarly, in some societies, children and young
people, all in fact but the elderly, are treated to methods of
exclusion rather than of subjection.

Early society is dominated by the elders; its practices and
customs have been determined by them and, in the most primitive
society, government is nothing but a gerontocracy, a government
of old men. Even with chieftaincy the council of the elders is
weighty and the heads of households have considerable
influence. Are the elders the fighters or raiders of the tribe?
No, they are its judges, its legislators and, most important of
all, its magicians. Nor is the chief or king the fighter par
excellence of the tribe. But he too may be and often is the
tribal magician. Through their powers of magic elders and
chiefs are responsible for the weather, for the reproduction of
plants and animals, for the success of the crops, of hunts and
catches, for the health and general welfare of the people. And
in war? In war they are the most important personages too.
Because they fight? No, because in war too they make magic;
they charm the approaches to the village, they "doctor" the
trails or the weapons or the canoes, they make war medicine,
they invoke and propitiate the war gods. The warriors are the
younger men, men whose efforts would be vain without the
backing of their magic-working seniors or chiefs. The elders
make peace and declare war. And it is at their dictate that the
young men take to head-hunting or to raiding or even to
stealing women.

As to the subjection of women, what exists of it the elders are
responsible for. It is they who scare a girl or shame her into
being docile. It is they who marry her off against her will, it
is they who set her unending tasks or shut her up in idleness.
It is they who make her undergo the discomforts or miseries of
what we call conventional life or bully her into exile or
death.

With this control of girls or women the warriors, the "standing
army," have little or nothing to do, even less in primitive
life than in modern. It is the old people, the old women at
times as well as the old men. Again it is the old men who are
leaders in the exclusion of the women. In control of the
initiation of the youths, they separate them from their mothers
or sisters and often decree for the initiates a ceremonial
avoidance of all women for a set time. The penalties they
threaten--sickness, decrepitude, effeminacy--are too dire to
pass unheeded. This "avoidance" has been explained as due to
the monopolistic spirit of the elders. With their women they
want no interference by the youths. But a far more plausible
explanation, I think, takes the avoidance as a concentration
rite, so to speak, a symbol, if you like, of the life ahead,
the life in which the boys, "made" men, are going to have
little to do in public with women. For even after the special
avoidance of the initiation period ends, the segregation of the
sexes continues. Men keep together and away from women in their
club-houses, and in all the places of assembly which are
differentiated from the primitive club-house--the church, the
council, the workshop, the gymnasium, the university, the
play-house. And from all the interests which center in these
places men have from time to time excluded women, they have
excluded them from magic and religion, from arts and letters,
from games, from politics and, let me add, from war.

Why are men so exclusive? Because--the reason will seem almost
too simple, I fear, for acceptance--because now and always men
do not want to be bothered by women. Women get in our way, they
say, women are a nuisance. Almost anywhere away from home women
are a nuisance--in church organization, in the university, in
business, etc. Of course if women can be kept apart from us in
these activities and will stay in their place, if they join an
order of nuns or deaconesses, if they go to a separate college
in the university, if they will become good stenographers, we
don't mind having their cooperation, we welcome it. Women may
even go to war--as an absolutely separate division of the army,
said the men of Dahomi, as non-combatant pahia women or workers
of magic, said the Roro-speaking tribesmen of New Guinea, or as
Red (dross nurses, say the men of Europe and America. If we men
can be sure women will not interfere with us, we really do not
mind. Women have only to give us that assurance of
non-interference to make us doubt the assertion we sometimes
make that in going to war they are interfering with the order
of nature.



AN INTERPRETATION OF SLAVOPHILISM

BY ARTHUR D. REES

PHILADELPHIA, PA.

THERE are good reasons for believing that the Russians are
practically the greatest peace people in Christendom. They are
the least commercial in the competitive sense, the least
capitalistic also, and as a people, the least combative in
Europe, despite the wrecks of warring dynasties that ten
centuries have left upon their plains and the miscellaneous
strifes and calamities of all kinds that have beset them.

Always expanding along lines of least resistance; absorbing by
comparatively petty conquests, decaying or scanty peoples;
reaching Kamchatka in the Far East with more ease than she
reached the shores of the Baltic; never flinging her legions
far and wide victoriously as did Rome, Spain, France or Great
Britain--Russia remains to-day, for the most part, humble, and,
in reality, a conquered people, living, dreaming and preaching
a morality born both of this humility and of the physical
environment that has helped to foster it. All Muscovy can not
be judged by those few who live in the saddle--the Cossack
population, men and women, numbers only about two million--nor
by the pitiable pageant of despotism the observer beholds in
their land: pogroms, poverty, disease, distress, militarism,
orthodoxy and Pan-Slavism. Russia has a soul in spite of these;
a gentle and beautiful soul, only half revealed, and too much
concealed by her dilapidation and her dilemma; a peaceful soul,
abnormally humble and devout, and in respect to these qualities
unequalled in Christendom.

Since the age of Vladimir the Holy, "The Beautiful Sun of
Kief," in the tenth century, Russia has had the tradition of
international peace. Vladimir wandered over the country, sword
and battle ax in hand, like a reincarnation of Thor, armed with
his mighty and wondrous hammer. Then came his yearning for a
new religion--something to inspire his life better than
Perun--Russia's old god of thunder--and the other idols, and a
little later, the picturesque investigation of his peripatetic
commissioners having been completed, he became a Christian of
the Greek church, was baptized with many fine and grand
ceremonies, compelled his docile people to do likewise, and,
like a true Northman that he was--the great grandson of Rurik
of the Baltic wilds--he so impressed his frowsy hordes, half
Scythian and half Slav, that now in the hearts of their
descendants, in their popular songs and legends, in those
concerning Kief especially--a beautiful and pathetic strain of
music eight centuries old--he, Vladimir, is still the central
heroic figure; once a man, but now a kind of god, sent from
Heaven to rule, enlighten and bring peace to his people and be
known in story and song as "Vladimir the Holy, the Beautiful
Sun of Kief."

An old chronicle describes for us how his hordes drank their
cup of trembling at his hands. There, around about the low
hills of the southern Dnieper River, probably on the crumbling
sandstone cliffs of Kief--the city, studded with jewel-like
legends and famed for its "golden palaces," stood his
candidates for baptism; near by were priests from
Constantinople, gorgeously arrayed, chanting, in strains
unknown to the populace, the Greek church baptismal service.
Then the democratic immersion!--rich man, poor man and all, at
Vladimir's command, wade into the baptismal waters, some up to
their knees, some to their waists, some to their necks, and,
thus finding a new faith from Heaven, they crossed themselves
for the first time as the thunder rolled on high! Here is
Russia remembering her Creator in the days of her youth--and
forgetting Him ever since; from then on, Holy Russia! Possibly
Holy Vladimir, at any rate, for becoming, with that ceremony,
peaceable, except for self-defence, he gave up all of his idols
and his aggressive sword. The former he scourged and cast into
the river, the latter he sheathed in its scabbard. And all this
about 988--the first peace movement of Holy Russia. The faith
of it, and its vision and dream came early in her history and
have not yet gone out or been extinguished.

Before the next such movement, time enough passed by to give
the seasons and the winds and rains full opportunity to whittle
down old Kief's storied sandstone hills. In 1815, the
much-expanded realm of Muscovy, then a partner in the holy
alliance, proclaimed under Alexander the First, the ideal of
peace. This Czar declared he would rule as a father over his
children and in the interest of "justice, charity and peace,"
and, in so doing, created the leading precedent for the peace
program of Nicolas the Second.

Alexander, who in the first half of his reign ruled liberally
for the days of Napoleonic supremacy, no doubt was sincere in
his desire to govern in the "spirit of brotherhood," but in the
latter years of his power, he fell sadly short of this
standard.

Alexander the Second, the emancipator of forty-six million
serfs, may have had some world peace ideal in mind when he in
1874 promoted a conference in Brussels to codify the usages of
war, but the reaction from his earlier liberalism was setting
in about this time and, growing worse, led to his assassination
in 1881.

The next move in the direction of peace came, as the world
rather well knows, through the present Czar, Nicolas the
Second, who on ascending the throne in 1894, proclaimed that
Russia would rule in the interests of peace and would cultivate
the arts of it. In 1898 followed the first call for a World
Peace Conference, and in 1899 came another circular with a
similar object.

But it is out of the kind heart of Muscovy, and from the
troubled, humble and penitent soul of Russia that the real
peace movement of her land has arisen. For many centuries
calamities have been pouring upon her plains, profusely
pouring--drought, famine and invasions without number; now
Rurik and his Northmen to start the empire out of its
prehistoric lethargy; their dynasty of conquering blood still
sharing in the rulership of the land to-day; now the Tartars,
remnants of whom with their high cheek bones are still visible
in the Baltic provinces; particularly and always and ever
poverty beyond description; poverty, disaster and conquest,
like triple demons to humiliate the soul of Russia and keep her
dumb for many centuries, except for the beauty of her unending
song.

And out of these conditions of life has grown the peace
morality that is native to the Russian people; out of their
sorrows and their conquered plains, out of their broken hearts
too, although the economic genesis of it all is very apparent.

The Russian people's Russia has ever been under the overlords
heel, downtrodden years without number, and yet it is a land
which has never produced a system of military tactics and
training--forever dependent for these creations upon her
neighbors; a land which has produced scarcely one great naval
or military commander who to-day holds a place in history as do
those of other nations; a land whose people have been usually
led to slaughter like sheep by Northman or Teutonic or Polish
generals; whose armies have never been noted for their great
campaigns, and always have been poorly drilled, managed and
fed, and never yet successful in any foreign wars. Surely from
such a land as this, no widespread war-morality or
world-conquering legions could come.

In fact the very reverse has come to pass: the philosophy of
Slavophilism has arisen in Muscovy, yet not so much arisen as
it has developed with the Russian soul, not as a thing apart,
but as a quality thereof, blossoming somehow with all other
Russian things, out of the primitive Scythian darkness. The
rebellious spirit having been crushed out of the generations
since, what is left but non-resistance? Yet in these latter
years a resisting spirit, nursed and suckled largely in western
Europe, has falsely made it appear that all Russia was in arms,
storming with chaotic unity at the church, the state and the
army, deluging their ancient customs with the destructive and
re-creative might of radicalism. Far and wide of the truth is
this! Let no one think the vast heart of Russia has changed!
Only the few have cast away the ancient quiet; only the few
have the modern consciousness instead of the medieval,
theocratic one; only the few are not at heart Slavophiles in
feeling and in morality.

This philosophy existed long in the national or social mind
before it was crystallized into public doctrines, and exists
even yet largely in its more primitive unworded or instinctive
form, although it was Peter the Great who unconsciously awoke
the latent and then unexpressed Slavophilic feelings and
moralities when he, like a civilizing Pied Piper, charmed the
chieftains of industry of Western Europe to follow his trail
into Muscovy, his "Empire of Little Villages," and there
regenerate them.

Therefore at about the end of the seventeenth century in
Russia, the "dumb silent centuries" gradually became articulate
in expressing their opposition to all things western. This is
the heart of Slavophilism, and no one can truly fathom the
Russian soul before understanding its philosophy. It is the
Muscovite theory of the simple life, still crying out against
the Great Peter's work and recalling the devotees of western
culture to its idealization of medieval, theocratic, autocratic
Russia.

Despite this reaction, however, it has a great meaning, a
tender beauty, and a message of depth and power for our western
world. Primarily Russia is a peasant and an agricultural land,
and there is a colorless monotony in her vast plains. Indeed
land and people are alike; as in the average peasant there is
patience, resignation and submission, so there is in the very
land itself. Open and prostrate it lies beneath the torrid sun
of the south, and the arctic winds of the north; subdued and
downtrodden for centuries, it and its people have always been
at the mercy of ruthless men and rainless winds.

Thus passive endurance has become one of the saving qualities
of the Russian's soul. The peasant's nature is one that has few
wants and little rebellious power. The Greek church of the
simple gospel is his and a government of the Czar's will. His
power of self renunciation is one which in Slavophilic thought
gives him true liberty. Therefore ask the followers of this
doctrine, what need is there of the constitutional liberties of
the west, or its republics or limited monarchies, or its
differences in ecclesiastical faith and structure? Slavophilism
declares that Russia has the only true freedom, faith and
brotherhood, which other lands sadly lack. In addition she has
the ancient and splendid heritage of the communal land system,
wherein the inherent justice of the Russian peasant's heart is
shown by his voluntary division and re-division of the land
among his brothers at stated times.

What need therefore, Slavophilism asks, for the degenerate
justice of the west? None! Away with Europe then!--the Europe
of competition and gruesome factories! The Europe of
destructive forces, of greedy land grabbers, of capital and
labor wars, where society is held together, not as in Russia by
the ties of affection, brotherhood and communal interest, but
only by money and greed, and where free thinkers, atheists and
materialists abound, whose lives and thoughts would unsettle
the holy, orthodox feelings of Russia, disturb her ancient
conscience and poison her humility with murmurings of
discontent and rebellion.

Away with the books of the west, too! And its agricultural
implements! Wooden ploughs instead of chilled steel! Outdoor
work and not indoor prisons called factories! Peasants working
for centuries beneath the uncanopied sun, and on the floors
without walls, will not let doors and brickwork thumbscrew
their souls in confinement thus! Indoors awhile in winter will
they labor, but spring airs shatter the moralities of the
time-clock and away to the fields they rush; in the spring to
sow and sing, in the summer to sing again and at the harvest
time too, and then to plait the bearded stalks into wreaths and
crown the maidens with sheaths of corn; the hymns for the
"death of winter" and the "birth of spring," marriage songs and
funeral dirges and chants of olden times well intermingled with
the labor of their hands.

Herein the poetry of agricultural, peaceable Russia clashes
with the prosaic efficiency of the west, the efficiency of
commercial wars, strikes and class struggles which peasant
Muscovy has known so little.

And again, Slavophilism, with its theory of successive
civilizations, culled perhaps from the philosophy of Hegel,
each civilization superior to its forerunner, comes to show us
a vision: the gradual displacement of one type of society by
another, but continuing what is best in the preceding until
nothing except what is good remains and universal peace
results, thus portraying the displacement of national
civilizations by universal ones, from which ultimately an
idealistic world policy will result, and the federation and
peace of men.

Some Slavophiles saw even in Peter's work a process of
progressing from nationality to universality. In his time there
was the same yearning toward its peaceful ideal. The "Old
Russia" party wanted Peter to renounce war and conquest.
Alexis, his own murdered son, worked with this element which
was very largely representative of the nation. To them, St.
Petersburg, then a new and growing capitol, was typical of
change, unrest and falsity; Moscow was in their hearts the only
capital, typical of Russia's old comfort and quiet. Many nobles
antagonized Peter, but he swept them aside, imprisoning them or
sending them to the gallows. Like Russia's slight resistance to
Rurik and others, and to the Tartars, so was her feebleness
before Peter the Great, who was himself, however, by no means
an accomplished military leader, but an enlightened barbarian,
dealing with a people whom writers and observers declare to be
endowed with conspicuous traits of humility, scarcely found in
the Christian nations of the western world.

Russian fiction represents its people in the same way.
Unaggressive characters, who talk and think but do not act,
fill its novels; they dream of the great age of the "Universal
Idea" that shall come for all and regenerate the "rotten west,"
where "rationalism is the original sin"; the typical west that
Slavophilism condemns--the west of the struggles between the
rulers and the ruled; between Scripture and tradition and the
upper and lower classes. The Slavophile idea, in theory at
least, leaves no room for this. Christian love and humility and
peasant communes, where rationalism, strife and rebellion are
unknown, must be instituted in the west; then the "Universal
Idea" of Russia will create Millennial times. This was the
"Messianic hope of Slavophilism," and perhaps is yet to a great
degree destined in the minds of its devotees to give the last
feature to the development of the world, so that the love and
feeling of the east would appease the discord of the west,
diluting its discipline and its logic with true religious
intuition and humility, and eventually the idealized
relationship of autocracy for the Czar and self-government for
the people--the old system so rudely strained by Peter the
Great--would permeate the ruled and rulers of the world.

Here then is Slavophilism! And pacific Russia--the heart and
soul of her, claiming this to be the true ethical and spiritual
ideal for her people, and censoring her upper class, with its
foreign culture, materialism, and infidelity, as being the only
real traitor to this saving morality of the ancient regime.

Among the prominent advocates of this philosophy might be
mentioned, first, Constantine Aksakoff, Russia's Rousseau, who
in the middle of the nineteenth century, was a virtuous
propagandist of the doctrine. He earnestly, even religiously,
preached the return of Russia from the allurements of western
Europe, unto her own theory of national salvation, declaring
that "the social order of the west is on a false foundation"
and that Slavophilism would offset its degeneracy, if only
Russia would free herself from the false class leadership for
whose origin the Great Peter stands the convicted sponsor! Thus
Slavophilism, under the leadership of Aksakoff, instead of
leading forward with the great liberal movement that came after
the Crimean War, resulting finally in the emancipation of the
serfs, would lead backward to the stagnant hours of medieval
Russia. Then there were no German words to disfigure the
Russian language! Then there were no German divisions of rank
among the officials to strangle life by their formality. No,
none of these, nor the disturbing importations of Peter; in
Aksakoff's variation of the gospel, the Russians are the
"beyond men" and need them not. Thus before Peter's reign all
was Slavophilic!--a religion of the simple Christian gospel, a
church considering itself the only true ecclesia, a government
of the Czar's will, a life of passive humility; creating
freedom of conscience and speech for the peasants, and freedom
of activity and legislation for the rulers, unknown in modern
corrupted Russia!

And thus was old peaceable-hearted Muscovy of the past
centuries pictured as the metropolis of true political and
individual morality.

Herzen, too, an able pamphleteer in revolutionary things,
preached something similar, crying from his pulpit at home or
in exile, that Russia would solve all her problems and lead the
human race by the simplicity of the Slavophile ideal. His early
and rabid westernism was greatly tempered on contact with the
west. Disillusion and disgust overcame him. The mercantilism of
the bourgeoisie there drove him into Aksakoff's fold, and he
too thereafter found faith alone in the "regenerative power of
Russia," and her system of the mir, the central sun of the
Slavophilic state, the village commune, self-governing and
self-contained. And then from that, this was to ensue: the
whole world made of village communes as in Russia, perhaps even
their log cabins too, and fresh mud to go with them on their
walls! But this did not deter the vision of these evangelists.
The commune was to be indefinitely extended; national and
international ones were to be organized, all self- governing,
and then would follow as the night the day, universal peace
wherever these communes were found.

This is the Utopia Russia has given to the world to stand
beside Plato's, or Sir Thomas More's or Morris's or Bellamy's.
This was the dream of pacific Pan-Slavism.

Dostoievsky himself is of it, and is luminous not with a mere
facet flash of its philosophy but with the whole orb of it. To
him the Russians "are more than human, they are pan-human."

Count Tolstoi too must be listed with these preachers. He,
making his own shoes and cutting his own and the peasants'
grain, lived it, showing how he thought the world's work ought
to be done. What were factories or the culture of the west to
him in later years--Shakespeare or no Shakespeare? Destructive
ideals of life. Competition, money and land greed,
self-assertion--all things that are the anthitheses of
Slavophilism--he shunned; mocking the palsied heart and
poisoned ideals of the west, and indeed of the "upper class"
section of his own land as no other Slavophile did. And
following its teaching, he journeyed through self-renunciation
to freedom and communal life, after repentance for his
wanderings, expiation and regeneration.

Dostoievsky, on the other hand, reached this philosophy largely
by being born to it among the humble people who lived it.
Melancholy-minded by nature--a sort of a Russian Dante but
living in actual infernos and purgatorios, Siberia and prison
cells, he came at last to worship his fellow countrymen and
their ideals as almost nothing else in heaven or earth, and
bowed down before them "as the only remnant left of Christian
humility, destined by Providence to regenerate the world." Here
is Slavophilism in a fervid extreme. "The Down-trodden and
Offended," "Memoirs of a Dead House," "Crime and Punishment,"
"Poor People,"--these, the titles of his novels, show the
predilections of his own soul. He died in the mystic frenzy of
this enthusiasm.

Here then, in this philosophy and in the lives of these men, is
something of the soul of Russia, beautiful in its humility, yet
not so humble that it is not ambitious to embrace the world in
the folding arms of its peace, its communal government and its
morality. Pan-Slavism of this nature is the only kind that in
truth can ever come from Russia. Pan-Slavism of the military
sort, with musketry, bribery and all other diabolic black arts,
miscalled government, rests on such a slim foundation that it
need be but little apprehended.

It was this brotherly humble soul of Russia that greatly helped
to put an end to the Russo-Japanese war: not merely failing
finances and lack of transportation. The feeling of a kindly
people for their own and a neighboring race caused widespread
mismanagement, opposition and wholesale desertions from the
army, among both the officers and the men. The Romanoff family
and official Russia caused the conflict, but human Russia,
humble and poor, was a great factor in its conclusion.

There is no doubt, however, that a certain number of
Slavophiles are addicted to the military mania, and this form
of their belief is more dangerously reactionary than its
ordinary phase. Many of these belong to the bureaucratic caste.
Official Russia holds aloft the eagle; human Russia the dove.
Official Russia leads the anti-Jewish massacres; human Russia
is very little responsible for pogroms. Ignatieff, "Father of
Lies," a bureaucrat of the military Pan-Slavic breed, about
1882, began the worst persecutions against the Jews in the last
generation, and possibly Pobiedonosteff, the late procurator of
the Holy Synod, was the worst offender in this one. The
peaceful feelings of the masses of the people, however, do not
sanction these outbreaks, and Slavophilism of such a sort is
not the philosophy of the Russian heart, no matter how many
pogroms may be enumerated.

It is therefore to human Russia that one must look for the true
feelings of the people; to their faith and deeds, to the
humility of their devotions, and prostrations before their
numberless shrines and ikons, to their religious ceremonies in
the open fields for huge detachments of the army, to the
thousands of their yearly pilgrims to Jerusalem, to their
superstitions, their poverty and long-suffering, all of which
attest innate passive endurance and non-resistance, and show
their kind of Slavophilism, which all in all, is much more than
"mere reverence for barbarism."

The war-time excitement in their cities seemed characteristic
of this national soul: "Russia is the Mother of Servia" was the
street cry of the marching throngs. It might be added that the
word mother, "matushka," is a prevalent one in expressing their
feelings. They call their greatest river the "Mother Volga."
Conquering Rome said "Father Tiber" and the native warriors of
this continent called the Mississippi the "Father of Waters."
The difference in these appellations shows the tender quality
of the Russian soul, whose ardent sympathies in July, 1914,
were greatly aroused by the spectacle of a large nation
attacking a small one, notwithstanding whatever may be said to
justify that deed.

Finally, however, let it be added, that the one thing that will
recreate Russia in the image of the west, is capital. Once let
the vast sums that have invaded Muscovy be put, not to the
autocratic purpose of the official rulers, but into factories,
mines, city subways and transportation of all kinds,
irrigation, canals, agricultural implements and to other
productive uses, then capitalistic Russia will stand forth
shorn of the Slavophilic simplicities of non-resistance and
humility. Labor wars, practically unknown hitherto, yet now
beginning, will occur in much greater number and the peasant
class, still unified, will be torn asunder by differences in
wealth and interests; the middle class, now very small, will
grow to large proportions, and many destructive forces will
come upon the land which has hitherto mocked western Europe
because of their presence there.

The many centuries of peasant unity, with its beauty of
brotherhood, affection and communal interests, will come to an
end under such a new regime. Already competitive forces are
dissolving communism in land, and many of the old beauties of
Russia are disappearing. Capitalism will bring with it much
turmoil and strife, unhappiness and death, but also the dawn of
brighter hours; newer and better cities, cleaner water, better
food, houses and clothes, and after the stress of its first
attack is over, and Russia has evolved laws and means to
control and socialize the invader, it may be that the old
simplicities and beauties of life will return, and a greater
and holier Russia will arise, still able to teach and aid in
the regeneration of the rest of the world.



PHYSICAL TRAINING AS MENTAL TRAINING

BY DR. J. H. McBRIDE

PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

THE first duty of a people is to provide for the health of its
children. The possible human value of any country fifty years
ahead depends chiefly upon what is done by and for its
children. They are the future in the making.

History seems to justify the statement of Professor Tyler[1]
that conquering races have been physically strong races, and
that nations have failed when they became degenerate.

[1] Growth and Education," J. M. Tyler.



Dionysius, speaking of the advantage of virility in a nation,
said,

It is a law of Nature common to all mankind, which no time
shall annul or destroy, that those who have more strength and
excellence shall bear rule over those who have less.

This law applies equally to individuals. Skill, cunning and
reason play their part, but the animal quality of endurance is
always back of these and is often decisive in a contest.

Darwin said he had difficulty in applying the law of the
survival of the fittest to the facts of the destruction of
Greece until it occurred to him that in this instance the
strongest was the fittest. Civilized people's have been
destroyed by ruder races that were physically superior.

The children that are now in our schools will take to adult
life such foundation as heredity has furnished, with the
equipment that society may care to add. We of this day have no
greater obligation than to prepare these children mentally and
physically for the duties that maturity may bring. Man did not
escape the physical necessities of the body when he became
civilized; the advantages of health are as great to-day as when
our forebears lived in tents. Very few of the primitive man's
activities are left; what he did regularly and from necessity
we do incidentally, and usually for sport, and yet the demands
upon the energies of man have not been lessened, they have only
been changed in form.

Our educational authorities, though in many instances
interested in physical development of the young, have not given
the subject the important place in their program that it
deserves. This is not wholly due to indifference, but largely
to their ideals that were derived from classical-ascetic
standards.

In the medieval ideal the human body was animal and sinful, to
be despised and repressed. The mind was said to be the
spiritual element in man, representing the immortal part of his
nature, and therefore was the only part worthy of attention in
an educational system. From the fall of the Roman empire to the
later nineteenth century this ideal dominated education.

The medieval universities, including Oxford and Cambridge,
provided only for mental training. Their education was intended
for those who were to follow the professions or to become
scholars or gentlemen of leisure. Education was not intended to
prepare the great mass of men for the every-day work of life.

While only indirectly related to my subject, it is interesting
to recall that there was in this country in the early
nineteenth century much opposition to the establishment of
common schools for the masses. It was claimed that those who
belonged to the working classes did not need to be educated.
Our own colleges and universities were originally founded on
the old classical-ascetic model, so that the spirit of the
medieval period survived in the educational plan of this
country. It is only in recent decades that these institutions
have begun to depart from the older, formal, classical methods
that made education a privilege of the few, the average man
being deprived of the advantages of the training that he
needed. Because of this the humble millions of men and women
who wove and spun, and fed and housed the world were left out
of the educational scheme.

Some years ago a London weekly paper, which speaks for the
conservative class of England, in discussing certain suggested
innovations in English higher education, said that the great
merit of education at Oxford and Cambridge was that it was
"absolutely useless." By this it was probably meant that the
education was for a chosen few, was not intended to prepare men
for the practical work of life and was essentially and only an
intellectual and cultural training.

The change of attitude that is seen in our day is due chiefly
to two great discoveries: the re-discovery of the human body
and its relation to our mentality and the discovery of the mind
of the child and youth. We have found that man is an animal who
graduated from caves and dugouts and to whom even barbarism was
a lade and great achievement. That the human body was made by
the experiences of that rude life, and that since then we have
made no change in it except to stand on two feet. Neither have
we added one nerve cell or fiber to our brains since the day
when the cave was home and uncooked food the daily diet.

The conception of man as an animal has led to a study of him as
such. Educators as a class now concede that the physical man
must be considered as an essential part of their scheme, that
the brain is an organ of the body among other organs, and is
subject to the same laws and influenced by similar conditions.

The influence of the mind upon the body is a commonplace of
psychology, but the influence of the body upon the mind is of
equal importance, though less frequently emphasized.

Whatever one's theory of the nature of mind, it must be
considered in relation to the brain as the organ of its
expression. The mind has, too, a broader base than the brain,
for every organ of the body has some share in the mental
functions. Every physician knows that physical disease lowers
the quality of the thinking and, with the exception of a few
geniuses like Darwin and Leopardi, it makes impossible
intellectual work of a high order. Disorders of the internal
organs rob the brain of nourishment and weaken it, and by
obtruding their morbidness upon it they batter down its
resistances and lower the thinking power.

Though we can never know the history of man's origin, the lives
of the child and of the wild man help us to understand
something of the order of racial development. All the higher
mental faculties grow in the child as they grew in the
race--out of impulse, instinct, feeling; and from infancy to
maturity we recapitulate mentally and physically the early
human-making stages, short circuiting in twenty years the
race-process.

The life of physical activity that the child leads develops and
coordinates the brain and the muscular system. In this way the
great motor functions are organized in the brain and become
part of the physical basis of mind.

The older education that trained the intellect exclusively,
without reference to the practical demands of life or the needs
of the body, was inadequate in that it ignored the law of
thinking and doing. It is true that there is much to its
credit, as many fine spirits have testified. They at least
survived it.

Stanley Hall says "we think in terms of muscular movement," and
this expresses the most important single fact in the mature
mentality. That the mind is largely constituted of memories of
muscular movements is basic in development.

The muscles are the special organs of volition, the one part of
the body that the mind can directly command and act on. The
muscles are preeminently the mind's instruments, the visible
and moving part of its machinery. They are thought carriers,
and during the growth period their functional activities are
organized into the mental life. This is why "we think in terms
of muscular movement," and why muscular training supplies a
natural need of the developing mind.

The normal boy says little or nothing of what he thinks, but
much of what he is doing or intends to do. He has the motor
mind, the instinct for doing things by which he builds the
brain and body. It is nature's way of laying the foundation in
the individual as by the more tedious process of evolution she
laid it in the race. The mental development of the normal
infant is indicated by the increasing accuracy and delicacy of
muscular coordination. The feeble-minded child very early shows
its mental defect in the clumsy use of its muscles. Because of
the functional relation of the voluntary muscles and the
mentality, physical training is in a large degree mental
training. When by such training we give dexterity to muscles of
the growing person we are making possible better mental
development; that is, because of this relation of the mind to
action there is a direct mental discipline in the thought-out
processes of physical activity. If, then, we make physical
development a part of our educational process, we are taking
advantage of race tendencies, we are starting the individual as
nature started the race; we are laying the foundation in the
individual as it was originally laid in the race; we are
building as the race built.

Exclusively intellectual training may be sufficient for the
genius or for the few who have great initiative and
intellectual self-confidence, but for the great mass of boys
and girls this training is not sufficient. It does not prepare
the young for the kind of work that three fourths of them will
have to do. We are now beginning to recognize this and through
manual training, vocational guidance, etc., we are teaching
boys and girls how to do things, and this, too, has the
additional merit of being, in a measure, physical training.

Educators, until recently, have, in emphasizing the paramount
importance of mental training, lost sight of the needs of the
body. Their classical ideals and formal methods made dead
languages, mathematics, philosophy etc., the school diet of
boys whose normal hunger was for action, and for learning by
doing.

Sir William Hamilton, who wrote fairy tales in metaphysics for
a generation of Scotchmen, placed these lines over the doorway
of his lecture room.

               In earth there 's nothing great but Man;
      In Man there 's nothing great but Mind.

This sounds well, but it is poor philosophy. There is much in
earth that is great besides man and much in man that is great
besides his mind. The older type of metaphysician with his
staggering vocabulary and his bag of "categories" has now
chiefly a historic interest. In the modern view the
interdependence of mind and body is a fundamental fact of life.
As science reveals the physiologic marvels of the once despised
body, the latter grows in our respect, for we find that its
seeming humble functions are intimately related to our highest
powers. Sir William's couplet gives a hint of the dominance of
the classical method of his day. It overemphasized the
importance of reason and too often converted the youthful mind
into a rag bag of useless information. The educators of that
time and since have thought more highly of human reason than
experience justifies. With their medieval bias for a world of
will and reason, they drove the young with the whip and spur of
emulation toward what to them seemed the one possible goal,
intellectual achievement.

We exaggerate the share that reason has in conduct. In the
history of the race, which is epitomized in the life of every
individual, reason was a late outgrowth of feeling, passion,
impulse, instinct. It was these older faculties that ruled the
life of the primitive man who made the race, and it was through
them that the race gradually rose to reason by what Emerson
would call the "spiral stairway of development."

These functions of impulse and instinct dominate the life of
the child and they are only a little less potent in the conduct
of us grownups. Much of what we call reason is feeling, and
much of our life activities are due to desire, sentiment,
instinct and habit, which, under the illusion of reason,
determine our decisions and conduct. Some one has said that
reason is the light that nature has placed at the tip of
instinct, and it is certainly true that without these earlier,
basal faculties reason would be a feeble light. During the
growing period these are specially strong, and the important
thing is that they be guided and organized in relation to the
needs of maturity. In combining mental and physical training we
are in some measure furnishing this guidance, doing
intentionally what nature did originally without design.

In the uncivilized state the stress of life was chiefly
physical. The civilized man has to a large degree reversed this
old order, in that the use of the body is incidental in his
work, the stress being placed upon the brain. He piles his life
high with complexities and in place of life being for
necessities, and they few and simple, it is largely for
comforts which we call necessities, and Professor Huxley has
said that the struggle for comforts is more cruel than the
struggle for existence.

This stress which is put upon conscious effort in civilization
places a new and severe tax upon the brain. It intensifies and
narrows the range of man's activities; it causes him to
specialize and localize the strain to a degree that may be
dangerous. It is certainly true that every man has his breaking
strain, and there is nothing that will raise the limit of
endurance like a strong and well-developed body.

The Italian physiologist, Mosso, showed by an ingenious device
that when a person lying quite still was required to add a
column of figures, blood left the extremities and flowed toward
the brain. Any emotional state or effort of thought produces
the same result. This demonstration that we think to our
fingers' ends suggests the importance of a strong body as a
prompt support in mental work.

All our work, mental as well as physical, is a test of
endurance, not a test that is spiritual and non-material, but
even in the sphere of the mind it is plainly animal and
physical. Thinking is primarily a physical process and draws
upon the vital stores of every organ. The energy that makes
clear thinking possible depends largely upon the vigor of the
body, and to the extent that this fails, the brain functions
suffer. Therefore, any work, mental or physical, will be better
done and more easily done if the body is strong. Other things
being equal, the intellectual work of the strong man will be
better done than similar work by one of equal talent, but who
is not strong.

Big muscles are not necessary in physical development. Many
people are not designed for big muscles, and any attempt by
them to produce a heavy, massive development may do harm. What
is wanted is vigor, skill, muscular readiness and a reawakening
of the old associations of thought and action. Such training
goes further than thought and action, for it reaches all the
organs and adds immensely to the vital capacity and working
power of the individual.

The play instinct of the child is as old as the race, or older,
and is a vitally important factor, not only in physical
development, but also in mental development. In its destructive
and disorderly activities the child shows the later adult
forces in the formative stage. Old instincts and movements that
were once self-preservative and of serious meaning to a wild
ancestor reappear in the play of children, and, utilized
wisely, may under new form become a valuable possession of the
adult. There is a great big man, in fact, several possible men,
inside every boy. Through his running, jumping, fighting,
swimming, through impulse, instincts and emotions he is seeking
the man that is in him, and it is by this turbulent and
experimental course that he finally comes to the order of
maturity.

Every boy is a vitally coiled up set of springs pressing to be
released. Race-old energies are struggling in him for
expression, and play is the normal way to satisfy the great
demand. The child may miss some important things and yet get
on, but it can not, without severe and lasting harm miss the
instinctive activities of play.

In play and games the young are re-enacting these old muscular
coordinations and developing mind and body on the old
foundation. The boy's love of outdoor sports and the adventures
of hunting are significant. Those ancestors of ours who hunted
and fished and shaped with care their arrow heads were
developing a manual skill and thinking power that we inherit.
We use our muscles for more varied and possibly more finished
purposes, but it is through the patience and practise of their
rude lives that we possess the delicate uses of the hands and
the finer dexterities of the mind.

The boy who goes whistling to the fields, or hunts, or fishes,
or swims, is unconsciously reaching out toward later life and
is preparing for serious and bigger things.

The growing formative period of life is the time for good
physical development. Whatever is gained and fixed then is
permanent, as it becomes a part of the physiological habits of
the individual. The years before twenty decide the future
energy stores, and the capacity to endure. Every function
enlarged, every gain of power, is additional storage room for
energy, to be drawn upon in the coming days of adult stress.

Good physical development not only gives strength and skill in
the use of the body, but develops a physiological habit of
surplus power that may be called quantity of energy. Life is
not alone in quality, in delicacy of adjustment, in accuracy,
in fineness of feeling; it is also in quantity. The poet who,
with frail physique and feeble pulse, sits in his quiet retreat
and puts his fine fancies into the rhythms of verse has
quality. But in the stress and rivalry of life that awaits the
majority of men, there is a need for quantity of energy, such
as enabled a Washington or a Caesar or a Napoleon or a
Wellington to shoulder his way through difficulties. These men
combined quality with quantity and this combination may make,
and often does make, the life of masterful achievement. The
quantity of energy in us average men may make the difference
between success and failure.

Many men fail in life for lack of staying power, for lack of
that kind of endurance that is furnished by having power in
reserve.

The strong, confident person who has strength to spare,
reserves of energy, does his work easily and without friction.
Half the timidities and indecisions of men are chargeable less
to lack of ability than to lack of the physical vigor, the
QUANTITY of energy, which is the driving power of character. In
all the contests of life an important element in success is the
ability to endure prolonged stress, to have the reserve energy
that can be drawn upon and utilized as a driving force. This
power is not alone necessary in the emergencies, the "short
hauls" of life, but also in the long hauls that spread the
strain through greater periods. Many of the failures of life
are due as much to lack of ability to meet prolonged stress as
to lack of experience or intelligence. Men of moderate ability
but with great powers of endurance often succeed, while men of
greater talent fail for lack of the ability to endure strain.

The man with a weak body and without the self-confidence that
surplus energy gives is liable to be of uncertain judgment.
Such a man in the presence of a problem requiring quick
decision, doubts and hesitates and stands shivering on the
brink of action while hastening opportunities pass him by.

Much of the loose thinking of our time is undoubtedly due to
poor educational drill. In fact the failure of the schools to
teach pupils how to apply the mind and how to think is one of
their common reproaches. Inability to use the mind effectively
is also frequently due to a lack of vigor and physical stamina.
A person with poor digestion, or under-developed body, or weak
circulation has of necessity a badly nourished brain. Such a
brain, unless it belongs to a genius, will do poor thinking.

The mentally trained person who is also physically strong has
the combination that puts his powers at easy command. He can be
joyously busy doing the impossible because the doing of it has
been made easy by training.

How much native power there is in all of us that for want of
proper training or sympathetic encouragement never comes to
maturity! How many of the finer qualities of character that,
for want of a kindlier climate of cheerful companionship and
wise direction, failed to mature and now lie dead in us! Very
many people are only partly alive. A large part, and in some,
the best part, is dead. The capacity they show is probably only
a small share of a fine inheritance which, not knowing how to
use, they allowed to die.

We have an instinctive liking for people who are strong and
healthy. They appeal to us by their robustness and their
confident display of energy. We do not now need the big muscles
that were once necessary in wielding spear and battle-axe. We
need, however, as much as the race ever needed well-developed
bodies and habits of health.

It is not difficult for us to see that sports and games and
play help to physical development, but it is not so plain that
they may be made to develop the best qualities of character.

It is a fact, however, that all the important elements of
character are tried out in games and sports. Enthusiasm,
self-confidence, the adventurous spirit, alertness, promptness,
unselfishness, cooperation, quick judgment--all these have
their training and discipline on the game field. They comprise
those fundamental native qualities that have gone to make
humanity what it is. The young should have this training, and,
if of the right kind, it may be made to contribute to the
making of the best kind of character. The same quickness and
accuracy of judgment that enable a boy to win a point in
football may in later life be used to win a battle or save a
business venture. Beyond this, there is of course gained the
strong body that makes work easy and stress less difficult to
bear.

Hall calls attention to the fact that two generations ago,
Jahn, the great builder of German physique, roused the then
despairing German nation by preaching the gospel of strong
bodies. He created a new spirit in Germany, and the whole
nation was aroused and seized with an enthusiasm for outdoor
games and sports, and there arose a new cult for the body. His
pupils sang of a united fatherland and of a stronger race. The
Germans are in the habit of reminding us that it was about one
generation after Jahn that the German Empire was founded and
Germany became a world power.

Every argument for the physical training of boys applies with
equal force to girls. Women need to be physically as strong as
men. No race will remain virile and progressive unless both the
fathers and mothers have the physical stamina that produces
healthy, vigorous offspring. In this age, when women are going
out into the world to compete with men it is highly important
that they be physically strong if they are to stand the stress
successfully. It was from rough barbarians, the rude war-loving
Teutonic men and women described by Tacitus, that the
Anglo-Saxon race inherited those splendid qualities of mind and
body that have made their descendants masters of seas and
continents.

It has been objected that gymnastics and field sports make
girls coarse and mannish. The exact opposite has been found to
be the case. It has been observed in colleges that when young
women are properly led, their sports, in place of making them
mannish, have a marked refining influence. They care more for
correct posture because this is made one of their tests in
athletic sports. They develop better manners and a new sense of
pride in their appearance. They soon learn to avoid slang, loud
talking and boisterous behavior. In the University of Chicago
where they have excellent training, many of the girls have said
that they came to have a new sense of dignity and to care more
for their personal appearance.

They also develop the finer elements of character, a
cooperative spirit, obedience to commands, patience,
self-confidence, a spirit of comradeship, a democratic attitude
and an appreciation of good qualities in others wherever found.
All of these esthetic, social and moral qualities, woven into
the texture of the growing character, and with the vigorous
health that the physical training brings, are the best
contribution to the making of the most effective type of the
womanly woman. All games and sports and athletics for the young
should therefore make for refinement and esthetic development.

The state needs now, and will always need, men and women who
have sound bodies and abounding energy.

The harsher phases of the human struggle may pass and wars may
cease, but the old contests of races, nations and individuals
will continue under other forms.

As the race grows older life will become more largely mental.
The increasing complexity of human relations and the more
delicate adjustments that these relations require will bring a
new and finer social order that will make higher demands upon
reason.

While there is no evidence that experience or time or training
will ever change the structure of the brain, it is probable
that we have as yet but imperfectly utilized our mental
possibilities. Stratton says:

     Out of the depths of the mind new powers are always
emerging.[2]

[2] "Experimental Psychology and Culture," George M. Stratton.



Back of the mental life, and making it possible, are the
energies of the body, the functioning of the animal in man,
which in the brain are changed to the higher uses of the mind.
The ability to execute, to act effectively, to do and keep
doing, to do the work of the professional man, the banker, or
the scientist, all this is primarily physical, and from top to
bottom of man's activities the physical test is applied. With
the mental and emotional strain of civilized life goes the
physical strain which is the other half of the struggle, and
which now and always is both mental and physical. The Greeks
recognized this unity of mind and body twenty-five hundred
years ago and their results remain unmatched by any race.

They saw that the thought-out movements of physical training
resulted in mental training and this law of mental development
through physical training was a fundamental principle in their
educational plan.

The nation that will again make this an ideal will produce a
finer race of men, and other things equal, will excel in all
that makes a people great.



EDWARD JENNER AND VACCINATION

BY PROFESSOR D. FRASER HARRIS, M.D., D.Sc.

DALHOUSIE UNIVERSITY, HALIFAX, N. S.



WE are so exceedingly apt to take our blessings as a matter of
course that at the present time a large number of us have quite
forgotten, and some of us have never known, what a terrible
disease smallpox is and from how much suffering national
vaccination has saved us. But even many of us, who may not be
included amongst those who know nothing of smallpox, do come
within the group of those who know next to nothing of the life
and work of Dr. Edward Jenner. A number of persons think he was
Sir William Jenner, physician to Queen Victoria.

An infectious or communicable disease is one caused by the
admission of some form of living matter into the body of a
human being or of a lower animal. All diseases are clearly not
communicable in the sense that they are due to the presence of
living things. Indigestion, for instance, I can not communicate
to my neighbor, however serious my dietetic indiscretions.

Now, while the actual microorganisms causing many of the
infectious diseases have been discovered in these recent days
through the agency of the microscope--one of science's most
valuable gifts to suffering humanity--a few diseases
undoubtedly infectious have, even up to the present time, not
had their microorganic causes discovered. Smallpox or variola
is one of these. The term variola is from the Latin varus, a
pimple.

The name Small Pox, which first occurs in Holinshead's
"Chronicle" (1571), was given to this disease to distinguish it
from the Great Pox or syphilis, the French disease, or Morbus
Gallicus which attained the proportions of an epidemic in
Europe about 1494. The expression "The Pox" in the older
medical literature always refers to the Lues Venereal The word
"pox" is the plural form of pock; the spelling "pox" is
phonetic; "pocks" is the correct form.[1]

[1] Thus the following expression in Galt's "Annals of the
Parish" is justified--"My son Gilbert was seized with the
smallpox and was blinded by THEM for seventeen days."



Smallpox is unquestionably a highly infectious or communicable
disease, and in the language of a past day, there is a virus or
poison which can pass from the sick to the unaffected; when
this transference occurs on a large scale we speak of an
epidemic of smallpox. As Sir William Osler truly says, "It is
not a little remarkable that in a disease, which is rightly
regarded as the type of all infectious maladies, the specific
virus still remains unknown." The same, however, is true of the
common diseases of scarlatina, measles and chickenpox. Of some
diseases, the virus is a bacillus or coccus, excessively minute
fungi recognizable only under the microscope; but the
bacteriologists are now beginning to speak of viruses so
impalpable that they, unlike ordinary bacteria, can go through
the pores of a clay filter, are filter-passers, that is are of
ultra-microscopic dimensions. Some authorities conjecture that
the virus of variola belongs to the group of filter-passers.
The virus of smallpox, however, is very resistant and can be
carried through the air for considerable distances; it clings
for long periods to clothes, books, furniture, etc.

I shall not now digress to give the clinical details of a case
of smallpox; the eruption may be slight or it may be very
extensive. It occurs in three forms, discrete, confluent and
hemorrhagic. The most dangerous form of smallpox is the
confluent, in which the face and arms particularly are covered
with large pustular areas of a most disfiguring appearance.

The disease called chickenpox, or varicella, has no
relationship to smallpox and does not protect from it, nor does
smallpox protect from chickenpox.

HISTORY OF SMALLPOX

There seems very little doubt that the home of smallpox was
somewhere on the continent of Africa, although it is true that
there are traditions pointing to its existence in Hindustan at
least 1000 B.C. One Hindu account alludes to an ointment for
removing the cicatrices of eruption. Africa has certainly for
long been a prolific source of it: every time a fresh batch of
slaves was brought over to the United States of America there
was a fresh outbreak of smallpox.[2] It seems that the first
outbreak in Europe in the Christian era was in the latter half
of the sixth century, when it traveled from Arabia, visiting
Egypt on the way. The earliest definite statements about it
come from Arabia and are contained in an Arabic manuscript now
in the University of Leyden, which refers to the years A.D. 570
and 571. There is a good deal of evidence that the Arabs
introduced smallpox into Egypt at the sacking of Alexandria in
A.D. 640. Pilgrims and merchants distributed it throughout
Syria and Palestine and along the north of Africa; then,
crossing the Mediterranean, they took it over to Italy. The
Moors introduced it into Spain whence, via Portugal, Navarre,
Languedoc and Guienne it was carried into western and northern
Europe. The earliest physician to describe smallpox is Ahrun, a
Christian Egyptian, who wrote in Greek. He lived in Alexandria
from A.D. 610 to 641. The first independent treatise on the
disease was by the famous Arabian physician, Rhazes, who wrote
in Syriac in 920 A.D., but his book has been translated into
both Greek and Latin. The first allusion to smallpox in English
is in an Anglo-Saxon manuscript of the early part of the tenth
century; the passage is interesting--"Against pockes: very much
shall one let blood and drink a bowl full of melted butter; if
they [pustules] strike out, one should dig each with a thorn
and then drop one-year alder drink in, then they will not be
seen," this was evidently to prevent the pitting dreaded even
at so early a date. Smallpox was first described in Germany in
1493, and appeared in Sweden first in 1578.

[2] Osler thinks the pesta magna of Galen was smallpox; Marcus
Aurelius died of it.



The contributions of Sydenham, the English Hippocrates, to the
knowledge of smallpox, are classical.

Throughout the Middle Ages, owing to the very crowded and
unsanitary state of the cities of Europe, smallpox was one of
the various plagues from which the inhabitants were never free
for any length of time.[3] Leprosy, influenza, smallpox,
cholera, typhus fever and bubonic plague constituted the
dreadful group. In most countries, including England, smallpox
was practically endemic; an attack of it was accepted as a
thing inevitable, in children even more inevitable than
whooping-cough, measles, mumps or chickenpox is regarded at the
present time. There was a common saying--"Few escape love or
smallpox." In the eighteenth century so many faces were pitted
from severe smallpox that it is said any woman who had no
smallpox marks was straightway accounted beautiful. Very few
persons escaped it in either the mild or the severe form in
childhood or in later life.

[3] England was by no means exempt, but it was not infection in
the modern sense that Shakespeare meant when he wrote--
                       "This England,
      This fortress, built by Nature for herself
      Against infection and the hand of war."



Now it is characteristic of a microorganic disease that a
person who has recovered from an attack of it is immune from
that disease for a longer or shorter time, in some cases for
the remainder of life. This is, luckily, as true of smallpox as
of any of the other acute infections. We do not now need to
enquire into the theory of how this comes about; it is a
well-recognized natural phenomenon. The modern explanation is
in terms of antigens and anti-bodies and is fast passing from
the stage of pure biochemical hypothesis into that of concrete
realization. Persons who have recovered from smallpox rarely
take it a second time; the few who do, have it in a mild form.
It follows, then, that if smallpox is purposely inoculated into
a human being he will for a long time be resistant to the
subsequent infection of smallpox. The fact of smallpox
protecting from smallpox is by no means without analogy in
other diseases. Thus in Switzerland, in Africa, in Senegambia,
it has been the custom for a long time, in order to protect the
cattle from pleuro-pneumonia, to inoculate them with the fluid
from the lung of an animal recently dead of pleuro-pneumonia.
Of course since the time of Pasteur we have been quite familiar
with the inoculation of attenuated virus to protect from the
natural diseases in their fully virulent form, for instance,
anthrax, rabies, plague and typhoid fever.

As it was, then, known to mankind from a very early period that
a person could be protected from smallpox by being inoculated
with it, inoculation grew up as a practice in widely distant
parts of the globe. The purpose of intentional inoculation was
to go through a mild attack of the disease in order to acquire
protection from the much more serious natural form of the
disease--to have had it so as not to have it. A very high
antiquity is claimed for this smallpox inoculation, some even
asserting that the earliest known Hindu physician (Dhanwantari)
supposed to have lived about 1500 B.C., was the first to
practice it. Bruce in his "Voyages to the Sources of the Nile"
(1790) tells us that he found Nubian and Arabian women
inoculating their children against smallpox, and that the
custom had been observed from time immemorial. Records of it
indeed are found all over the world; in Ashantee, amongst the
Arabs of North Africa, in Tripoli, Tunis and Algeria, in
Senegal, in China, in Persia, in Thibet, in Bengal, in Siam, in
Tartary and in Turkey. In Siam the method of inoculation is
very curious; material from a dried pustule is blown up into
the nostrils; but in most other parts of the world the
inoculation is by the ordinary method of superficial incision
or what is called scarification. By the latter part of the
seventeenth century inoculation for smallpox was an established
practise in several European countries into which it had
traveled by the coasts of the Bosphorus, via Constantinople. In
1701 a medical man, Timoni, described the process as he saw it
in Constantinople. Material was taken from the pustules of a
case on the twelfth or thirteenth day of the illness. As early
as 1673 the practice was a common one in Denmark, Bartholinus
tells us. In France inoculation had been widely practiced; on
June 18, 1774, the young king Louis XVI., was inoculated for
smallpox, and the fashionable ladies of the day wore in their
hair a miniature rising sun and olive tree entwined by a
serpent supporting a club, the "pouf a l'inoculation" of
Mademoiselle Rose Bertin, the court milliner to Marie
Antoinette. In Germany inoculation was in vogue all through the
seventeenth century, as also in Holland, Switzerland, Italy and
Circassia. In England the well-known Dr. Mead, honored, by the
way, with a grave in Westminster Abbey, was a firm believer in
inoculation, as was also Dr. Dimsdale, who was sent for by the
Empress Catherine II. to introduce it into Russia. Dr. Dimsdale
inoculated a number of persons in Petrograd, and finally the
Grand Duke and the Empress herself. The lymph he took from the
arm of a child ill of natural smallpox. For his services to the
Russian court Dr. Dimsdale was made a Baron of the Russian
Empire, a councillor of state and physician to the Empress. He
was presented with the sum of 1,000 pounds and voted an annuity
of 500 pounds a year. At the request of Catherine, Dr. Dimsdale
went to Moscow, where thousands were clamoring for inoculation.
The mortality from smallpox in Russia seems to have been still
higher than in the rest of Europe. The annual average death
rate on the Continent at the end of the eighteenth century was
210 per 1,000 deaths from all causes, while in Russia in one
year two million persons perished from smallpox alone. In
England in 1796, the deaths from smallpox were 18.6 per cent.
of deaths from all causes.

A great impetus was given to inoculation in England by the
letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the wife of our
ambassador to Turkey, Edward Wortley Montague, and daughter of
the Duke of Kingston. In 1717 Lady Mary wrote a letter to her
friend Miss Chiswell, in which she explained the process and
promised to introduce it to the notice of the English
physicians. So convinced was Lady Mary of the safety of
smallpox inoculation and its efficacy in preserving from
subsequent smallpox, that in March, 1717, she had her little
boy inoculated at the English embassy by an old Greek woman in
the presence of Dr. Maitland, surgeon to the embassy. In 1722
some criminals under sentence of death in Newgate were offered
a full pardon if they would undergo inoculation. Six men agreed
to this, and none of them suffered at all severely from the
inoculated smallpox. Towards the close of the same year two
children of the Princess of Wales were successfully inoculated;
and in 1746 an Inoculation Hospital was actually opened in
London, but not without much opposition. As early as 1721 the
Rev. Cotton Mather, of Boston (U. S. A.), introduced
inoculation to the notice of the American physicians, and in
1722 Dr. Boylston, of Brooklyn, inoculated 247 persons, of whom
about 2 per cent. died of the acquired smallpox as compared
with 14 per cent. of deaths amongst 6,000 uninoculated persons
who caught the natural smallpox. There was, however, great
popular opposition to the practice of inoculation, and Dr.
Boylston on one occasion was nearly lynched.

While successful inoculation undoubtedly protected the person
from smallpox, sometimes the inoculated form of the disease was
virulent, and certainly all cases of inoculated variola were as
infectious as the natural variety. Inoculated persons were
therefore a danger to the community; and there is no doubt that
such persons had occasionally introduced smallpox into towns
which had been free from the natural disease. At the end of the
eighteenth century, just about the time of Jenner's discovery,
public opinion was strongly against the continuance of the
practice of inoculation, and as natural smallpox had not at all
abated its epidemic character, the times were ripe for "some
new thing."

Now there is a disease of cows know as cowpox or vaccinia (from
the Latin vacca, a cow) which is communicable to human beings.
It is thought to be due to the same virus which in pigs is
called swinepox and in horses "grease." Jenner believed
vaccinia to be the same pathological entity as human smallpox,
modified, however, by its transmission through the cow. For a
long time this view was stoutly resisted, but it has now been
accepted as probably representing the truth. The identity of
vaccinia and "grease" is certainly much more doubtful.

To many of Jenner's contemporaries the view that vaccinia had
at one time been a disease of human beings seemed unlikely; but
we are now in a far better position to admit its probability
than were those of Jenner's time. We have since then learned
that man shares many diseases with the lower animals,
tuberculosis, plague, rabies, diphtheria and pleuro-pneumonia,
to mention only a few. We have also learned that certain lower
animals, insects for instance, are intermediary hosts in the
life-cycle of many minute parasites which cause serious
diseases in the human being, amongst which malaria, yellow
fever and the sleeping sickness are the most familiar.

It appears to have been understood before Jenner's time that
persons who had acquired cowpox by handling cattle, but
especially by milking cows, were immune from smallpox. In the
reign of Charles II. it is well known that the court beauties
envied the dairy-maids because having had cowpox, they could
not take smallpox which all women so dreaded. Dr. Corlett tells
us that the Duchess of Cleveland, one of the King's mistresses,
on being told that she might lose her place in the royal favor
if she were disfigured by smallpox, replied that she had
nothing to fear as she had had cowpox. In 1769 a German, Bose,
wrote on the subject of cowpox protecting from smallpox. In the
year 1774 a cattle dealer, Benjamin Jesty, at Yetminster, in
Dorset, inoculated his wife and three children with cowpox.
None of them ever took smallpox during the rest of their lives
although frequently exposed to its infection. Jesty died in
1816, and it is recorded on his tombstone that he was the first
person who inoculated cowpox to protect from smallpox. Cowpox,
or vaccinia, though infectious for cows, is not transmissible
among human beings, in other words, as a disease of man it is
not infectious. Edward Jenner, the Englishman of Berkeley in
Gloucestershire, was the first person to think scientifically
on the fact that cowpox protected from smallpox. John Hunter
had said to him, "Jenner, don't think, try." Luckily, however,
he did both. Thinking alone avails little, experimentation
alone avails not much, but the one along with the other has
removed mountains. Just as Newton thought scientifically about
that falling apple and reduced our conceptions of the universe
to order, just as Watt thought scientifically about that
kettle-lid lifted by the steam and so introduced the modern era
of mechanical power brought under man's control, so Jenner
thought about and experimented with cowpox until he had
satisfied himself that he had discovered something which would
rid the human race forever of the incubus of an intolerable
pestilence.

It was in 1780 that Jenner set himself to study cowpox in a way
that had never before been attempted, for he was convinced that
in the having had an attack of the disease lay the secret of
the conquest of that world-scourge. He confided in his fried
Edward Gardner about "a most important matter . . . which I
firmly believe will prove of essential benefit to the human
race . . . should anything untoward turn up in my experiments,
I should be made, particularly by my medical brethren, the
subject of ridicule." Luckily he was quite prepared for both
ridicule and opposition; for has not everything new been
ridiculed and opposed? Galileo was opposed, Bruno was opposed,
Copernicus was opposed, Harvey was opposed, George Stevenson
was opposed, Pasteur was ridiculed and opposed, and so were
Darwin, Simpson and even Lister. The physiological inertia even
of the educated has too often blocked the path of advancement:
but Jenner is in illustrious company, a prince amongst the
hierarchy of the misunderstood.

The facts or surmises before Jenner at this date, then,
were--(a) Cowpox produces an eruption extremely like that of
mild smallpox, it is, therefore, probably a form of smallpox
modified by transmission through the cow; (b) And an attack of
cowpox protects from smallpox. To test these things
experimentally some one must first be inoculated with cowpox,
and, having recovered from the vaccinia, that same person must,
secondly, be inoculated with the virus of smallpox or be
exposed to the infection, and, thirdly, this person ought not
to take the disease.

In 1788 Jenner had a careful drawing made of the hand of a
milkmaid suffering from cowpox to demonstrate to Sir Everard
Home how exceedingly similar were vaccinia and variola. Home
agreed it was "interesting and curious," and the subject began
to attract some attention in medical circles.

In November, 1789, Dr. Jenner inoculated his eldest child
Edward, aged 18 months, with some swinepox virus, and as
nothing untoward happened, he inoculated him again with
swinepox on April 7, 1791. The child had a slight illness, very
like vaccinia, from which he rapidly recovered. The moment for
the crucial experiment was not yet; it came in due time, but
Jenner had to wait five years for it, and five years are a long
time to a man who is yearning to perform his crucial
experiment. Happily for suffering humanity, in the early summer
of 1796 the opportunity came; the hour and the man were there
together.

Cowpox had broken out on a farm near Berkeley and a dairy maid
called Sarah Neames contracted the disease. On May 14, 1796,
Dr. Jenner took some fluid from a sore on this woman's hand and
inoculated it by slight scratching into the arm of a healthy
boy eight years old, by name James Phipps. The boy had the
usual "reaction" or attack of vaccinia, a disorder
indistinguishable from the mildest form of smallpox. After an
interval of six weeks, on July 1, Jenner made the most
momentous but justifiable experiment, for he inoculated James
Phipps with smallpox by lymph taken from a sore on a case of
genuine, well-marked, human smallpox, AND THE BOY DID NOT TAKE
THE DISEASE AT ALL. Jenner waited till the nineteenth of the
month, and finding that the boy had still not developed
variola, he could hardly write for joy. "Listen," he wrote to
Gardner, "to the most delightful part of my story. The boy has
since been inoculated for the smallpox which, aS I VERNTURED TO
PREDICT, produced no effect. I shall now pursue my experiments
with redoubled ardor."

Here we are behind the scenes at a great discovery; "as I
ventured to predict"; prediction is part of scientific
theorizing; there is a place for legitimate prediction as there
is for experimentation. All discoverers have made predictions;
Harvey predicted the existence of the capillaries, Halley
predicted the return of his comet, Adams predicted the place of
the planet Neptune, the missing link in the evolutionary series
of the fossil horses had been predicted long before it was
actually found by Professor Marsh. Pasteur predicted that the
sheep inoculated with the weak anthrax virus would be alive in
the anthrax-infected field, while those not so protected would
all be dead. A prediction verified is a conclusion
corroborated, an investigator encouraged.

Early in 1797, through another outbreak of cowpox, Jenner was
able to inoculate three persons with variola, only to find as
before that they were immune from smallpox. He now felt himself
justified in preparing a paper for the Royal Society, the
highest scientific tribunal in England. The council, however,
returned him his paper with the remark that in their opinion
the amount of evidence was not strong enough to warrant its
publication in the Transactions. Jenner was wise enough not to
be discouraged, and so in June, 1798, he published the paper
himself under the title, "Inquiry into the causes and effects
of the Variolae-Vacciniae, a disease discovered in some of the
western counties of England, particularly Gloucestershire, and
known by the name of cowpox." This historic pamphlet, which
ranks with the great classics of medicine, was dedicated to Dr.
O. H. Parry, of Bath. Later on the Royal Society was sagacious
enough to elect the very man whose paper it had previously
refused.

While in London attending to the publication of his pamphlet,
Dr. Jenner called on the great surgeon Mr. Cline, and left some
cowpox virus with him for trial. Cline inoculated a young
tubercular patient with vaccinia and later with smallpox in no
less than three places. In due time this patient did not show a
sign of smallpox. So impressed was Cline with this remarkable
result that he wrote to Jenner thus: "I think the substitution
of cowpox poison for smallpox one of the greatest improvements
that has ever been made in medicine. The more I think on the
subject, the more I am impressed with its importance."

The word "vaccination" was coined by the French, so remarkable
for the aptness of their descriptive terms, and it has ever
since remained with us as a convenient expression for the
inoculation of vaccinia as protecting from variola.[4]

[4] It is certainly not necessary to point out that the
principle of vaccination has been one of wide application in
modern medicine. Our word "vaccine" testifies to this. A
vaccine is a liquid, the result of bacterial growth, injected
into a patient in order to render him immune from that
particular disease which is caused by sufficient infection with
the microorganisms in question, e. g., of typhoid fever or of
plague.



Dr. Jenner's views were now becoming known, and the critics and
the doubters had appeared: St. Thomas has always had a large
following. The most formidable of the early objectors was Dr.
Igenhouz, who had come to London to study inoculation for
variola, and had already inoculated, among other notable
persons, the Archduchess Theresa Elizabeth of Vienna. The
careless vaccinations of Doctors Pearson and Woodville at the
London Smallpox Hospital brought much apparent discredit on
Jenner's work. In all his early work Jenner used lymph obtained
directly from papules on the cow or calf, but Woodville in 1799
showed that excellent results could be got from arm-to-arm
vaccination. As this latter method is a very convenient one,
the technique was widely adopted. We have to remember that we
are speaking of a period about sixty years before Lister gave
to suffering humanity that other great gift, antisepsis: and so
many arms "went wrong," not because of being vaccinated, but
because the scratches were afterwards infected by the
microorganisms of dirt. Jenner knew well the difference between
the reaction of clean vaccination and that of an infected arm,
but a great many medical men of his time did not, and so he was
constantly plagued with reports of vaccinations "going wrong"
when it was septic infection of uncleansed skin that had
occurred. The explanation of these things by letter consumed a
very great deal of his valuable time. By the end of 1799 a
large number of persons had, however, been successfully
vaccinated. As one Pearson proved troublesome by starting an
institution for public vaccination on principles which Jenner
knew to be wrong, and as Jenner found himself virtually
supplanted and misrepresented, he came up to London in 1800 to
vindicate his position. The King, the Queen and the Prince of
Wales, to whom he was presented, materially helped on the cause
by countenancing the practice of vaccination. Lord Berkeley,
his Lord of the Manor, was in this as in all things a kind and
wise patron. In the United States of America vaccination made
rapid progress, having been introduced there under the good
auspices of Dr. Waterhouse, professor of medicine at Cambridge,
Mass. The discovery was announced with true American
informality as "Something curious in the medical line," on
March 12, 1799.

Things went even better on the continent of Europe; deCarro, of
Vienna, inaugurated vaccination with such zeal and
discrimination that it spread to Switzerland, France, Italy and
Spain. From Spain it passed over to Latin America. In Sicily
and Naples, "the blessed vaccine" was received by religious
processions. Sacco, of Milan, commenced vaccinating in 1801,
and in a few years had vaccinated 20,000. In Paris, a Vaccine
Institute was established; and Napoleon ordered all his
soldiers who had not had smallpox to be vaccinated. On Jenner's
application, the Emperor liberated several English prisoners
remarking--"What that man asks is not to be refused." Napoleon
voted 100,000 francs for the propagation of vaccination. Lord
Elgin introduced it into Turkey and Greece. The Empress of
Russia, Catherine II., was one of the greatest supporters of
Jennerian vaccination. She decreed that the first child
vaccinated in Russia should be called "Vaccinoff," should be
conveyed to Petrograd in an imperial coach, educated at the
expense of the state and receive a pension for life. The
Emperor of Austria and the King of Spain released English
prisoners at Jenner's request. There were statues of Jenner
erected abroad, at Boulogne and at Brunn, in Moravia, before
any in England. Thus the European countries showed their
gratitude to the Englishman whose patience, genius and absence
of self-seeking had rid them of the detestable world-plague of
smallpox. Vaccination was made compulsory by law in no less
than five European countries before it was so in the United
Kingdom in 1853. In eight countries vaccination is provided
free at the expense of the government. The clergy of Geneva and
of Holland from their pulpits recommended their people to be
vaccinated. In Germany, Jenner's birthday (May 17) was
celebrated as a holiday. Within six years, Jenner's gift to
humanity had been accepted with that readiness with which the
drowning clutch at straws. The most diverse climes, races,
tongues and religions were united in blessing vaccination and
its discoverer. The North American Indians forwarded to Dr.
Jenner a quaintly worded address full of the deepest gratitude
for what he had saved them from: "We shall not fail," said
these simple people, "to teach our children to speak the name
of Jenner, and to thank the Great Spirit for bestowing upon him
so much wisdom and so much benevolence."

There are two allusions to smallpox in "Don Juan," which was
published in 1819, showing to what an extent Jennerian
teachings were in the air. The first is:

 The doctor paid off an old pox
  By borrowing a new one from an ox.
                   (Canto I., stanza 129.)

The second is:

 I said the smallpox has gone out of late,
  Perhaps it may be followed by the great.
(Stanza 130.)



Before 1812, Jenner had been made an honorary member of nearly
every scientific society in Europe, and had received the
freedom of the cities of London, Edinburgh, Dublin and Glasgow.
The Medical Society of London presented him with a gold medal
struck in his honor; in Berlin in 1812 there was a Jennerian
festival on the anniversary of Phipps's vaccination. Addresses
and diplomas were showered on him, and in 1813 the University
of Oxford conferred on him the degree of M.D. honoris causa. As
he refused point blank to pass the examination in Latin and
Greek required by the Royal College of Physicians of London,
Jenner never obtained admission into that learned body. When
some one recommended him to revise his classics so that he
might become an F.R.C.P. he replied, "I would not do it for a
diadem"; and then, thinking of a far better reward, added: "I
would not do it for John Hunter's museum."

But while the pure in heart were thus receiving the blessing
offered them by the benovelent man of science, the pests of
society, those discontented and jaundiced ones who are always
to be found in the dark recesses of the cave of Adullam, were
not idle. Many of his medical colleagues did indeed sneer, as
some are always apt to do at any new thing however good. To all
these Jenner replied, and a very great deal of his valuable
time was consumed in arguing with them. But the sect of the
anti-vaccinators had arisen, and was to some extent organized.
Caricatures, lampoons, scurrilities, vulgarities and
misrepresentations, the mean, were scattered on all sides.
Nothing was too absurd to be stated or believed--that
vaccinated persons had their faces grow like oxen, that they
coughed like cows, bellowed like bulls and became hairy on the
body. One omniscient objector declared that, "vaccination was
the most degrading relapse of philosophy that had ever
disgraced the civilized world." A Dr. Rowley, evidently
imagining himself honored by a special participation in the
Divine counsels, declared that "smallpox is a visitation from
God, but cowpox is produced by presumptuous man. The former was
what Heaven had ordained, the latter is a daring violation of
our holy religion." It was rather hard to blame Dr. Jenner for
the origin of cowpox. It took much forbearance to endure this
sort of thing; but Jenner's was a first-class mind and he
evidently dealt leniently even with fools. It was not for the
first time in the world's history that a lover of mankind had
been spurned with the words--"He hath a devil and is mad."

Besides enduring all these mental and physical worries, and the
annoyance that the Royal Jennerian Society established in 1802
was so mismanaged that it collapsed in 1808, Jenner had spent a
very large sum of private money on the introduction of
vaccination. He had been, as he himself expressed it, "Vaccine
clerk to the whole world." Parliament, it is true, in 1801,
voted him a sum of 10,000 pounds which was not paid for three
years afterwards and was diminished by 1,000 pounds deducted
for fees, so that it barely recompensed him for his outlays. By
1806, the immensity of the benefit conferred upon his diseased
fellow-creatures having been recognized more perfectly in every
other country than his own, the British Parliament woke up, and
voted him a sum of 20,000 pounds, only one member representing
the anti-vaccinators opposing the grant. Parliament, which had
previously received from the Colleges of Physicians of London,
Edinburgh and Dublin the most favorable reports of the efficacy
of vaccination, decided to reestablish the Royal Jennerian
Institute. A subscription of 7,383 pounds from grateful India
reached Jenner in 1812. In 1814 he was in London for the last
time, when he was presented to the Emperor of Russia, Alexander
I., who told him that he had very nearly subdued smallpox
throughout that vast Empire. Jenner refused a Russian order on
the ground that he was not a man of independent means.

The management of the Institute caused him much concern in his
later years; he disapproved of the personnel and of many of the
details of its working. One of the last worries of his life was
an article in the November number for 1822 of the famous
Edinburgh Review. Although it contained a good deal of praise,
it was not favorable to Jenner, who said of it, "I put it down
at 100,000 deaths at least." I have ascertained that this
article was not written by the celebrated Francis Jeffrey,
although he was editor of the Review until 1829.

Jenner's life, apart from his great discovery and his
developing the practice of vaccination, has not much incident
in it. He was born on May 17, 1749, the son of the Rev. Stephen
Jenner, vicar of Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England, the same
Berkeley in whose castle, Edward II., the vanquished at
Banockburn, was murdered in 1327. Jenner's mother's name was
Head. Edward went to school at Wotton-under-Edge and at
Cirencester, and began to study medicine with a Mr. Ludlow, a
surgeon at Sodbury near Bristol. In his twenty-first year,
Jenner went to London as a pupil of the great John Hunter, in
whose house, he lived two years, during which time he was
entered as a medical student at St. George's Hospital. It is
interesting to know that while still a student he was asked by
Sir Joseph Banks to arrange and catalogue the zoological
specimens brought home by the circumnavigator Captain Cook in
his first voyage of 1771. Jenner devoted considerable attention
to natural history, to geology and to the study of fossils, on
which topics he kept up correspondence with Hunter long after
he left London. In the year 1788 he married a Miss Kingscote,
and settled down to practice in his native place. Mrs. Jenner
died in 1815, after which date Jenner never left Berkeley
again.

Curiously enough, it was not until 1792 that Jenner obtained
the degree of M.D., and it was not from an English university
at all, but from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland.
This university, the smallest although the oldest of the
Scottish universities, has therefore the honor of being the
Alma Mater to the epoch-making Englishman. I have seen the
entry of the name in the list of graduates for the year 1792;
it has evidently been misspelled, for the name is corrected.
The first foreign university to recognize Jenner's eminence was
Gottingen. In 1794 Jenner had an attack of typhus fever. Jenner
never cared for London or a city life, and although in 1808 he
was persuaded to take a house in town, he soon gave it up and
went back to his beautiful Gloucestershire. For many years he
practiced during the season in the pleasant health-resort of
Cheltenham. He loved the country, he studied lovingly the
living things around him there: many are familiar with a piece
of verse he wrote on "The signs of rain."

The year 1810 was a sad one for Jenner: his eldest son died,
and that noticeably depressed his health. In 1823 he presented
a paper to the Royal Society on the migration of birds, a
subject not even yet fully cleared up. On January 26, in the
same year, he was stricken with paralysis on the right side and
died within twenty-four hours. His body was buried in the
chancel of the parish church of Berkeley, where there is a
memorial window placed by public subscription. In person,
Edward Jenner was short and rather heavily built; his
expression of face was pleasant with a touch of sadness. All
reports agree that in dress he was conspicuously neat, looking
more like a gentleman-farmer than a physician, with his blue
coat, yellow buttons, red waistcoat, buff breeches and
top-boots.[5]

[5] He was painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, by Northcote and by
Vigneron.



There is no disguising the fact that during his lifetime Dr.
Jenner was much more appreciated in foreign countries than in
England. The medico-social club of Alverton, near where he
lived, would not listen to him when he addressed them on
vaccination. The effort to collect enough money from the
medical men of England in order to place a marble statue to
Jenner in the nave of Gloucester Cathedral, was successful only
after a long delay. An attempt to erect a statue in London died
of apathy; but in 1858, 32 years after he died, a statue was
erected in Trafalgar Square. In 1862 it was removed to a quiet
corner of Kensington gardens; and perhaps its surroundings, the
trees, the flowers and the birds he loved are more suitable
than the effigies of those national heroes who served their
country by taking, not by saving life. No, Nelson the hero is
hardly the suitable companion for Jenner the hero.

There is no doubt that Jenner's medical contemporaries, at
least in England, failed to appreciate the magnitude of the
gift their colleague had presented not merely to his own
country, but to the world at large. The discovery had, of
course, been led up to by several different lines of
indication, but this in no way detracts from the genius of
Jenner in drawing his memorable inductions from the few facts
which others had known before his time. The fame of Newton is
no whit diminished because Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo lived
and worked before him, the credit due to Harvey is none the
less because many before his time had worked on the problem of
the heart and vessels, and because some of them, notably
Cesalpinus, came within a very little of the discovery of the
circulation; the achievements of Darwin are not to be belittled
because Lamarck, Malthus or Monboddo had notions in accordance
with the tenor of his great generalization of evolution among
living beings. Certainly Jenner had precursors; but it was his
genius and his genius alone which, putting together the various
fragments of knowledge already possessed, gave us the grand but
simple induction based on his own experiments that vaccinia
prevents from variola. It was too simple and too new to be
appreciated in all its bearings either by the medical men or
the laity of his own day. Its impressiveness is not inherent in
it, as it is in the mathematical demonstration of universal
gravitation, as it is in the atomic theory or in that of the
survival of the fittest through natural selection. The English
country doctor merely said in essence--"let me give you cowpox
and you will not get smallpox." Unless the fact of this
immunity is regarded as possessed by all the nations of the
world for ever more there is nothing particularly impressive in
it; and so it failed to impress his contemporaries. It is only
when we contrast the loathsomeness and danger of smallpox with
the mildness and safety of vaccinia and varioloid that we grasp
the greatness of the work which Jenner did for mankind. The
very simplicity of vaccination detracts from its impressiveness
unless its results are viewed through the vista of the
centuries. We need the proper historical perspective in this as
in all else. Thus viewed, however, the simplicity of the
procedure and the universality of its application are most
imposing. Vaccination does not, indeed, dazzle the scientific
imagination like some of the other generalizations of biology,
but it is one that has been gloriously vindicated by the
subsequent history of the world's hygiene.

Jenner knew himself to be a benefactor of the human race; he
would have been insincere if he had pretended otherwise; he
finished his first paper with these words: "I shall endeavor
still farther to prosecute this enquiry, an enquiry, I trust,
not merely speculative, but of sufficient moment to inspire the
pleasing hope of its becoming essentially useful to mankind";
and on his death-bed he said, "I do not marvel that men are not
grateful to me, but I am surprised that they do not feel
grateful to God for making me a medium of good."

In private life Dr. Jenner was amiable and kind-hearted. Dibden
said of him: "I never knew a man of simpler mind or of warmer
heart." He was particularly kind to the poor. Dr. Matthew
Baillie said of him: "Jenner might have been immensely rich if
he had not published his discovery."

We may in conclusion examine some of the objections to and
criticisms of vaccination. The objections can be classified as
those entertained (a) by medical men and (b) those by the
public generally.

The objections raised by medical men are now a matter of
ancient history. Each generation of medical men has refused at
first to admit any new teaching promulgated in its time;
physiological inertia is not at once overcome. The most
enlightened of Jenner's critics did really believe that he was
drawing too extensive an induction from insufficient data; this
was the position of the Royal Society in 1788; but the
Edinburgh reviewer of 1822 should have known better. The purely
technical criticisms of Jenner's work have by this time been
fully assessed and replied to. It is true that at one time it
was not clear what were the relationships of chickenpox and
smallpox, of vaccinia and variola, of vaccinia and varioloid,
of the various forms of pox in animals--cowpox, swinepox,
horsepox or grease--either inter se or to human smallpox. But I
do not suppose that in this year of grace 1914 there can be
found one properly trained medical man, acquainted with the
history of Jennerian vaccination, familiar with the ravages of
smallpox and with the protective power of vaccinia, who could
be induced, by no matter how large a bribe, to say that he
disapproved of vaccination or that he believed it did not
protect from smallpox. There are cranks in all walks of life,
but the medical crank who is also an anti-vaccinationist is
happily the rarest of them all.

The lay objectors--the professed anti-vaccinators--are with us
yet in spite of some very serious lessons which have been
taught them. We may pass by the objectors of the class who
believe that vaccinated persons cough like cows and bellow like
bulls; these objections go into the limbo of old wives' fables
or into the category of wilful misrepresentation. Unfortunately
there is a large class of persons who can believe the absurdest
nonsense about any subject which is particularly distasteful to
them.[6] Another class of objection is the sentimental
repugnance to the idea of being given one of the diseases of
"the lower animals." Now the fact is that already we share a
great many diseases with the lower animals, a few of them being
tuberculosis, anthrax, rabies, tetanus, cancer,
pleuro-pneumonia, certain insect-borne diseases, some parasitic
worm diseases and some skin diseases like favus. As the
knowledge of the lowly origin of many of our diseases is more
widespread, this sort of objection will die out.

[6] Antivaccinators constantly allude to calf-lymph as "filth";
if lymph is filth, then I am able to assure them that each one
of them has about three liters of it in his own body.



An objection which is worthy of more consideration is that in
being vaccinated a child is apt to contract some infectious
disease such as tuberculosis or syphilis which are the two most
dreaded. Now so long as arm-to-arm vaccination was the routine
practice, there was a remote probability that this sort of
accident might occur. It appears to be true that a few
accidents of this kind have occurred, just as a few arms have
become septic or had erysipelas develop in them. But when the
few such cases are compared with the millions and millions of
uncomplicated vaccinations, their importance becomes very
insignificant. Now that arm-to-arm vaccination is no longer
practiced, but fresh calf-lymph used for each child, these
accidental inoculations are a thing of the past. The ignorance
of cause and effect is responsible for a great deal of the most
childish objections to vaccination as to much else. One woman
lately told me that she could not have her child vaccinated
because a child in the same street was made a cripple for life
by being vaccinated. Could we have a better example of the
"post hoc sed non propter hoc."[7]

[7] Now and again, however, we have the sad spectacle of some
one really well educated but apparently either ignorant of
logic or desirous of wilfully misrepresenting facts. The Hon.
Stephen Coleridge has an article in the June (1914) number of
the Contemporary Review which is, to say the least of it,
highly immoral in ethics and statistics.

I shall examine only that part of it bearing on vaccination.
The statements are that in the last five recorded years, 58
persons died from smallpox vaccination (he means vaccination
against smallpox), whereas in the same five years, 85 persons
died from smallpox itself. The inference we are intended to
draw from these figures is that to be vaccinated is nearly as
fatal as to have smallpox itself.

Now this kind of argument is a very common one with
statistically immoral persons, and is known as the suppression
of the ratio. Before we can appreciate the fact that in five
years 58 persons died after being vaccinated, we at least need
to know the total number of persons who were vaccinated. If
only 58 persons were vaccinated and they all died, then the
mortality was 100 per cent., but if, as was practically the
case, thousands of infants in Great Britain were vaccinated in
five years, then if only 58 died after vaccination (although
not necessarily in consequence of it) the mortality falls some
thousands of a per cent. The suppression of the ratio, i. e.,
58/many thousands is the deceit that is practiced.

Fifty-eight per year for five years, is 11.6 deaths per year of
persons vaccinated: presumably these were infants: taking the
birth-rate in England as 30 per 1,000 living, we may say that
900,000 infants were born; deduct 100,000 as not vaccinated, we
have 800,000 infants vaccinated, of these 11.6 died after being
vaccinated, which is 0.0014 per cent. This is not much of a
mortality from any cause; but using Mr. Coleridge's own
figures, it is a splendid demonstration of the safety of
infant-vaccination, the opposite of what he pretends it shows.

Mr. Coleridge proceeds to tell us that in five years 85 persons
died of smallpox in Great Britain, i. e., an average of 17
persons per year. In other words 17 persons died of smallpox in
a country with 30 million inhabitants, or 0.000056 per cent. of
persons living, not a high mortality. And we strongly suspect,
may we hope, that those 17 were persons who had not been
vaccinated.

But in Pre-Jennerian days, 17 persons died of smallpox out of
every 100 persons dying from all causes.

Mr. Coleridge's figures, properly and honestly interpreted,
testify loudly to conclusions exactly the opposite of what he
desires to insinuate; he has no doubt taken the statistics of
the Registrar-General, but he has prostituted them.

Mr. Coleridge's paper could not be a better example of the art
of concealing the causes of phenomena.

He exhibits the following table:

Deaths from smallpox per annum per a million living:

1862-1870 ................................. 172.2
1871-1880 ................................. 244.6
1881-1890 .................................  45.8
1891-1900 .................................  13.3
1901-1910 .................................  12.8

So that the table shows that since 1880 in Great Britain the
deaths from smallpox per million per year have declined until
they are only about 1/14th of their original number.

The natural inference from these figures, viewed in the light
of the history of smallpox in

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