CHAPTER XX

PROGRESS AND PROSPECT

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already

AFTER nine months of college the freshman takes account of stock. He is nearly through with the wearing of the green. The hated badges of subordination are to be put aside. With chastened spirit he reviews the unexpected defeats of the year, and with confidence looks forward to the future. He has been through the mill; and so much of him as has escaped grinding, between the upper millstone of mathematics and the nether millstone of rhetoric, rejoices in the prospect of freedom. Nobody likes rhetoric; we may as well be candid about it. Rhetoric is regarded as a necessary evil; that is, everybody knows it to be an evil, and some admit it to be necessary. its drudgery can be mitigated by variety, and its humiliations tempered with rare but generous praise, that is the best that can be hoped for.

If

But it is of slight present importance whether one likes rhetoric or not. The question now, at the beginning of June, is, in the language of our Southern statesmen, "Where are we at?" What more do we know, what more can we do, than in September? How much better can the mind serve the will, and the tongue serve the mind? How much more efficient is the process that translates ideas into speech? Every student knows in his secret heart that these are among the things that count. They are not confined to rhetoric. They cover every study of the college year mathematics, science, foreign languages, and the rest. All were designed to sharpen the wits. All were intended

to shorten the time that it takes for a man to see things accurately, to reason soundly, and to act efficiently. It is a good thing for students to take an annual inventory at the close of a year's business.

The first essay of the year was an autobiography for the information of the instructor. The last essay may well be a personal inventory for the information of the student. Let us assume that the freshman is indebted to some older friend for the original suggestion that led him to come to college, or for pecuniary assistance, or for sympathy and helpful advice in some difficulty. To that friend what kind of report can the freshman make during the week before the June examinations? What progress can he report, and to what prospects can he honestly look forward? The title of this valedictory theme may be something like "What the Year Has Meant to Me," or "Profit and Loss," or "Assets and Liabilities." It will be exposition, description, and narrative all combined, with perhaps a bit of argument thrown in; a kind of "Apologia pro Vita Sua," or "Confessions of an Inquiring Mind," or something of that sort. Here is the chance to say all the hard things one has been saving up against the day of judgment; the chance, too, for certain discreet confessions of dawning humility and regretful ignorance. Humor will temper it, for a freshman's life is an intrinsically humorous thing, if he did but know it. Reminiscence will keep it free from triviality, for nine months are gone, and how little there is to show for them! There will be no whining, no boasting, and no sentimentality. The young man says to himself, "Nine months gone; at least four hundred dollars in real money paid out; and what for? What next?" If he will recall the fact that every freshman costs the college at least a hundred dollars more than he pays in tuition fees, which represents interest on the capital that society has invested in him as a prospective college man, it may help him to be honest with himself. "The first and worst of

all frauds is to cheat oneself."

Naturally a man will not put everything he thinks about it on paper. He would be a fool to do that, for some of the best things we ever say are the hard words we whisper to ourselves between clenched teeth when nobody is around. But, to the end that the freshman's June inventory shall be fairly complete, the following suggestive questions are offered:

THE TRIAL BALANCE SHEET

1. What have I really learned this year in the college classrooms ?

2. What have I learned from association with classmates ? 3. What have I learned from outside reading, apart from textbooks?

4. What have I learned of the methods and ideals of scholars? 5. How much more at home am I in a library, as a storehouse of facts and a center of intellectual interests ?

6. How much more do I know and care about the government, the people, the progress of the city and the country I live in ?

7. What more can I do with my mind than I could do last fall? 8. How much longer can I hold my attention on the words of a speaker ?

9. How much better can I concentrate my mind on a book and grasp the substance of what I am reading?

10. How much more capable am I of thinking, reading, and writing amid distractions?

11. How far have I advanced in the power to attack a problem, to face new facts and new situations?

12. How much less are my judgments of men and ideas the result of prejudice and impulse, how much more of reason?

13. How much better able am I to stand alone in a conscientious opinion, and to subordinate prejudice in order to coöperate with others?

14. Can I make myself understood in speech and writing better than I could last fall?

15. Can I talk in such a way as to defend myself when I know I am right, to persuade other men when I know they are wrong, and to make myself count in a crowd?

16. Can I name the weak points in my English, spelling, pronunciation, vocabulary, clear thinking, any plan for correcting them?

grammar, and have I

17. How many hours a day have I wasted this year? Is there any way to waste less next year?

18. What new interests have developed during the year?

19. What change has the year made in my plans for the future? 20. Has the spirit of the college got hold of me? If so, what is it, and what has it done for me? What can I do for it?

These are not unsuitable questions for one who has undertaken to live for a time the intellectual life in a society of scholars. They may be singularly unfit for some circles in which young men find themselves after a few months of drifting. But a man who faces, even once a year, the problem of his relative efficiency, as a product and as a producer, is not likely to waste much time in vain regrets. He is too busy considering how he may cease to be wholly an effect, and become in some small degree a cause. Having wearied of regarding himself as the helpless and hapless victim of a system, he decides to take a hand himself. Self-direction begins. The will wakes. Purpose begins to push, where before the system has had to pull. An enlightened self-interest, or an exalted altruism, may be equally effectual in leading a student to begin to study. That, just at present, is his real business. If either in learning or in power he feels himself radically wanting as he reviews the year, the path of opportunity lies open before him still.

Rhetoric, in short, is inseparable from life. It stands for human efficiency. Strip it of all forms and customs, and it proves to be nothing more nor less than the mind in communication with other minds for a desired end. With his hands a man works deeds changes in the position of matter; with his brain he works problems changes in the relation of his own ideas; with tongue and pen he shares his deeds, his problems, his knowledge, and his sympathies, with his fellows, thereby working a change in the relation of ideas in other minds. These three are all the kinds of work that a man can do in this world deeds, ideas, expression. Therefore a command of

!

good writing, and especially of clear and effective speaking, is the most important single element of education in a social democracy. Language that is but a borrowed garment will fail a man in some emergency. Language that is the man himself, made vocal by the mystery of words, links him with the past, the present, and the future: with the inheritance of the past, in history and literature; with the duty of the present, in social efficiency; with the hope of the future, in poetry and prophecy and prayer.

At the end, as at the beginning, let it be remembered that we cannot all be eloquent, but we can all be clear; we cannot all master language as a fine art, but we can all use it as a fine tool. College men in all their work will do well to remember that in the long run, while deeds, ideas, and ideals are the things that count most, they are all limited and interpreted and judged by words. No labor is too great that is necessary to the mastery of a good English style. Constant vigilance, self-criticism, and patient practice are the only means of attaining excellence. Here, as in all true study, the wise words of Francis Quarles bring mingled warning and hope:

"Be always displeased at what thou art, if thou desire to attain to what thou art not; for where thou hast pleased thyself, there thou abidest."