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Dynamic System Modelling and Analysis with MATLAB and Python
 IEEE Press
445 Hoes Lane
Piscataway, NJ 08854

IEEE Press Editorial Board

Sarah Spurgeon, Editor in Chief

Jón Atli Benediktsson Andreas Molisch Diomidis Spinellis

Anjan Bose Saeid Nahavandi Ahmet Murat Tekalp
Adam Drobot Jeffrey Reed
Peter (Yong) Lian Thomas Robertazzi
Dynamic System Modelling and Analysis
with MATLAB and Python

For Control Engineers

Jongrae Kim
University of Leeds
Leeds, UK

IEEE Press Series on Control Systems Theory and Applications

Maria Domenica Di Benedetto, Series Editor
Copyright © 2023 by The Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, Inc. All rights
reserved.

Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.

Published simultaneously in Canada.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise,
except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without
either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the
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http://www.wiley.com/go/permission.

Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and author have used their best
efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the
accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied
warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or
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herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a professional where
appropriate. Further, readers should be aware that websites listed in this work may have
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including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.
For general information on our other products and services or for technical support, please
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visit our web site at www.wiley.com.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Applied for:

Hardback: 9781119801627

Cover Design: Wiley

Cover Images: © Bocskai Istvan/Shutterstock

Set in 9.5/12.5pt STIXTwoText by Straive, Chennai, India

To Miyoung
 vii

Contents

Preface xiii
Acknowledgements xv
Acronyms xvii
About the Companion Website xix

1 Introduction 1
1.1 Scope of the Book 1
1.2 Motivation Examples 2
1.2.1 Free-Falling Object 2
1.2.1.1 First Program in Matlab 4
1.2.1.2 First Program in Python 10
1.2.2 Ligand–Receptor Interactions 14
1.3 Organization of the Book 21
Exercises 21
Bibliography 22

2 Attitude Estimation and Control 23

2.1 Attitude Kinematics and Sensors 23
2.1.1 Solve Quaternion Kinematics 26
2.1.1.1 MATLAB 26
2.1.1.2 Python 29
2.1.2 Gyroscope Sensor Model 33
2.1.2.1 Zero-Mean Gaussian White Noise 33
2.1.2.2 Generate Random Numbers 34
2.1.2.3 Stochastic Process 40
2.1.2.4 MATLAB 41
2.1.2.5 Python 45
2.1.2.6 Gyroscope White Noise 49
2.1.2.7 Gyroscope Random Walk Noise 50
2.1.2.8 Gyroscope Simulation 53
viii Contents

2.1.3 Optical Sensor Model 57

2.2 Attitude Estimation Algorithm 64
2.2.1 A Simple Algorithm 64
2.2.2 QUEST Algorithm 65
2.2.3 Kalman Filter 66
2.2.4 Extended Kalman Filter 75
2.2.4.1 Error Dynamics 76
2.2.4.2 Bias Noise 77
2.2.4.3 Noise Propagation in Error Dynamics 78
2.2.4.4 State Transition Matrix, Φ 84
2.2.4.5 Vector Measurements 84
2.2.4.6 Summary 86
2.2.4.7 Kalman Filter Update 86
2.2.4.8 Kalman Filter Propagation 87
2.3 Attitude Dynamics and Control 88
2.3.1 Dynamics Equation of Motion 88
2.3.1.1 MATLAB 91
2.3.1.2 Python 94
2.3.2 Actuator and Control Algorithm 95
2.3.2.1 MATLAB Program 98
2.3.2.2 Python 101
2.3.2.3 Attitude Control Algorithm 103
2.3.2.4 Altitude Control Algorithm 105
2.3.2.5 Simulation 106
2.3.2.6 MATLAB 107
2.3.2.7 Robustness Analysis 107
2.3.2.8 Parallel Processing 110
Exercises 113
Bibliography 115

3 Autonomous Vehicle Mission Planning 119

3.1 Path Planning 119
3.1.1 Potential Field Method 119
3.1.1.1 MATLAB 122
3.1.1.2 Python 126
3.1.2 Graph Theory-Based Sampling Method 126
3.1.2.1 MATLAB 128
3.1.2.2 Python 129
3.1.2.3 Dijkstra’s Shortest Path Algorithm 130
3.1.2.4 MATLAB 130
3.1.2.5 Python 131
 Contents ix

3.1.3 Complex Obstacles 134

3.1.3.1 MATLAB 135
3.1.3.2 Python 141
3.2 Moving Target Tracking 145
3.2.1 UAV and Moving Target Model 145
3.2.2 Optimal Target Tracking Problem 148
3.2.2.1 MATLAB 149
3.2.2.2 Python 151
3.2.2.3 Worst-Case Scenario 153
3.2.2.4 MATLAB 157
3.2.2.5 Python 159
3.2.2.6 Optimal Control Input 164
3.3 Tracking Algorithm Implementation 167
3.3.1 Constraints 167
3.3.1.1 Minimum Turn Radius Constraints 167
3.3.1.2 Velocity Constraints 169
3.3.2 Optimal Solution 172
3.3.2.1 Control Input Sampling 172
3.3.2.2 Inside the Constraints 175
3.3.2.3 Optimal Input 177
3.3.3 Verification Simulation 180
Exercises 182
Bibliography 182

4 Biological System Modelling 185

4.1 Biomolecular Interactions 185
4.2 Deterministic Modelling 185
4.2.1 Group of Cells and Multiple Experiments 186
4.2.1.1 Model Fitting and the Measurements 188
4.2.1.2 Finding Adaptive Parameters 190
4.2.2 E. coli Tryptophan Regulation Model 191
4.2.2.1 Steady-State and Dependant Parameters 194
4.2.2.2 Padé Approximation of Time-Delay 195
4.2.2.3 State-Space Realization 196
4.2.2.4 Python 205
4.2.2.5 Model Parameter Ranges 206
4.2.2.6 Model Fitting Optimization 213
4.2.2.7 Optimal Solution (MATLAB) 221
4.2.2.8 Optimal Solution (Python) 223
4.2.2.9 Adaptive Parameters 226
4.2.2.10 Limitations 226
x Contents

4.3 Biological Oscillation 227

4.3.1 Gillespie’s Direct Method 231
4.3.2 Simulation Implementation 234
4.3.3 Robustness Analysis 241
Exercises 245
Bibliography 246

5 Biological System Control 251

5.1 Control Algorithm Implementation 251
5.1.1 PI Controller 251
5.1.1.1 Integral Term 252
5.1.1.2 Proportional Term 253
5.1.1.3 Summation of the Proportional and the Integral Terms 253
5.1.1.4 Approximated PI Controller 253
5.1.1.5 Comparison of PI Controller and the Approximation 254
5.1.2 Error Calculation: ΔP 260
5.2 Robustness Analysis: 𝜇-Analysis 269
5.2.1 Simple Examples 269
5.2.1.1 𝜇 Upper Bound 272
5.2.1.2 𝜇 Lower Bound 275
5.2.1.3 Complex Numbers in MATLAB/Python 278
5.2.2 Synthetic Circuits 280
5.2.2.1 MATLAB 281
5.2.2.2 Python 281
5.2.2.3 𝜇-Upper Bound: Geometric Approach 290
Exercises 291
Bibliography 292

6 Further Readings 295

6.1 Boolean Network 295
6.2 Network Structure Analysis 296
6.3 Spatial-Temporal Dynamics 297
6.4 Deep Learning Neural Network 298
6.5 Reinforcement Learning 298
Bibliography 298

Appendix A Solutions for Selected Exercises 301

A.1 Chapter 1 301
Exercise 1.4 301
Exercise 1.5 301
 Contents xi

A.2 Chapter 2 302

Exercise 2.5 302
A.3 Chapter 3 302
Exercise 3.1 302
Exercise 3.6 303
A.4 Chapter 4 303
Exercise 4.1 303
Exercise 4.2 303
Exercise 4.7 304
A.5 Chapter 5 304
Exercise 5.2 304
Exercise 5.3 304

Index 307
 xiii

Preface

This book is for control engineers to learn dynamic system modelling and sim-
ulation and control design and analysis using MATLAB or Python. The readers
are assumed to have the undergraduate final-year level of knowledge on ordinary
differential equations, vector calculus, probability, and basic programming.
We have verified all the MATLAB and Python codes in the book using MATLAB
R2021a and Python 3.8 in Spyder, the scientific Python development environment.
To reduce the confusion in running a particular program, most of the programs are
independent on their own. Organizing programming with multiple files is left as
an advanced skill for readers to learn after reading this book.

Leeds, West Yorkshire, England, UK Jongrae Kim

30 November 2021
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
come upon one of the most ancient forms of reasoning, one that has
engaged the attention of wise men since Aristotle,—a fallacy.”
In the opening chapters, Scholasticus gives a description of the more
common fallacies, with an account of their habits of growth and of the
soils in which they most flourish. “Petitio Principii, or begging the
question. This is a very pretty little fallacy of vine-like habit. It is found
growing beside old walls, and wherever it is not likely to be disturbed. It
is easily propagated from slips, each slip being capable of indefinite
multiplication, the terminal buds sending down new roots, and the
process of growth going on continuously. So tenacious is it that it is
practically impossible to eradicate the petitio, when once it has fairly
established itself. It recommends itself on the ground of economy. In
most arguments the attempt is made to prove one thing by means of
another thing. This, of course, involves a considerable waste of good
material. In begging the question, by means of one proposition we are
enabled to prove a proposition that is identical with it. In this way an idea
may be made to go a long way.
“The most familiar variety of this fallacy is that known as the Argument in
a Circle. To those who are fond of arguments, but who can afford very
little mind space for their cultivation, this is an almost ideal fallacy. It
requires only the slightest soil, deriving its nutriment almost wholly from
the air, and reproducing itself without the slightest variation in type.
“Its hardiness and exuberant efflorescence make it desirable for many
purposes. It is useful as a screen to hide the more unsightly parts of one’s
intellectual grounds. Often, too, there may be an argumentative structure
that has fallen into decay. Its real reason for existence is no longer
obvious, yet it may have associations which make us reluctant to tear it
down. In such a case, nothing is easier than to plant a slip of the circular
argument. In a short time the old ruin becomes a bower, covered with an
exuberant efflorescence of rationality. This argument is to be
recommended for a Woman’s Hardy Garden of Fallacies.
“It is one which gives great pleasure to a home-loving person who finds
satisfaction in that which is his own. Often have I seen a householder
sitting under its sweet shade, well content. He was conscious of having
an argument which answered to all his needs, and which protected him
alike from the contradiction of sinners and from the intrusive questioning
of the more critical sort of saints. He had such satisfaction as came to
Jonah, when the booth he had constructed, with such slight skill as
belonged to an itinerant preacher, was covered by the luxuriant gourd
vine. Things were not going as he had expected in Nineveh, and current
events were discrediting his prophecies, but Jonah ‘rejoiced with great joy
over the gourd.’
“I may be pardoned, in treating the circular argument, for deviating, for a
moment, from the field of botany into the neighboring field of zoölogy.
For after all, the same principles hold good there also, and as we are
forming the habit of looking at thought as a kind of plant, we may also
consider it as a kind of animal,—let us say, if you please, a goldfish. You
have often paused to watch the wonders of marine life as epitomized in a
glass globe upon your centre-table. Those who go down to the sea in
ships have doubtless seen more of the surface of waters, but they have
not the same facilities for looking into its interior life that you have in your
aquarium. A school of goldfishes represent for you the finny monsters of
the deep. You see the whole world they move in. The encircling glass is
the firmament in the midst of the waters. The goldfishes go round and
round, and have a very good time, and have many adventures, but they
never get out of their crystal firmament. You may leave them for half a
day, but when you come back you know just where to find them. An
aquarium is a much safer place for goldfishes to swim in than the ocean;
to be sure, they do not get on far, but on the other hand they do not get
lost, and there are no whales or even herrings, to make them afraid.
There is the same advantage in doing our reasoning in a circle. We can
keep up an argument much longer when we are operating in friendly
waters and are always near our base of supplies. The trouble with
thinking straight is, that it is likely to take us too far from home. The first
we know we are facing a new issue. From this peril we are saved by the
habit of going round and round. He who argues and runs away from the
real difficulty lives to argue another day, and the best of it is the
argument will be just the same.
“Argumentum ad Hominem. This is a large family, containing many
interesting varieties. The ad hominem is of parasitic growth, a sort of
logical mistletoe. It grows not out of the nature of things, but of the
nature of the particular mind to which it is addressed. In the cultivation of
this fallacy it is only necessary to remember that each mind has its weak
point. Find out what this weak point is, and drop into it the seed of the
appropriate fallacy, and the result will exceed your fondest anticipation.
“Again with the reader’s kind permission, I will stray from the field of
botany; this time into that of personal experience. At the risk of falling
into obsolete and discredited methods of instruction, I will ask you for the
moment to look in and not out.
“Dear Reader, often, when reasoning with yourself, especially about your
own conduct, you have found comfort in a syllogism like this:—
I like to do right.
I do what I like.
Therefore, I do what is right.
The conclusion is so satisfactory that you have no heart to look too
narrowly at the process by which it is attained. When you do what you
like, it is pleasant to think that righteousness is a by-product of your
activity. Moreover, there is a native generosity about you which makes
you willing to share with others the more lasting benefits which may
ensue. You are ready to believe that what is profitable to you must also
be profitable to them in the long run,—if not in a material, then in a
spiritual way. All the advantage that comes to you is merely temporary
and personal. When you have reaped this scanty harvest, you do not
begrudge to humanity in general its plentiful gleanings. In your altruistic
mood you do not consider too carefully the particular blessing which your
action has bestowed on the world; you are content with the thought that
it is a good diffused.
“When out of what is in the beginning only a personal gratification there
grows a cosmic law, we have the Argumentum ad Hominem. There are
few greater pleasures in life than that of having all our preferences
justified by our reason. There are some persons who are so susceptible to
arguments of this kind that they never suffer from the sensation of having
done something wrong,—a sensation which I can assure you is quite
disagreeable. They might suspect they had done wrong, were it not that
as soon as they begin to reason about it they perceive that all that
happened was highly to their credit. The more they think about it, the
more pleased they are with themselves. They perceive that their action
was much more disinterested than, at the time, they intended. They are
like a person who tumbles into the Dead Sea. He can’t go under even if
he tries. It is, of course, a matter of specific gravity. When a conscience is
of less specific gravity than the moral element into which it is cast, it
cannot remain submerged. The fortunate owner of such a conscience
watches it with satisfaction when it serenely bobs to the surface; he
advertises its superlative excellence,—‘Perfectly Pure! It floats.’
“The great use of the ad hominem argument is like that of certain
leguminous plants which enrich the soil by giving to it elements in which
it had been previously lacking. After a crop of ad hominem arguments has
grown and been turned under, we may expect a rich harvest of more
commercially valuable fallacies in the next season. To thus enrich the soil
is an evidence of the skill of the culturist.
“Suppose, for example, you were to attempt to implant this proposition in
the unprepared mind of an acquaintance, ‘All geese are swans.’ The
proposition is not well received. All your friend’s ornithological prejudices
are against it. There is no foodstuff to support your theory.
“But suppose you prepare the soil by a crop of the ad hominem
argument. You say to your friend, after looking admiringly at his
possessions, ‘It seems to me that all your geese are swans.’ He answers
cordially, ‘That’s just what I was thinking myself.’ Now you have nicely
prepared the ground for further operations.
“While controversial theologians have always had a fondness for
arguments in a circle, the ad hominem arguments have been largely
cultivated by politicians. More than a generation ago Jeremy Bentham
published a work called ‘Political Fallacies.’ He described those that are
indigenous to the British Isles. Almost all on his list were of the ad
hominem variety. He described particularly those which could be grown to
advantage in the Houses of Parliament. Since Bentham’s day, much has
been done in America in the way of propagating new varieties. Many of
these, though widely advertised, have not yet been scientifically
described. I have thought that if my present book is well received, I
might publish another covering this ground. It will probably be entitled,
‘Reasoning for Profit; or Success with Small Fallacies.’
“The great essential in arguments of this kind is to have a thorough
knowledge of the soil. Given the right soil, and the most feeble argument
will flourish. Take, for example, the arguments for the divine right of kings
to rule, once much esteemed by court preachers. Of course the first
necessity was to catch your kings. The arguments in themselves were
singularly feeble, but they flourished mightily in the hotbeds of royalty.
The trouble was that they did not bear transplanting.
“Half a century ago there were a dozen thrifty arguments for human
slavery. They are, abstractly speaking, as good now as they ever were,
but they have altogether passed out of cultivation.
“In landscape gardening groups of the ad hominem arguments skillfully
arranged are always charming. Much discrimination is needed for the
adornment of any particular spot. Suppose you were called upon to
furnish fallacies for an Amalgamated Society of Esoteric Astrologers. You
might safely, in such fertile soil and tropical climate, plant the most
luxuriant exotics. Such airy growths, however, would be obviously
inappropriate for a commercial club composed of solid business men. You
would for them choose rather a sturdy perennial, for example, the
argumentum ad Pennsylvaniam, or tariff-bearing argument.
“It grows thus:—
The tariff is that which conduces to our prosperity.
A tax does not conduce to our prosperity.
Therefore, a tariff is not a tax.
“Persons who have confined their logical exercises to the task of
convincing impartial minds have no idea of the exhilaration which comes
when one has only to convince a person of the wisdom of a course of
action he has already taken. There is really no comparison between the
two. There is all the difference that there is between climbing an icy hill
and sliding down the same hill on a toboggan. There is no intellectual
sport equal to that of tobogganing from a lofty moral premise to a
congenial practical conclusion. We go so fast that we hardly know how we
got to the bottom, but there we are, safe and sound. We have only to
choose our company and hold on; gravitation does the rest. It is
astonishing what conclusions we can come to when we do our reasoning
in this pleasantly gregarious fashion.
“Ignoratio Elenchi, or the fallacy of irrelevant conclusion. This is not a
natural species, but the result of artifice. It is a familiar kind of argument.
It begins well, and it ends well, but you have a feeling that something has
happened to it in the middle. You have noticed in the orchard an apple
tree that starts out to be a Pippin, but when the time comes for it to bear
fruit it has apparently changed its mind, and has concluded to be a Rhode
Island Greening. Of course you are aware that it has not really changed
its mind, for the laws of Nature are quite invariable. The whimsicality of
its conduct is to be laid not upon Nature, but upon Art. The gardener has
skillfully grafted one stock upon another. The same thing can be done
with an argument. You have often observed the way in which a person
will start out to prove one proposition and after a little while end up with
the triumphant demonstration of something that is quite different. He
shows such an ability at ratiocination that you cannot help admiring his
reasoning powers, though it is hard to follow him. Your bewilderment
comes from the fact that you had expected the original seedling to bring
forth after its kind, and had not noticed the point where the scion of a
new proposition had been grafted on.
“Many persons are not troubled at all when the conclusions are irrelevant.
They rather like them that way. If an argument will not prove one thing,
then let it prove another. It is all in the day’s work. To persons with this
tolerant taste the variety afforded by the use of the ignoratio elenchi is
very pleasing.”
A chapter is given to the Cross-fertilization of Fallacies. The author shows
how two half-truths brought together from two widely separated fields of
thought will produce a new and magnificently variegated form of opinion.
The hybrid will surpass specimens of either of the parent stocks both in
size and showiness. Thus a half-truth of popular religion cross-fertilized by
a half-truth of popular science will produce a hybrid which astonishes
both the religious and the scientific world. If we were following the
analogy of mathematics we might assume that two half-truths would
make a whole truth. But when we are dealing with the marvelous
reproductive powers of nature we find that they make much more than
that.
Scholasticus gives a page or two to the Dwarfing of Arguments. “The
complaint is sometimes heard that an argument which is otherwise
satisfactory proves too much. This may seem a good fault to those whose
chief difficulty is in making their arguments prove anything at all. But I
assure you that it is really very troublesome to find that you have proved
more than you intended. You may have no facilities for dealing with the
surplus conclusions, and you may find all your plans disarranged. For this
reason many persons, instead of cultivating arguments of the standard
sizes which take a good deal of room, prefer the dwarf varieties. These
are very convenient where one does not wish one principle to crowd out
another that may be opposed to it. Persons inclined to moderation prefer
to cultivate a number of good ideas without crowding. The dwarf varieties
are pleasing to the cultivated taste, as they are generally exceedingly
symmetrical, while full-grown ideas, especially in exposed places, are apt
to impress one as being scraggly.
“Dean Swift, who had no taste for miniature excellencies, spoke scornfully
of those who plant oaks in flower-pots. I have, however, frequently seen
very pleasing oaks grown in this way, and they were not in very big
flower-pots, either.
“In moral reasoning, it is especially difficult to keep our conclusions
moderate enough for our convenience. An ordinary argument always
tends to prove too much. This is disconcerting to those who are
endeavoring to live up to their favorite text, ‘Be not overmuch righteous.’
The danger of overmuchness is obviated by cultivating the fashionable
dwarf varieties of righteousness.
“Various methods of dwarfing are practiced with success. Training will do
much; you have seen trees dwarfed by tying them to a trellis or against a
wall or to stakes, and preventing their growth beyond the prescribed
limits. Incessant pruning is necessary, and each new growth must be
vigorously headed back. By using the same means we may cultivate a
number of fine ideas, and at the same time keep them fairly small.”
The least satisfactory chapter is that on Pests. “It is easy enough,” says
Scholasticus, “to describe a pest, but it is another matter to get rid of it.
The most painstaking fallacy culturist must expect to awake some
morning and behold his choicest arguments laid low by some new kind of
critic. There seems to be no limit to the pestiferous activity of these
creatures. They are of two kinds: those that bite, cutting off the roots of
the argument, and those that suck out the juices. These latter destroy the
vital tissue of inference on which everything depends. I never met any
one who cultivated arguments on a large scale who did not have his tale
of woe.
“I had at one time a theological friend who had great reputation as a
dogmatist. He had for many years a garden of fallacies which was one of
the show places. It was in a sheltered situation, so that many fine old
dogmas flourished which we do not often, in these days, see growing out
of doors. Everything went well until the locality became infested with
destructive criticism. He tried all the usual remedies without success. At
last he became utterly discouraged, and cut out all the dead wood, and
uprooted all the dogmas that were attacked by the pest. Since then he
has given up his more ambitious plans, and he has only a simple little
place where he cultivates those fruits of the spirit which are not affected
by destructive criticism. It is only fair to say that he is making a very
pleasant place of it.
“For the encouragement of those who are not ready to take such heroic
methods, it may be said that eternal vigilance, though not a panacea, will
do much. Some of the most dreaded species of critics are not so
dangerous as they seem. Many persons fear the Criticus Academicus. I
have, however, seen fallacies which survived the attacks of this species
and fell easy victims to the more troublesome Criticus Vulgaris, or
Common Gumption.
“The worst pest is what is known as the Reductio ad Absurdum. This is a
kind of scale which grows upon a promising argument and eats out its
life. It is so innocent in its appearance that at first one does not suspect
its deadly character. In fact, it is sometimes taken as an agreeable
ornament. After a little while the argument is covered over with a sort of
dry humor. There is then no remedy.”
In the chapter on the use of artificial fertilizers, Scholasticus deals
particularly with statistics. He refers incidentally to their use in the
cultivation of valid arguments. Their importance here is universally
acknowledged. “It should be remembered,” he says, “that in this case
success depends upon the extreme care with which they are used. An
unusual amount of discrimination is demanded in their application. For
this reason, if solid conclusions, that head well, are expected, only
experts of good character can be trusted to do the work.
“There is no such difficulty in the use of statistics, if the grower is content
with arguments of the fallacious order. Statistics are recommended for a
mulch. By covering a bed of fallacies with a heavy mulch of miscellaneous
statistical matter it is protected from the early frosts and the later
drought. The ground of the argument is kept thus in a good condition. No
particular care is here needed in the application of statistics; any man
who can handle a pitchfork can do all that is required. I have seen
astonishing results obtained in this way. No one need be deterred by the
consideration of expense. In these days statistics are so cheap that they
are within the reach of all. If you do not care to use the material freely
distributed by the government, you can easily collect a sufficient amount
for yourself.
“The best way is to prepare circulars containing half a dozen irrelevant
questions, which you send to several thousand persons,—the more the
better. If you enclose stamps, those who are good-natured and
conscientious will send you such odd bits of opinion as they have no other
use for, and are willing to contribute to the cause of science. When the
contributions are received, assort them, putting those that strike you as
more or less alike in long, straight rows. Another way, which is more
fancy, is that of arranging them in curves. This is called ‘tabulating the
results.’ When the results have been thoroughly tabulated, use in the
manner I have described for the protection of your favorite arguments.”

* * * * * *
In this way the book ran on for some three hundred pages. After I had
read it, I congratulated Scholasticus on his effort. “You have almost
succeeded,” I said, “in making Logic interesting; that is, if it is Logic. Now
that you have made such a good beginning, I wish you might go further.
You have taught us, by a natural method, how to reason fallaciously. I
wish you would now teach us how to reason correctly.”
“I wish I could,” said Scholasticus.
 THE DIFFICULTIES OF THE PEACEMAKERS

T O one who aspires to “sit and shake in Rabelais’ easy-chair,” the

greeting “Peace on Earth” is a godsend. Was ever such a provocative
to satire? Did ever human nature appear in a disguise more ridiculously
transparent than when assuming the part of Peacemaker in the midwinter
pantomimes, and impudently laying claim to the very choicest beatitude?
The bold masquerader has not even the grace to hide his big stick, but
waves it as a wand. We are asked to believe that the vigorous flourishes
of this same big stick prepare for the age of peace “by prophets long
foretold.”
“Have you ever been to a Peace Convention?” asks the amateur cynic. “It
is good fun if you are fortunate enough to be able to watch the
proceedings from the seat of the scornful. First come the advocates of
Peace pure and simple, enthusiasts for non-resistance. As you listen to
the reports of the delegates you feel that the time has already come
when ‘the lion shall eat straw like the ox.’ Your sympathies go out to the
poor beast in his sudden change of diet,—for we of the Carnivora have no
great appetite for straw. After a time the lions are led out to speak for
themselves. Representatives of the different nations give greetings. It
appears from their remarks that the cause is one that has always been
nearest to their valiant hearts. No need to take measures to convert
them,—they have always been on the right side. What were teeth and
claws invented for, if not to enforce peace on earth?
“Each nation points with pride to its achievements. Has not Great Britain
made peace in South Africa, and the United States of America established
it in the Philippines; and was not Russia a while ago endeavoring to
establish it in Manchuria? Even the little powers are at work for the same
end. Is not disinterested Belgium making peace on the banks of the
Congo, with rubber and ivory as a by-product? Has not Holland for these
many years been industriously weeding out the malcontents in Java? The
Christian message of good will has now reached the most remote
recesses of the earth. Even the monks in Thibet have heard the good
news. They must pay a good round sum for it, to be sure; but what else
could they expect when the message must be carried to them away up on
the roof of the world, quite beyond the limits of the free delivery? It’s
their own fault that they never got into full connection with Christendom
before. These unsocial creatures have for generations been enjoying a
selfish peacefulness of their own. They have been like a householder who
has a telephone, but will not allow his number to go on the book. He likes
to bother other people, but will not allow them to bother him. It has long
been known that the Mahatmas in Llassa were in the habit of projecting
thought vibrations to the ends of the earth, and muddling the brains of
the initiated; but the general public could not reciprocate. The British
expedition has changed all that. Now when Christendom rings them up
they’ve got to answer.”
That word “Christendom” has a singular effect upon the cynic. It draws
out all his acrid humor; for it seems to him the quintessence of hypocrisy.
“Christian nations! Christian civilization! A fine partnership this, between
the brutal and the spiritual! In the pre-Christian era war was a very
simple thing. Read the record of an Israelitish expedition in the Book of
Chronicles. ‘And they went to the entrance of Gedor, even unto the east
side of the valley, to seek pasture for their flocks. And they found fat
pasture and good, and the land was wide and quiet and peaceable; for
they of Ham had dwelt there of old. And these written by name came in
the days of Hezekiah, king of Judah, and smote their tents and the
habitations that were found there, and destroyed them utterly unto this
day, and dwelt in their rooms; because there was pasture there for their
flocks.’
“What an unsophisticated account of an ordinary transaction! Even the
sons of Ham could understand the motive. There was no profession of
benevolent intent, not even an eloquent reference to manifest destiny;
the fat pastures were a sufficient reason. In these days the unwilling
beneficiaries of civilization have a harder time of it. No sooner are they
dispossessed of their lands than they are called together to rejoice over
the good work that has been done for them. This is a. d. and not b. c. The
new era began with an angel chorus; let us all join in the refrain. First of
all, decorum requires that the bare facts be decently arrayed in spiritual
garments. With the skill that is the result of long practice the ugliest fact
is fitted. It is a triumph of dressmaking. The materials may be a trifle
threadbare, but with a little fullness here and a breadth taken out there,
each garment is made as good as new. Not a blood-stain shows.”

* * * * * *
This is a free country, and the cynic must be allowed his fling. But if he
has license to speak his mind in regard to the simple-hearted people who
believe in Peace, we must be privileged to say what we think of him. The
truth is that we think him to be a rather shallow-pated fellow who has
been educated above his deserts. For all his knowing ways he has had
but little knowledge of the world. He has seen the things which are
obvious, the things that are shown to every outsider. He prides himself on
his familiarity with accomplished facts, not realizing that these belong to
the world that is passing away. The interesting things to see are those
which belong to the world that is in process of becoming. These are not
visible from the seat of the scornful.
The sweeping accusation of hypocrisy against men or nations whenever
an incongruity is perceived between a professed purpose and an actual
achievement is an indication of too great simplicity of mind. It is the
simplicity that is characteristic of one without experience in the work of
creation.
The cynic, perceiving the shortcomings of those who “profess and call
themselves Christians,” greets their professions with a bitter laugh. He
cannot tolerate their pretensions, and he urges them to return to a frank
profession of the paganism which their deeds proclaim. Now it is
eminently desirable that all who profess and call themselves Christians
should be Christians,—but that takes time. The profession is the first
step; that puts a whip into the hand of conscience. Not only do a man’s
friends, but particularly his enemies, insist that he shall live up to his
name. It is a wholesome discipline. In a new country two or three houses
set down in a howling wilderness are denominated a city. It is a mere
name at first, but if all goes well other metropolitan features are added in
due time. I remember a most interesting visit which I once made to a
university in a new commonwealth. The university consisted of a board of
regents, an unfenced bit of prairie for a “campus,” a president (who was
also professor of the Arts and Sciences), a janitor, and two unfinished
buildings. A number of the village children took courses which, if
persisted in for a number of years, might lead to what is usually termed
the Higher Education. One student from out of town dwelt in solitary
state in the dormitory. The president met me with great cordiality, and
after showing me “the plant” introduced me to the student. It was
evident that they were on terms of great intimacy, and that discipline in
the university was an easy matter, owing to the fact that the student body
was homogeneous.
Now it would be easy for one under such circumstances to laugh at what
seemed mere pretentiousness. “It was nothing more than a small school;
why not call it that and be done with it?” The reason for not doing so was
that it aimed at being a university. Its name was a declaration of purpose.
“Despise not the day of small things.” The small things may be very real
things; and then they have a trick of growing big before you know it.
In the world of creative activity the thought precedes the deed, the
profession comes before the achievement. The child makes believe that
he is a man, and his play is prophetic. Let us grant that multitudes who
profess and call themselves Christians are only playing at Christianity;
they have not yet begun to take the beatitudes seriously. It is a good
thing to play at, and the play is all the time deepening into earnest work.
When it becomes earnest, it is still far from perfect; but imperfection of
workmanship is no evidence of insincerity. He would be a poor critic who
at the spring exhibition should accuse the artist of attempt to deceive
because of his failure to achieve his professed purpose.
“Do you call that a picture of the Madonna? False-hearted hypocrite! Are
you wicked enough to attempt to poison our minds and prejudice us
against one who has been an object of worship? You are foisting upon us
an image of absolute imbecility.”
And yet the poor artist is no hypocrite,—he is only a poor artist, that is
all. He has striven to express what he has actually felt, and he has had
bad luck. He has been thrilled by an image of perfect womanhood, and
he sought to reproduce it for the joy of others. He wrought with sad
sincerity, and this is what came of it!
In the work of creating a condition of peace and good will among men
the Christian nations have not gone very far. But why twit on facts? Let us
be reasonable. Why should we take it as a grievance that our birth has
not been delayed till the Millennium, but that we have been placed
among those who are responsible for bringing it in? There is a satisfaction
in being allowed a part in the preliminary work. And what if many well-
meant endeavors have come to nought? Let us not spend our time crying
over the spilt milk of human kindness. It is natural that the first attempts
at peacemaking should be awkward. It takes time to get the knack of it.
It is foolish to reserve all our praise for perfection. That gives an
unpleasant impression, such as that which we receive from a person who,
when there is a call for small change, produces a bank bill of a large
denomination, which he knows no one can break for him.
“Peace on earth” is not a statement of accomplished fact, but a prophecy.
Now it is nothing against a prophecy that it has not yet been fulfilled. The
farther off it is, the more credit to the eyes that see and to the stout
hearts that patiently wait and work for it. The practical question is not
“Has it come?” but “Is it on the way?” We are considering a bit of the
unfinished business of the world.
First we must listen to the report of the progress already made. It is such
a modest report that we must prepare our minds in order to appreciate it.
The simple-minded cynic must be instructed in regard to the extreme
difficulty and complexity of the work that has been undertaken. It is
nothing less than the transformation of a carnivorous, not to say
cannibalistic, species into an orderly society in which each member shall
joyously and effectively work for the welfare of all. The first thing, of
course, is to catch your cannibals. This of itself is no easy task, and has
taken many centuries. It has involved a vast amount of wood-chopping
and road-making, and draining of swamps and exploring of caves and
dens. It is a task that is still far from accomplished. Savagery is a
condition which cannot be abolished till there is a conquest of the earth
itself. When the cannibals have been caught and tamed there comes the
problem of keeping them alive. They must eat something—a point which
many of the missionaries of civilization have not sufficiently considered.
Ethical progress is delayed by all sorts of economic complications. When
the natural man is confronted with the necessity of getting a living,
robbery is the first method which suggests itself to him. When this is
prohibited he turns upon his moral adviser with, “What more feasible way
do you propose?” The moral adviser has then to turn from the plain path
of pure ethics, and cudgel his poor wits trying to “invent a little something
ingenious” to keep his pupil from starving. The clever railer at human kind
who has always had a bank account to fall back upon has no idea how
much time and thought have been taken up in such contrivances.
Then it should be remembered that the missionaries of civilization have
not themselves been above reproach. The “multitudes of the heavenly
hosts” might be heard for a moment singing of good will among men, but
they did not remain to do the work. The men of good will who were to
work out the plan were very human indeed. Milton, in the Hymn “On the
Morning of Christ’s Nativity,” warns us of the long interval between the
Christmas prophecy and its historical fulfillment.

For, if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold;
And speckled vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould;
·································
Yea, Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering:
And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

But all the imagery of the gala day of peace fades away before the
immediate reality.

But wisest Fate says no,

This must not yet be so.

This veto of “wisest Fate” is not absolute. It only calls a halt upon our
imagination until the rest of our nature catches up with it. Mankind is not
to have peace till it has suffered for it and worked for it. The workmen
must do their work over and over again till they have learned the right
way.
That the “Christian nations” are not hypocrites, but novices who have
been making some progress toward the Christian ideal, becomes evident
when we look back over their history. They are not the descendants of
the simple shepherds of the plains of Bethlehem. Far from it! When they
first began to “profess and call themselves Christians,” they were not
thinking of the beatitudes. They had not got that far.
Turn to the Heimskringla and read how King Olaf converted the pagan
bonders.
“So King Olaf went into the God-house and a certain few of his men with
him, and a certain few of the bonders. But when the king came whereas
the gods were, there sat Thor the most honored of all the gods, adorned
with gold and silver. Then King Olaf hove up the gold-wrought rod that he
had in his hand and smote Thor that he fell down from the stall; and
therewith ran forth all the king’s men and tumbled down all the gods from
their stalls. But whiles the king was in the God-house was Iron-Skeggi
slain without, even at the very door, and that deed did the king’s men. So
when the king was come back to his folk he bade the bonders take one of
two things, either all be christened, or else abide the brunt of battle with
him. But after the death of Skeggi there was no leader among the folk of
the bonders to raise up a banner against King Olaf. So the choice was
taken of them to go to the king and obey his bidding. Then King Olaf
christened all folk that were there and took hostages of the bonders that
they would hold to their christening. Thereafter King Olaf caused men of
his wend over all parts of Thrandheim; and now spoke no man against
the faith of Christ. And so were all folk christened in the country-side.”
That is the way the nations of the north were first christianized. What is
the difference between Thor and the Christ? the simple-hearted people
would ask. “The difference,” said King Olaf, “is very fundamental, and it
requires little theological training to see it. It is this: the Christ is stronger.
If you don’t believe it, I’ll”—but they did believe it.
It is evident that there were some points in Christianity that King Olaf did
not appreciate. To cultivate these fruits of the spirit required men of a
different temper. Their work is not all done yet. It is progressing.

* * * * * *
There is one complication in the work of peacemaking which has not been
sufficiently considered. It is the recurrence of Youth. I have listened to
the arguments against war at a great Peace Congress. The reasoning was
strong, the statement of facts conclusive. War was shown to be cruel and
foolish, and incredibly expensive. The audience, consisting of right-
minded and very intelligent people, was convinced of the justice of the
cause of Peace. Why, then, does not the cause triumph?
In such cases I am in the habit of looking about with the intent to fix the
responsibility where it belongs, on those who were not at the meeting.
Mature life was well represented, but there was a suspicious absence of
young men in the twenties. Ah! I said, there is the difficulty. We can’t be
sure of lasting peace until we make it more interesting to these young
absentees. They’ll all be peace men by and by, but meanwhile there is no
knowing what trouble they may get us into.
John Fiske traced the influence which the prolongation of infancy has had
on the progress of civilization. I am inclined to think that equally great
results would flow from any discovery by which the period of middle age
could be prolonged beyond its present term. War would be abolished
without any more ado. A uniformly middle-aged community would be
immune from any attack of militant fever.
It happens, however, that every once in a while the hot passions of youth
carry all before them. The account of what happened at the beginning of
the civil wars in Israel is typical. King Rehoboam called a meeting of the
elder statesmen of his kingdom. They outlined a policy that was
eminently conciliatory. But we are told, “He forsook the counsel of the old
men which they had given him, and consulted with the young men that
were grown up with him and which stood by him.”
That’s the difficulty! The hardest thing about a good policy is to get it
accepted by the people who have the power. What avails the wisdom of
the old men when all the young men are “spoiling for a fight?” Something
more is needed than statesman-like plans for strengthening the
framework of civilization. You may have a fireproof structure, but you are
not safe so long as it is crammed with highly inflammable material.
There is a periodicity in the passion for war. It marks the coming into
power of a new generation. A quarter of a century from now “the good
gray poet” Rudyard Kipling may be singing sweet lyrics of peace. All
things come in time. The Kipling we know simply utters the sentiments of
“the young men brought up with him.” What he has been to his
contemporaries Tennyson was to the generation before. Kipling never
wrote a more scornful arraignment of peace or a more passionate
glorification of war than Tennyson’s “Maud.”
We are listening to the invective of a youth whose aspirations have been
crushed and ideals shattered by a civilization that seems to him to be
soulless. He has seen something which to him is infinitely more cruel than
the battle between contending hosts

Why do they prate of the blessings of peace? we have made them a curse,
Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own;
And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse
Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone?

We are made to see the inglorious peace in which men seek only their
own ease.

Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days gone by,
When the poor are hovell’d and hustled together, each sex, like swine,
When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie.

From the evils of a soulless commercialism, and from the inanities of

fashion, what is the way of escape? From the evils of peace he turns to
the heroism of war.

I wish I could hear again

The chivalrous battle song.
···························
Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand,
Like some of the simple great ones gone
For ever and ever by,
One still strong man in a blatant land.

At last, breaking in upon the deadly stupidity and selfishness of the

common life, is the noise of battle:—

it lightened my despair
When I thought that a war would arise in defence of the right,
That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease,
The glory of manhood stand on his ancient height,
Nor Britain’s one sole God be the millionaire.
······························
 Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims
Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold,
And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and shames,
Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told;
And hail once more to the banner of battle unroll’d!

That was an appeal to Young England, the England that was too young to
remember the Napoleonic wars and was thirsting for an experience of its
own.
We may see in such an outburst of the militant spirit only the
recrudescence of savagery. It is better to treat it seriously, for it is
something which each generation must reckon with. Tennyson sums up
the matter from the standpoint of ardent youth:—

Let it flame or fade, and the war roll down like a wind,
We have proved we have hearts in a cause, we are noble still,
And myself have awaked, as it seems, to the better mind.
It is better to fight for the good than to rail at the ill;
I have felt with my native land, I am one with my kind,
I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assign’d.

It is easy enough to dismiss all this as mere vaporing. But it is a protest

which must be heeded, for it expresses a real experience. There are
things worse than war. A sordid slothfulness is worse. A cowardly
acquiescence in injustice is worse. It is a real revelation when to the heart
of youth comes a sudden sense of the meaning of life. It is not a treasure
to be preserved with miserly carefulness. It is to be nobly hazarded. It is
better to fight for the good than to rail, however eloquently, against the
ill. To feel for one’s native land, to unite in generous comradeship with
one’s kind, to endure hardness for a noble cause,—these things are of the
essence of manhood.
In times of national peril such awakening has come. Many a man has
then for the first time discovered that he has a soul. He has cried out,
“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
Now just here we peace men may see our most inspiring bit of unfinished
business. War has been idealized; it is left to us to idealize peace. It
cannot be done till we bring out all its heroic possibilities. If it means dull
stagnation, selfish ease, the prosperity that can be measured in dollars
and cents, there is sure to come a revulsion against it. The gospel of the
full dinner-pail and the plethoric pocket-book does not satisfy. If the
choice is between commercialism and militarism we need not wonder if
many an idealist chooses the latter as the less perilous course. It seems
less threatening toward the things for which he cares.
The call is for a new chivalry. Our duty is not only to keep the peace, but
to make a peace that is worth keeping. This is no easy task. It means the
humanizing of all our activities. Everywhere a human ideal must be placed
above every other kind of success. Religion must be lifted above
ecclesiasticism; and business honor above the vulgar standards of
commercialism. The machinery of civilization must be made subservient
to man. More careers must be opened for men of the soldierly spirit
whose ambition is for service. The new generation must be shown what
opportunities the world’s business and politics offer to great-hearted
gentlemen who are willing to risk something for a cause. The kind of
peace which the world needs cannot be had for the asking. It comes
high,—but it is worth the price.
 THE LAND OF THE LARGE AND
CHARITABLE AIR

Are you not constrayned (my fellow Academicks) to subscribe to this my

opinion that the knowledge of no nation is so necessary as the searching
out of a man’s own Country and the manners thereof and the right
understanding of that Commonweale whereof each one of us is a part and
member. The Lamiæ that are a certaine kind of monsters are laughed at in
the Poeticall Fables in that they were so blinde at home that they could not
see their own affaires, could foresee nothing; but when they were once
gone from home they were accounted the most sharpe-sighted and curious
searchers of all others.... [Are not they] very ridiculous when as by taking
long voyages unto farre remote people, after they have curiously sought out
all matters amongst them are ignorant of the principall things at home and
know not what is contayned within the precincts of their country, and are
reckoned altogether strangers on their native soile?—Coryat’s Crudities.

T HE remark that Boston is not so much a place as a state of mind is

one of the highest compliments ever paid to that city. Places are
common enough, the maps are dotted with them, but a state of mind is a
mark of distinction. The Bostonian enjoys his state of mind none the less
because he is aware that outsiders are not always able to enter into it.
Only those places which have become symbolic of mental or moral traits
are remembered. Sodom and Gomorrah were once towns of some
commercial importance. We think of them, however, not as trade centres,
but as sins. Babylon, according to a doctrine of spiritual correspondences
long since established, is another name for proud and cruel worldliness. It
is likely so to remain, in spite of the discovery of clay tablets which show
that many of its people were estimable citizens who practiced domestic
economy and collected their debts by due process of law. All we have to
say is that those who acted in this commonplace way were not typical,—
in fact, they were quite un-Babylonian. In like manner, Zion represents no
longer a hill whose altitude may be prosaically estimated according to the
metric system. It is a highly exalted frame of pious joy.
It is strange that, with all the ingenuity that has been shown in inventing
new text-books for the use of schools, no one has compiled a
Psychological Geography. The materials are ample. It only needs some
one with a scientific imagination, or, rather, with a capacity for writing
imaginative science, to make it a success. Eliminating those communities
whose states of mind are so mixed as to be unclassifiable, the way would
be clear for a very pretty series of generalizations. There would be maps
with isothermal lines uniting places of equal degrees of warmth of
temperament or frigidity of manner. Weather charts would show the
direction of the various winds of doctrine and the storm centres, religious
and political. The theory of moral cyclones and anti-cyclones would be
adequately explained. There would be maps in colors indicating the
communities situated on the plateaus of conscious ethical and intellectual
superiority. These often rise into the arid, or at least semi-arid, belt. In
sharp contrast with these are the luxuriant bottom lands, where less
favored peoples dwell in happy ignorance of their low estate. The
“principal products” would be graphically illustrated. One section, being
without natural resources, is given over to the manufacture of novelties,
while another is rich in fossils. The distribution of fads may be shown to
advantage. Some localities are almost barren, while others are naturally
faddy.
When he comes to the Points of the Compass the most matter-of-fact
psychological geographer will forget the cold mannerisms of his science
and become poetical. North, South, East, West, these are vast symbols of
psychic forces. He would not think of putting at the head of the chapter
the picture, from the old Geography, of the disconsolate urchin with his
face to the north and his arms extended in rigid but reluctant testimony
to the fact that “East is East and West is West.” What does this
featureless boy know of those tremendous forces whose age-long
contests have made the history of the world? What does he know of the
hardiness and the prowess that make the true North? If he were forcibly
turned around, his face would be as expressionless as ever. Such a
mannikin never felt a sudden longing for “a beaker full of the warm
South.”
Art must be called to the aid of science. Each point of the compass has an
expression of its own. One should be able by looking at the face of the
man in the picture to know the direction. There is no mistaking the
qualities which grow only where there is a northerly exposure. The Orient
and the Occident are not to be confounded.
Were some affluent citizen to endow a chair of psycho-geographical
science in one of our leading universities, especial attention should be
paid to the teaching of Systematic Americanism. It is a branch now much
neglected. The professor should take pains to instruct his “fellow
Academicks” in the manners and customs of their own country, so that
they should no longer be reckoned strangers on their native soil. They
should be taught to avoid entangling analogies drawn from the
experience of other lands, and to look directly at the subject-matter.
When they see something going wrong, they should not jump at the
conclusion that it is a repetition of the classic tragedy of the Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire,—for it may be something quite different. When
there is a popular movement on the prairies, they should not begin to talk
of the French Revolution and of the excesses of the proletariat. Before
they talk in European fashion of the “classes and the masses,” they
should make certain that we have such things, and if we have, that there
is a sure way of telling which is which. The Old-World generalizations
about the upper and lower and middle classes should be well shaken
before using.
Those who elect the course in Americanism should be taught to overcome
the nervous fright to which bookish people are subject at the appearance
of any man in public life who shows signs of unusual virility. It is a
weakness of those who are more familiar with the careers of Cæsar and
Napoleon than with the temper of their fellow-citizens. In the early
seventies there were academic minds thoroughly convinced that they
were watching the Republic in its death struggle with Cæsarism. Curiously
enough, they fixed upon plain Ulysses Grant to act the part of Cæsar. It
would have been hard to find one less fitted for the rôle. When we look
back and contrast what really happened with what the well-read
spectators thought was happening, we are reminded of the remark of the
British matron to her husband as they left the theatre where they had
been seeing the play of “Antony and Cleopatra,” “How unlike the home
life of our dear Queen!”
The great thing, as President Roosevelt has often reminded us, is to
“think nationally.” This is no small achievement. A nation is a psycho-
geographical fact which it requires a very great effort of the imagination
to conceive. The same word represents a land and the people who inhabit
it. The physical features of the landscape have their spiritual
counterparts. It may be that the landscape impresses itself on the
imagination of the race, or, as may be maintained with equal plausibility,
the imagination of a gifted race may interpret the landscape and impress
itself upon it forever. In either case there is a recognizable harmony
between the two elements. In reading the great literature of Israel we
never forget that the nation was desert-born. “He found him in a desert
place, he led him about, he instructed him.” In psalm and prophecy we
are conscious of barren mountain ranges, of rocks in a weary land, of
narrow valleys which laugh for very joy over the incongruity between
themselves and the surrounding desolations. There is the passion of the
desert, born of solitude and the stars. In the prophet of righteousness
there is the same urgent note that Bayard Taylor catches in his “Bedouin
Song:”—

From the Desert I come to thee

On a stallion shod with fire;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.

The impatient human cry is followed by the refrain natural to those whose
lives are surrounded by the eternal calm of the desert,—

Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold.

When we think of the Greeks we think at the same time of

the sprinkled isles

Lily on lily that o’erlace the sea,
And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps “Greece.”

England and her Englishmen are forever inseparable. “This happy breed
of men” belong to “this little world, this precious stone set in a silver sea,
this blessed plot, this England.” That Great Britain is an island is more
than a fact of physical geography. It is the outward and visible sign of an
insularity of sentiment which gives its peculiar quality to British patriotism.
There is something snug and homelike about it, as of a family that enjoys
“the tumultuous privacy of storm.”
We become conscious of Spain and her Spaniards as we read Longfellow’s
lines:—

A something sombre and severe

O’er the enchanted landscape reigned,
As if King Philip listened near
And Torquemada, the austere,
His ghostly sway maintained.

When we come to the United States of America there is a peculiar

difficulty in thinking and feeling nationally, because the imagination does
not at once find the physical facts to serve as symbols. It is not easy to
conceive the land as a whole. When we sing “My Country, ’tis of thee,”
the country that is visualized is very small. The author of the hymn was a
New England clergyman, and naturally enough described New England
and called it America. It is a land of rocks and rills and woods, and the
hills are templed, in Puritan fashion, by white meeting-houses; for the
early New Englander, like erring Israel of old, loved to worship on “the
high places.” Over it all is one great tradition: it is the “land of the
Pilgrims’ pride.”
The farmer in North Dakota loves his country, too; but the idea that it is a
land of rocks and rills and templed hills seems to him rather farfetched.
His heart does not thrill with rapture when he thinks of these things. He
can plow all day in the Red River valley without striking a stone, and he is
glad to have it so.
The Texan cultivates an exuberant Americanism, but he does not think of
his country as the “land of the Pilgrims’ pride.” Texas is not proud of the
Pilgrims, and perhaps the Pilgrims would not have appreciated Texas.
When the American has come to feel, not provincially, but nationally, the
words “my country” bring to his mind not merely some familiar scenes of
his childhood, but a series of vast pictures. They are broad and simple in
outline. “My country” is no tight little island shut out from “the envy of
less happier lands.” It is continental in its sweep. It lies open and free to
all. It is large and easy of access. There is a vision of busy cities serving
as its gateways. Behind them is a pleasant home-like land with “a sweet
interchange of hill and valley.” Beyond the mountains another scene
opens. We see the sources of the strength of America and feel the
promise of its future. To see the Mississippi valley is to believe in
“manifest destiny,” and to take a cheerful view of it. To the ancient world
the valley of the Nile was the symbol of fertility. It is a narrow ribbon of
green in the midst of the desert. Here Plenty and Famine were in plain
sight of one another. There was always the suggestion of Pharaoh’s ugly
dream of the lean kine devouring the fat and well-favored. But in the
valley of the Mississippi the fear of the lean kine is dispelled. One may
travel at railroad speed day after day, and still the fields of wheat and
corn smile upon him. Here the ample land gives happy confidence to
men’s prayer for daily bread. And beyond the fertile prairies “my country”
stretches in high plains and lofty mountain ranges. Here are new
treasures waiting bold spirits who claim them. The land has a challenge
and an invitation.

What a weary dearth

Of the homes of men! What a wild delight
Of space, of room! What a sense of seas
Where seas are not! What salt-like breeze!
What dust and taste of quick alkali!

And beyond the mountains lies the American Avilion, where never—

wind blows loudly; but it lies

Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows: crown’d with summer seas.

And this great land is one; though it is “a nation of nations” it has

achieved a national consciousness. There is an atmosphere about it all
which we recognize. To breathe it is an exhilaration. One loves to think of
it as the land of “the large and charitable air.”

* * * * * *
The conception of the continental proportions of America did not at once
dawn upon its new inhabitants. They thought and spoke as transplanted
Englishmen. Each of the thirteen States was a tight little republic insisting
on its own rights. Each plucky Diogenes sat in its own tub, saying to its
neighbors, “Get out of my sunshine!”
It was only as they turned westward that Americans discovered America,
—a discovery which in some instances has been long delayed. “The West”
is not merely a geographical expression, it is a state of mind which is
most distinctive of the national consciousness. It is a feeling, an
irresistible impulse. It is the sense of undeveloped resources and limitless
opportunities. It is associated with the verb “to go.” To the American the
West is the natural place to go to, as the East is the place to come from.
It is synonymous with freedom from restraint. It is always “out West.”
Just where the geographical West begins it is not necessary to indicate.
On the coast of Maine you may be shown a summer cottage and told that
it belongs to a rich Westerner from Massachusetts. Massachusetts is not
thought of as exactly the Far West, but it is far enough.
The psychological West begins at the point where the centre of interest
suddenly shifts from the day before yesterday to the day after to-morrow.
Great expectations are treated with the respect that elsewhere had been
reserved for accomplished facts. There is a stir in the air as if Humanity
were a new family just setting up housekeeping. What a fine house it is,
and how much room there is on the ground floor! What a great show it
will make when all the furniture is in! There is no time now for the
finishing touches, but all will come in due order. There is need for
unskilled labor and plenty of it. Let every able-bodied man lend a hand.
One does not know his America until he has been touched by the Western
fever. He must be possessed by a desire to take up a claim and build
himself a shack and invest in a corner lot in a Future Great City. He must
be capable of a disinterested joy in watching the improvements which
other people are making. Let the man of the East cling to the old ways
and seek out the old landmarks. The symbol of the West is the plank
sidewalk leading out from a brand-new prairie town and pointing to a
thriving suburb which as yet exists only in the mind of its projector. There
is something prophetic in that sidewalk on which the foot of man has
never trod.
One who has once had this fever never completely recovers. Though he
may change his environment he is always subject to intermittent attacks.
I remember on my first evening in Oxford sitting blissfully on the top of a
leisurely tram car that trundled along High Street. The dons in academic
garb were on their way to dinner in the college halls, and they looked just
as my imagination had pictured them. I was introduced to one of them.
When he learned that I was an American, there was a sudden thaw in his
manner.
“Have you ever been in Dodge City, Kansas?” he inquired eagerly.
I modestly replied that I had only passed through on the railway, but I
was familiar with other Kansas towns, and, reasoning from analogy, I
could tell what manner of place it was. This was enough. I had
experienced the West. I was one of the initiated. I could enter into that
state of mind represented by the term Dodge City. It appeared that in the
golden age, when he and Dodge City were both young, he had sought his
fortune for some months in Kansas. He had experienced the joys of civic
newness, a newness such as had not been in England since the
Heptarchy. He discoursed of the mighty men of those days when every
man did what was right in his own eyes, and good-humoredly allowed his
neighbor to do likewise. As we parted, he said, with mournful
acquiescence in his present estate, “Oxford does very well, you know, but
it isn’t Dodge City.” If poetry is emotion remembered in tranquillity, what
could be more poetical than Dodge City remembered in the tranquillity of
Oxford quadrangles?
In this case the poetical view was a sound one. The traveler across the
newly developed States of the West has the traveler’s license to contrast
unfavorably that which he sees with that which he left behind him in his
home country. He may say a dozen uncomplimentary things, and each
one of them may be true. He may exhaust all his stock adjectives, as
“crude” and “raw” and the like. But when he remarks, as did a certain
critic, that because the country lacks “distinction” it is uninteresting, he
betrays his own limitations.
It is just that lack of distinction that makes America interesting. Here, no
longer distracted by what is exceptional, one may take the welfare of the
masses of men seriously.

Here the doings of men correspond to the broad doings of the day and the night,
Here is what moves in magnificent masses, careless of particulars.

When Shelley was an undergraduate he was attracted to a lecture on

mineralogy. It seemed to him a subject full of poetical suggestiveness. His
expectations were disappointed, and he unceremoniously bolted and
returned to his room. “What do you think the man talked about? Stones!
—stones!—stones! I tell you stones are not interesting—in themselves.”
Shelley was right. Stones are not interesting in themselves; neither are
railroads, nor stockyards, nor new unpainted buildings, nor endless
cornfields. But for that matter, neither are crumbling columns, nor old
manuscripts, nor the remains of feudal castles interesting—in themselves.
Things become interesting only when seen in relation to the people
whose thoughts they have stimulated and whose imaginations they have
stirred.
America is a fresh field for human endeavor. Here are men busily making
roads, bridging rivers, building new cities. They have been given the task
of subduing a continent. But in such conflicts with Nature the conquered
influences the conquerors. What impress does the continent make upon
the minds of the hardy men who are mastering it? What visions of the
future do they see which transform their drudgery into an heroic
adventure?
In the case of the older nations such questions about the beginnings and
the ideals of the beginners cannot be answered. The formative period,
with all its significant aspirations, is buried in oblivion. “Who thinks any
more as they thought?” we ask in regard to the pioneer of Britain. Poetry
has license to picture him as a knight in armor and to tell how in romantic
fashion he pitched

His tents beside the forest. And he drave

The heathen, and he slew the beast, and felled
The forest, and let in the sun.

It was all a long time ago, and the men who did these things are not
clearly revealed. Not being able to get at their ideals, we attribute to
them those which we think appropriate.
The historians are troubled by their lack of authentic material. They are
like the magicians, astrologers, sorcerers, and Chaldeans of the court of
Nebuchadnezzar. Nebuchadnezzar had a dream that he knew was very
important, but before he could get it interpreted by his wise men he
forgot what it was. They were good at interpretations, and could have
made one to fit if only the king had brought the dream with him so that
they could try it on. But that was the very thing he could not do.
The founders of London and Paris had doubtless their dreams of the
future; but alas! they have long since been forgotten. But Chicago has
not had time to forget. Everything is still vivid. Men walk the streets of
the great city who remember it when it was no bigger than the Londinium
of the time of the Cæsars. They have with their own eyes watched every
step in the civic development and they have been a part of all that they
have seen. The Londoner has seen only a passing phase of his London;
the greater part of its history is received on hearsay evidence. The
Chicagoan sees his Chicago steadily and sees it whole. No wonder that
there is a self-consciousness about the new metropolis that is not to be
found in the old. Its greatness has been thrust upon it suddenly, and
there is a full realization of its value.
The genuine American who is the maker of the new fortunes of the world,
and who is in love with his work, has not been adequately portrayed in
literature. It requires an ample imagination to do justice to his character.
There must be a mingling of realism and romance. The realism must not
be the minute, painstaking portraiture of a Miss Austen, but the hearty,
out-of-door reality of a Fielding. The American Fielding has not yet
appeared, but what a good time he will have when he comes! What a
host of characters after his own heart he will find! The American Scott,
too, is called for to give us a story of American life which will read as well
on the edge of a clearing in the forest as “The Lady of the Lake” did in
the trenches of Torres Vedras, when the soldiers forgot the enemy’s shells
as they gave a glorious shout over the poet’s lines, which their captain
was reading to them. I like that story, in spite of the fact that a recent
critic declares that to like it shows an uncultivated taste. “This is not,” he
says, “a test of poetry. An audience less likely to be critical, a situation
less likely to induce criticism, can hardly be imagined.” Nevertheless, Scott
would much rather have written lines that rang true to soldiers in the
hour of battle, than to have been given a high mark by the most
competent corrector of daily themes.
The imagination of Hawthorne, brooding over the past, repeopled the
House of the Seven Gables with the successive generations. But there is
another kind of romance, in which the imagination is projected into the
future. Looking at the new house not yet enclosed against the storm, it