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Editor: Harold E. Stearns

CIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED STATES

EDITED BY HAROLD E. STEARNS

NEW YORK HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY

PREFACE This book has been an adventure in intellectual co-operation. If it were a mere collection of haphazard essays, gathered together to make the conventional symposium, it would have only slight significance. But it has been the deliberate and organized outgrowth of the common efforts of like-minded men and women to see the problem of modern American civilization as a whole, and to illuminate by careful criticism the special aspect of that civilization with which the individual is most familiar. Personal contact has served to correct overemphasis, and slow and careful selection of the members of a group which has now grown to some thirty-odd has given to this work a unity of approach and attack which it otherwise could not possibly have had.

The nucleus of this group was brought together by common work, common interests, and more or less common assumptions. As long ago as the autumn of last year Mr. Van Wyck Brooks and I discussed the possibility of several of us, who were engaged in much the same kind of critical examination of our civilization, coming together to exchange ideas, to clarify our individual fields, and to discover wherein they coincided, overlapped, or diverged. The original desire was the modest one of making it possible for us to avoid working at cross-purposes. I suggested that we meet at my home, which a few of us did, and since that time until the delivery of this volume to the publishers we have met every fortnight. Even at our first meeting we discovered our points of view to have so much in common that our desire for informal and pleasant discussions became the more serious wish to contribute a definite and tangible piece of work towards the advance of intellectual life in America. We wished to speak the truth about American civilization as we saw it, in order to do our share in making a real civilization possible--for I think with all of us there was a common assumption that a field cannot be ploughed until it has first been cleared of rocks, and that constructive criticism can hardly exist until there is something on which to construct.

Naturally the first problem to arise was the one of ways and means. If the spirit and temper of the French encyclopaedists of the 18th century appealed strongly to us, certainly their method for the advancement of knowledge was inapplicable in our own century. The cultural phenomena we proposed to survey were too complicated and extensive; besides, we wished to make a definite contribution of some kind or another while, so to speak, there was yet time. For the cohesiveness of the group, the good-humoured tolerance and cheerful sacrifice of time, were to some extent the consequence of the intellectual collapse that came with the hysterical post-armistice days, when it was easier than in normal times to get together intelligent and civilized men and women in common defence against the common enemy of reaction. We wished to take advantage of this strategic situation for the furtherance of our co-operative enterprise, and decided, finally, that the simplest plan would be the best. Each of us was to write a single short essay on the special topic we knew most thoroughly; we were to continue our meetings in order to keep informed of the progress of our work and to see that there was no duplication; we were to extend the list of subjects to whatever legitimately bore upon our cultural life and to select the authors by common agreement; we were to keep in touch with each other so that the volume might have that inner consistency which could come only from direct acquaintance with what each of us was planning.

There were a few other simple rules which we laid down in the beginning. Desirous of avoiding merely irrelevant criticism and of keeping attention upon our actual treatment of our subjects rather than upon our personalities, we provided that all contributors to the volume must be American citizens. For the same reason, we likewise provided that in the list there should be no professional propagandists--except as one is a propagandist for one's own ideas--no martyrs, and no one who was merely disgruntled. Since our object was to give an uncompromising, and consequently at some points necessarily harsh, analysis, we desired the tone to be good-natured and the temper urbane. At first, these larger points of policy were decided by common agreement or, on occasion, by majority vote, and to the end I settled no important question without consultation with as many members of the group as I could approach within the limited time we had agreed to have this volume in the hands of the publisher. But with the extension of the scope of the book, the negotiations with the publisher, and the mass of complexities and details that are inevitable in so difficult an enterprise, the authority to decide specific questions and the usual editorial powers were delegated as a matter of convenience to me, aided by a committee of three. Hence I was in a position constantly to see the book as a whole, and to make suggestions for differentiation, where repetition appeared to impend, or for unity, where the divergence was sharp enough to be construed by some as contradictory. In view both of the fact that every contributor has full liberty of opinion and that the personalities and points of view finding expression in the essays are all highly individualistic, the underlying unity which binds the volume together is really surprising.

It may seem strange that a volume on civilization in the United States does not include a specific article on religion, and the omission is worth a paragraph of explanation. Outside the bigger cities, certainly no one can understand the social structure of contemporary American life without careful study of the organization and power of the church. Speaking generally, we are a church-going people, and at least on the surface the multiplicity of sects and creeds, the sheer immensity of the physical apparatus by which the religious impulse is articulated, would seem to prove that our interest in and emotional craving for religious experience are enormous. But the omission has not been due to any superciliousness on our part towards the subject itself; on the contrary, I suppose I have put more thought and energy into this essay, which has not been written, than into any other problem connected with the book. The bald truth is, it has been next to impossible to get any one to write on the subject; most of the people I approached shied off--it was really difficult to get them to talk about it at all. Almost unanimously, when I did manage to procure an opinion from them, they said that real religious feeling in America had disappeared, that the church had become a purely social and political institution, that the country is in the grip of what Anatole France has aptly called Protestant clericalism, and that, finally, they weren't interested in the topic. The accuracy of these observations I cannot, of course, vouch for, but it is rather striking that they were identical. In any event, the topic as a topic has had to be omitted; but it is not neglected, for in several essays directly--in particular, "Philosophy" and "Nerves"--and in many by implication the subject is discussed. At one time Mr. James Harvey Robinson consented to write the article--and it would have been an illuminating piece of work--but unfortunately ill health and the pressure of official duties made the task impossible for him within the most generous time limit that might be arranged.

I have spoken already of the unity which underlies the volume. When I remember all these essays, and try to summon together the chief themes that run through them, either by explicit statement or as a kind of underlying rhythm to all, in order to justify the strong impression of unity, I find three major contentions that may be said to be basic--contentions all the more significant inasmuch as they were unpremeditated and were arrived at, as it were, by accident rather than design. They are:

First, That in almost every branch of American life there is a sharp dichotomy between preaching and practice; we let not our right hand know what our left hand doeth. Curiously enough, no one regards this, and in fact no one consciously feels this as hypocrisy--there are certain abstractions and dogmas which are sacred to us, and if we fall short of these external standards in our private life, that is no reason for submitting them to a fresh examination; rather are we to worship them the more vociferously to show our sense of sin. Regardless, then, of the theoretical excellence or stupidity of these standards, in actual practice the moral code resolves itself into the one cardinal heresy of being found out, with the chief sanction enforcing it, the fear of what people will say.

Second, That whatever else American civilization is, it is not Anglo-Saxon, and that we shall never achieve any genuine nationalistic self-consciousness as long as we allow certain financial and social minorities to persuade us that we are still an English Colony. Until we begin seriously to appraise and warmly to cherish the heterogeneous elements which make up our life, and to see the common element running through all of them, we shall make not even a step towards true unity; we shall remain, in Roosevelt's class-conscious and bitter but illuminating phrase, a polyglot boarding-house. It is curious how a book on American civilization actually leads one back to the conviction that we are, after all, Americans.

Third, That the most moving and pathetic fact in the social life of America to-day is emotional and aesthetic starvation, of which the mania for petty regulation, the driving, regimentating, and drilling, the secret society and its grotesque regalia, the firm grasp on the unessentials of material organization of our pleasures and gaieties are all eloquent stigmata. We have no heritages or traditions to which to cling except those that have already withered in our hands and turned to dust. One can feel the whole industrial and economic situation as so maladjusted to the primary and simple needs of men and women that the futility of a rationalistic attack on these infantilisms of compensation becomes obvious. There must be an entirely new deal of the cards in one sense; we must change our hearts. For only so, unless through the humbling of calamity or scourge, can true art and true religion and true personality, with their native warmth and caprice and gaiety, grow up in America to exorcise these painted devils we have created to frighten us away from the acknowledgment of our spiritual poverty.

If these main contentions seem severe or pessimistic, the answer must be: we do not write to please; we strive only to understand and to state as clearly as we can. For American civilization is still in the embryonic stage, with rich and with disastrous possibilities of growth. But the first step in growing up is self-conscious and deliberately critical examination of ourselves, without sentimentality and without fear. We cannot even devise, much less control, the principles which are to guide our future development until that preliminary understanding has come home with telling force to the consciousness of the ordinary man. To this self-understanding, this book is, in our belief, a genuine and valuable contribution. We may not always have been wise; we have tried always to be honest. And if our attempt will help to embolden others to an equally frank expression of their beliefs, perhaps in time wisdom will come.

I am glad that, however serious, we are never solemn in these essays. Often, in fact, we are quite gay, and it would be a humourless person indeed who could not read many of them, even when the thrusts are at himself, with that laughter which Rabelais tells ushey sang a dozen different cheers to Gladys and her father; then they cheered for the lake and the camp and the good time they were going to have until they were too hoarse to speak. Gladys was then away at school and was to be in New York City with her parents until the first of July, so Miss Kent and her girls came up the last week in June to open camp. Gladys had never seen the place until that day, for her father had just bought it the previous winter. That she did not want to come was evident to Miss Kent. She was overdressed and rather supercilious looking, and was not strong enough to really enjoy the rough and tumble life of the camp. Miss Kent realized that some adjusting would be necessary before Gladys would be transformed into a genuine Winnebago. "But we'll do it, never fear," she thought brightly, with the unquenchable optimism that had won for her the name of "Face Toward the Mountain."

THE COUNCIL FIRE.

Supper, which was eaten on the big rock overhanging the lake, was made short work of, for tonight was to be held the first Council Fire.

"What's going to happen?" asked Gladys of Nyoda, watching the girls scrambling out of their bloomers and middies and into brown khaki dresses trimmed with leather fringe.

"Ceremonial Meeting," answered Nyoda, slipping on a pair of beaded moccasins.

"What's that?" asked Gladys.

"You'll see," said Nyoda. "Follow the girls when I call them."

Nyoda slipped out of her tent and disappeared into the woods. In a few minutes a clear call rang out through the stillness: "Wohelo, Wohelo, come ye all Wohelo." The girls stepped forward in a single file, their arms folded in front of them, singing as they went, "Wohelo, Wohelo, come we all Wohelo." Gladys followed at the tail of the procession.

Nyoda stood in the center of a circular space about twenty feet across among the trees, completely surrounded by high pines. In the middle the fire was laid. The girls took their places in the circle, and Gladys, now arrayed in bloomers and middy, with her hair down in two braids and a leather band around her forehead, sat under a tree and looked on. Not being a Camp Fire Girl she could not sit in the Council Circle. Nyoda made fire with the bow and drill, and when the leaping flames lit up the circle of faces the girls sprang to their feet and sang, "Burn, fire, burn," and then, "Mystic Fire," with its dramatic gestures. Gladys, sitting in the shadows, looked on curiously at the fantastically clad figures passing back and forth around the fire singing,

"Ghost-dance round the mystic ring, Faces in the starlight glow, Maids of Wohelo. Praises to Wokanda sing, While the music soft and low Rubbing sticks grind slow. Dusky forest now darker grown, Broods in silence o'er its own, Till the wee spark to a flame has blown, And living fire leaps up to greet The song of Wohelo."

As they chanted the words the girls acted out with gestures the dancing ghosts, the brooding forest, the rubbing sticks and the leaping fire. So they proceeded through the strange measures, ending up in a close circle around the fire, all making the hand sign of fire together. Gladys began to be stirred with a desire to sit in the circle.

When the girls were again seated in their original places and the roll called, Nyoda rose and read the rules of camp. No one was to leave the camp without telling at least one person where she was going, or the general direction in which she was going, and the length of time she expected to be gone. No candy was to be bought in the village. No one was to go in swimming except at the regular swimming time. Every one pointed a finger at Sahwah when this was read, for she had been going into the lake at least a dozen times a day. No one could go in swimming whose belongings were not in order at tent inspection time. A groan went around the circle at this.

Nyoda dwelt with particular emphasis on the rules governing the canoes. No one could go out in a canoe who had not taken the swimming test. No one could go out in a canoe unless Sahwah, Hinpoha or herself were along. Disobedience to these rules would mean having to stay out of the canoes altogether. She explained to the girls the importance of implicit obedience to the one in charge of a boat, regardless of personal feeling, and how the captain of a vessel had absolute authority over those on board. She spoke of the necessity of coolheadedness and courage on the part of the girl in charge, and ability to control her temper. She said she knew Sahwah and Hinpoha were well able to have charge of a canoe and she would never feel uneasy to have the other girls go out with them. Hinpoha and Sahwah flushed with pleasure and mentally resolved to die rather than prove unworthy of her trust. Gladys gave a little start when the canoe rules were read. She could not swim. She had been looking forward to going out in a canoe very shortly.

The rest of the rules dealt with the day's schedule, which was as follows:

Rising bugle at seven. Morning dip. Breakfast. Song hour. Tent inspection. Craft work. Folk dancing. Swimming. Lesson in camp cookery. Dinner. Rest hour. Nature study. Two hours spent in any way preferred. Supper. Evening open for any kind of stunt. First bugle, 8:30. Lights out, 9:00.

Ceremonial meeting would be held every week on Monday night, because the girls had so many opportunities to win honors now that a whole month would be too long to wait.

After the announcements Nyoda awarded the honors. Medmangi had taken the swimming test, Nakwisi and Chapa had righted an overturned canoe, Sahwah had built a reflecting oven and baked biscuits in it. All the girls had won some kind of an honor. Gladys listened wonderingly to the account of the things they had accomplished--things she did not have the faintest notion of how to do.

Then came the elevating of Migwan to the rank of Fire Maker. Proudly she exhibited her fourteen purple beads, indicating the fulfilment of the fourteen requirements. Nyoda asked her questions on the things she had learned, and asked her to explain to the girls how much better she had gotten along since she started to keep an itemized account book. Migwan blushed and hung her head, for figures were an abomination to her and keeping accounts a fearful task. If it had not been for her ambition to be a Fire Maker she would never have attempted it at all, but once having learned how she realized their value, and heroically resolved to keep accurate accounts right along. When it came to the subject of bandaging she had to give demonstrations of triangular and roller bandaging, with Hinpoha as the subject. Then in a clear, earnest voice she dedicated her "strength, her ambition, her heart's desire, her joy and her sorrow" to the keeping up of the flame of love for her fellow creatures. Satisfied that Migwan was a worthy candidate, Nyoda slipped the silver bracelet on her arm and proclaimed her a Fire Maker. Migwan blushed fiery red and hung her head modestly.

"Speech, speech!" shouted the girls. "Give us a poem, Migwan."

Migwan thought a moment and then recited dramatically:

"I am a Fire Maker! I have completed The Fourteen Requirements! I have repeated The Fire Maker's Desire! Now I may light The great Council Fire! Now I may kindle The Wohelo Candles! Long months have I labored Gathering firewood, That I might kindle The Fire of Wohelo! My arm is encircled With a silver bracelet, The outward symbol Of the Fire I have kindled; And those who behold it Shall say to each other, 'Lo, she has labored, She has given service, She has pursued knowledge, She has been trustworthy, Fulfilled the requirements, She is a Fire Maker!' That symbol is sacred, A charm against evil, Evil thoughts and dark passions, Against envy and hatred! One step am I nearer The goal of my ambition, To be a Torch Bearer Is now my desire! To carry aloft The threefold flame, The symbol of Work, Of Health and of Love, The flaming, enveloping Symbol of Love Triumphant; where might fails I conquer by Love! Where I have been led I now will lead others, Undimmed will I pass on The light I have kindled; The flame in my hand Shall mount higher and higher, To be a Torch Bearer Is now my desire!"

A round of applause followed. Next the "Count" was called for. This had also been written by Migwan. In rippling Hiawatha meter it told how the Winnebagos had journeyed

"From their homes in distant Cleveland To Loon Lake's inviting waters--"

how they pitched the tents and made the beds, how they named the tents Alpha and Omega, how eagerly they awaited Gladys's coming, how Sahwah was placed on the tower to wave at her,

"And the telescope descending, Fell kersplash into the water,"

and all the rest of the doings up to the beginning of Council Fire.

Nyoda then rose and said that as the Camp Fire was a singing movement she wished the girls to write as many songs as possible, and to encourage this had worked out a system of local honors for songs which could be sung by the Winnebagos. Any girl writing the words of a song which was adopted for use would receive a leather W cut in the form of wings to represent "winged words" or poetry; the honor for composing the music for a song would be a winged note cut from leather, and the honor for writing both words and music would be a combination of the two. These were to be known as the "Olowan" honors, because "Olowan" was the Winnebago word for song, and were quite independent of the National song honors, because a great many songs which could not be adopted by the National organization would be admirable for use in the local group on account of their aptness.

Just before they sang the Goodnight Song, Nyoda drew Gladys into the group and officially invited her to become a Winnebago at the next Council Fire. Gladys accepted the invitation and the girls sang a ringing cheer to her because her coming made it possible for them to have the camp.

To close the Ceremonial Meeting the girls sang "Mammy Moon," ending up by lying in a circle around the fire, their heads pillowed on one another. The fire was burning very low now and great shadows from the woods lay across the open space. Nyoda stole silently to the edge of the clearing and the girls rose and filed past her, softly singing "Now our Camp Fire's burning low." Nyoda held each girl's hand in a warm clasp for a moment as she passed before her and the girls clung to her lovingly. The forest was so big and dark, and they were so far from home, and Nyoda was so strong and tender!

"Wasn't it wonderful?" whispered Migwan to Sahwah, as they picked their way back to the tents in the darkness.

"Wasn't it, though!" answered Sahwah, flashing her little bug light on the path before her.

Gladys's bed was in the Omega tent with Sahwah, Hinpoha and Migwan. One end faced the lake and the stars peeked in with friendly twinkles, while the moon flooded the place with silver light. The three girls were out of their Ceremonial costumes and into their nightgowns in no time, while Gladys fussed around nervously.

"Aren't we going to have the lantern lit?" she asked.

"What for?" said Sahwah. "The moon makes it as bright as day."

Gladys took off her middy. "Where are we going to hang our clothes?" she asked next.

"Throw them across the foot of your bed," answered Hinpoha, "or lay them on the stool, or up on the swinging shelf, or hang them on the floor, the way Sahwah does." At this Sahwah sat up in bed and threw her pillow at Hinpoha. Hinpoha sent it back and Sahwah threw it the second time. Instead of hitting Hinpoha, however, it landed in the basin of water in which Gladys was trying to wash herself, knocking it off the stand and out of the tent door. Gladys gave an exclamation of impatience. Sahwah hastened to apologize. "I'm awfully sorry, Gladys. But you saw how it was. I was trying to hit 'Poha and hit you by mistake." Here the pent-up laughter of the three girls broke forth, and they shouted in unison. Gladys did not laugh. "I'll get you some more water," said Sahwah, getting out of bed. The pail was empty, so Sahwah went all the way down to the lake for water. On the way back she rescued the pillow, which was soaking wet, and stood it up against the tent pole to dry.

Just then came a loud hail from the other tent. "Goodnight, Omegas!" "Good night, Alphas," they answered, "sleep tight!" Again came the fourfold voice out of Alpha, "Goodnight, Gladys!"

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