Continental Monthly , Vol. 6, No. 1, July, 1864

To say that we, as a nation, are following closely this golden mean, that our wisdom has enabled us to discover that which for so many ages has remained hidden from men, were simply egotistical bombast; for it were to assert that with us human nature had lost its fallibility and human judgment become unerring. Yet we may safely assert that no system exists at the present day which so clearly tends toward the attainment of such a mean, and which contains within itself so many elements of reform, as our own. For ours is a system of extreme elasticity, a sort of compensation balance, constructed with a view to the changing climate of the political world, and capable of accommodating itself to the shifting condition of men and things. And this not by forcing or leading public sentiment, but by yielding to it. Thus while it is founded upon, and in its workings evolves, so many lofty and ennobling truths, keeping constantly before the eyes of the people lessons of purity and moral dignity, acting as a check upon the visionary and a safeguard to our liberties, it nevertheless yields quietly to the requirements of the times, and changes according to the necessities of the governed, thus being far from proving a hamper upon our intellectual advancement, but, on the contrary, leaving free and unimpeded the paths of national progress. And it is one of the most distinctive features of our institutions that, while few foreign Governments admit of much change without danger of revolution, with us the most thorough reforms may be consummated and the greatest changes effected without danger of ruffling the waves of our society. For with us change is effected so gradually and in such exact consonance with the necessities of the people as to be almost imperceptible, and to afford no handle to the turbulent and designing revolutionist. The gratification of legitimate ambition is guaranteed, but our system utterly revolts against the sacrifice of the public good to the inordinate cravings of personal ambition or aggrandizement. It is in recognition of this principle of gradual change that the politician of to-day hesitates not to avow and to advocate principles which twenty years ago he deemed the height of political absurdity. It is not abstract truth that has altered, but the necessary modification of theories resulting from the altered condition and exigencies of society. Were this truth not recognized, no statesman could for many years retain his hold upon the popular appreciation, for he would at once be branded with inconsistency and incontinently thrown aside as an unsafe counsellor. Hence the hackneyed phrase, 'ahead of the times,' contains within itself a deep and important meaning, since it is but a recognition of the fact that relative right and wrong may change with the condition of society, and that theories may be beneficial in a more advanced stage, which at present would be noxious in the extreme, and that, in consequence, he is an unsafe leader who grasps at some exalted good without making sure of the preliminary steps which alone can make such blessings durable—who would, at a single leap, place the nation far ahead in the race of improvement, without first subjecting it to that trial and discipline which are absolutely necessary to fit it for a new sphere. And the extreme disfavor with which such agitators are regarded by society is an evidence of the safeguard which our institutions contain within themselves, which, by moulding the minds of the people to a proper appreciation of the blessings of limited reform and of the inevitable and necessary stages and degrees of progress, as well as of the danger of too sudden and radical change, effectually counteract the evil influence of the unmethodical and empirical reformer.

Our Government, in its form, can in no sense of the word be called a democracy, however much its workings may tend toward such a result in some far-distant future. It is founded in a recognition of the fact that however equal all men may be in their civil and political rights—however the humblest and most ignorant member of the community may be entitled to 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,' all men are not equal either in intellectual endowments or personal acquirements, and consequently in their influence upon society, or equally fitted either to govern or to choose their rulers. Our ancestors recognized the fact that the people are not, in the democratic sense of the term, fitted to govern themselves. Hence they threw around their system a network of safeguards, and adopted and firmly established restraints to counteract this principle of democratic rule, without which our infant republic would soon have fallen to pieces by the force of its own internal convulsions. And time has proven the wisdom of their course, and we shall do well if we shall reflect long and deeply before we essay to remove the least of those restraints, remembering that when once the floodgate is opened to change, the eternal tide is set in motion, and a precedent established which will prove dangerous if it be not carefully restrained within the limits of the necessities of the times.

To draw an illustration from the constitution of our body politic: we find that the people meet in their primary elections, and choose a representative to their State legislature, which representative is, theoretically, considerably advanced above his constituents in intellect, and in knowledge and experience of governmental affairs, and of the necessities of the nation; by whom, in conjunction with his colleagues—and not by the people themselves—a Senator is chosen to represent the State in the national Congress,—which Senator, in his turn, theoretically, is elevated above his constituents, not by the fortuitous circumstance of birth or of worldly possessions, but in point of intellect and acquirements, and consequent capacity to govern. Again, the people do not directly choose their President, but select certain electors, to whose superior wisdom and judgment is intrusted the task of determining who is most fitted to rule the nation for the coming presidential term. In the single instance of the representative to Congress do the people choose directly from among themselves. And this was adopted as a wise precaution that he, springing directly from their midst, owing both his present and future position to their suffrages, more closely identified with them in interest, and partaking more nearly of their modes of thought, and who from the shortness of his term might easily be displaced if he should prove recreant to his trust, thus having every inducement to correctly represent the sentiments and protect the rights of his constituents, might act as a check upon that other house, which, further removed in every respect from the people, elected more in accordance with, the aristocratic institutions of the mother country, and from this exalted and exclusive position, and long term of office, more liable to aristocratic influences, might be tempted to combine for the consolidation of power and the gratification of personal ambition, even at the expense of the liberties of the people.

Such is the theory of our form of Government; the practical working of it has altered with the times. While the form of the Constitution is still observed to the letter, the spirit is, in a great measure, abrogated. The people now choose only those representatives whose sentiments are well known and whose future course can safely be predicated—only those electors who stand pledged to cast their votes for a designated candidate. Yet even now there is nothing to prevent those representatives from pursuing a course entirely opposed to all previous professions, and the known wishes of their constituents—nothing to hinder those electors from casting their votes for some third party, or combining to place in the executive chair some unknown person whom the people have not chosen or desired; nothing, if only we except the eternal odium and political damnation of public opinion. Yet it may well be questioned if this same public opinion be not after all the safest custodian of the public interest, the most powerful restraint which could be imposed upon these representatives of the people to compel them to a strict performance of their trust.

Yet while, as we have said, a pure democracy is but another term for the highest type of civilization, the fact that our form of Government is not in any sense of the word a democracy, is no argument against our civilization, but rather in its favor. For it is but a recognition of the fact that no people on earth is yet fitted for a pure democracy as a basis of their institutions: it is an adapting of ourselves to that state of things for which we are most fitted, instead of grasping at some Utopian scheme of perfection, which the common sense of the nation tells us is beyond our present capacity. On the other hand, it is a frank acknowledgment of our own defects and frailties. As the 'γνὡσι σεαυτὁν' of the heathen philosophers contained within itself the germ of all individual philosophy and moral progress, so does it comprehend the whole problem of national growth and progress. It is only the rudest, most ignorant and barbarous nation that arrogates to itself perfection: it is that nation only which, conscious of no defects, sees no necessity for reform, and has no incentive thereto. The consciousness of defects, both physical and moral, is the life of all reform, and hence of all progress; while the capacity to detect error in our system implies the ability for thorough reform, and the cultivation which underlies such knowledge implies the inclination to effect it. The establishment of a pure democracy in our midst, in the present state of human advancement, were evidence of a lack of that civilization which depends upon earnest thought and a proper appreciation of the present capabilities as well as the frailties and imperfections of our humanity.

We have seen that while, in the matter of choosing our rulers and legislators, our institutions are, in their practical workings, democratic, in form they are by no means so. This cannot long remain so. An empty form is of little value, and ere many years the country will either return to the principles of the olden time—which in the present advanced state of public sentiment is not likely—or else sweep away the form and simplify the whole system. Already the question has begun to be agitated of submitting the presidential vote directly to the people without intervention of electors. But it may well be doubted whether, in the light of the political corruption of to-day, even this be not too great an advance upon the democratic principle for the moral condition of our people. For many years our country has been the victim of a demagoguism, resulting from the working of this very principle, and the question admits of serious discussion whether, instead of abrogating the form, a return to the spirit of the Constitution, while, at the same time, holding strictly amenable those to whom this important choice is intrusted, would not result in a pure and more statesmanlike administration of public affairs. For the elector, being held politically responsible for the conduct of the candidate for whom his vote was cast, and for all the evils resulting from mal-administration, would soon learn that to be faithful is not less important than to be wise, and that his political interest was identified with the well-being of the country. But it is one of the evils of our rapid progress that the past is looked upon with such disfavor as to effectually prevent a return even upon the path of error. In the pride of our civilization the simpler theories of the olden time are despised as unworthy of, if not wholly unfitted for, our present exalted intellectuality. The principle is ignored that reform may sometimes be effected by retracing the steps of years. Hence reform in this particular must either adopt the dangerous experiment of establishing the pure democratic principle, or else devise some third plan which shall charm by its novelty at the same time that it is founded upon some evident and abiding truth.

And in this connection another great evil becomes evident which is in itself a fault of our civilization, and not a defect arising from any fundamental error in our system; an evil which, although always predominant, has been more active in its workings, more injurious in its effects during the present war than ever before. It is the spirit of bitter, uncharitable, and even malicious opposition of the minority to the acts and theories of the party in power, forgetting that no great evil was ever yet effectually counteracted by opposition, which only fans the flame and makes the fire burn hotter. And while no good can be effected by such opposition, its direful effect is to divide the councils of the nation, to paralyze the executive arm in all times of great emergency, to render but half effectual every great national enterprise, to make wavering the national policy, to exasperate political parties more and more against each other, thereby dividing the people and weakening the national life and progress, preventing all concentration of effort and unanimity of purpose, and—worst of all—subjecting the country periodically to the violent shock of opposing systems, according as parties alternate in power, tossing the ship of state in the brief period of a four years' term from one wave of theory to another, and opposing one, only to be hurled back as violently as before. Can it be doubted that such a state of affairs is injurious to prosperity and either political or social advancement? Were the results of every Administration for good, there would be less danger; but radical evils cannot but result from the bitter partisanship of the party in power, and when the scale is reversed and the opposite party gains the ascendency, the new Administration has scarcely time to correct the errors of its predecessors and to establish its own theory, ere the popular tide ebbs and flows again in the opposite direction, the ins are out and the outs are in, and again the alternation begins. Certainly party divisions are the life of a republic, from their tendency to counterbalance each other, and periodically reform abuses, thus keeping the vessel in the straight course; yet when those divisions reach the point which we see in our midst to-day, when the avowal of any principle or theory by the one party, however just or beneficial it may seem, is but the signal for the uncompromising hostility and bitter denunciation of the opposition, who seek to make of it a handle to move the giant lever of political power, unmindful of the wants and the urgent necessities of the land—a hostility having for its basis the single fact that the new measures are unfortunately advocated by the opposite party—then such divisions become not only injurious to the body politic, but a foul blot upon the civilization of our day and nation. This is perhaps putting the question in a strong light; but, admitting that we have not yet reached that point, are we not swiftly drifting in that direction? Let every candid thinker put the question to himself and ponder it deeply, remembering, while looking for the ultimate result, that it was the bitter hostility of opposing factions which ruined the republics of old, and which to-day convulse many that might otherwise take rank among the most powerful and progressive nations of the earth, neutralizing their progress, and holding them constantly suspended above the gulf of anarchy and desolation.

Ask the oppositionist of to-day what he proposes or expects to accomplish by his hostility to the powers that be, and he will answer to little purpose. A vague idea is floating in his brain of some 'good time coming' for his party, yet he knows very little what or when this good time shall be, living on in the hope of some unknown event which shall reverse the political chessboard. The opposition of to-day is that of ultra conservatism to radicalism, of which the tendency of the one is toward the stationary, that of the other to the rapidly progressive. The so-called conservative, apparently blind to the result, and looking to a return of the nation to the worn-out theories of the past as the result of the efforts of his clique, is straining every nerve to paralyze the arm of the Government, and to neutralize the effect of every great achievement, doing everything in his power to exasperate the large majority who are endeavoring to sustain the country in her hour of peril, seemingly unconscious that in so doing he is not only working steadily to defeat his own purpose, but also paving the way for the destruction of his faction. For he is endeavoring to drag the country backward along the track of years—an object which, as all history proves, can never be effected with any progressive race; on the contrary, such nations have ever owed their ruin to the inevitable tendency to too rapid advancement. Again, by embittering the feelings of his opponents toward himself and his coadjutors, he is effectually preventing any future reconciliation and coöperation of the divided factions, in which only could he hope for success, and raising up a powerful opposition which will counteract all his future efforts.

A purer civilization would look at this question of party divisions in a different light, recognizing it as an institution of Providence, whereby great good may be effected when its benefits are properly appreciated, and at the same time as a terrible engine of destruction when misused or not properly controlled. A purer civilization would recognize and candidly acknowledge every element of good in the theories of even the fiercest opponents, and heartily coöperate in every enterprise whose tendency was to the national good, working steadily and cheerfully side by side with rivals and political opposers, and confining its own opposition strictly to those measures of which the effect is, judged by its own standard, obviously evil. The rôle of the true reformer is to glide quietly along with the tide of events, becoming reconciled to those measures which, though contrary to his own convictions, are nevertheless too firmly established to admit of being shaken by his most powerful efforts; and so while carefully avoiding all unnecessary antagonisms, all useless stirring up of old bitternesses, to seek so to identify himself with the current of events, and so to become part and parcel of the nation's political life and progress, as to be enabled to guide into the channel of future good the movement which at first started awry. Even where the vessel has widely diverged from the path of good, and follows that which leads to inevitable destruction, it is his part, instead of wasting his powers in useless struggles to stay her course, to continue on as part and parcel of the precious freight, seeking opportunity so to guide the erring prow that she shall be gradually diverted from the evil course toward some distant and advanced point of the forsaken track, without being violently dragged back along her wake. So reaching at last the accustomed course, the good ship will still be far advanced upon her way with all the benefits of past experience of evil to act as a warning against future digressions from the established path of progress. It will be time enough then to point out the dangers she has escaped, and to argue the absurdity of the olden theories which have so seriously interfered with her navigation. By such a course alone will he secure the respect of his opponents, and the love and admiration of those who never fail to appreciate sterling integrity of purpose, uprightness of motives, and persevering effort in the cause of the public good, which is that of the right and the true; and so only will he quiet and disarm that factious spirit which would otherwise be ever ready to start into a violent opposition at his first effort in the public cause. Nor must such a course imply time-serving or sycophancy, or the least concealment of any of the loftiest and noblest sentiments. In any matter of wrong, where the voice and the concentrated effort of the true philanthropist can avail to check the nation's career, the voice of the reformer should not fail to be raised in its most powerful tones, and all his energy exerted to form such political and social combinations as shall effect his purpose. But in those stages which are prominent in every nation's progress, when the tide of public opinion sets full and irresistibly in one direction, sweeping along all thought and energy in its course, against which it were madness to contend until the tempest shall have worn itself out by its own violence—more especially when the great questions involve a mere difference of opinion as to the results of important measures or the general tendency of the public policy—then, when opposition would only serve to arouse a factious or disputatious spirit, his part is to glide quietly along with the popular movement, acquiescing in and reconciling himself to the condition of affairs till such time as the public sentiment is ripe, and the circumstances fitting for the advocacy and the triumph of his own views; meanwhile letting no opportunity escape to guide the national mind and direct the nation's strivings to such a consummation.

By such a course only can he effect great results and make durable the establishment of his own cherished principles.

CHURCH MUSIC

From the earliest Christian period of which we have any knowledge, music has been employed in the public worship of Christian communities. Its purposes are, to afford to the devotion of the worshippers a means of expression more subtile than even human speech, to increase that devotion, and to add additional lustre and solemnity to the outward service offered to God. Music has a wonderful power in stirring the souls of men, in (so to speak) moving the soil of the heart, that the good seed sown by prayer and instruction may find ready entrance, and a wholesome stimulus to facilitate growth. Now, it is the duty of all concerned in the ordering of public worship to see that the music employed tends to effect these ends.

In the year 1565, the composers of church music were in the habit of employing so many and well-known secular melodies, and of rearing upon them and upon their own inventions such complicated and unintelligible contrapuntal structures, that the church authorities took the matter seriously in hand, and there is no knowing what might have been the final sentence, had not Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina brought his genius to the rescue, and, in sundry compositions, especially in a six-part mass, dedicated to Pope Marcellus II., shown that science need not exclude clearness, and the possibility of hearing the words sung, and that the truly inventive artist has no need to seek his themes in inappropriate spheres.

In this day we run little risk of ship-wreck through too great an amount of science. Scarlatti and Bach would laugh at the efforts styled 'canon' and 'fugue,' by the aspiring tyros of the present age. Our difficulties arise, not from musical complexity, but from want of suitableness, adaptation, and characterization, together with the ever-increasing feud between choir and congregational singing. In some churches on the Continent of Europe, these two latter modes are happily blended, certain services or portions of services being left to the choir, and the remainder being entrusted to the entire congregation. Of course this arrangement is only practicable where there is a certain variety in the musical portion of the service. Where the singing of hymns (in the ordinary sense of the phrase) is the only musical form used in the worship, such differences would be difficult to establish, and a variety of circumstances must determine which of the two modes, or what combination of them, be selected by the congregation. Even where splendor is studiously avoided, all desire order and decency in the conduct of public worship, and such order is painfully violated where discordant sounds or unsuitable selections of music are permitted to distract attention and disturb devotion. A ragged carpet, faded fringes, or dingy window panes, would speedily find a reformer; and surely the sensitive, defenceless ear has as good a claim to exact order as the more voluntary sense of seeing. Better, indeed, no music, than such as binds the wings of the soul to earth instead of aiding them to fly heavenward.

The above remarks apply as well to choir as to congregational singing. Let us suppose now that the mere primal foundation—the mechanical execution—be respectably good; that the congregation or choir have been taught to sing in tune; that all be harmonious and properly balanced; in short, that the auditory nerves be spared any very severe shock—and what then will we ordinarily find? A few good old church melodies, almost lost amid a dreary maze of the most recent droning platitudes, or a multitude of worldly acquaintances, negro minstrelsy, ancient love ditties, bar room roundelays, passionate scenes from favorite operas, with snatches from instrumental symphonies, concertos, or what not! Music, as I have said, is even more subtile in its power of expression than speech, and the new words, which we may perhaps not even hear, can never banish from our minds the old impressions associated with the melody. The ears may even be cognizant of the holy sentiments intended to be conveyed, but the mind's eye will see Sambo, 'First upon the heel top, then upon the toe;' the love-lorn dame weeping her false lover, 'Ah, no, she never blamed him, never;' a roystering set of good fellows clinking glasses, 'We won't go home till morning;' Lucia imploring mercy from her hard-hearted brother and selfish suitor; Norma confiding her little ones to the keeping of her rival; or perhaps the full orchestra at the last 'philharmonic,' supplying the missing notes, the beginning and the end of some noble idea, now vainly struggling with the difficulties and incongruities of its new position, its maimed members mourning their incompleteness, its tortured spirit longing for the body given by the original creator.