Liberty and Learning
[An Address Delivered at Montague, July 4th, 1857.]
I congratulate you upon the auspicious moments of this, the eighty-first anniversary of our National Independence; and its return, now and ever, should be the occasion of gratitude to the Author of all good, that He hath vouchsafed to our fathers and to their descendants the wisdom to establish and the wisdom to preserve the institutions of Liberty in America.
And I congratulate you that you accept this anniversary as the occasion for considering the subject of education. Ignorant and blind worshippers of Liberty can do but little for its support; but, whatever of change or decay may come to our institutions, Liberty itself can never die in the presence of a people universally and thoroughly educated. It is not, then, inappropriate nor unphilosophical for us to connect Education and Liberty together; and I therefore propose, after presenting some thoughts upon the Declaration of Independence, and its relations to the American Union, to consider the value of political learning, its neglect, and the means by which it may be promoted.
The events and epochs of life are logical in their nature, and are harmonious or inharmonious as the affairs of men are controlled by principle, policy, or accident. Humboldt, Maury, and Guyot, Arago, Agassiz, and Pierce, by observation, philosophy, and mathematics, demonstrate the harmony of the physical creation. In the microscopic animalculæ; in the gigantic remains, whether vegetable or animal, of other ages and conditions of life; in the coral reef and the mountain range; in the hill-side rivulet that makes “the meadows green;” in the ocean current that bathes and vivifies a continent; in the setting of the leaf upon its stem, and the moving of Uranus in its orbit, they trace a law whose harmony is its glory, and whose mystery is the evidence of its divinity.
National changes, the movements and progress of the human race, as a whole and in its parts, are obedient, likewise, to law; and are, therefore, logical in their character, though generally lacking in precision of connection and order of succession. Or it may be, rather, that we lack power to trace the connection between events that depend in part, at least, upon the prejudices, passions, vices, and weaknesses, of men. The development of the logic of human affairs waits for a philosopher who shall study and comprehend the living millions of our race, as the philosophers now study and comprehend the subjects of physical science. We have no guaranty that this can ever be done. As mind is above matter, the mental philosopher enters upon the most varied and difficult field of labor.
Keeping this fact in mind, it appears to be true that every person of observation, reading, and reflection, is something of a mental philosopher, though much the larger number have no knowledge of physical science. And especially must the student of history have a system of mental philosophy; but often, no doubt, his system is too crude for general notice. Every historian connects the events of his narrative by some thread of philosophy or speculation; every reader observes some connection, though he may never develop it to himself, between the events and changes of national and ethnological life; and even the observer whose vision is limited by his own horizon in time and space marks a dependence, and speaks of cause and effect. All this follows from the existence and nature of man. Man is not inert, nor even passive, merely; and his activity will continually organize itself into facts and forms, ever changing in character, it may be, yet subject to a law as wise and fixed as that of planetary motion.
The Independence of the British Colonies in America, declared on the 4th of July, 1776, is not an isolated fact; nor is the Declaration itself a hasty and overwrought production of a young and enthusiastic adventurer in the cause of liberty.
The passions and the reason of men connected the Declaration of Independence with the massacre in King-street, of March 5th, 1770; with the passage and repeal of the Stamp Act; with the attempt to enforce the Writs of Assistance; with the act to close the port of Boston; with the peace of 1763; with the Act of Settlement of 1688; with the execution of Charles I., and the Protectorate of Cromwell; with the death of Hampden; with the confederation of 1643; with the royal charters granted to the respective colonies; with the compact made on board the Mayflower; and, finally, and distinctly, and chiefly,—as the basis of the greatest legal argument of modern times, made by the Massachusetts House of Representatives, from 1765 to 1775,—with the events at Runnymede, and the grant of the Great Charter to the nobles and people of England in 1215, which is itself based upon the concessions of Edward the Confessor, and the affirmation of the Saxon laws in the eleventh century. Our Independence is, then, one logical fact or event in a long succession, to the enumeration of which we may yet add the confederation of 1778, the constitution of 1787, the French Revolution of 1789, the rapid increase of American territory and States, the revolutionary spirit of continental Europe, the reforms in the British government at home, the wise modifications of its colonial policy, and for us a long career of prosperity based upon the cardinal doctrine of the equality of all men before the law.
Nor can any reader of the Declaration itself assume that it contains one statement, proposition, idea, or word, not carefully considered, and carefully expressed. It was not the production of hasty, thoughtless, or reckless men. The country had been gradually prepared for the great event. States, counties, and towns, had made the most distinct expressions of opinion upon the relations of the colonies to the mother country. On the 7th of June, 1776, Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, moved, in the Congress of the United Colonies, a resolution declaring, That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British crown, and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved. The subject was considered on the tenth; and, on the eleventh instant, the committee, consisting of Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Dr. Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston, was appointed. On the twenty-fifth of June, a Declaration of the Deputies of Pennsylvania, in favor of Independence, was read. On the twenty-eighth, the credentials of the delegates from New Jersey, in which they were instructed to favor Independence, were presented; and on the first of July similar instructions to the Maryland delegates were laid before Congress. At this time Congress proceeded to consider the Declaration and resolution reported by the committee. The Declaration was carefully considered, and materially amended in committee of the whole, on the first, second, third, and fourth, when it was finally adopted. It was then signed by the president and secretary, and copies were transmitted to the several colonies. The order for its engrossment, and for the signature by every member, was not passed until the nineteenth of July, and it was not really signed until the second of August following. It is not likely, considering the circumstances, and the known character of the members of Congress, among whom may be mentioned John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Rush, Robert Morris, Benjamin Harrison, Elbridge Gerry, John Witherspoon, a descendant of John Knox, the Scottish Reformer, Charles Carroll, and Samuel Huntington,—all distinguished for coolness, probity, and patriotism,—that the immortal document can contain one thought or word unworthy its sacred associations, and the character of the American people!
And it is among the alarming symptoms of public sentiment that the Declaration of Independence is by some publicly condemned, and by others quietly accepted as entitled to just the consideration, and no more, that is given to an excited advocate’s speech to a jury, or a demagogue’s electioneering harangue, or the daily contribution of the partisan editor to the stock of political capital that aids the election of his favorite candidates. And upon this evidence is the nation and the world to be taught that but little was meant by the assertions, “that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed”? Would it not be wiser to test the government we have, by a statesmanlike application of the principles of the Declaration of Independence in the management of public affairs?
The Union is connected with the Declaration of Independence. The Union is an institution: the Declaration of Independence is an assertion of rights, and an exposition of principles. When principles are disregarded, institutions do not, for any considerable time, retain their original value. And it would be the folly of other nations, without excuse in us, were we to worship blindly any institution, whatever its origin or its history. I do not, myself, doubt the value of the American Union. It was the necessity of the time when it was formed; it is the necessity of the present moment; it was, indeed, the claim of our whole colonial life, and its recognition could be postponed no longer when the colonies crossed the threshold of national existence.
The colonies had carried on a correspondence among themselves upon important matters; the New England settlements formed a confederation in 1643, that was the prototype of the present Union; and the convention at Albany, in 1754, considered in connection with various resolutions and declarations, indicated a growing desire “to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty” to the successive generations that should occupy the American continent.
For these exalted purposes the Constitution was framed, and the Union established; and the Constitution and the Union will remain as long as these exalted purposes, with any considerable share of fidelity, are secured. The Union will not be destroyed by declamation, nor can declamation preserve it. Words have power only when they awaken a response in the minds of those who listen. The Union will be judged, finally, by its merits; and they are not powerful enemies for evil who attack it through the press and from the rostrum; but rather they who, clothed with authority, brief or permanent, interpret the constitution so as to defeat the end for which it was framed. Nor are they the best friends of the Union who lavishly bestow upon it nicely-wrought encomiums, as though the gilding of rhetoric and the ornament of praise could shield a human institution from the judgment of a free people; but rather they who, under Heaven, and in the presence of men, seek to so interpret the constitution as, in the language and in the order of its preamble, “to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty” to themselves and their posterity. Words are powerless, and enemies—envious, jealous, or deluded—are powerless, when they war upon a system of government that secures such exalted results. And, if in these later days of our national existence patriotism has been weakened, respect and reverence for the constitution and the Union have been diminished, it is because the actual government under the constitution has, in the judgment of many, failed to realize the government of the constitution.
But let no one despair of the Republic. Men are now building better than they know; possibly, better than they wish. A great government, powerful in its justice, and therefore to be respected and maintained, must also be powerful in its errors, prejudices, and wrongs, and therefore to be changed and reformed in these respects. The declaration “that all men are created equal” is vital, and will live in the presence of all governments, strong as well as weak, hostile as well as friendly. It has no respect for worldly authority, so evidently is it a direct emanation of the Divine Mind, and so does it harmonize with the highest manifestations of the nature of man. But the Declaration of Independence does not, in this particular, assert that all men are created equal in height or weight, equal in physical strength, intellectual power, or moral worth. It is not dealing with these qualities at all, but with the natural political rights and relations of men. In its view, all are born free from any political subordination to others on account of the accidents or incidents of family or historic name. And hence it follows that no man, by birth or nature, has any right in political affairs to control his fellow-man; and hence it follows further, as there is neither subjection anywhere nor authority anywhere, that all men are created equal, that governments derive their “just powers from the consent of the governed.” And hence it must, ere long, be demonstrated by this country, under the light of Christianity, and in the presence of the world, that man cannot have property in his fellow-man.
And, again, let no one despair of the Republic or of the Union; nor let any, with rash confidence, believe that they are indestructible. They are human institutions built up through great sacrifices, and by the exercise of a high order of worldly wisdom. But the government is not an end—it is a means. The end is Liberty regulated by law; and the means will exist as long as the end thereof is attained. But, should the time ever come when the institutions of the country fail to secure the blessings of liberty to the living generation, and hold out no promise of better things in the future, I know not that these institutions could longer exist, of that they ought longer to exist. To be sure, the horizon is not always distinctly seen. The sky is not always clear; there are dark spots upon the disk of Liberty, as upon the sun in the heavens; but, like the sun, its presence is for all. And, whether there be night, or clouds, or distance, its blessings can never be wholly withdrawn from the human race.
It is not to be concealed, however, that the affections of the people have been alienated from the American Union during the last seven years, as they were from the union with Great Britain during the years of our colonial life immediately previous to the Massacre in King-street, in 1770. This solemn personal and public experience is fraught with a great lesson. It should teach those who are intrusted with the administration of public affairs to translate the language of the constitution into the stern realities of public policy, in the light of the Declaration of Independence, and of Liberty; and it should warn those who constitute the government, and who judge it, not to allow their opposition to men or to measures to degenerate into indifference or hostility to the institutions of the country.
A little distrust of ourselves, who see not beyond our own horizon, might sometimes lend charity to our judgment, and discretion to our opposition; for, in the turmoil of politics, and the contests of statesmanship, even, it is not always
“——the sea that sinks and shelves,
But ourselves,
That rook and rise
With endless and uneasy motion,
Now touching the very skies,
Now sinking into the depths of ocean.”
And, as there must be in every society of men something of evil that can be traced to the government, and something of good neglected that a wise and efficient government might have accomplished, it is easy to build up an argument against an existing government, however good when compared with others. This is a narrow, superficial, unsatisfactory, dangerous view to take of public affairs.
We should seek to comprehend the relations of the government, the principles on which it is founded; and, while we justly complain of its defects, and seek to remedy them, we ought also to compare it with other systems that exist, or that might be established. This proposition involves an intelligent realization by the people of the character of their institutions; and I am thus led to express the apprehension that the popular political education of our day is inferior to that of the revolutionary era, and of the age that immediately succeeded it.
There is, no doubt, a disposition and a tendency to extol the recent past. The recollections of childhood are quite at variance with the real truth, and tradition is often the dream of old age concerning the events of early life. As rivers, hills, mountains, roads, and towns, are all magnified by the visions of childhood, it is not strange that men should be also. Hence comes, in part, the popular belief in the superior physical strength and greater longevity of the people who lived fifty or a hundred years ago. Each generation is familiar with its predecessor; but of the one next remote it knows only the marked characters. Those who possessed great physical excellences remain; but they are not so much the representatives of their generation as its exceptions. The weak, the diseased, have fallen by the way; and, as there is an intimate connection between physical and intellectual power, the remnant of any generation, whatever its common character, will retain a disproportionate number of strong-minded men. Hence it is not safe to judge a generation as a whole by those who remain at the age of sixty or seventy years; especially if we reflect that public opinion and tradition are most likely to preserve the names and qualities of those who were distinguished for physical or mental power. Yet, after making due allowance for these exaggerations, I cannot escape the conclusion that we have, as a people, deteriorated in average sound political learning; and I proceed to mention some of the causes and evidences of our degeneracy, and of the superiority of our ancestors.
I. The political condition of the country has been essentially changed.—General personal and family comfort, according to the ideas now entertained, was not a feature of American society for one hundred and seventy years from the settlement at Plymouth. Life was a continual contest—a contest with the forest, with the climate, with the Indians, and especially was it a continual contest with the mother country. The colonists sought to maintain their own rights without infringement, while they accorded to the sovereign his constitutional privileges. Conflicts were frequent, and apprehensions of conflict yet more frequent. Hence those who had the conduct of public affairs were compelled to give some attention to English history, and to the constitutional law of Great Britain. Moreover, it was always important to secure and keep a strong public sentiment on the side of liberty; and there were usually in every town men who thoroughly investigated questions of public policy. There was one topic, more absorbing than any other, that involved the study of the legal history and usage of Great Britain, and a careful consideration of the general principles of liberty; namely, the constitutional rights of a British subject. Here was a broad field for inquiry, investigation, and study; and it was faithfully cultivated and gleaned. There has never been a political topic for public discussion in America more important in itself, or better calculated to educate an American in a knowledge of his political rights, than the examination of the political relations of the subject to the crown and parliament of Great Britain previous to the Declaration of Independence. It was not an abstraction. It had a practical value to every man in the colonies, and it was the prominent feature of the masterly exposition made by the Massachusetts House of Representatives, to which I have already referred. And we can better estimate the political education which the times furnished, when we consider that the revolutionary war was made logical and necessary through a knowledge of positions, facts, and arguments, scattered over the history of the colonies. But, when our Independence had been established and recognized, constitutions had been framed, and the governments of the states and nation set in motion, the beauty and harmony of our political system seemed to render continued attention to political principles and the rights of individual men unnecessary. Hence, we may anticipate the judgment of impartial history in the admission that public attention was gradually given to contests for office which did not always involve the maintenance of a fundamental principle of government, or the recognition of an essential human right. It does not, however, follow, from this admission, that we are indifferent to our political lot,—occasional contests upon principle refute such a conjecture,—but that men are not anxious concerning those things which appear to be secure. And the differences of political parties of the last fifty years have not been so much concerning the nature of human rights, as in regard to the institutions by which those rights can be best protected. Therefore our political questions have been questions of expediency rather than of principle. And, if there is any foundation for the popular impression that public offices are conferred on men less eminently qualified to give dignity to public employments, the reason of this degeneracy—less noteworthy than it is usually represented—is to be found in this connection.
Governments and political organizations accept the common law of society. When an individual or a corporation is prosperous, places of trust and emolument are often gained and occupied by unworthy men; but, when profits are diminished, or when they disappear entirely; when dividends are passed, when loss and bankruptcy are imminent, then, if hope and courage still remain, places of importance are filled by the appointment of abler and worthier men. The charge made against official character, to whatever extent true, is better evidence of confidence and prosperity than it is of the degeneracy of the people; and a public exigency, serious and long-continued, would call to posts of responsibility the highest talent and integrity which the country could produce. But it is, nevertheless, to be admitted as a necessary consequence of the facts already stated, and the views presented, that the average amount of sound political learning among those engaged in public employments is less than it was during the revolutionary era. It is, however, also to be observed, that, when such learning seems to be specially required, the people demand it and secure it. Hence the work of framing constitutions, even in the new states, has, in its execution, commanded the approval of political writers in this country and in Europe. And it must, also, be admitted that peace and prosperity render sound political learning and great experience less necessary, and at the same time multiply the number of men who are considered eligible to office. Candidates are put in nomination and elected because they have been good neighbors, honorable citizens, competent teachers of youth, or faithful spiritual guides; or, possibly, because they have been successful in business, are of the military or of the fire department, or because they are leaders and benefactors of special classes of society. In ordinary times these facts are all worthy of consideration and real deference; but when, as in the Revolution, every place of public service is a post of responsibility, or sacrifice, or danger, candidates and electors will not meet upon these grounds, but, disregarding such circumstances, the canvass will have special reference to the work to be done. For civil employments, political learning and experience are required; and for military posts, skill, sagacity, and courage. It may be said that our whole colonial life was a preparatory school for the revolutionary contest; and, therefore, the major part of the enterprise, ambition, and patriotism, of the country, was given to the training, studies, and pursuits, calculated to fit men for so stern a struggle. But now that other avenues are inviting in themselves, and promise political preferment, we are liable to the criticism that our young men, well educated in the schools and in a knowledge of the world, are not well grounded in political history and constitutional law, without which there can be no thorough and comprehensive statesmanship. And, as I pass from this branch of my subject, I may properly say that I do not seek to limit the number of candidates for public office; for every office is a school, and the public itself is a great and wise teacher. Nor do I ask any to abandon the employments and duties, or to neglect the claims of business and of social life; but I seek to impress upon our youth a sense of the importance of adding something thereto. The knowledge of which I have spoken is valuable in the ordinary course of public business, and absolutely essential in the exigences of political and national life. And it is with an eye single to the happiness of individuals, and the welfare of the public, that I invite my fellow-citizens, and especially the young men of the state, to take something from the hours of labor, where labor is excessive; or something from amusement, where amusement has ceased to be recreation; or something from light reading, which often is neither true, nor reasonable, nor useful; or something from indolence and dissipation; and, in the minutes and hours thus gained, treasure up valuable knowledge for the circumstances and exigences of citizenship and public office.
II. The claims of business and society are unfavorable to political learning.—I assume it to be true of Massachusetts that the proportion of freehold farmers to the whole population is gradually diminishing, and that the amount of labor performed by each is gradually increasing. From the settlement of the country to the commencement of the present century, there was a great deal of privation, hardship, and positive suffering; but the claim for continuous labor was not exacting.
The necessary articles of food and clothing were chiefly supplied from the land, and the majority did not contemplate any great accumulation of worldly goods, but sought rather to place their political and religious privileges upon a sure foundation. Agriculture was in a rude state, and consequently did not furnish steady employment to those engaged in it. It is only when there are valuable markets, scientific, or at least careful cultivation, and large profits, that the farmer can use his evenings and long winters in his profession. These circumstances did not exist until the present century; and we have thus in this discussion found both the motive and the opportunity for political learning among our ancestors.
It is also possible that the increased activity of business and business men is unfavorable to those studies and thoughts that are essential to political learning. Commerce and trade are stimulated by never-ceasing competition; and manufacturers are not free from the influence of markets, and the necessity of variety, taste, and skill, in the management of their business. If the larger share of the physical and mental vigor of a man is given to business, his hours of leisure must be hours of relaxation; and to most minds the study of history and of kindred topics is by no means equivalent to recreation. Moreover, society presents numerous claims which are not easily disregarded. Fashionable life puts questions that but few people have the courage to answer in the negative. Have you read the last novel? the new play? the reviews of the quarter? the magazines of the month? or the greatest satire of the age? These questions have puzzled many young men into customary neglect of useful reading, that they may not admit their ignorance in the presence of those whom they respect or admire.
But, everything valuable is expensive, and learning can be secured only by severe self-sacrifice. With our ancestors, after religious culture, historical and political reading was next immediately before them; but the youth of this generation who seek such learning are compelled to make their way without deference to the daily customs of society. There is no fashionable or tolerated society that invites young men to read the history of England prior to the time when Macaulay begins. Nor does public sentiment recommend De Lolme on the British constitution, the Federalist, the writings of Jefferson, Madison, Marshall, Story, and Webster, upon the constitution of the United States, and the practice of the government under it. Not but that these topics are considered in the higher institutions of learning; but I address myself to those who have enjoyed the advantages of our common schools only, where thorough instruction in national and general political history cannot be given. This kind of learning must be self-acquired, and acquired by some temporary sacrifice; and the sooner, in the case of every young man, this sacrifice is contemplated and offered, the more acceptable and useful it will be. And the acquisition of this kind of learning does not, in a majority of cases, admit of delay. It should be the work of youth and early manhood. The duties of life are so constant and pressing that we find it difficult to abstract ourselves and our thoughts from the world; but, from the age of sixteen to the age of twenty-five, the attention may be concentrated upon special subjects, and their elements mastered.
By the Athenian law, minority terminated at the age of sixteen years; and Demosthenes, at that period of his life, commenced a course of self-education by which he became the first orator of Athens, and the admiration of the after-world. The father of Demosthenes died worth fourteen talents; and the son, though defrauded by his guardians, was, as his father had been, enrolled in the wealthiest class of citizens; yet he did not hesitate to subject himself to the severest mental and physical discipline, in preparation for the great life he was to lead.
“Demosthenes received, during his youth, the ordinary grammatical and rhetorical education of a wealthy Athenian.... It appears also that he was, from childhood, of sickly constitution and feeble muscular frame; so that, partly from his own disinclination, partly from the solicitude of his mother, he took little part, as boy or youth, in the exercises of the palæstra.... Such comparative bodily disability probably contributed to incite his thirst for mental and rhetorical acquisitions, as the only road to celebrity open. But it at the same time disqualified him from appropriating to himself the full range of a comprehensive Grecian education, as conceived by Plato, Isokrates, and Aristotle; an education applying alike to thought, word, and action—combining bodily strength, endurance, and fearlessness, with an enlarged mental capacity, and a power of making it felt by speech.
“The disproportion between the physical energy and the mental force of Demosthenes, beginning in childhood, is recorded and lamented in the inscription placed on his statue after his death.... Demosthenes put himself under the teaching of Isæus;... and also profited largely by the discourse of Plato, of Isokrates, and others. As an ardent aspirant, he would seek instruction from most of the best sources, theoretical as well as practical—writers as well as lecturers. But, besides living teachers, there was one of the last generation who contributed largely to his improvement. He studied Thucydides with indefatigable labor and attention; according to one account, he copied the whole history eight times over with his own hand; according to another, he learnt it all by heart, so as to be able to rewrite it from memory, when the manuscript was accidentally destroyed. Without minutely criticizing these details, we ascertain, at least, that Thucydides was the peculiar object of his study and imitation. How much the composition of Demosthenes was fashioned by the reading of Thucydides, reproducing the daring, majestic, and impressive phraseology, yet without the overstrained brevity and involutions of that great historian,—and contriving to blend with it a perspicuity and grace not inferior to Lysias,—may be seen illustrated in the elaborate criticism of the rhetor Dionysius.
“While thus striking out for himself a bold and original style, Demosthenes had still greater difficulties to overcome in regard to the external requisites of an orator. He was not endowed by nature, like Æschines, with a magnificent voice; nor, like Demades, with a ready flow of vehement improvisation. His thoughts required to be put together by careful preparation; his voice was bad, and even lisping; his breath short; his gesticulation ungraceful; moreover, he was overawed and embarrassed by the manifestations of the multitude.... The energy and success with which Demosthenes overcame his defects, in such manner as to satisfy a critical assembly like the Athenians, is one of the most memorable circumstances in the general history of self-education. Repeated humiliation and repulse only spurred him on to fresh solitary efforts for improvement. He corrected his defective elocution by speaking with pebbles in his mouth; he prepared himself to overcome the noise of the assembly by declaiming in stormy weather on the sea-shore of Phalerum; he opened his lungs by running, and extended his powers of holding breath by pronouncing sentences in marching up-hill; he sometimes passed two or three months without interruption in a subterranean chamber, practising night and day either in composition or declamation, and shaving one-half of his head in order to disqualify himself from going abroad.”3 Yet all this effort and sacrifice were accompanied by repeated and humiliating failures; and it was not until he was twenty-seven years of age that the great orator of the world achieved his first success before the Athenian assembly.
But how can the youth of this age hope to be followers, even at a distance, of Demosthenes, and of those his peers, who, by eloquence, poetry, art, science, and general learning, have added dignity to the race, and given lustre to generations separated by oceans and centuries, unless they are animated by a spirit of progress, and cheered by a faith that shall be manifested in the disposition and the power to overcome the obstacles that lie in every one’s path?
Such a course of training requires individual effort and personal self-sacrifice. It would not be wise to follow the plan of the Athenian orator; he adapted his training to his personal circumstances, and the customs of the country. His history is chiefly valuable for the lessons of self-reliance, and the example of perseverance under discouragements, that it furnishes. But it is always a solemn duty to hold up before youth noble models of industry, perseverance, and success, that they may be stimulated to the work of life by the assurance of history that,
“Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.”
III. The popular reading of the day does not contribute essentially to the education of the citizen and statesman.—It is not, of course, expected that every man is to qualify himself for the life of a statesman; but it does seem necessary for all to be so well instructed in political learning as to possess the means of forming a reasonable and philosophical opinion of the policy of the government. It is as discreditable to the intellect and judgment of a free people to complain of that which is right in itself, and rests upon established principles of right, as to submit without resistance or murmur to usurpation or misgovernment. I do not mean to undervalue the periodical press; but it must always assume something in regard to its readers, and in politics it must assume that the principles of government and the history of national institutions are known and understood.
But the young man should subject himself to a systematic course of training; and I know of nothing more valuable in political studies than a thorough acquaintance with English history. Our principles of government were derived from England; and it is in the history of the mother country that the best discussion of principles is found, as in that country many of the contests for liberty occurred. But, as our government is the outgrowth rather than a copy of British principles and institutions, the American citizen is not prepared for his duties until he has made himself familiar with American history, in all its departments. How ill-suited, then, for the duties of citizenship and public life, in the formation of taste and habits of thought, is much of the reading of the present time! And I may here call attention to the fact that each town in Massachusetts is invested with authority to establish a public library by taxation. This, it seems to me, is one of the most important legislative acts of the present decennial period; and, indeed, a public library is essential to the view I am taking of the necessity and importance of political education. Private libraries exist, but they are not found in every house, nor can every person enjoy their advantages. Public libraries are open to all; and, when the selection of books is judicious, they furnish opportunities for education hardly less to be prized than the common schools themselves. The public library is not only an aid to general learning, a contributor to political intelligence and power, but it is an efficient supporter of sound morals, and all good neighborhood among men.
If the public will not offer to its youth valuable reading, such as its experience, its wisdom, its knowledge of the claims of society, its morality may select, shall the public complain if its young men and women are tempted by frivolous and pernicious mental occupations? It is, moreover, the duty of the public to furnish the means of self-education, especially in the science of government; and political learning, for the most part, must be gained after the school-going period of life has passed.
Let American liberty be an intelligent liberty, and therefore a self-sustaining liberty. Freedom, more or less complete, has been found in two conditions of life. Man, in a rude state, where his condition seemed to be normal, rather than the result of a process of mental and moral degeneracy, has often possessed a large share of independence; but this should by no means be confounded with what in America is called liberty. The independence of the savage, or nomad, is manifested in the absence of law; but the liberty of an American citizen is the power to do whatever may be beneficial to himself, and not injurious to his neighbor nor to the state. The first leaves self-protection and self-regulation to the individual, while the latter restrains the aggressive tendencies of all for the security of each. The first is natural equality without law; the second is natural equality before the law. With the first, might makes right; with the latter, right makes might. With the first, the power of the law, or of the will of an individual or clan, is in the rigor and success of execution; with the latter, the power of the law is in the justice of its demand. We, as a people, have passed the savage and nomadic state, and can return to it only after a long and melancholy process of decay and change, out of which ultimately might come a new and savage race of men. This, then, is not our immediate, even if it be a possible danger. But we are to guard against intellectual, political, and moral degeneracy. We are, through family, religious, and public education, to take security of the childhood and youth of the land for the preservation of the institutions we have, and for the growth, greatness, and justice, of the republic. Liberty in America, if you will admit the distinction, is a growth and not a creation. The institutions of liberty in America have the same character. By many centuries of trial, struggle, and contest, through many years of experience, sometimes joyous, and sometimes sad, the fact and the institutions of liberty in America have been evolved. It has not been a work of destruction and creation, but a process of change and progress. And so it must ever be. Reformation does not often follow destruction; and they who seek to destroy the institutions of a country are not its friends in fact, however they may be in purpose. Ignorance can destroy, but intelligence is required to reform or build up. Let the prejudice against learning, not common now, but possibly existing in some minds, be forever banished. Learning is the friend of liberty. Of this America has had evidence in her own history, and in her observation of the experience of others. The literary institutions and the cultivated men of America, like Milton and Hampden in England, preferred
“Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of servile pomp.”
It was the intelligence of the country that everywhere uttered and everywhere accepted the declaration of the town of Boston, in the revolutionary struggle, “We can endure poverty, but we disdain slavery.” Ignorance is quicksand on which no stable political structure can be built; and I predict the future greatness of our beloved state, in those historical qualities that outlast the ages, from the fact that she is not tempted by her extent of territory, salubrity of climate, fertility of soil, or by the presence and promise of any natural source of wealth, to falter in her devotion to learning and liberty. And I anticipate for Massachusetts a career of influence beneficial to all, whether disputed or accepted, when I reflect that, with less good fortune in the presence and combination of learning and liberty, Greece, Rome, Venice, Holland, and England, enjoyed power disproportionate to their respective populations, territory, and natural resources. And, while the object for which we are convened may pardon something to local attachments and state pride, the day and the occasion ought not to pass without a grateful and hearty acknowledgment of the interest manifested by other states and sections in the cause of general learning, and especially in common-school education. The Canadas are our rivals; the states of the West are our rivals; the states of the South are our rivals; and, were our greater experience and better opportunities reckoned against us, I know not that there would be much in our systems of education of which we could properly boast. It is, indeed, possible that North Carolina, untoward circumstances having their due weight, has made more progress in education, since 1840, than any other state of the Union.
Education is not only favorable to liberty, but, when associated with liberty, it is the basis of the Union and power of the American states. As citizens of the republic, we need a better knowledge of our national institutions, a better knowledge of the institutions of the several states, a more intimate acquaintance with one another, and the power of judging wisely and justly the policies and measures of each and all. These ends, aided or accomplished by general learning, will so strengthen the Union as no force of armies can—will so strengthen the Union as that by no force of armies can it be overthrown.
Footnote
3 Grote’s Hist., vol. xi., p. 266, et seq.