AN UNDEVELOPED FUNCTION.a By CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. History is past politics, and politics are present history.-Edward A. Freeman. Here are aphorisms from two writers, both justly distinguished in the field of modern historical research. Sententious utterances, they would probably, like most sententious utterances, go to pieces to a greater or less extent under the test of severe analysis. They will, however, now serve me sufficiently well as texts. That politics should find no place at its meetings is, I believe, the unwritten law of this association; and, by politics, I refer to the discussion of those questions of public conduct and policy for the time being uppermost in the mind of the community. Taking into consideration the character and purpose of our body, and the broad basis on which its somewhat loose membership rests, the rule may be salutary. But there are not many general propositions not open to debate; and so I propose on this occasion to call this unwritten law of ours in question. While so doing, moreover, I shall distinctly impinge upon it. Let us come at once to the point. May it not be possible that the unwritten law,—perhaps it would be better to speak of it as the tacit understanding, I have referred to, admits of limitations and exceptions both useful and desirable? Is it, after all, necessary, or, even from a point of large view, wellconsidered, thus to exclude from the list of topics to be discussed at meetings of historical associations, and especially of this Association, the problems at the time uppermost in man's thoughts? Do we not, indeed, by so doing abdicate a useful a President's address before the American Historical Association, December 27, 1901. 49 H. Doc. 702, pt. 1-+ public function,-surrender an educational office; practically admitting by our act that we can not trust ourselves to discuss political issues in a scholarly and historical spirit? In one word, are not those composing a body of this sort under a species of obligation, in a community like ours, to contribute their share, from the point of view they occupy, to the better understanding of the questions in active political debate? This proposition, as I have said, I now propose to discuss; and, in so doing, I shall, for purposes of illustration, draw freely on present practical politics,-using as object lessons the issues now, or very recently, agitating the minds of not a few of those composing this audience,-indeed, I hope, of all. I start from a fundamental proposition. The American Historical Association, like all other associations, whether similar in character or not, either exists for a purpose, or it had better cease to be. That purpose is, presumably, to do the best and most effective work in its power in the historical field. I then further, and with much confidence, submit that the standard of American political discussion is not now so high as not to admit of elevation. On the contrary, while, comparatively speaking, it ranks well both in tone and conduct, yet its deficiencies are many and obvious. That, taken as a whole, it is of a lower grade now than formerly, I do not assert; though I do assert, and propose presently to show, that in recent years it has been markedly lower than it was in some periods of the past, and periods within my own recollection. That, however, it is not so high as it should be,-that it is by no manner of means ideal,-all will, I think, admit. If so, that admission suffices for present purposes. My next contention is perhaps more open to dispute. It is a favorite theory now with a certain class of philosophers, somewhat inclined to the happy-go-lucky school, that in all things every community gets about what it asks for, and is qualified to appreciate. In political discussion-as in railroad or hotel service, and in literature or religion-the supply, as respects both quality and quantity, responds with sufficient closeness to the demand. There is, however, good reason for thinking that, with the American community which to-day is, or at least with some sections and elements thereof, this at best specious theory does not at the present time hold true. Our recent political debates have, I submit, been conducted on a level distinctly below the intelligence of the constituency; the participants in the debate have not been equal to the occasion offered them. Evidence of this is found in the absence of response. I think I am justified in the assertion that no recent political utterance has produced a real echo, much less a reverberation; and it would not probably be rash to challenge an immediate reference to a single speech, or pointed expression even, which, during the last presidental campaign, for instance, impressed itself on the public memory. That campaign, seen through the vista of a twelvemonth, was, on the contrary, from beginning to end, with a single exception, creditable neither to the parties conducting it, nor to the audience to whose level it was presumably gauged. Recall, I pray you, its incidents; already almost forgotten, they come back, when revived by an effort of memory, with a remote, far away echo, as of mockery. In the first place, on neither side were the issues of 1900 clearly defined or well presented; indeed, the long indecision as to what should be accepted as the "paramount issue" was, not remotely, suggestive of a certain very memorable "Hunting of the Snark." Ignoring the personal element which entered so largely into it, as it enters into all canvasses, the favorite argument with one set of orators was the post ergo propter, as illustrated in “the Full Dinner Pail;" which argument those of the other side met by fierce denunciation of "Department Stores," and the manifestly pertinent inquiry, addressed to the general auditory, as to what they proposed to do with their sons. The fate in store for their daughters, it was gloomily intimated, would admit of little question, should the opposing candidate be chosen. So far as what is known as "Labor" is concerned, one candidate posed as the prescriptive protector of American industry, while the other warmly declared himself in favor of "The Man against the Dollar." The talk from the hustings under this head was irresistibly suggestive of the scene in Dickens's Old Curiosity Shop,-the adherents of both candidates stoutly maintained that Codlin was the workingman's friend, not Short; Short might be very well as far as he went, but the real friend was Codlin. But, apart from this, the one noticeable feature, possibly the single significant feature of the canvass, was that it distinctly deteriorated as it progressed. It was opened by Mr. |