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Full text of "The book of the opening of the Rice Institute [microform]; being an account ... of an academic festival held in celebration of the formal opening of the Rice Institute, a university of liberal and technical learning founded in the city of Houston, Texas, by William Marsh Rice and dedicated by him to the advancement of letters, science and art"


NO. 93-81260 


as part of the 
"Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" 

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^ ■ (illian I lar c h Rice University. ■' 

K^^titete^Hiberai-afld-techiiicaHeammg, Mm^s^, 

an^iLnnf ''nf ' opening of tl.e Rice institute; being 
an account . . of an academic festival held in celebration 

of Hbefar.'n ]7o7'"^ f^ ^^' Kce institute, a universSy 
ot liberal and technical learning founded in the citv of 

h m t"fh?n f ' ''^' ^^''^"•-"^.Marsh Rice and dedicated by 
h" ustU Te^'lSlir ""' '''''''''' ^^-"-' -<i -t •• 

261-!' ^™"'" ^°'''- P'^'" (^ "'•) P°^'5-' f°'d- plan, facsims. (1 fold.) 

(Continued on next card) 


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Volume One 







Volume I 





^.eC'^^j^/-r ^', /.O/^'S*. 





Volume I 


U. S. A. 














TORIUM vol.1 


The Problem of the Philosophy of History— 
The Theory of Civilization— The Methods 
OF Extending Civilization Among the Na- 
tions VOL. II 

Molecular Theories and Mathematics— Ag- 
gregates OF Zero Measure— Monogenic Uni- 
form NoN- Analytic Functions : The Theories 
OF Cauchy, Weierstrass, and Riemann vol. ii 











THE INAUGURAL LECTURES- (continued) pace 
The Breviary of ^Esthetic . . . vol. ii 430 

Mutations in Heredity— Geographical Bot- 
any—Modern Cytological Problems— The 
Ideals OF AN Experiment Garden . vol. 11 518 

Philosophical Landmarks . . . vol. ii 620 

The Introduction of Western Learning into 
Japan vol. iii 681 

The Study of Poetry vol. hi 726 

The System of the Sciences— Principles of 
THE Theory of Education .... vol. iii 778 

Henri Poincare vol. iii 899 

The Electron as an Element— Compounds of 
Electrons— The Disruption of the So-called 
Elements vol. hi 929 

The Corpuscular Theory of Aurora Borea- 

Lis VOL. Ill 981 

The Generalization of Analytic Functions 
—On the Theory of Waves and Green's 
Method vol. m 1036 

• • • X- 1 

Vlll I 

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AiNr^ l>Elil€HTeD BY HIM 




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mtmimn : ' ; ■ "■'Duso amd tv^lve 


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VOL. I r 

jPHicAL Landmarks 


2T10N or Wfstf 

HF t K 



VOL. Ul 





ir-UAi u: 

/^UKA DU>' \- 



\OL. II 430 


\ (^L. U 620 


7 2 J ) 



VOL. Ill 981 

iZAi \NALrnc Functions 

ORV Of W^VF5, 

. VOL. Hi 1036 



U: 1 1 1 .usA _^^_/V AKi / 

\ ~'' ll-M I, /" 















^be XntniversitiP of Paris 







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Mayor Horace Baldwin Rice of Houston 25 

Mr. James Addison Baker, Chairman of the Board of 

Trustees of the Rice Institute 26 

Hon. Oscar Branch Colquitt, Governor of the State of 

Texas ^7 

Professor Sir William Ramsay, of the University of Lon- 
don 31 

Provost William Henry Carpenter, of Columbia Univer- 
sity 33 

Professor Senator Vito Volterra, of the University of Rome 38 
Professor Sir Henry Jones, of Glasgow University . . 39 
Dean George Cary Comstock, of the University of Wis- 
consin 41 

President Henry Sturgis Drinker, of Lehigh University . 44 
Professor Emile Borel, of the University of Paris ... 45 
Chancellor James Hampton Kirkland, of Vanderbilt Uni- 
versity 40 

Professor Hugo de Vries, of the University of Amsterdam . 49 
President Samuel Palmer Brooks, of Baylor University . 49 





"Letters"— Professor Henry van Dyke, of Princeton 
University rg 

"Mathematics"— Professor Emile Borel, of the Univer- 
sity of Paris ^j 

'Thilosophy"— Professor Sir Henry Jones, of Glasgow 

University 5^ 

"Physics"— Professor Senator Vito Volterra, of the Uni- 
versity of Rome 53 

"Science"— Professor Edwin Grant Conklin, of Prince- 
ton University ^q 

"Chemistry"— Professor Sir William Ramsay, of the 
University of London ^3 

"History"— Professor Rafael Altamira y Crevea, of the 

University of Oviedo gQ 

"Biology"— Professor Hugo de Vries, of the University of 
Amsterdam ' ^ g^ 

"Art"— Dr. Ralph Adams Cram, Architect of the Rice In- 
stitute o- 


Bible Readings and Prayer— Dr. Robert Ernest Vin- 
son, of Austin, Texas ^^ 

"Veni Creator Spiritus" jq2 

The Inaugural Poem: "Texas, A Democratic Ode"— 

Dr. Henry van Dyke, of Princeton, New Jersey . . 103 

"Education and the State"— Mr. Thomas Jefferson 
Brown, of Austin, Texas jj^ 

"The Church and Education"— Dr. Thomas Frank 
Gailor, of Memphis, Tennessee 123 

"The Meaning of the New Institution"— Dr. Edgar 

Odell Lovett, of Houston, Texas ...!.. 132 
"The One Hundredth Psalm" 220 

Benediction— Dr. Charles Frederic Aked, of San Fran- 
cisco, California 221 



Congratulatory Greetings and Addresses: 

On the part of foreign and American learned societies, 
Professor Sir William Ramsay, of the University of 

London 223 

For the foreign universities. Professor Emile Borel, of 

the University of Paris 224 

On behalf of the American institutions of the East, Dean 
William Francis Magie, of Princeton University . 225 

For the universities of the South, Professor William 

Holding Echols, of the University of Virginia . . 228 

On behalf of the universities in the Northern States, Presi- 
dent Harry Pratt Judson, of the University of 
Chicago 231 

For the American universities of the West, President Sid- 
ney Edward Mezes, of the University of Texas . . 234 

Hymn— "O God, Our Help in Ages Past" .... 239 

Invocation— Dr. Edgar Odell Lovett, of Houston, 

Texas 240 

Hymn— "O God of Bethel" 241 

Scripture Reading and Prayer— Dr. Henry van Dyke, 
of Princeton, New Jersey 242 

Hymn— "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" .... 246 

Sermon— Dr. Charles Frederic Aked, of San Francisco, 
California 247 

Hymn— "Nearer, My God, to Thee 262 

Hymn— "America" 263 

Benediction— Dr. Charles Frederic Aked .... 264 







The Founder 

As a young man Frontispiece 

In middle life facing page 94 

The First Quadrangle OF THE University . '' " 132 

The General Architectural Plan . . . '' " 133 

The Invitation to the Festival 

In the form addressed to institutions . . . '* 
In the form addressed to individuals ..." 

Facsimiles of Some of the Letters Received 

The University of Paris " 

The University of Oxford *' 

The University of Cambridge " 

The University of Rome " 

The University of Aberdeen *' 

The Pontifical Gregorian University ... " 

The University of Oviedo *' 

Harvard University " 

The Polish University of Lemberg .... " 

The Royal Society of London " 

The Royal Prussian Academy of Sciences . . " 

Yale University " 

The Royal Academy of Sciences of Bologna . " 

Princeton University ** 

The University of Pennsylvania " 

The University of Wisconsin '' 

The University of S5^dney " 

The Technical High School of Zurich . . . ** 

Cornell University ** 

The University of Texas " 

The Nobel Foundation *' 

The Carnegie Institute of Technology ..." 

The British Academy " 

The Emperor William Association for the Ad- 
vancement of Science ** 




































































Monsieur le President, 

UUniversite de Pam envoie son salut cb^ ses uceux 
a -voire jeune Iniiitut. Conviee a uos fites d'inau^ration, 
elle eft heureme de s'apocier a vos rejouij^ances (ijr de 
uom adrepr ses cordiales felicitations pour I'oeuvre que 
vom aveT^ si hriUamment realiiee. 

Les souhaits que nom formons pour la proiherite de 
votre Iniiitut re^oivent une chaleur particuliere de la 
sympathie seculaire qui exifle entre le peuple frangais 
i^ le peuple amemain. Les inoubliables souvenirs qui 
uniflent les deux grandes Kepuhliques font hattre nos 
cceurs d'un mime desir de justice, de liherte, de proves. 

Videe de liherte, I' idee de proves ont preside a la fon- 



clatiou de lotre In^itnt Ceff en i8c)i qjie William 
Marsh Rice, nattf du Mafiachmetts, man fixe a HonHon 
depuh de louoties annees, fit part a qnelques amis choim 
du dcsir qiiH avait de doter sa utile adoptive d'nn 
lunnut oil seraieut enseigne's Its lettres, les sciences C^ les 
arts. II souhaitait que toute preoccupation politique 
(^ tout esprit de seek fufkut exclus de cet Inffitut, qui 
lie devait etre anime que par le de'sir pur de la recherche 
(J^* du travail 11 forma un noyau conflituc par une dewi- 
doji%aine de truflees. Dans les annees qui suivirent, la 
mort pt dans les rangs des truHees des uides que des 
elections comblerent a mesure. L'ImTitut Rice s'clabora 
dans les conversations de ces collahorateurs de la premiere 

^ En njoo. aprcs la difparition de William Marsh Rice 
Cr une [oh en pofiepon des dix millions dc dollars 
attrihue's a la jondation par le genereux donateur, les 
truffees s'adjoiguirent le profefieiir Edgar Odell Lovett. 
de rUniversite Princeton, auquel je suis personnellemeut 
heureux d'apporter It salut de VUniversitech Paris. 

^ Le President Lovett a cons acre" tons ses efforts a la 
tdche importante qui lui etait conpee. II a uisite les priu- 
cipaux etablifiements d'enseiguement scientifique du 
monde, c^ // a pn ctahlir avec competence ci^ en toute 
conn a if ^a nee de came les plans de -iotre Imlitut. Vos 
architedes ont ete pour lui d'mtelligents & precieux 

{^ gra- 

fS toftr 

r//c Ucs 

H O^ CO 

collahorateurs. S tnSpirant des edipcts du Vitux Monde 
meridional, ils ont su ohtentr un ensi mblt tmtt a la fm 
adapte aux ne?e/Iite's de I'enseigucmtnt ^ di I'hvri^m 
(i^ fair pouf le plaisir des yeux 

Tin harmonie avec voire climat, Aj // 
dense s des archmtlures mediterranc 
tci. Vous ave\dfs chines italic ns rnu 
jardins arms de longs cypres, uom av 
ai'ahes aux totts plats, un campann 
des hafitns dejsints a la manure decof.uu 
articles jardiniers de la Rcnaiflanie. 
latement teintes de vos monta^nes. k ^an/t dn Texas 
mcttent dans T ensemble une 
Cb^ sur !e fof/t rjinrp'tf 7 nt^-,^ A/-..--. 

&" se develop^nni 
de quoi powraieni 


quelle ^ic sou pim ;. - 

pleine campagne cb^ ;«* 

terra me GT* cJe /'Ocean, des Lahorat 

tones, des hi ^i tuts techniques 

heancoiij, ., apprendre dans /Vj 

dont votre hiTlitut offre un modiLe si intiyijant; c til un 


■ (I 

mversftcs dn 

Paris, aui 

n\:iUi: , 


ti: li4 

. Ohserra 

■^'■//f .:t ' v: 17 i'. nit]. ■ 

'iiilUClint : 


■*h'fl< f< 


it rut- ■-fj-ziZfi 

I 'iJi.j.-t 

'■'J Ji/fmr 

Httmn / 



cs de T/ hislrt/.t 

/r f)f/f // / -1 . 

^m Ai 

p/rr ir> {rfn/y 

collaborate f (VS. S'iufpirant des edifices du Vieux Monde 
meridional, ils ont sn ohteuir un ensemble tout a la fcm 
adapte" anx necef^ite's de I'enseignement (i^ de l'h)gienc 
<i^ fait pour le plaisir des yeux. 

En harmonic arec uotre dim at, les lignes les plm gra- 
de uses des architectures wediterraneennes se retrouvent 
icL Vous ave\ des cloitres it aliens en cad rant de delicieux 
jardins onus de longs cypres, torn aie\de blanches tours 
arabes aux to its plats, un campanile, des pe louses ci" 
des bapns defines a la maniere de'corative ^ nette des 
articles jardiniers de la Kenaifance. Les marbres deli- 
catement teinte's de vos montagnes, le granit du Texas 
mettent dans I'ensemble une note somptueuse &" colore'e. 


sur le tout etincelle lotre beau del 

Vous ave\de V efface, (zi^ uos JJniversites s'c'difent 
<^ se de'veloppent sur des terrains presque uierges. Ceff 
de quoi pourraient zous emier les lieilles Universites du 
Vieux Monde; &" bien que I'Universite' de Paris, qui 
?n'envoie lers lous, ne jo/t plus con f ne'e au quartier 
Latin, sur le fane de la colline Sainte -Genevieve, bien 
quelle ne soit plus toute d Paris C^ quelle pofede, en 
pleine campagne (fy jmque sur les rivages de la Medi- 
terrance iy de I'Ocean, des Laboratoires , des Observa- 
toires, des Inflituts techniques, — nous aions ncanmoins 
beau coup d apprendre dans les Universite's americaines 
dont votre Inflitut off-e un modcle si interefant; c 'esl un 



aveu que la plm ancknne Vniversite du monde doit a la 
plus recente, comme un hommage a uotre efprit pratique 
&" a I'ardeur de votre T^le scientifique. Elle fait cet aveu 
sans confusion, de mime qua uotre herceau elle vient 
non pas comme une fee jalome, mats comme une aieule 
btenreiUante, uous souhaiter, avec une cordiale hienvenue, 
un long ir glorieux avenir. 

Paris, le lO o6lohre i^iz. 

Lc Vicc-Re£leur, 
President du Consci! dc I'Univcrsitc dc Paris, 


Lc Professeur, 
Dclcguc dc I'LInivcrsirc dc Paris, 





University of Paris 
Professor Emile Borel 

University of Rome 
Dean Senator Vito Volterra 

University of Glasgow 
Professor Sir Henry Jones 

University of Aberdeen 
William Benton, Esq. 

University of Edinburgh 
Dr. William Keiller 

University of Oviedo 
Professor Rafael Altamira y Crevea 

University of Amsterdam 
Professor Hugo de Vries 

Harvard University 
Dr. Harry Yandell Benedict 

Kaiserl. Leopoldinisch-Carolinische Deutsche Akademie der 


Professor Daniel Vorlander 

Royal Society of London 
Professor Ernest William Brown 

University of Halle 
Professor Daniel Vorlander 

Yale University 
Dr. Jesse Breland Johnson 





Princeton University 

Dean William Francis Magie 
Professor Henry van Dyke 

University of Pennsylvania 
Vice-Provost Josiah Harmar Penniman 

American Philosophical Society 
held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge 

Professor Sir William Ramsay 

Columbia University 
Provost William Henry Carpenter 

Royal Society of Arts 
James Douglas, Esq. 

Broivn University 
Professor Wilfred Harold Munro 

Dartmouth College 
Dr. Lewis Henry Haney 

The United Chapters of Phi Beta Kappa 
Dr. Robert Sharp 

Societa Italiana delle Scienze detta dei XL 
Professor Senator Vito Volterra 

Royal Academy of Sciences of Turin 
Professor Senator Vito Volterra 

Royal Society of Edinburgh 
Dr. Alexander Macfarlane 

St. Johns College 
President Thomas Fell 

College of Charleston 
President Harrison Randolph 




University of Pittsburgh 

Chancellor Samuel Black McCormick 
Professor Morris Knowles 

University of North Carolina 
Dr. William James Battle 

Williams College 
President Harry Augustus Garfield 

Bowdoin College 
William Wingate Hubbard, Esq. 

Ecole Polytechnique of Paris 
Professor Emile Borel 

University of Tennessee 
President Brown Ayres 

Union College 
Senator Joseph Eugene Ransdell 

The Glasgow and West of Scotland Technical College 

Professor Sir Henry Jones 

Royal Technical High School of Stockholm 
Professor Gustaf Waif rid Petersson 

Library of Congress 
Dr. Gaillard Hunt 

University of South Carolina 
President Samuel Chiles Mitchell 

University of Maryland 
Dr. Henry Hilgartner 

The Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia 

Professor Hugo de Vries 
Dr. Allen John Smith 




The Theological Seminary of the Presbyterian Church at 

Princeton J New Jersey 

Rev. Francis Powell Cheek 

Georgetown University 
Hiram M. Garwood, Esq. 

Cambridge Philosophical Society 
Professor Ernest William Brown 

Central University of Kentucky 
President Frederick William Hinitt 

University of Cincinnati 
President Charles William Dabney 

University of Virginia 

President Edwin Anderson Alderman 
Professor William Holding Echols 

Royal Astronomical Society 
Professor Ernest William Brown 

Amherst College 
Dr. William Tyler Mather 

McGill University 
Dr. Harold Albert Wilson 

Royal Society of New South Wales 
Professor William Henry Warren 

Rhode Island Historical Society 
President Wilfred Harold Munro 

The Franklin Institute 
Dr. Robert Bowie Owens 

Western Reserve University 
Rev. Edward Bingham Wright 




American Peace Society 
Dr. Samuel Palmer Brooks 

University College, London 
Professor Sir William Ramsay 

New York University 
Dr. Edwin Lewis Stephens 

Oberlin College 
Professor Maynard Mayo Metcalf 

Tulane University 

President Robert Sharp 

Dean Isadore Dyer 

Professor Brandt van Blarcom Dixon 

Professor William Benjamin Gregory 

Mount Holyoke College 
Miss Dorothy D. Gamsby 

University of London 
Professor Sir William Ramsay 

Davidson College 
Dr. James Blanton Wharey 

University of Michigan 
Regent Frank Bruce Leland 

American Statistical Association 
Dr. Lewis Henry Haney 

University of Missouri 
President Albert Ross Hill 

Bethany College 

President Thomas Ellsworth Cramblet 
Oscar Wells, Esq. 




American Oriental Society 
Dr. Edwin Whitfield Fay 

Baylor University 
President Samuel Palmer Brooks 
Professor Jesse Breland Johnson 

German Physical Society 
Dr. Arthur Louis Day 

Mount Union College 
John Charles Harris, Esq. 

American Association for the Advancement of Science 
Dr. Harry Yandell Benedict 

College of the City of New York 
President John Huston Finley 

University of Wisconsin 
Professor George Cary Comstock 

University of Sydney 
Professor William Henry Warren 

University of Minnesota 
John B. Hawley, Esq. 

Victoria University of Manchester 
Dr. James Edwin Thompson 

American Society of Civil Engineers 

Warren M. Archibald, Esq. 

Edward B. Cushing, Esq. 

Joseph M. Howe, Esq. 

Trinity College 

President William Preston Frew 

Dr. Robert Adger Law 

^ i 




Washington University 
Chancellor David Franklin Houston 

National Education Association 
Robert Harrison Wilson, Esq. 

University of the South 
Rev. Arthur Howard Noll 

University of California 
Dr. Sidney Edward Mezes 

Alassachusetts Institute of Technology 

President Richard Cockburn MacLaurin 

Charles Wetmore Kellogg, Esq. 

Vassar College 
Mrs. John Loomis 

Iowa State College 
Frederick William Mally, Esq. 

University of Maine 

President Robert Judson Aley 
Charles Adelbert jMorse, Esq. 

Cornell University 
Professor Edward Leamington Nichols 

Worcester Polytechnic Institute 
Charles H. Dunbar, Esq. 

Lehigh University 
President Henry Sturgis Drinker 

United States Bureau of Education 
Dr. Kendric Charles Babcock 

University of Illinois 
President Edmund Janes James 




American Museum of Natural History 

Dr. William Diller Matthew 

American Philological Association 
Dr. Edwin Whitfield Fay 

Southivestern University 

President Charles McTyeire Bishop 
Professor Albert Shipp Pegues 

Trinity University 
Professor Francis Powell Cheek 

Newnham College {Cambridge) 
Miss Gertrude M. Hirst 

A?nerican Institute of Mining Engineers 
Edwin Theodore Dumble, Esq. 

Stevens Institute of Technology 

President Alexander Crombie Humphreys 

William James Jennings, Esq. 

University of Adelaide 
Professor T. Brailsford Robertson 

University of Arkansas 
Dr. William Seneca Sutton 

Vanderbilt University 
Chancellor James Hampton Kirkland 

Virginia Polytechnic Institute 
President Paul Brandon Barringer 

Texas Christian University 
President Frederick Doyle Kershner 

George Peabody College for Teachers 
President Bruce Ryburn Payne 

<MC VICC<CHANC«(.4.0^ 


" -rx-^ ^'-.iT ■ 

I beg to timnY. you' 

your kindri'^'Be 1 


T,o send & d?loge 

f- f'\ 

tng of tn^ Ficp: Ins«!t itut*e 

n^?xt. , 

a r'^gT-pt that mm ^ihe Vacation i» now 'c^s: 

no opportunity of brineln.g tr*e Fitter bf^fc . ^a^- C 

oif* + Vie 

p-rw * ?■ v v.^-r.-^*-.' +>»^ 1-^«..-.<t.H^^*,. ~ 

'XT. ■=» 


•ppolnt a delegate. I am very •orry that ir^ » 
froxE Aoceptii^ yoar kind lnvi.c. >n.. 

late to 

»refcre, debarred 

Tliiffiklng you ''* 

'*»'»^ V» <^? 1 

;■ v > and '^xpr 

b«na,ir of 

till! Unlvemity our oongratulationa aad goo-l wi# 

to remain. 

I iMkV 

Your obedient Her. a. .., 



The President of th- Fire In«titate 



July 11, 1912 

iily d«ar Sir, 

I beg to than]- you for your Vindnees in Inviting this University 
to send a delegate to the opening of the Institute in October 
next. I much regret that as the Vacation is now b«gun th-re will be ' 

no opportunity of bringing the matter before the Council of the U: 

ersity before the beginning of next Term, when it will b^ 


'00 late to 

appoint a delegate. l a:r. very sorry that we are, therefore, debarr 
from accepting your kind invitation. 

Thanking you for your courtesy, and expressing on behalf of 


this University our congratulations and good wishes, I have 

5 the honour 

to renmin. 

Yo'or obedient servant. 



The President of the Pice Institute. 



fVellesley College 
Mrs. Gentry Waldo 

Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas 
Dean Charles Puryear 

American Chemical Society 
Dr. Henry Winston Harper 

The Johns Hopkins University 
President Ira Remsen 

American Bar Association 
Robert Edward Lee Saner, Esq. 

Creighton University 
Dean Alpheus Hugh Hippie 

Sam Houston Normal Institute 
President Harry Fishburne Estill 

University College, Dundee 
William Mackenzie, Esq. 

University of Southern California 
President George Finley Bovard 

Bryn Mawr College 
Dr. Lindley Miller Keasbey 

American Society of Mechanical Engineers 

Dr. Alexander Crombie Humphreys 
William Buckhout Tuttle, Esq. 

Drake University 
President Hill McClelland Bell 

The Society of Chemical Industry 
Dr. George William Gray 



University of Texas 
President Sidney Edward Mezes 

American Institute of Electrical Engineers 
Fred Atwood Jones, Esq. 

The Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary 
President Robert Ernest Vinson 

Texas State Department of Education 
Superintendent Francis Marion Bralley 

American Economic Association 
Dr. Edmund Thornton Miller 

Goucher College 
Mrs. John W. Fairey 

United Chapters of Tau Beta Pi 
Dr. Brown Ay res 

H. Sophie Newcomb Memorial College 
President Brandt van Blarcom Dixon 

Michigan College of Mines 
President Fred Walter McNair 

University of Nevada 
President Joseph Edward Stubbs 

Catholic University of America 
Rev. James Martin Kerwin 

Geological Society of America 
Professor Frederic William Simonds 

Georgia School of Technology 
President Kenneth Gordon Matheson 



National Geographic Society 

Lewis Randolph Bryan, Esq. 
Mrs. Harris Masterson 

American Academy of Political and Social Science 
H. Baldwin Rice, Esq. 

Barnard College 
Dr. William Henry Carpenter 

Clark University 
Dr. Alexander Caswell Ellis 

Daniel Baker College 
President Tinsley Penick Junkin 

General Federation of Women's Clubs 
Mrs. Percy V. Pennybacker 

Howard Payne College 
President John Strother Humphreys 

North Carolina College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts 
President Daniel Harvey Hill 

American Microscopical Society 
Dr. Creighton Wellman 

Leland Stanford Junior University 
President David Starr Jordan 

American Jewish Historical Society 
Rabbi Wolf Willner 

The University of Chicago 
President Harry Pratt Judson 

University of New Mexico 

Regent Richard William Dickerson Bryan 
President David Ross Boyd 




University of Oklahoma 
President Stratton Duluth Brooks 

American Mathematical Society 
Dr. Milton Brockett Porter 

National Association of State Universities 
Dr. Sidney Edward Mezes 

Southwestern Louisiana Industrial Institute 
President Edwin Lewis Stephens 

American Physical Society 
Professor William Francis Magic 

Carnegie Institute of Technology 

Director Arthur Arton Hamerschlag 
Secretary William P. Field 

American Electrochemical Society 
Professor Eugene Paul Schoch 

Clark College 
Dr. Alexander Caswell Ellis 

General Education Board 
Dr. Harry Pratt Judson 

College of Industrial Arts 
President William Bennett Bizzell 

The South African School of Mines and Technology 

Hennen Jennings, Esq. 

Germanistic Society of America 
Professor William Henry Carpenter 

Dropsie College for Hebrew and Cognate Learning 

President Cyrus Adler 




University of Florida 
President Albert Alexander Murphree 

The Conference for Education in Texas 
Secretary Lee Clark 

Oklahoma State Department of Education 
Superintendent Robert Harrison Wilson 

American Nature Study Society 
Secretary Elliot Rowland Downing 

Oklahoma College for Women 
President James Burnette Eskridge 

American Federation of Arts 

Mrs. Jennie Scott Scheuber 

Professor William Woodward 

University of the Philippines 
Frank Russell White, Esq. 

Organization for the Enlargement and Extension by the State of 

Texas of its Institutions of Higher Education 

Robert Lynn Batts, Esq. 

Reed College 
President William Trufant Foster 



-I ^ 









































Thursday, October io, 19 12 

8 .-30 A.M. At the Bender Hotel an Informal Breakfast to 
the Lecturers, Delegates, and other Guests by the Trus- 
tees of the Institute 

10:30 A.M. In the Faculty Chamber of the Institute read 
or presented by title the Inaugural Lectures of 

Prof essor Rafael Altamira y Crevea, of Madrid, Spain 

The general ideas in the history of human progress. Their 
application to the political institutions of society. Their illus- 
tration in the Spanish backgrounds of American civilization 

Professor Hugo de Fries, of Amsterdam, Holland 

The ideals of a naturalist. Mutations in heredity. Geograph- 
ical botany. Modern cytological problems 

Professor John WiUia^n Mackail, of London, England 
Three lectures on the task and function of poetry in modern life 

Professor Frederik Carl St^rmer, of Chris tiania, Norway 
Three lectures on recent developments in cosmical physics, with 
special reference to the theory of magnetic storms 

I :oo P.M. At the Banquet Hall of the City Auditorium a 
Luncheon in honor of the Guests of the Institute by 
the Mayor and the Commissioners of the Municipal 
Government of the City of Houston. Responses by 
several delegates to addresses of welcome by the Gov- 
ernor of Texas, the Mayor of Houston, and the Chair- 
man of the Board of Trustees of the Institute 

3:00 P.M. In the Faculty Chamber of the Institute read 
or presented by title the Inaugural Lectures of 


Professor Emile Borel, of Paris, France 

Une conference sur les theories moleculaires et les mathema- 
tiques. Trois lecons sur la theorie des series divergentes et ses 
applications a la definition des fonctions monogenes 

Senator Benedetto Croce, of Naples, Italy 

II problema dell' arte e della critica— Quattro lezioni:— "Che 
cosa e Parte?,, Pregiudizii intorno all' arte. II posto dell' arte 
nello spirito e nella societa umana. La critica e la storia 
deir arte 

Professor Sir Flenry Jones, of Glasgow, Scotland 

Three lectures on philosophical landmarks: being a survey of 
the recent gains and the present problems of reflective thought 

Privy Councilor Baron Dairoku Kikuchl, of Tokyo, Japan 
Three lectures on the introduction of Western learning into 

5:00 P.M. In the Academic Court cf the Administration 
Building an Informal Garden Party at the conclusion 
of the lectures of the afternoon 

8:30 P.M. At the Majestic Theater a popular illustrated 
Lecture on the Ideals of a Naturalist, by Professor 
Hugo de Vries, of the University of Amsterdam 

9:30 P.M. At their home, 141 6 Main Street, a Reception 
in honor of the Guests of the Institute by Mr. and 
Mrs. James Addison Baker 

Friday, October ii, 19 12 

8 :30 A.M. At the Bender Hotel an Informal Breakfast 
tendered the Guests of the Institute by the President 
and Directors of the Houston Chamber of Commerce 



10:30 A.M. In the Faculty Chamber of the Institute read 
or presented by title the Inaugural Lectures of 

Privy Councilor Professor TVilhelm Ostwald, of Leipsic, 


Das System der Wissenschaften. Erfinder, Entdecker und Or- 
ganisatoren. Die Prinzipien der Erziehung. Die Grundbe- 
griffe der Chemie 

The late Professor Henri Poincare, of Paris, France 
Three lectures on the philosophy of the sciences 

Professor Sir JVilUam Ramsay, of London, England 
Three lectures on transmutation : some deductions from modern 
views concerning atoms and molecules 

Professor Senator Vito Volterra, of Rome, Italy 

A memoir in appreciation of the mathematical work and scien- 
tific influence of Henri Poincare. Three lectures on the prog- 
ress of science, in particular its advancement in Italy 

I :oo P.M. At the Thalian Club a Luncheon in honor of 
the Guests of the. Institute by Mr. and Mrs. Jonas 
Shearn Rice 

3:00 P.M. At the Majestic Theater a Concert by the 
Kneisel Quartet of New York to the Guests and 
Friends of the Institute by the Trustees 

5 :oo P.M. At their home, 'The Oaks/' after the Matinee 
Concert, a Garden Party to the Guests of the Institute 
by Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Brewington Parker 

8:30 P.M. At the Institute, in honor of the Inaugural 
Lecturers, a Chamber Concert by the Kneisel Quartet 
in the Faculty Room, to be followed by a Supper at the 
. Residential Hall Commons 


Saturday, October 12, 191 2 

9:30 A.M. From the Residential Hall a Procession of the 
Delegates and Guests in academic costume to the Aca- 
demic Court of the Administration Building. Inaugu- 
ral poem by Dr. Henry van Dyke and dedicatory 
addresses by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of 
Texas, the Bishop of Tennessee, and the President of 
the Institute 

12:30 P.M. At the entrance to the South Wing of the 
Residential Hall a photograph of the assembled Lec- 
turers and Delegates 

I :oo P.M. At the Institute Commons a Luncheon to the 
Guests of the Institute. Congratulatory addresses 
from universities at home and abroad, and from 
learned societies, foreign and national 

4:00 P.M. At the Houston Country Club a Farewell Re- 
ception by Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Odell Lovett 

6:30 P.M. From the Houston Country Club a special train 
to convey the Guests of the Institute to Galv^eston to 
receive the hospitality of the Hotel Galvez at the hands 
of the Trustees of the Institute 

8 :oo P.M. At the Hotel Galvez a Shore-supper and Smoker 


Sunday, October 13, 191 2 

8 :oo A.M. At the Hotel Galvez Breakfast 

9 :30 A.M. Special train from Galveston to Houston 

11:00 A.M. In the City Auditorium a Religious Service 
with Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Charles Frederic Aked, 
of San Francisco 



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Mayor Rice: Ladies and Gentlemen — This day marks 
an epoch in the history of our city. As head of the munici- 
pal government I have the pleasant privilege of extending 
a hearty welcome to our guests by whose presence the day is 
made historic. We are profoundly grateful to the distin- 
guished gentlemen who have come across the seas to do 
honor to our city and State on this occasion. Equally grate- 
ful are we to the many citizens of our great republic and to 
our fellow-citizens of Texas who are assembled here in the 
name of civilization. 

Though Houston is a comparatively young town, we have 
the energy and progressive spirit by which every young city 
in America, I believe, is characterized, and it gives me un- 
told satisfaction to know that in the commercial strife inci- 
dent to the great development of our country we still have 
the ability to recognize the necessity of cultivating the mind 
of man and giving him broad and thorough education. Of 
the institution which is opened to-day modesty forbids me to 
speak. To those who are going to make it a success and to 
those who have made great colleges a success I leave the 
expression of opinions which I might hesitate to form. But 
to all the distinguished guests of the new university I desire 
to say that although our city is small, as cities are measured, 
and thus unable to offer many of the entertainments and 
attractions of larger metropolitan cities, the hospitality we 
offer you comes from our hearts, and our desire to make 
your visit a pleasant one is not to be measured in any respect 
by the size or ways of the town, but by the ways and size of 
the human heart itself. 


I now have the pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, of intro- 
ducing to you the chairman of the Board of Trustees of the 
Rice Institute, a gentleman of high standing in this commu- 
nity, who has done a great work in its behalf — Mr. James 
A. Baker of Houston. 

Mr. James A. Baker: Your Excellency the Governor, 
your Honor the Mayor, and you my Friends and Guests of 
the Rice Institute—! am commissioned by the Rice Institute, 
whose dedication is to letters, science, and art, to extend to 
you, collectively and individually, a cordial welcome, not 
only to the halls and home of the new institution, but also to 
the homes and hearts of the people of the whole city of 

As America a little more than a hundred years ago 
achieved her national independence and established on her 
eastern shores an asylum for those seeking liberty, so, too, 
have we, through the magnificent generosity of William 
Marsh Rice, established in the far Southwest the Rice Insti- 
tute, an asylum of learning; and in the name of this new 
university I extend a welcome to all to come and drink from 
the fountains of knowledge which have been provided for 
this festal occasion. 

And especially do we extend a glad welcome to those of 
our guests who have come to us from foreign lands. 

A joyous welcome indeed to the representatives of the 
great French Republic; for it was she who more than a cen- 
tury ago recognized the independence of this country and 
gave to America the brilliant Lafayette, who in turn gave us 
generously of his blood and fortune, that the spirit of liberty 
might flourish upon our shores. 

An equally warm and cordial welcome to the representa- 
tives of the great German Empire— the Fatherland. She 


not only furnished us a distinguished soldier who fought 
with our forefathers the battles of our Revolution, but she 
has freely given us thousands upon thousands of the sturdy 
citizenship of our people, who have cultivated the waste 
fields of the State and nation until they bloom as the rose. 

A warm and joyous welcome to the distinguished repre- 
sentatives of imperial Spain, for to her we are indebted for 
the patronage of the intrepid discoverer of America. In 
the heartiness of this welcome we wish you to feel that all 
of the wounds inflicted by the late unpleasantness between 
Spain and America have long since been healed in the recol- 
lection of the bravery and the heroism of the soldiers of 
both armies. 

And a threefold welcome to the distinguished representa- 
tives of grand old England and merry old Scotland. In 
coming to America you come among us as kinsmen who are 
flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood. All the years 
which lie between 1776 and this year 191 2 have only served 
to teach us mutual sympathy and to strengthen the bonds 
that bind our hearts to our mother-country. 

Welcome, thrice welcome, one and all, to the hearts and 
homes of our people. 

Mayor Rice : It is my pleasure to introduce to this audi- 
ence the Governor of Texas; and when I say the Governor 
of Texas I mean the man who governs the largest area of 
land as a State in the American Union, and who, as a typical 
American, stands before the people of the United States as 
the chief executive of this great commonwealth — the Hon- 
orable O. B. Colquitt, Governor of Texas. 

Governor O. B. Colquitt: Mr. Mayor, Guests of the 
Rice Institute, of the City of Houston, and of the State of 
Texas, Ladies and Gentlemen— Tht most humble citizen of 



Texas may enjoy the privilege of being governor of this 
State, and on this occasion I feel myself to be the most 
humble of the humble. I am glad to be present on this occa- 
sion. I feel that I am indeed fortunate in being present. As 
chief executive of this State I am proud to come to Houston 
and welcome the representatives of American and foreign 
universities, distinguished scholars and scientists of England, 
France, and Holland, of Germany, Italy, and Spain, who 
have come to participate in the inauguration of the Rice 

Within seventeen miles of this city is the San Jacinto 
battle-field, where the Republic of Texas was born. In this 
city of Houston, which used to be the capital of the State, 
within three blocks of this auditorium, the Congress of the 
Republic of Texas used to assemble in a log cabin, and to 
that log cabin the nations of the earth sent their representa- 
tives in recognition of the republic. And now, in these latter 
days, you have the Rice Institute, a great private institution 
magnificently housed for the public good, and the nations of 
the earth send their representatives here to welcome it into 
the fold of educational institutions. 

With a handful of men under the leadership of Sam 
Houston, the independence of the republic was achieved in 
1836. Since that day the progress of the American people 
has been truly wonderful. The progress of the people of 
Texas has been even greater. We have builded without 
assistance a magnificent civilization. I say without assis- 
tance, for even William Marsh Rice's splendid contribution 
was a product of Texas, because, although a native of 
Massachusetts, he came to Texas in his early boyhood and 
here made his fortune and his career. 

I am happy to welcome you to Texas because Texas is 
made up of people from all the nations, and some of the 




best people we have are among those who have come from 
other nations. I am proud to say that my own mother's 
family came from Holland, and that the adjutant-general 
of my staff is an Englishman. 

I am proud, my friends, of the State of Texas. I am 
proud of its magnificent territory, proud of the progress that 
we are making in educational matters; and I want to say to 
you that as governor of Texas I am proud of the form of its 
government and of the government of this nation, the gov- 
ernment of Washington and Jefferson, of Madison and 
Franklin. They founded a government based on a written 
constitution, written for the purpose of defining and limiting 
the power of the government. Freedom of conscience, free- 
dom of religion, the right of each man to listen to the dictates 
of his own conscience, these are the proudest heritage of 
American citizenship enjoyed under this constitutional gov- 
ernment. And I want to say, without disparagement to any 
other nation, that there has been more advancement in 
science since the Declaration of American Independence 
than there was during six thousand years before. 

As I said a moment ago, the capital of this State, of the 
Republic of Texas, used to stand within three blocks of 
where you are now sitting. Representatives of foreign na- 
tions, of the French Government and of the English and 
German empires, came to Houston to represent their people 
at the capital of the Republic of Texas. In the meantime, 
we had knocked at the door of the American Union for 
entrance; our knocking was finally answered, and we became 
a part of this Union, and to-day we are the proudest part of 
these United States. 

The Mayor of the city of Houston was very modest in- 
deed when he told us that Houston is a small city. I want 
to say that Houston is not a small city, and I welcome you 


not only to the largest State in the Union, but to the largest- 
hearted municipality you will find between the rising and the 
setting of the sun. And now I want to invite those of you 
who are looking for a haven of prosperity, a haven of politi- 
cal and religious peace, to make your permanent residence in 
Texas. We do not ask your religion, we do not ask your 
politics, we do not ask you where you graduated— I had not 
the chance to graduate anywhere myself. All we ask is, 
Are you a man? We judge men by their merits. All shall 
have equal protection under the law. We are a truly cos- 
mopolitan people, and live by the freedom of democracy. 
The Rice Institute is one of the results of this freedom of 
spirit. This spirit of independence, this spirit of hope, this 
spirit of progress prevails everywhere throughout Texas. 
And, my friends, I want to say that so far as I am con- 
cerned, and so far as my influence might go, I would rather 
have founded the Rice Institute and provided for its main- 
tenance to educate the hearts and the minds of the people 
of Texas than to be emperor of any foreign nation of the 

Now, Mr. Mayor, I came here without any written 
speech. I have been so busy attending to the necessary af- 
fairs of the people who occupy the territory extending from 
Orange to El Paso, a distance of nine hundred and thirty 
miles, and from Brownsville at the mouth of the Rio Grande 
to Amarillo, a distance of nearly eleven hundred miles, that 
I have not had time to prepare a speech for you; but a man 
who is governor of a territory so extensive has so many 
features of life presented to him daily that he is always 
bold enough to make a speech on any occasion. 

Again I thank you one and all for coming to Houston and 
for the distinction you are lending the city and the State on 
this auspicious occasion, and again I welcome you from the 



bottom of my heart, and I speak for the entire citizenship 
of Texas in extending you that welcome. 

Mayor Rice: We have listened to Governor Colquitt's 
cordial address of welcome, and now we are going to have 
the great pleasure of listening to a response from one of our 
most distinguished foreign visitors. Professor Sir William 
Ramsay of London, England, who, with Lady Ramsay, has 
come to assist in the launching of Houston's university. 

Professor Sir William Ramsay: Your Excellency, your 
Honor, Ladies and Gentlemen — I have to make one remark 
before beginning, and that is to allude to the way in which 
the mayor expressed his invitation of welcome. He called 
me a ''foreign visitor." I decline that aspersion. I am not 
a foreign visitor. When we have the pleasure of receiving 
you Americans in London, we don't call you foreigners. We 
don't expect to be called foreigners when we come to your 

Now, ladies and gentlemen, what your mayor has said 
about the progress of education is true. It is absolutely 
true. The governor has hinted that the progress of edu- 
cation, the progress of science, has been contemporaneous 
with the separation of America from England. That re- 
minds me that I once heard your ambassador to Great 
Britain, Mr. Choate, make the following remark at a dinner 
given on the occasion of the ninth jubilee of the foundation 
of the University of Glasgow, which took place in 1901. 
He said: "Your institution was founded in the year 145 1, 
about the same date as that on which America was discov- 
ered. Before that you had what you justly called the 'dark 
ages.' " 

We are separated, America and Britain, but we on our 
side welcome the close alliance which now exists. I see in 



front of me the word ^'Peace." I am reminded of one of 
your great cities in America— Philadelphia— and of its 
motto, ^^Philadelphia maneto^^ (''Let brotherly love con- 
tinue''). I also see numerals on the same flag on which is 
written the word "Peace/' running from one to ten, which 
I presume is intended to recall the ten commandments. I 
presume it is intended to mean that the people here are not 
to break them. Well, ladies and gentlemen, up to the ninth 
commandment I am willing to obey; but when it comes to 
the tenth, I am not quite sure. I have seen the Rice Insti- 
tute this morning, I have read its papers, and I know what 
it intends to do, and I am not sure that you have done right 
to show us the Rice Institute before suggesting to us that 
tenth commandment. 

We know you have before you a magnificent career. You 
have begun it well by making appointments of eminent men 
to be your professors. You have begun it well by the num- 
ber of students whom you have enrolled. I am told that 
only about one fourth of those who could have attended and 
who could have come in have been accepted. You are going 
to keep your standard high. 

Well, gentlemen, there is one thing that has struck me as 
a danger threatening American universities. It is the large 
number of students enrolled. These numbers are growing 
too large. Let me give you a specific instance. The pro- 
fessor of chemistry in the University of California told me 
lately that he had over two thousand students to teach. To 
teach two thousand students is an impossibility. What can 
you do? My suggestion is this, that you increase the number 
of your teachers. Don't appoint assistants, teachers, lec- 
turers, but create entirely separate departments. If you 
require two professors of philosophy, have them at double 
expense. It pays. You cannot turn out students as you 


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vcs> omne* Rc«^ia<? UTiivcr5itari.s>Sludionim 
RomanaeVobii Viri clanssimi suis verbis 
haec a mt' ticnuntiari \v:^uerunt Quod exi* 
mia civii VksXfi libemiitate Vcstraque cum 
ac dihgeiitia novix apud V06 M u^arum Ae- 
v-aa ci>t omnibus rcbui.quae ad oflirxtii «tudia ex- 
ro1cn4a promovendaque pertinent opipare m5tTacta,V'«^ 
bi^gratuiamur. nobjs «^audc)rnu6 Nam ceruirnu: ^* 
6Lratum opera ^enuA hunianum ihvci^tis . > • -• 1 ;.. ; i 
modj vid aJ uUJit^em \ntae vel ad co^iii ... 
;>tudio as3jduo feUcic^ue^ succesiu locupkr-tan ;<t e« . 
r)iur.c)uicl<iuid ubi^uc. geiilium rcDrt-him sit.sdcun^ a^ 
onin<eo hv-wnirie.s Hm. .d n.v- tna .iitmciv Qir.v:v: 

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cUftin atiju.'^^ian- nunc 

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vD IV Id Oct anni ;«i 

f MCMXilpChrn 




T] ! ' 

front of 

me t 

he V 

your g-^' 

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written tile h 

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to break 

I heir. 


Peace/* I am reminded of one of 
merica— Philadelphia— and of its 
cto*' ("Let brotherly love con- 
, . ^.. ,.:^ 1-he '^-'me flag on which is 
Ciice," running irom one to ten, which 
(I to recall the ten commandments. I 
u> mean that the people here are not 
I, \:\ jnd eentlemen, up to the ninth 

commuiiUiiiCnt 1 im wilhii^ lu uulv ., uui vucn it comes to 
the tenth, I am not quite sure. 1 have st-en the Rice Insti- 
^"fp ^hlc -n< hnve l•Q^^l its papr - I know what 

Li intends C" and i am not sure that you have done right 
to show us rh^' Ri-.r [nsfifi^^e before ^^uv^ii g to us that 
tcncn comniuiidmcnr. 

We know you have before you a mag?: -t career. You 
have begun it well by making appoininuius .^i eminent men 
to be your professors. You have begun it well by the num- 
ber of cMiJpnfc T'hom you have enrolled. I am told that 
only about one lourth of those who could have attended and 
who cou^d have com" in have been accepted. You are going 
to keep your scanuai.. high. 

Well - 

a Oi'.ii^c 

too I.; 


nere is one tiling rh:i' has struck me as 

vUicUn uiiiv ci5i;.icci. iL ib liiC large 

^ enrolled. These mi s are growling 

bmver >t Calitornia told me 

Jarelv th-vt he had ovt^r rw«> thoiisnn;! stud^^nf*^ tn teach. To 
tcauii Lwu iiiuuj>iiau iiucicnt;; is *in irnpussibiiit) . What can 
you do? 1 is t ihat v'>u increase the number 

''■ y^-*'** 'Ji ai5i;^iauii>. luadicrs, lec- 

turers, i)v £ cnnreiy separate us. If you 

renu^re two nrof^'^'^nr^ of pImIo*;.' nhv- h- -. ^hem at double 
expense, ic pjys. 1 ou cap.noi lurn out students as you 










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ECTOR Maoniticus PraesidesProfcsso= 
105 omiies Rco^iae UnivcriilaM^^tudionim 
RomanaeVobis Vin clai'issimi suis verbis 
hacc a me denuntiah x-oluerunt. Quod exi- 
miacivis V^tri liberaiitateVestraque cura 
ac'diligciitia nova apudV^os Musarum se= 
de5 condita est omnibus rcbus.quae ad optinta 6tudia ex= 
colcnda promovcndaquc pertinent, opipare instructa.Vcn 
bi6 gratulamur. nobis gaudemus.Nam cernimusVc- 
stratum opera genus hunianuna ihvcnlis ciiiuscumque 
modi vcl ad utilitatem vitae vel ad cognilionem rcruni 
studio asoiduo helicique successu locupletari ; et arbitra= 
fnur.quiJc[uid ubi».juc gentium, repertum sit. id cum ad 
omne5 honimcs tun\ ad nos maxime attmeiv QiiaTC 
Institute V^stro lam lactis auspiciis orto y/oto^ 
etiam atque etiam nuncupamu* aao;ura= 
murque ibre ut m pcrpetuumfloreat 

atque .summam doctrinae glo= 
nam adipiscatur Q_uod 
bonum laustuin.feiix 
fbrtuneitumque sit- 


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lADlVldOct anni 





MCMXilpChrn gj. 



would needles or wire or nails. Learned men cannot be 
made like them. Each student must come into personal con- 
tact with his teachers. 

And now, gentlemen, speaking for your foreign visitors 
and guests, I have the honor to express our gratitude to you 
for having given us this opportunity of coming among you. 
We have passed, my wife and I, through this great country 
of Texas. Of course I suppose that while alongside of a 
railroad one sees the homes and the farms of the settlers, 
when one goes back of a railroad the country loses signs of 
being inhabited, yet what we have seen of the country has 
been magnificent. It is evidently very fertile, and it is be- 
coming populated, and you have only to wait and let Immi- 
gration take place to have Texas become one of the greatest 
imperial States of this country, and one of the finest in the 

We have come to you, we have come to see your country, 
we have come to make friends with you, and I now desire 
that you will give us every opportunity to do so. 

I thank you very heartily for your cordial reception. 

I will now use a custom which is not included in American 
gatherings of this kind, but is common at similar gatherings 
on the continent of Europe; it is to raise my glass and drink 
to ''The Prosperity of the Rice Institute." 

Mayor Rice: Professor William Henry Carpenter, Pro- 
vost of Columbia University, is one of our guests from the 
Metropolis of the Union. He has kindly consented to re- 
spond for the Eastern institutions. With great pleasure I 
present him to you. 

Provost William Henry Carpenter : Ladies and Gen- 
tlemen — The life of every human being in retrospect, I 



imagine, has its quota of regrets for hopes unfulfilled and 
for opportunities wasted. Since I have been sitting at this 
table, I have added still another to my own total of regrets, 
and that is a regret that I am not a citizen of this great com- 
monwealth of Texas. The governor's speech has filled me 
with desire. I belong to a community which, to be sure, has 
played its historical part in the evolution of a nation; but 
nevertheless, when I think over its past in connection with 
the governor's glowing picture of the future, it seems to me 
what we have done is little in amount and significance in its 
ultimate effect as an influential part of the whole. 

The president of the Rice Institute has asked me to say a 
word on behalf of the Eastern institutions of learning. In 
thinking over what I was to say before I came here, it 
seemed diflScult to make a choice where so much might be 
said at the launching of a new educational enterprise under 
the peculiarly favorable conditions that attend the present. 
Some thoughts, however, have suggested themselves, that 
perhaps may be presented as bearing upon the occasion that 
has called us together. 

The one thing that I have thought of is the object-lesson 
that is made by such a gathering of men as are present here 
to-day. For it seems to me that no gathering of men, for 
whatever purpose it is arranged, or in whatever spirit it is 
intended, is so significant as is an assemblage of this kind, 
that has brought learned men across the seas and from so 
many parts of this great republic. 

No gathering of men speaks so much for the solidarity 
of human Interests as does an educational gathering such as 
this. There are other gatherings of men that have for their 
object the extending of the propaganda of some particular 
subject. There are political conventions that are got to- 
gether in a state or in a nation for a single definite purpose. 



But here is a gathering from the ends of the earth for a 
purpose that is broader In Its Intention and its results than 
any other— the common purpose of education. 

And another thing comes to my mind in looking over the 
names of the delegates to your celebration. I have thought 
not only of the solidarity of interest, but of the permanency 
of interest that is Indicated by the gathering here to-day. 

No human Institution is so permanent as a university. 
Dynasties may come and go, political parties may rise and 
fall, the influences of men may change, but the universities 
and what they stand for go on forever. Oxford and Cam- 
bridge have outlasted changes of party and of policy. The 
University of Paris has withstood a revolution that trans- 
formed the face of the nation, but It exists to-day stronger 
than ever before. The University of Bologna, to go further 
afield, stands almost alone as a monument of previous great- 
ness In a city whose Importance is wholly a thing of the past 
and whose very existence has almost been forgotten. And 
in our country universities have been founded that have out- 
lasted the long list of presidents of the republic. Harvard 
and Yale and Princeton and Columbia, In fact, have wit- 
nessed the change from the colonial government of England 
to the democracy of the present day. Whigs and Tories 
have come and gone, political waves have risen to the sur- 
face and have been submerged, generations of men have 
lived and died, but these universities have gone on their way 
to the present time, and, well founded, they will go on for- 

No human activity is so permanent as the influence of the 
university, and the opportunities of the university are greater 
to-day than they have ever been before In the civilized 
world. This is possibly true as well of the great Industries 
of this great country, and the two— Industry and education — 



go more and more hand in hand together. The present time 
is pre-eminently a time of awakening in industry and educa- 
tion alike, and industry, in its many-sided interests, is look- 
ing more and more to education, even in an age that is called 
material, for enlightenment and support. Out of the labora- 
tories of the universities are coming to an increasing extent 
the influences that make for economic and industrial im- 
provement and contribute to the betterment of human living 
and to the good of mankind. 

In America we have had in education an era of theology 
at the beginning, which was succeeded by an era of law, and 
which, in its turn, has been succeeded by the era of science 
in which we at the present time live. It seems to me that 
the time is ripe for the founding of a university such as the 
Rice Institute will doubtless develop into in the near future. 
There is in my mind, and in the minds of many who have 
carefully watched the signs of the times, the possibility of 
the development of a new interest in America in the arts and 
in letters and in all the liberal knowledge that is included 
under these names. By taking advantage of the opportunity 
which is plainly open to you in working out your educational 
plan, and by firmly basing a scientific superstructure only 
upon a broad cultural foundation, you will not only exercise 
an important influence in that movement of enlightenment 
that is sweeping through this part of the world, as the gov- 
ernor has so proudly and eloquently explained to us, but you 
will contribute your part to a movement that presently, un- 
less all signs fail, will extend over the United States. 

There is an old motto, a motto that has come down out 
of the distant past: ^'Ex oriente lux^* ("Light comes out of 
the East'^). In the establishment of the Rice Institute you 
have done something that in a future that may not be distant 
will lead us to say, ^'Ex occidente lux/^ as well, for light will 



surely come to us out of the West as a consequence of your 


Well, gentlemen, I do not know that I have much more 
to say. I should, however, after all, like to say just one 
more word about the opportunities of a great university, 
such as this in the future is to be, as a factor in the life of 

the nation. 

Somebody has said, "The weaknesses of a democracy are 
the opportunities of education." I think there is a great 
deal in that to ponder over, because a democracy— this 
democracy— does have its weakness as well as its strength. 
A great weakness, as I see it, in this democracy is the indif- 
ference that largely prevails throughout the country to the 
broader education of the body of the people. If we go on 
along those lines in the future as we frequently follow them 
to-day, we shall develop here in America not at all what 
the forefathers of the republic had in mind when they signed 
the Declaration of Independence, and we shall have a gov- 
ernment of the many by the few, instead of a government 
by all, as is inherent in the very life of a democracy. It is 
the business of the educator to recognize this weakness, to 
come down from his heights into the valleys, and to work 
in the light that has been given him for the extension of edu- 
cational opportunity that will make in the end for the salva- 
tion of his country. 

Now, gentlemen, in closing, I wish to extend to the Rice 
Institute, so auspiciously founded to-day, the congratulations 
of the older Eastern universities upon your entrance into the 
work of education— a work, maybe, that has its discourage- 
ments, but which has in an extraordinary measure its pro- 
found satisfactions. My university— Columbia University 
in the City of New York— was founded back in 1754, so 
that I am speaking in a way, at least by proxy, out of the 




depths of time and experience. I wish, however, not merely 
to bring to you the felicitations of our universities in the East 
on your birthday, but to extend to you by a heartfelt grasp 
of the hand an invitation to join our ranks, in what seems 
to me in many ways to be more than almost any other human 
institution whatever, a community of the immortals. 
I thank you, gentlemen. 

Mayor Rice : It is now my pleasure to introduce to this 
audience Professor Vlto Volterra of the University of 
Rome, life Senator of the Italian Kingdom, whom we wel- 
come most cordially from the south of Europe to this south- 
ern country of the American nation. 

Professor Senator Volterra: Mr. Governor, Mr, 
Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen — I should like first of all to 
declare my great pleasure in being present at this festival, 
and my appreciation of the cordial and bountiful hospitality 
that I have found here in Houston. Allow me to express the 
feeling of admiration that I experience in visiting this great 
new country, an admiration that has changed only to in- 
crease since my last coming to America. Your high civiliza- 
tion and enterprising spirit have been able to conquer an 
entire continent, to create as if by enchantment marvelous 
cities like this which we are visiting now. These grow up 
in a few years. They provide themselves not only with all 
the modern comforts which make existence easy and agree- 
able, but also reach a high place in life that is intellectual 
and moral. And we see here to-day one of the most notable 
examples of this spirit, as we inaugurate this magnificent 
university, the gift of William Marsh Rice. He has ren- 
dered to the culture of his country a magnificent, well-con- 
ceived service. 



No institution could more impress the mind, could make 
more manifest the difference between the old continent 
which we have left, and this country, full of youth and spirit, 
which we have found. Our universities have ancient and 
most deep-reaching traditions. Every idea that has been 
developed in moral and intellectual fields, from the time of 
the distant Middle Ages until to-day, has left its impress 
upon them, and their life exhibits always the results of this 
long development of customs and thought. But you have 
created institutions from the beginning and at once, univer- 
sities in which you can accommodate everything to the de- 
mands of the present, without the embarrassment of a single 
relic from the past. 

Yet the men of the old universities of Europe, and those 
who constitute the new ones in America, have the same high 
aspirations and scientific ideals in common. Rendering mu- 
tual aid, they can and ought to march together. Both should 
bring their contributions to the collective labor that tends to 
scientific progress and evolution. 

It is for this reason that I see with such great joy, united 
here before me, the representatives of these two continents. 

Mayor Rice: I now have the honor of introducing to 
you Professor Sir Henry Jones of the University of Glas- 
gow. We welcome this distinguished philosopher warmly 
from a city whose example we have sought to emulate in the 
Houston ship-channel. 

Professor Sir Henry Jones : Your Excellency the Gov- 
ernor of Texas, your Honor the Mayor of Houston, Ladies 
and Gentlemen— V^t have been told many things this after- 
noon, and told them well. You will pardon me, I am sure, 
if my words are few; I am not convinced that though they 




were many they would add to the value of those to which 
you have already listened with such courtesy and so gladly. 
But I have two duties to perform, and I can neglect 
neither The first is to express my satisfaction m bemg pres- 
ent amongst so many lovers of learning not only from this 
city but from the States of America and of western and 
southern Europe. I count it a great privilege. On the last 
occasion of such a gathering as this at which I was present, 
the jubilee of Lord Kelvin as professor in the University 
of Glasgow was being celebrated. Professor Ker of Lon- 
don University compared it to heaven. "You meet so many 
old friends," he said, "and you are so surprised to see them. 

My second duty and my still greater privilege is to jom 
with you all in good wishes for the prosperity of the Rice 
Institute. You are entering to-day, ladies and gentlemen, 
upon an enterprise whose significance for the future no man 
can measure. There is no doubt as to the means whereby 
man masters his world and converts its blind forces into 
beneficent powers. They are the same means, in the last 
resort, as those which help him in the still more difficult 
enterprise of mastering himself. They have all one, and 
only one, purpose. It is that of so operating upon the mind 
of man as first to awaken and then to foster that passion for 
truth which Is the condition of all sincerity in conduct as 
well as of all advancement in knowledge, and which brings 
a clear conscience as well as a clear mind. Your Institute, 
in the last resort, is dedicated to the making of character- 
and character, good or bad, builds up or pulls down civili- 
zation. It is the greatest thing in the world. With all my 
heart I desire your prosperity In your dealing with it, for in 
it Is the true measure of the attainment of the end which 
you have set before you in the Rice Institute -"the advance- 
ment of literature, science, and art." 


Mayor Rice: We have among our guests Dr. George 
Gary Comstock of the University of Wisconsin. It is now 
my pleasure to present him to you, with a request that he 
speak not only for his own university, but for the other insti- 
tutions of the West. 

Dean George Gary Gomstock: Your Excellency the 
Governor, your Honor the Mayor, my Colleagues, Ladies 
and Gentlemen-On behalf of the university I represent- 
Wisconsin-and on behalf of her sister universities of the 
Middle West, in so far as I may speak for them, it is with 
great pleasure that I return to you our thanks for the cour- 
tesies that we have received on this occasion, and our appre- 
ciation of the very warm hospitality that the city of Houston 
and the State of Texas have extended to us. 

But I stand here, Mr. Mayor, not simply as the recipient 
of your kind hospitality, but as your fellow-countryman in 
welcoming the addition of a new star to the educational 
firmament of this land. I desire to join with you especially 
in extending my share of recognition and praise to that new 
name that has been added to the list of distinguished bene- 
factors of American learning and science, to that list which, 
beginning with Harvard and Yale and continuing in un- 
broken line through the generations of our forefathers, to- 
day has added to its roll the name of William Marsh Rice. 
We stand at the beginnings of the Rice Institute, a notable 
foundation placed in the midst of an empire ready for its 
service. It is the function of its honorable president and its 
Board of Trustees to care for the future of that institution, 
to determine the lines along which its development shall 
take place; and far be it from me upon this occasion to ex- 
press to them aught other than sympathy for their under- 
taking. Words of advice are not needed, and would indeed 



be out of place at this time. But I may speak to some of 
you gentlemen here, who are men of affairs, who enjoy the 
fruits that come out of the educational policy of our land, 
and who desire to see that policy grow and bear fruit fairer 
and better than any yet realized. 

The greatest Englishman of our day, politician, adminis- 
trator, financier-I mean the late Cecil Rhodes-cherished 
such desires from boyhood to the close of his career, and 
dying at the height of his power and influence, left a vast 
fortune to be devoted mainly to such ends. Let me put be- 
fore you briefly his aspiration and the purpose that he sought 
to accomplish by endowing at Oxford University some two 
hundred scholarships to be filled by the most promising 
youth that could be collected from English-speaking lands; 
young men of power and purpose, of moral aspiration as' 
well as scholarly attainment, who were to be assembled at 
that ancient seat of British culture, "for breadth of view, 
for mstruction in life and manners," and-mark the vision 
of the empire-builder !-"to secure an attachment to the 
country from which they have sprung." Does his vision ap- 
peal to you? Is it worth while to bring together during their 
impressionable years the youth that have shown promise 
of future leadership and to give to them a common training 
m the best traditions of the race? To wear down the cor- 
ners of prejudice, to round out the defects of provincialism, 
to fill up the gaps of ancestral experience? Rhodes thought 
It was. I share his belief, and I appeal to you, gentlemen, 
shall this remain only a British ideal? May we not look 
forward to its Americanization? May there not be placed 
upon the head of the Rice Institute a great crown of glory in 
that It shall be a center toward which the youth of the world 
shall come to be trained in the ideals of American life and 


#ii'"^.,jl^,"_^*# ill 


THE UNIVRRSFTY OF ABKRDEKN having been invited by 
the President and Trustees of the Rice Institute of [liberal 
and Technical Learning in Houston, Texas, to send a dele.oate 
to the formal opening of the New University and to the 
exercises attending the Inauguration of the ^:ducational Pro- 
gramme of the Institution on the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth 
of October; the University Court, in response to the invitation, 
while endeavouring to arrange that the University of Aberdeen 
shall be represented on so auspicious an occasion by r,ne 
of its graduates, desires to congratulate the President and 
Trustees of the Rice Institute upon the magniHcent endow- 
ments and buildings in their charge, and prays that the studies 
to which these have been devoted, and which open this year, 
may abundantly flourish to the advancement of Literature, 
Science, and Art in the State of Texas and throughout the' 
American Continent. 



dcLa^s,^ ^^•t^ V /. ^ . 

Principal and Vice-chancellor. 

September jsth, 191 2. 



11 Rhc 

■ , nt 




macrcrs, I 

,-i r^ ;-* pi 1* . 

BOOK OF T; oi^? 

light, of religion and liberty, tor the use ana pruni 
.■• lule earth? 

But, gentlerneit ' '.'dm Iroui nua concept 
pressed with equal clearness In the words ^-r . 
an.l which seems also ^.ntnxvn^fhv r>Jh-!^ -n 
way. Having confided to Uxiora tne spiendi 
ab(u f> suggested, he pavs his respects to its pc 
words: *'As aie coucgc authorities hv. 
world, and are so like children as to commt 
wouiu aa\ isc them to consult ...; tP'^t^^ 
of our American universities, lei me disclaim aiiv sucii con- 
cent ns hp Irind of m.en that shor'ld compose the ♦acuity 
of an jiistiiunon of learning. V de 

West believe that a great university shnuld be an institution 
lu wiiuu the comrnuni 
ship, for expert advice in r 

that He ^^evond the rinrrr d 

be a place in v/hich I. 

suhsfantial additions "w 

art; nut n no less iHcu^uH: mu.. 

knowledge is utilized for the bene the 

A major function of th-v . 

concrete and profitable to mankimi, and riiat ^nd ^diuiy 

secured ^v the dreamy rechi^p n( Mr. Rhodes. That 

Indeed lias its uses, and wiih its Gisappearimic t>onietns!iu 

would be lost from the sweetness of life, but let us not trust 

to It aiOiie iot uur academic. :^^:^^ 

Here are two ideas that T would bring before you: " 
the institution in wh-^^^ K^n^e we meet ^^.;^a• hi^j Kpfnrp -r 
an extraordinary oppurt unity to ser\ 
its ncrvp.rrntprx and that it wHI • ^nnlus to voui 

moned iiitiier nom an area rar vviuc:- uiau the pru. 








*» ';i:THV 


PrcsKlent and 
' Jmniitute upon tJ;e magriHct ,. 

Jjii^s Ml their charge -^mi pmv- ,du's 


d>y^A^£L >^(' d 


light, of religion and liberty, for the use and profit of the 
whole earth? 

But, gentlemen, I turn from this concept to another ex- 
pressed with equal clearness in the words of Cecil Rhodes, 
and which seems also noteworthy, albeit in a very different 
way. Having confided to Oxford the splendid commission 
above suggested, he pays his respects to its personnel in the 
words: "As the college authorities live secluded from the 
world, and are so like children as to commercial matters, I 
would advise them to consult my trustees," etc. On behalf 
of our American universities, let me disclaim any such con- 
cept as to the kind of men that should compose the faculty 
of an institution of learning. We of the North and Middle 
West believe that a great university should be an institution 
to which the community may turn for guidance, for leader- 
ship, for expert advice in matters of science and scholarship 
that lie beyond the range of every-day experience. It should 
be a place in which knowledge grows; in which, year by year, 
substantial additions are made to science, to letters, and to 
art; but in no less measure should it be a place in which that 
knowledge is utilized for the benefit of the man on the street. 
A major function of the university is to make abstract science 
concrete and profitable to mankind, and that end cannot be 
secured by the dreamy recluse of Mr. Rhodes. That type 
indeed has its uses, and with its disappearance something 
would be lost from the sweetness of life, but let us not trust 
to it alone for our academic staff. 

Here are two ideas that I would bring before you: that 
the institution in w^hose home we meet to-day has before it 
an extraordinary opportunity to serve humanity as one of 
its nerve-centers, and that it will be a stimulus to youth sum- 
moned hither from an area far wider than the prairies of 



Texas and placed under the influence of men awake to the 
needs and tendencies of the times and capable of giving will 
and heart to service that shall be as thorough and competent 
as it is devoted. 

And now let me bid you join in pledging to the Rice Insti- 
tute and its successful fulfilment of its mission that good old 
academic toast: 

^'Fivat, crescat, floreat in eternumr^ 

Mayor Rice: Among the university presidents of the 
East who have come to visit us at this time is the distin- 
guished president of Lehigh University, Dr. Henry Sturgis 
Drinker. I have great pleasure in asking him to address 

President Henry Sturgis Drinker: Governor Col- 
quitt, Mayor Rice, President Lovett— Among the gracious 
words of welcome which have greeted us who have come 
from distant points to rejoice with you to-day were words 
of kindly thanks and appreciation for our presence here. 
Sirs, it is for us from full hearts to thank you for the oppor- 
tunity to share in the great work to-day inaugurated, and I 
assure you we appreciate the privilege. 

We come from the North, the South, the East, and the 
West to draw from the Lone Star State the new inspiration 
of liberty that you gave us of the older States in your strug- 
gle for independence, and now you are setting us a further 
example in your successful educational progress. 

Columbia University has just spoken to us from among 
the older institutions of our land. There was a time when 
we used to rate Lehigh University as of the younger brethren 
in the educational family. But we have moved up into the 
middle-aged class. The donation of Asa Packer, amounting 



in the aggregate to about three million dollars, and begin- 
ning with five hundred thousand dollars in 1865, to found 
my Alma Mater— Lehigh— was at that time said to be the 
largest sum ever given to education. But now you spring 
full-panoplied into the arena with your magnificent endow- 
ment, and withal, with the past half-century of experience of 
our country in the working out of our American system of 
higher education, of which you may, and will, avail. 

Surely your future is bright, and surely the founder of this 
great institution— great already, greater in its potentialities 
for the future— merits the application of Sophocles' words 
where he says in his ''GEdipus" : 

^'Methinks no work so grand 
Hath man yet compassed, as, with all he can 
Of chance or power, to help his fellow-manJ* 

Mayor Rice : Professor Emile Borel, a celebrated mathe- 
matician and educator of France, has come to the inaugura- 
tion of the Rice Institute as the official delegate from the 
University of Paris, the mother of all modern universities, 
to participate in our academic festival. You will, I am sure, 
share the pleasure and honor I feel in introducing him to you. 

Professor Emile Borel: Mr, Governor, Mr, Mayor, 
Ladies and Gentlemen— Tht presence on this occasion of so 
many eminent representatives of American and European 
universities shows clearly with what interest the learned 
world regards the inauguration of your new university. I 
am happy to convey to you the greetings and congratulations 
of the University of Paris, which is one of the oldest of uni- 
versities. I am happy to thank you, both in its name and 
in my own, for your cordial hospitality. The municipality 
of Houston does us the honor of receiving us to-day as its 




guests. Permit me to raise my glass to the rapid extension 
of this great new city, so active and so rich, which, along 
with its commercial development, has desired to have a 
corresponding scientific and intellectual development, in such 
a way as to become doubly a center— namely, a business 
center and a center of thought. I drink most heartily to the 
prosperity of the city of Houston and to the prosperity of 
the Rice Institute. 

Mayor Rice : It is now my pleasure to call upon the presi- 
dent of one of our own Southern universities, who will re- 
spond on this occasion for the universities of the South- 
Chancellor Kirkland of Vanderbilt University. 

Chancellor James Hampton Kirkland: Your Excel- 
lency the Governor, your Honor the Mayor, Ladies and 
Gentlemen — It is a pleasure to be here on a day that, I think, 
will live and go down in the history of this country and the 
State of Texas. I have had the honor as well as the plea- 
sure of attending and participating in many educational con- 
ferences and many gatherings of men of science and letters, 
but I never attended one launched upon such a broad scale 
— such a truly cosmopolitan scale— as this gathering inci- 
dent to the dedication of the Rice Institute. It means that 
the great colleges of the world recognize the Rice Institute 
as one of their number. 

When all who have participated in these exercises have 
passed away, and all who are now appearing and bearing 
the glory of building this new institution have passed, their 
work and this beginning of this Institute will be remembered 
in history as the greatest day in the history of Houston and 

It is a pleasant thing. Governor Colquitt, to come to 
Texas. Tennesseeans know that, and they come here in 



abundance. You are gracious, Mr. Mayor, to call for com- 
ment from a representative of my State. Among the names 
most revered in the State of which I am a citizen is the name 
of Sam Houston. Do you know, sir, that a very curious 
thing is this, that every historian of Tennessee who has writ- 
ten about Sam Houston and his life has raised the question, 
but never found a solution of the question, why Sam Hous- 
ton ever left Tennessee and came to Texas. But no man 
who has ever lived in Texas has ever raised the question. 

It is of very great significance that the governor of the 
State is here from his duties to take part in the exercises of 
to-day, to participate in the inauguration of a great private 
institution, as he has just said. I do not agree with the gov- 
ernor. This great institution that you are launching here is 
not a private institution. There are no private educational 
institutions, gentlemen. All institutions for the education of 
a people are public institutions, devoted to public acts and 
public enterprise, and always part of the great public inter- 
est. As we come to this festal day, a few things of great 
significance occur to those of us who are working in other 
institutions, especially so if those institutions happen to be in 
the South. 

In the first place, the Rice Institute begins its history with- 
out the dreaded poverty that has marked the growth of every 
Southern institution, and of almost every institution in this 
country, until now. We of the South know what it is to pass 
through individual and institutional poverty, and of the two, 
I may say that institutional poverty is worse, much worse, 
than individual poverty, more harassing and harder to get 

rid of. 

Another striking factor in the greatness of this institution 
I speak of with real gratification. The Rice Institute will 
not be compelled to follow the example of so many insti- 


• - •■ • • ■ ■ r ■»•«• • •* »"-.* ' 

^ ityn^Upji ^ - ■liiiimnfiif I ly 


tutions, and engage in the mad race for numbers. It can 
afford, under its endowment, to make it a badge of honor 
to have been a student of the Rice Institute, and I am sure 
that just such high standards will be maintained. 

Still another factor I would mention— though I mention 
none of these things to give advice. This institution will be 
conducted, by the history of Its being, to a certain specific 
line of work, to a line that we may call scientific in its broad- 
est sense, scientific In a sense that would neglect neither the 
spiritual nor the commercial value of science. Now, In that 
broad sense, we look to this institution to be a mediator be- 
tween those two great ideas. And in this work of mediation 
it will do great and needed service to the South. What 
resources of the land here are undeveloped! Throughout 
our whole history we have been lingering along, and we 
have followed along the way of our fathers, believing that 
what was good enough for them would be good enough for 
us. But now in the South we realize that, while we honor 
the past, the past is not good enough for the present and 
much less Is It good enough for the future. Our leaders 
are breaking away from the past traditions; they are think- 
ing for themselves, and they are speaking for themselves. 
The day Is near at hand when Southern men shall again enter 
in power and influence the halls of state which their fathers 
held under possession in the earlier years of our national 

And so I look to the Rice Institute to lead a new South, 
a South that shall walk hand in hand, in science. Industry, 
and service, with all other sections of our country and with 
the whole world. 

Mayor Rice : Among the distinguished European scien- 
tists present this afternoon is Professor Hugo de Vries of 



Amsterdam, eminent for his researches In biology. I now 
have much pleasure in presenting him to you. 

Professor Hugo de Vries : Mr. Governor^ Mr, Mayor ^ 
Ladies and Gentlemen — \ bring greetings from the Univer- 
sity of Amsterdam to the Rice Institute, now entering upon 
a university career begun under conditions the most favor- 
able. The universities of the old world as well as the uni- 
versities of the new world welcome the advent of this new 
university. There is room in the world for more and more 
universities, because the tasks of science and education, al- 
ways vast, are becoming vaster and vaster. This is not my 
first visit to America. And here in Houston and in Texas, 
as on previous visits, I find warm hospitality and friendly 
greeting. I am grateful to the president and trustees of the 
Rice Institute, to the mayor and citizens of Houston, and 
to the governor and people of Texas for the gracious hos- 
pitality I am enjoying as their guest. For the new university 
I predict a bright future full of service to science and to 
Texas. To that prosperous future I raise my glass in high 
hopes and confident expectation. 

Mayor Rice: We have listened to warm responses from 
our foreign guests, and to equally cordial expressions from 
American Institutions of the North, South, East, and West. 
It is now my pleasure to call upon a university man of Texas 
who will respond for the universities and colleges of this 
State— President Samuel Palmer Brooks of Baylor Uni- 

President Samuel Palmer Brooks: Your Excellency 
the Governor^ your Honor the Mayor ^ Ladies and Gentle- 
men— I confess very much personal embarrassment that I, 
a simple Texan, reared on the frontier of things, should be 



associated here with these distinguished guests who have 
come from the learned scientific centers of the world. I am 
conscious of my inability to measure language and know- 
ledge with these men, skilled as all of them are in their 
respective fields. 

Gentlemen of the scientific world, you have a welcome in 
Texas. What we may lack in expressing this welcome we 
fill full in the bounty of our sincerity. For your learning 
we have high respect. You have ceased to surprise us by 
your discoveries. If you shall reduce all old physical ele- 
ments to one, or conserve the waves of the ever-rolling sea, 
or extract the heat of unmined coal, or find perpetual mo- 
tion, or increase the working-hours of honey-bees by cross- 
ing them with lightning-bugs, we Texans will never run from 
the facts. 

President Lovett, Professors of Rice Institute, Members 
of the Board of Trustees, I give congratulation to you each 
and all on this happy day, the culmination of labors that 
make possible so auspicious an opening of this promising 

Ladies and gentlemen all, we here together represent the 
aristocracy of science and letters, which at last is a pure 
democracy where the merit of every man counts. However 
exalted we may become, we delight to sit at the feet of those 
able to teach us. However humble may be the walk and 
work of the schoolmaster, it carries the dominant note of 
strength, without limits of language or law or geography. 
However many of the old and worthy universities and col- 
leges of the East there may be, none will fail to rejoice at 
the coming of any new institution giving promise of genuine 
power in the development of men. Right well we know 
there is no competition in real culture. 

As I speak these words of congratulation on this felici- 




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respective iieids. 

i exa^. " Vhal wc 

til] hiU he hount*' nl 

vour discover!'*-. 

)u h?\c .. *rf^lrf^me in 

siiig this vveicome we 

F'or v(>ur learning 

cubc^ iipnse us oy 

11 old physical ele- 

■ - iv-JKng sea, 

imd perpetual mo- 

ev-hees by cross- 

exaas wul never run from 

tlif fict? 

i ' '\ Members 

' gi\ e ccfigratuhuion to you each • 
..^. i ic culmi^ ' -^ labors that 

make possible so auspicious an opening ui this promising 

i ■ ' '^ c luTc ajgether represent the 

at last is a pure 

! f ■ < . 

V bet 

■ L wifhoi; . 
Hovi; many 

letres of the Fast th- 

powe (ievr 

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o sic at the teet of those 

^le ^ he walk and 

:rnes the. dominant note of 

iincre or \iw or <jerMTraphy. 

v>oriiiv' umversiiics and col- 

n fail to rejoice at 

; J, .1^ Piwii.-e of genuine 

Ticn. Kight well we know 


>rd^ or cuiigratulation on this felici- 

L- J 

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tous occasion, I do not forget the true and tried work of the 
institutions of learning in Texas. While young to you, I 
remind you that Baylor University received its charter from 
the Republic of Texas, which in the council-chamber of the 
nations of the earth for ten years was counted worthy to sit 
in the person of its ambassadors. Her students have walked 
untrodden places and welcomed learning from any source. 
Baylor as a private institution does not work alone. By her 
side in fidelity to truth and service have walked Southwest- 
ern, Austin College, and others of fewer years. I ask you 
to look out upon the work of the University of Texas, whose 
president and representatives are with us to-day. Its gradu- 
ates are actually sitting in the councils of learning and power 
the world over. Nor do I forget the Agricultural and Me- 
chanical College, whose purpose has been, and is, to dignify 
the knowledge of things pertaining to the earth and the 

handicrafts of men. 

All Texas institutions are ready to learn and to utilize the 
experience of others. We do not work for ourselves, but 
for our country. We do not put limits on what we call our 
country. We love our State, our nation; we love the world, 
and believe heartily that we are a part of it. We believe in 
the brotherhood of man, and that God Is no respecter of 
persons. Our work is world-wide. 

On behalf of the educational Institutions of Texas which 
I have the honor to represent, let me give thanks to the 
president and trustees of the Rice Institute for the pleasures 
of this day, and hope for them fields of usefulness as broad 
as the world. With you, sirs, we join hands in common ser- 
vice for the advancement of the human race. 



Mayor Rice: On behalf of our citizens, I thank all these 
gentlemen most warmly for the addresses with which they 




have honored us on this occasion. I beg also to assure them 
and all of you that the welcome which we have extended at 
this time has no limit either of duration or season. We want 
you to stay not only through the celebration of the next few 
days, but just as much longer as you can conveniently ar- 
range to remain with us, and we want you to return to see 
us just as often as you can. Before closing the exercises, I 
extend a cordial invitation to all our guests to sit with the 
governor and his staff for a group picture that is to be taken 
in front of this auditorium, immediately following the ad- 
journment of this meeting. 




HANS LETZ, 2ND violin 

WILLEM WILLEKE, violoncello 




andante cantabile 
menuetto ( allegretto) 
allegro molto 




andantino doucement expressif 
assez vif et bien rythme 

C MAJOR, OP. 59 












HANS LETZ, 2ND violin 

WILLEM WILLEKE, violoncello 








largo (cantabile Ernesto) 

FINALE (presto) 









. Grieg 







President Lovett: Ladies and Gentlemen— This even- 
ing's program, arranged by the trustees in honor of the 
Inaugural Lecturers of the Rice Institute, began with a con- 
cert of the Kneisel Quartet in the Faculty Chamber, and 
has been continued by the supper of which we have just par- 
taken in the first formal function of its kind to be held m 
the Commons of our first Residential College. The conclud- 
ing part of the program presents a most inviting prospect 
of the Founder's high purposes, for we have asked Drs. van 
Dyke, Conklin, and Cram to respond for Literature, Science, 
and Art, respectively, while Professors Altamira, Jones, 
Borel, Volterra, Ramsay, and de Vries have consented to 
speak in turn on History, Philosophy, Mathematics, Physics, 
Chemistry, and Biology. And to preserve as far as possible 
a balance between science and the humanities, which we have 
sought to hold throughout all the academic events of these 
three days, the responses this evening will occur in the fol- 
lowing order: Literature, Mathematics, Philosophy, Phys- 
ics, Science, Chemistry, History, Biology, and Art. 

On finding myself with Sir Henry on my left and Sir 
William on my right and their equally eminent seven col- 
leagues both right and left, I feel to-night as the man did 
respecting the Shakspere-Bacon controversy. He said he 
didn't know whether Bacon wrote Shakspere's plays or not, 
but if he didn't he missed the greatest opportunity of his life. 
We believe that the gentleman whom I am about to intro- 
duce to you has written most of his own verses and stories, 
but, nevertheless, his contemporaries have found in all of 







them a cipher, and wherever this cipher turns up it says one 
and the same thing: The man who wrote these lines was a 
lover of nature and a lover of men. And consonant with 
this cipher one finds ''love, beauty, joy, and worship," which, 
as Plotlnus says on the great arch of the sally-port yonder, 
"are forever building, unbuilding, and rebuilding in each 
man's soul." Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor of 
calling on Dr. Henry van Dyke, man of letters, faithful 
friend, poet laureate of the Rice Institute, who will respond 
for "Literature." 

Dr. Henry van Dyke : Nothing ought to surprise those 
who have been the guests of Texas at the inauguration of 
the Rice Institute, and nothing ever after can be too good 
for them. We have been lifted by the springtide of your 
hospitality to the absolute high-water mark, and henceforth 
we must measure festivals by comparison with this. 

One thing, however, has astonished me a little during 
these days, and that is to find so many "lions" in Texas: 
academic lions, scientific lions, lions of the world of higher 
education. Among these distinguished representatives of 
famous institutions, these doctors of many degrees, a simple 
shepherd of the hills can understand how Daniel must have 
felt in the lions' den— perfectly safe but somewhat embar- 

I do not represent any learned Institution, any scientific 
theory, any school of philosophy. Merely because I have 
written a few stories and a few verses, I have been asked to 
speak for Literature. 

Literature Is that one of the arts which works with the 
least costly of all materials— words— to embody the most 
precious of all human possessions— ideas. Any language 
that has expressed noble thought and feeling In lucid form 






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becomes classic. Any race that has succeeded in producing 
real literature, by virtue of that production becomes immor- 
tal. The one thing that does not die is the well-chosen word 
whose soul is the well-born thought. 

Literature is the most humane and intimate of all the 
arts. It comes closest to the common life of man. Good 
books help us to understand our own hearts. They open 
the world to us. They are revealers and interpreters, 
friends and counselors. They liberate us, at least for a little 
while, from the slavery of time and space. And while the 
other arts in their perfection are not always accessible to 
those who are not rich in this world's goods, the best litera- 
ture is usually the cheapest. 

There has been a good deal of talk about an ''American 
literature." American literature has begun. It began when 
the life of the American people became conscious of deep 
thought and true feeling, and took expression in literary 
form. It will continue and grow and develop, this American 
literature, just as the life of the people of America becomes 
deep, strong, vital, and sane. It cannot be made to order. 
It cannot be made on a cook-book recipe. It cannot be made 
by any plan of localism, or by the division of the country 
into geographical sections, so that we shall have a literary 
school of the southern half of Indiana, or a literary school 
of the eastern corner of the northern half of Texas. That 
is not the way literature is made. Literature will grow 
when the life of America is so enriched with deeper emotion 
and thought that it must find expression in our common and 
classic English tongue. 

Literature cannot be taught. There are things in our uni- 
versities that we call "chairs of literature." Those who 
occupy them, if they are doing their duty, are simply "teach- 
ers of reading"— that is all. Literature cannot be taught, 




any more than any other of the higher arts can be taught. 
You cannot make a literary man by instruction in a class- 
room. You can correct his grammar. You can correct his 
spelling; that is to say, you can do something in that direc- 
tion as long as the "Simplified Spellers" remain in abeyance. 
But you cannot make him a writer, any more than you can 
make him a sculptor, unless Nature has bestowed the gift. 

The best that we can do for Literature in our universities 
is this: to cultivate an appreciation for that which is finest 
and most humane in the writings of the past; to teach young 
men and women to know the difference between a book that 
is well written and a book that is badly written; to give them 
a standard by which they may judge and measure their own 
efforts at self-expression; and to inspire in the few who have 
an irresistible impulse to write, a sincere desire to find a 
clear, vivid, and memorable form for the utterance of the 
best that is in them. 

This is something which I think the university may well 
propose to itself as one of its high objects: to promote the 
love of good literature, and to endeavor that no one shall 
obtain an academic degree who does not know how to read 
— to read between the lines, to read behind the words, to 
enter through the printed page into a deeper knowledge of 

I hope that the Rice Institute, with its magnificent outlook 
toward science, will produce scientific men who shall be at 
the same time men of true culture, who shall illustrate that 
type of science whose representatives we have listened to 
here— men whose knowledge of the facts and laws of the 
physical world does not blind them to the beauty and power 
of those ideals, memories, imaginations, and hopes which 
are perpetuated in literature for the cheer and guidance of 




President Lovett: It was at the Sorbonne, I believe, 
that the first conspicuous public reference to the plans of the 
Rice Institute was made, and in one of the lectures which, 
as visiting professor, the last speaker delivered on the 
^'Spirit of America.'' We have with us on this occasion a 
distinguished permanent member of the University of Paris. 
By way of making him feel more at home at the table of this 
Residential Hall, I venture to remind him that his own 
ancient university was originally composed of residential 
colleges, and that the Ecole Normale, whose scientific 
studies he directs, is itself a residential college. Further- 
more, the subject which he represents has a great community 
of interest both to the scientific and to the lay mind, for 
mathematics is as fundamental as logic itself to scientific 
inquiry, and shares with music the distinction of being a 
survivor of the Tower of Babel. On this high and noble 
theme I now ask Professor Borel to speak. 

Professor Emile Borel: President Lovett has very 
kindly asked me to speak to you this evening concerning the 
role of mathematics in the domain of culture. It is a sub- 
ject which seems somewhat dry and rather difficult to treat 
in an after-dinner speech. Mathematics is rarely considered 
to be an appropriate subject for conversation by those who 
are not mathematicians. People generally think that the 
science of numbers has no very Intimate connection with life, 
and that mathematicians might without great loss to civiliza- 
tion remain shut up In their towers of Ivory. Nevertheless, 
It Is Impossible not to recall that twenty-five centuries ago, 
under a sky as beautiful as is yours. It was precisely through 
abstract speculations that the great geometers began the lib- 
eration of the human reason. From these speculations 
geometry, algebra, mechanics, astronomy, and physics have 





sprung. Through the logical play of his reason man has 
given himself an account of the laws which regulate the 
w^orld. He has come to comprehend that blind chance does 
not preside over the destinies of the universe, and that the 
concepts accessible to the mind of geometers can serve to 
penetrate the great laws of nature. Therefore he has come 
to use these laws for the profit of human civilization. Ac- 
cordingly, the mathematical reason is the basis of man's con- 
quest of the universe. Is it not by virtue of mathematics 
that navigation of the seas has become possible? If the 
thinkers had not meditated upon certain abstract laws, could 
any vessel have been able to plow through the waves of the 
Atlantic? It is to mathematics that Christopher Columbus 
owed, exactly four hundred and twenty years ago, his ability 
to reach in safety these unknown shores. And they are the 
heirs of Greek thought who, realizing the great scientific 
movement of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, have 
made possible the great industrial inventions of the nine- 
teenth century, the organization and conquest of the globe 
by human civilization. 

The mathematicians are the pioneers of science. Often 
indeed their work is several centuries in advance of prac- 
tical applications, but, without their works, discoveries the 
most admirable would have failed of any practical applica- 
tion. It is not sufficient to observe the facts: it is necessary 
to know the laws which govern these facts. Every one 
knows that the stone he drops will fall to the ground; mathe- 
matics alone has given, with respect to this fact which ap- 
pears so simple, explications and formulae which have been 
permitted most admirable mechanical applications. 

The Rice Institute preserves by the side of letters and art 
a place for the sciences — for the mathematical sciences 
among others. In addition to the practical utility of which 



I have just spoken, the mathematical sciences have an intel- 
lectual utility in the development of the human spirit. They 
accustom the intellect to the use of a rigorous and clear-cut 
logic; they render the understanding tractable to finesse of 
intuition and induction. I trust that in so magnificent a new 
university as is the Rice Institute mathematics may make 
many adepts. For if mathematical culture should be re- 
moved from the world, scientific culture would become as a 
tree whose roots had been cut. And in conclusion I raise my 
glass to Mathematics and the prosperity of the Rice Insti- 

President Lovett : The gentleman who has just spoken 
would agree with Gauss that mathematics is "the queen of 
the sciences.'' The eminent philosopher who is about to 
speak would insist that philosophy is the science of the sci- 
ences, the glory and the guardian of all the sciences. We 
have paid our tribute to philosophy on the chief stone of our 
first building, where one may read the tribute Democritus 
paid to science for its own sake when he exclaimed: "Rather 
would I discover the cause of one fact than become king of 
the Persians." This fine expression of the spirit of science 
on the part of the ancient Greek philosopher is rather more 
generous than is the attitude of the average modern scientist 
toward philosophy. 

The intensely human philosopher on my left has told me 
in conversation this evening that to get a speech out of him 
to-night it would be necessary to stir his temper. It is in the 
affection inspired in all of us by the earnest appeal of his 
discourse as the sun was setting last evening that I venture 
to apply the necessary lash. To him there may perhaps be 
some stimulus in that ancient characterization of a meta- 
physician—a characterization so old, in fact, that the mind 







of man runneth not to the contrary— namely, that a meta- 
physician is a blind man in a dark room groping after a black 
cat— that is not there! Ladies and gentlemen, I have very 
great pleasure in asking Professor Sir Henry Jones to tell 
us what Philosophy is. 

Professor Sir Henry Jones: Surely the hour of parting 
has come, if it is to come at all, and my stay amongst you is not 
to be permanent. It is not only the smallness of the hours of 
the night that suggests it, but the words we have just heard 
from the president. For what he has said indicates all too 
clearly that matters are maturing fast toward that condition 
when parting will be impossible. He has made himself so 
lovable that his very incivilities are adorable. And incivilities 
they are ! What more incivil thing could he suggest to a 
votary of Philosophy than that his goddess is antiquated— 
that he belongs of right to ages long past, and civilizations 
whose sun has set, and is out of place in a country where the 
sun is just rising and the fullness and joy of the day is all 

to come? 

And yet I thank him for that word. I shall connect it 
always with a memory which will remain extraordinarily 
impressive to me — of the first plea ever made for Philos- 
ophy in your new Institute. We were considering some of 
the things that matter most, contemplating for a brief mo- 
ment some of those truths which, because they belong to the 
moral structure of the world, cannot come to be nor pass 
away, and have neither beginning nor end, but remain stable 
forever. The level rays of the sun, far-flung over the lonely 
prairie which begins from the building wherein we sat, struck 
through the windows of the lecture-hall, and they were satu- 
rated with the beauty of some nameless color, and carried 
with them far into the heart of the audience a most strange 




sense of silence and tranquillity. I felt anew the truth of 
the word of the wise man who said that "Philosophy does 
not appear until some form of civilization has grown old.'' 
Then, indeed, it gathers up its meaning and treasures it for 
the ages still to come. So that it is to Philosophy, whether 
it be in the form of art or that of contemplative reason, we 
owe now the spiritual inspiration of the life of Israel, the 
natural glory of the life of Greece, and the stately civic 
order of the life of Rome. We did well to meet in the 
evening at the altar of her goddess. The owl of Minerva, 
the bird of wisdom, does not set forth on its flight till the 
twilight begins to fall. 

But what is Philosophy? some of you may ask. Science 
we know, and Art we know, and Literature we know: to 
these we have dedicated our Institute; but who or what is 
Philosophy? I am tempted to define it just as that for which 
there is no provision in the Rice Institute; but I would like 
to add to the definition, that provision will be made, and 
more amply when the Institute matures. "You w^ait," said a 
Chicago man to a Boston man who had taunted him with 
sticking pigs as the only form of culture in his city— "you 
wait till we have stuck a few more pigs, and Chicago will 
make culture hum!" There have been times in the world's 
history, or at least in that of the most beneficent of the 
nations, when Philosophy, the contemplative reconstruction 
of experience, the converse of the human spirit with itself, 
by which it makes its treasures its own, was their crowning 
achievement and the most splendid of all their enterprises. 
And that time will, I believe, come yet to you in this great 

Another definition of Philosophy has occurred to me since 
coming into this room, on hearing the delightful speech of 
Professor Emile Borel of Paris. It is the study to which 





great mathematicians are prone to turn when their minds 
mature. Plato, the broad-browed, in whose writing poetry 
and philosophy, beauty and truth, mingled their pure broad 
streams; Aristotle, possibly the greatest sheer intellect that 
the world ever saw, who fixed even until this day the prov- 
inces of so many of the sciences; Descartes, the greatest 
philosopher that France ever knew, and the prophet of the 
dawn of the modern world; Spinoza, probably the most 
seraphic of all great thinkers; Leibnitz, one of the most 
many-sided; and Immanuel Kant, with whose thinking mod- 
ern civilization, like a broad river striking a granite bank, 
has taken its last great turn-all these were amongst the 
greatest, if not the greatest mathematicians of their day. 

It was entirely natural that these great, grave, reflective 
spirits should be led, as life advanced, to consider those 
problems which, as they spring from the very nature of 
truth, reason cannot set aside and prosper. And it was not 
less natural that the severity of the method of the mathe- 
matical sciences should make them strong in the service of 
Philosophy, where, if possible, severity of method is at once 
more necessary and more difficult. For Philosophy sets man 
to strive to comprehend the working, not merely of natural 
agents as the sciences do, but of the experience in which the 
meaning of nature in its relation to man, and of man in his 
relation to nature, is arrested. It deals with the finer spirit, 
and the final issues, for it deals with facts as embodied in 
the world of interrelated minds and intersecting and yet 
co-operating wills which civilization is. Laxity of method, 
tendencies toward prejudices, antipathy save to error, love 
except for truth, are in this region fatal. For here we are 
dealing wath ultimate values. 

A great day is coming when man shall comprehend the 
w^orking of his own spirit to the degree in which the sciences 



reveal the meaning of nature; though these latter are them- 
selves, no doubt, only at the beginning of things. For Phi- 
losophy is meant to crown the work of Science, even as Man, 
we believe, is the consummation of the natural scheme. 

Then, too, the affinity of Philosophy with Art, and espe- 
cially with the Art of Poetry, will become manifest. For, 
in my opinion, the poet and the philosopher are very much 
akin. They are, as a rule, both present and in power where 
the history of mankind shows that new times have come to 
the birth. If you were to ask me who in the English-speak- 
ing world were the greatest philosophers, I should be 
tempted to name the poets in prose and verse, especially Car- 
lyle, Wordsworth, and Browning. 

But the night is far spent, and the theme is too great 
except to touch its margin. I can wish nothing better for the 
Rice Institute than that it may for many centuries to come be 
the fostering home of Art, Science, and Philosophy. You 
have treated me and my fellow-guests with extraordinary 
kindness, and if you can entertain a philosopher so well now, 
I have no doubt that ere long you will "entertain that 
stranger"— Philosophy. 

President Lovett: In thanking Professor Sir Henry 
Jones for his eloquent apology for philosophy, I venture to 
say that our scheme of studies has been so arranged in the 
belief that if philosophy and science are to go hand in hand 
in our day, as they did in the earlier days of human thought, 
It becomes more and more necessary that the student of 
philosophy should have considerable acquaintance with 
chemistry, physics, biology, and the other experimental sci- 
ences before entering upon the serious study of philosophy 
itself. We have among our guests the distinguished mathe- 
matical physicist of the University of Rome, w^hose re- 




searches have ranged from the physics of the earth through 
the physics of the ether to the motions o the heavenly 
bodies themselves. I have the honor of askmg Pro essor 
Senator Vito Volterra to respond for this fundamental field 
of knowledge, wherein pure mathematics has met with some 
success the problems of the physical universe. 

Professor Senator Vito Volterra : Without doubt we 
shall never forget the days that we have spent at Houston. 
I do not hesitate to call the inauguration ot such an institute 
as this an historic event : it is one that will have consequences 
of great importance for culture in general. Beginning in 
this impressive manner, endowed with means so large, di- 
rected by men so eminent, it is sure to have a considerable 
influence on the development of science. 

It would not fit the case exactly to speak of pure science 
and of applications. By giving a solid base to culture, you 
are certain to prepare the new generations not only to con- 
tribute to scientific progress, but also to be ready to apply 
the resources of science to its most useful applications. 

The physical sciences, pure physics in the most general 
sense of the word, give the most opportune illustration of 
what I have just said. It is sufficient to consider the devel- 
opments that have taken place in the last few years, and the 
influence that these developments have had on the general 
concept of science that the public has found for itself. In 
the development of physics, the most completely theoretical 
part, which we call mathematical physics, and the experi- 
mental part, have always progressed side by side, each an 
aid to the other. Some branches, indeed, that at first sight 
seem far remote, we observe upon closer inspection to have 
had considerable influence on each other. 

Consider, for instance, the case of astronomy, or, more 



accepts wjth pleasure ihc kind iijvitstion *>^ the 

IVe8kl«nt and Tn.:?'^^'^' o< 

The Rice Ins&tuit. 

in tiiC 

City of Houstoffi. Ttxm 

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mc opcQtng v . 

and twelfth oi Oaobcr, ninctern humir«^i ^nd fv^^i' 
jQ}fmtn«ed as jts ddc^ate on that occasion. H.'srn ^ andeli 
Rmjch! cL Ph.D., Prok&soi •>{ Apphcd Mathcrnai;. he Lni- 

vrt?»«lj w 

Given ar Cambndgie • 

first day c* Oct^^r in the 
Ji Harvard 



have ranp:> 

r ■ 
I ■ 




.1 do 

oi grc 

IHi ^-^i^i- iaSTITUTE 

, 1 I roni the ph) . f the earth through 

:1^ eiher to the motiuns of the hejvvenly 

J j^, . ih.. hnnnr of risking Professor 

ra to 'Olid UHS iuiidamental field 

mathematics has met with some 

I liie physical uiuvcise. 

: Without doubt we 

, ; . soeiit at Houston. 

■an of such an institute 

ve consequences 

Beginning in 

.0 large, di- 

o have a considerable 

Tr wp. ■ tiie case exactly to speak of pure science 

R, . . co^d base to culture, vou 

are certain prepare the new generations not only to -v 
, _., . -.rrrcss, but also to be ready to appiy 

the resources ot science to its most useful applications. 

-iences. Dure phvsics in the most general 
wora, cu. .pport' r- illustration of 

: icient to consider the aevfi- 

-^r few years, and the 

:iit> iiavv aad on liic general 

iblic has found for itself. In 

completely theoretical 

tical physics, and the experi- 

^Ide bv side, each an 

hes, indeed, that at first sight 

]o<^r inspection to have 


A astronomy, or, more 


1 >r' t 


?! * H 

had considerai 

» \ » 1 



accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of the 
President and Trustees of 
The Rice Institute 
in the 
City of Houston, Texas 
to be represented by a delegate at the exercises attendant upon 
the opening of the Institute to be held on the tenth, eleventh, 
and twelfth of October, nineteen hundred and twelve, and has 
appointed as its delegate on that occasion. Harr> Yandell 
Benedict, Ph.D., Professor of Applied Mathematics at the Uni- 
versity of Texas. 

Given at Cambridge on the first day of October in the 
nineteen hundred and twelfth year of our Lord and of Harvard 
College the two hundred and seventy-seventh. 




precisely, celestial mechanics. It seems entirely theoretical 
and abstract. Yet from where came the concept of poten- 
tial? Laplace Introduces It Into the subject of celestial me- 
chanlcs In order to study In a simple mathematical way the 
laws of universal gravitation. Now little by little the Idea 
of potential was carried from the domain of celestial me- 
chanics to that of static electricity. After that It was Intro- 
duced Into electrodynamics. And, different only In form, 
when electricity was brought to the hands of the whole 
world, It was acquired by the workers In electricity and the 
people. In a word, potential took its point of departure In 
Integral calculus, but Is now used by everybody. 

Mr. Borel spoke to us. In his fine lecture, of certain func- 
tions, very complicated and difficult to study, that appear in 
analysis. They are to be applied to modern physics. Let us 
hope that they have a future comparable with that of the 

potential function. 

The greatest progress In physics has taken place doubtless 
In the subjects of electricity, optics, and the theory of heat. 
At first widely distinct, they have become little by little 
closely connected; and if a scientist of a hundred years ago 
should behold their modern development he would be quite 
surprised to perceive that optics has become a special branch 
of electrodynamics, and that electricity is merely one chapter 
in a general theory that includes as special instances the 
theory of gases and the conduction of heat and electricity. 
And finally he would notice that the theory of energy doml- 
nates all branches of natural philosophy. 

According to Descartes, mechanics was the basis of all 
physics. It has undergone many changes, and in the view of 
many scientists will cease to play that principal role and 
become a special branch of energetics. According to others, 
It will be modified In its most fundamental laws and become 


f \\ 



an entirely new organum, completely without the bounds of 

classical mechanics. 

Who can tell what the future prepares for us ? New mar- 
vels are quite likely to follow those which have lately star- 
tled us. Probably many of the hypotheses that now serve us 
usefully must fall. They constitute merely the light scaf- 
folding by means of which we erect a great building. 

Beginning to-day, I see the Rice Institute, by means of its 
professors and students, drawn into the scientific progress 
of the future. I raise a glass and drink to the future of this 
institute, to its glory and service in the culture of America 
and the world. 

President Lovett: We have reached the keystone of 
our arch. In calling for the formal toast to "Science," I 
beg to remind you that the spirit of this university of science 
has been cut in two tablets of stone on the walls of its chief 
building. On one of them the Greek Aristotle says, "If we 
properly observe celestial phenomena, we may demonstrate 
the laws which regulate them," and on the other the Hebrew 
Job says, ''Speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee." It 
is with peculiar pleasure that we have requested Professor 
Conklin of Princeton University to make this response; for, 
as one of the members of our first advisory committee, we 
greet him, not as a stranger, but as one on whose counsel 
we leaned even before any of our aspirations had begun 
to assume definite or concrete form. In his double capacity 
as professor of biology in Princeton University and expert 
adviser to the Rice Institute, I have the honor of Introducing 
to you Dr. Edwin Grant Conklin, who will speak to the 
toast "Science." 

Professor Edwin Grant Conklin: During this aca- 
demic festival we have seen everywhere, on banners and 


I 4 



programs, on ice-cream and cakes, the seal of the Rice 
Institute with its three owls. In poetry and classic lore the 
owl is the bird of Minerva, the symbol of wisdom, but in 
fact and natural history he is the bird of night, and it was 
not until this dinner had lasted long beyond the night's key- 
stone that the real inner significance of this seal dawned 
upon me— namely, the three-owl power of the Rice Insti- 

But considering these owls on the seal as birds of wisdom, 
I ask you to observe their positions and names: two are 
on the roof or in the air, and one is in the coop or on the 
ground. The two in the air are labeled "Literature" and 
"Art," the one on the ground or in the coop is labeled 


I am to speak for a kind of learning which is thought by 
some persons to have no wings, which "moves but slowly, 
slowly, creeping on from point to point"; which many con- 
sider as not only groveling, but as narrow in outlook and 
material in its tendencies. I wish to show that the chief 
debt of civilization to Science Is not for material comforts, 
but for Intellectual freedom and enlightenment; that while 
Science plants her feet on the solid ground of nature, she 
moves with her head among the stars. 

The great aim of Science is to know and control nature, 
not merely for the purpose that man may obtain the golden 
touch, not that all things may be made to minister to his com- 
fort, but rather that he may know the truth, and that the 
truth may set him free. 

The wonderful material changes wrought by science, such 
as the developments of steam, electricity, and great engineer- 
ing enterprises, and the consequent increase of comforts 
and enlargement of human experience; the remarkable 
growth of the applied sciences of chemistry, physics, biology, 




and geology; and, perhaps most of all, the revolutionary 
changes in medicine, surgery, and public health which have 
followed a scientific study of the causes and remedies of 
various diseases, are liable to blind us to other great achieve- 
ments of science, which, if less material, are none the less 
real and valuable. 

I. First among all the services of science must always be 
reckoned its liberation of man from the bondage of super- 
stition. We can never fully realize the terrors of a world 
supposed to be inhabited by demons and evil spirits, a world 
in which all natural phenomena are but the expressions of 
the love or hatred of preternatural beings. But we may 
gather from history and from present-day ignorance and 
superstition some faint idea at least of the ever present 
dread, even amidst happiness and joy, of those who feared 
Nature because they knew her not, of those to whom the 
heavens were full of omens and the earth of portents, of 
those who peopled every shadow with ghosts and evil 
spirits, and who saw in all sickness, pain, adversity, and 
calamity the cruel hand of a demon or the evil eye of a 


It is frequently assumed that the decline of superstition 
is due to the teachings of religion or to the general develop- 
ment of the intellectual powers of man, and there is no doubt 
that to a certain extent this is true. The general advance 
of the intellect, in so far as it is associated with truer views 
of Nature, is unquestionably inimical to superstition; yet the 
persistence of such a superstition as that concerning witch- 
craft through periods of great religious and intellectual 
awakening, the almost universal belief in it throughout the 
golden age of English literature, the statutes of all Euro- 
pean countries against the practice of witchcraft, sorcery, 
and magic, some of which remained until the beginning of 



the nineteenth century— all these things show that however 
religion and general intelligence may have curbed its cruel 
and murderous practices, its downfall could be brought about 
only by a more thorough knowledge of Nature. The com- 
mon belief that insanity, epilepsy, and imbecility were the 
results of demoniacal possession necessarily led, even in en- 
lightened and Christian communities, to cruel methods of 
exorcising the demon, and the final disappearance of this 
superstition (if it may be said to have disappeared even at 
the present day) is entirely due to a scientific study of the 
diseases in question. 

The same might be said of any one of a hundred forms 
of superstition which, like a legion of demons, hedged about 
the lives of our ancestors. As false interpretations of nat- 
ural phenomena, only truer interpretation could displace 
them; and what centuries of the best literature, philosophy, 
and religion had failed to do, science has accomplished. 
Science is, as the elder Huxley has said, organized and 
trained common sense; and nowhere is this better shown 
than in its rational, common-sense way of interpreting mys- 
terious phenomena. No doubt much still remains to be 
accomplished; the unscientific world is still full of supersti- 
tion as to natural phenomena, but it is superstition of a less 
malignant type than prevailed before the general introduc- 
tion of the scientific method. 

Furthermore, the cultivation of the natural sciences has 
done more than all other agencies to liberate man from 
slavish regard for authority. When all others were appeal- 
ing to antiquity, the Church, the Scriptures, Science appealed 
to facts. She has braved the anathemas of popes and church 
councils, of philosophers and scholars, in her search for 
truth: she has freed from ecclesiastical, patristic, even aca- 
demic bondage; she has unfettered the mind, enthroned 



reason, taught the duty and responsibility of independent 
thought, and her message to mankind has ever been the 
message of intellectual enlightenment and liberty: "Ye shall 
know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." 

2. But Science has not only broken the chains of super- 
stition and proclaimed intellectual emancipation: she has 
enormously enlarged the field of thought. She has given 
men nobler and grander conceptions of nature than were 
ever dreamed of before. Contrast the old geocentric the- 
ory, which made the earth the center of all created thmgs, 
with the revelations of modern astronomy as to the enor- 
mous sizes, distances, and velocities of the heavenly bodies; 
contrast the old view that the earth was made about six 
thousand years ago-5670 years last September, to be exact 
-in six literal days, with the revelations of geology that the 
earth is immeasurably old, and that not days but millions of 
years have been consumed in its making; contrast the doc- 
trine of creation which taught that the world, and all that 
therein is, recently and miraculously were launched into exist- 
ence, with the revelations of science that animals and plants 
and the world itself are the result of an Immensely long pro- 
cess of evolution. As Darwin so beautifully says, "There is 
grandeur in this view of Hfe with its several powers having 
been breathed by the Creator Into a few forms or into one, 
and that whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to 
the first law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless 
forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been and are 
being evolved." There is grandeur in the revelations of 
science concerning the whole of nature,-grandeur not only 
in the conceptions of Immensity which it discloses, but also 
of the stability of nature. To the man of science nature does 
not represent the mere caprice of God or devil, to be lightly 
altered for a child's whim. Nature is, as Bishop Butler says, 



that which is stated, fixed, settled, eternal process moving 
on, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. Men may 
come and men may go, doctrines may rise and disappear, 
states may flourish and decay, but in nature, as in God him- 
self, there is neither variableness nor shadow of turning. 
The all too prevalent notion that nature may be wheedled, 
cheated, juggled with, shows that men have not yet begun 
to realize the stability of nature, and indicates the necessity 
of at least some elementary scientific training for all men. 
"To the solid ground of Nature trusts the mind that builds 

for aye." 

3. Science has changed our whole point of view as to 
nature and man, and science cannot therefore be eliminated 
from any system of education which strives to impart cul- 
ture. It is not principally nor primarily in its results, how- 
ever great they may be, that the chief service of science is 
found, but rather in its method. In a word, the method of 
science is the appeal to phenomena, the appeal to nature. 
To the scientist the test of truth is not logic, nor inner con- 
viction, nor conceivablllty and inconceivability, but phenom- 
ena, or what are commonly called facts. The steps of this 
appeal to phenomena are first observation or experiment; 
then induction, hypothesis, or generalization; and finally 
verification by further observations, experiments, and com- 
parisons. The methods of science have now invaded to a 
greater or less extent all domains of thought,— philosophy, 
literature, art, education, and religion, — and the unique 
character of the method of science may not be fully appre- 
ciated except upon comparison with pre-sclentific or non- 
scientific methods. 

Of course one need not expect to find any proper appre- 
ciation of the scientific method among the ignorant, but it is 
amazing how ^such appreciation is lacking among many 



otherwise intelligent and cultivated people. We daily see 
innumerable cases where the test of truth is the appeal to 
superstition, to sentiment, to prejudice, to inner conviction — 
in short, to anything rather than facts. 

Consider for a moment the art of healing, as contrasted 
with the science of medicine; the various "schools of medi- 
cine,'' and much more those who never went to school, ap- 
peal not to carefully determined, accurately controllable 
phenomena, but largely to sentiment, prejudice, and super- 
stition. The same is true of the "fake" science which flour- 
ishes mightily in the daily papers, and especially is it shown 
in the hypotheses, discoveries, and dogmas of those who 
determine the laws of nature from introspection and con- 
struct the universe from their inner consciousness. 

Every little while there arises a new and brilliant Lucifer 
who draws after him a third part of the hosts of heaven. 
Though he appears under many guises, such as divine healer, 
Christian Scientist (Heaven save the mark!), spiritualist, 
theosophist, telepathist, the main tenet of his belief is always 
the same— a revolt against the scientific method of appealing 
to phenomena. 

What is the remedy for such a state of affairs? A little 
first-hand knowledge of scientific methods. The appeal to 
facts is the very foundation of science, and it is a method in 
which every person, and particularly every student, should 
receive thorough and systematic training. 

To me it seems that there is no part of an education so 
important as this, none the lack of which will so seriously 
mar the whole life. Of course it is not claimed that all 
scientists best illustrate the scientific method, nor that it may 
not be practised by those who have not studied science, but 
that this method is best inculcated in the study of the natural 
sciences. Science not only appeals to facts, but it cultivates 



a love of truth, not merely of the sentimental sort, but such 
as leads men to long-continued and laborious research; it 
trains the critical judgment as to evidence; it gives man 
truer views of himself and of the world in which he lives, 
and it therefore furnishes, as I believe, the best possible 
foundation, not only for scholarship in any field, but for 
citizenship and general culture. 

But culture is not some definite goal to be reached by a 
single kind of discipline. There is no single path to culture, 
and the great danger which confronts the student of the 
natural sciences is that his absorption in his work may lead 
to a narrowness which blinds him to the broad significance of 
the facts with which he deals and unfits him for association 
with his fellow-men. A technical education which deals only 
with training for special w^ork, without reference to founda- 
tion principles, may be useful and necessary, but It cannot be 
said to contribute largely to culture. What teacher has not 
been surprised and pained by the fear which some students 
exhibit that they may waste an hour on some subject the 
direct financial value of which they do not see,— students 
who fail to grasp general principles, to take a broad and gen- 
erous view of life, to appreciate good work wherever done? 
The scientist no less than the classicist or the humanist 
should know the world's best thought and life. Life is not 
only knowing but feeling and doing also, and other things 
than science are necessary to culture. The day is forever 
past when any one mind can master all sciences, much less 
all knowledge; there can never be another Aristotle or Hum- 
boldt; nevertheless, In the demand for broad and liberal 
training the greatest needs of scientific work and the highest 
Ideals of culture are at one, and this Institute can serve no 
more useful purpose than to stand for the highest, broadest, 
and most generous views of science, of education, and of life. 


President Lovett: If the manifold ramifications of the 
modern spirit of research and scientific inquiry have resulted 
in a corresponding multipHcation of the sciences, that same 
method is constantly striving through their mutual relations 
to restore to science its unity. Physics and biology, the fun- 
damental sciences of the inorganic and the organic world, 
respectively, find a meeting-ground in chemistry. Chemistry 
stands out in the history of science with as romantic a back- 
ground as is that possessed by astronomy. The one began 
in astrology and the desire of man to read his fate in the 
stars; the other began in an alchemy which reflected a corre- 
sponding desire to find the fortune of gold in all the baser 
elements of earth. Professor Sir William Ramsay, in his 
inaugural lecture this morning, showed us how he has been 
bringing all that romance within reach of realization. He 
has consented to respond still further for Chemistry this 

Professor Sir Willi/ m Ramsay: I did not know any- 
thing was expected of me to-night, and I will not disappoint 
you if at this very late hour of the night I suggest that speech 
should be extremely brief. 

The subject of chemistry is a very large one, and if I were 
to try to explain it to you, I think I should have to treat you 
to an account of what has been accomplished by all chemical 
students. If you are prepared to listen, I shall be delighted 
to go on; and, if you like, I can begin with the beginning of 
chemistry and lead you straight through the old and modern 
history of chemistry. 

Chemistry plays a considerable part in the welfare of 
mankind, and, as the last speaker has said, the scientific man 
regards it from the point of view of curiosity to know how 
the little wheels go round. I have always had such curiosity; 






































but T think 1 mn\ «;peak for every true man .. ^uui ho 

takes the trouble to investigate nature, if I sav that women 
ought to be the best chemist* : for Eve was the v-^ nn.^ ir!nv:r 
curiou God's crcaiuicb. 

It is said to be owing to her action that the staro «m affairs 
whirh ivo ^;-r -ground ^c p^^-' \^ic produced; aku ;^):.^.ui>, m 
tilt uay- oi the tutare -tiie time when men have been ex- 
cl\ided from the vote, and when the country i 
iiiea ific courage v»iiich is mherent in success vviii agam 
appear- I remember a saying which struck me at the time as 
V- ^n • -^y no means discourteous to women; it is, that 

womei' c more interest iw persons, while men are more 
mfprrv:*^f'd In things. 

i am sure that you will find that there are few women who 

themselv^es to anv sourcf* riT hrrinch nf l*r.nwledo"e 

cAvi.'^n loi rhe love or some nvda wlioii] iiiey eiecc to follow. 

\- tor us men, we shall continue theTesearches wi^h as much 

vigo. > we have uj.- - • — bc;..ui\<.vi upon rhem. We are 

ally approaching a goal which can never be reached; 

.•^ ir v< ns wpII tU-if '*■ !c i^n -l^^-'. innKi: ^r^^ j _ ./ \ .. selfish 

in us to wish to nnu nut everythiiig and leave nothing for our 
ors. That is rr'ivKsihie: the worKj or knnwlfd?'*^' '=^ 
iiiiijiiiable. and no vv\>ruh are av aiiar-i ■ xpress its mlmite 
Newton, the great natural philosonher. ^aid once 
th If u f - ^'ij-e all like children on the sea-ii.uic, ^.ncivijig up iiere 
and there a pebble, while the vast ocean of knowledge is 
sp?*ead at our feet. We are lucky if we find pebble- • ^' 
of us who try pick up small and not very valuable stones tor 
the most Dart. 

The wuik oi the man of science is in some degree creativ 
and I say that this spirit of creation is not confined t(^ the 
cr;^nf:f:. y^^an, but is common to the aiu^t to the ma: • 
letters, and even to the philosopher. It is the spirit which 

Till: roLlsil I NIVKHSITV 


noi sTON, TKXAs. 

ON THE 1>AY OF n> i^ 'i- .;ni:FTIN.- \N1' I- -! \MMIF- 

Yi)\. I>KVEL'>PKMt;.Vi- 











palace;s are erected 
for clltivatinu and extending human knowlegde. 
















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or m iwnitRsiTT or i.r<Sw 


but I think I may speak for every true man of science who 
takes the trouble to investigate nature, if I say that women 
ought to be the best chemists; for Eve was the first and most 
curious of God's creatures. 

It is said to be owing to her action that the state of affairs 
which we see around us now was produced; and possibly, in 
the days of the future— the time when men have been ex- 
cluded from the vote, and when the country is ruled by wo- 
men—the courage which is inherent in success will again 
appear. I remember a saying which struck me at the time as 
very true, and by no means discourteous to women; it is, that 
women take more interest in persons, while men are more 
interested in things. 

I am sure that you will find that there are few women who 
devote themselves to any source or branch of knowledge, 
except for the love of some man whom they elect to follow. 
As for us men, we shall continue the researches with as much 
vigor as we have up to now bestowed upon them. We are 
continually approaching a goal which can never be reached; 
and it is as well that it is unattainable, for it would be selfish 
in us to wish to find out everything and leave nothing for our 
successors. That is impossible; the world of knowledge is 
illimitable, and no words are available to express its infinite 
extent. Newton, the great natural philosopher, said once 
that we are all like children on the sea-shore, picking up here 
and there a pebble, while the vast ocean of knowledge is 
spread at our feet. We are lucky if we find pebbles; those 
of us who try pick up small and not very valuable stones for 
the most part. 

The work of the man of science is in some degree creative ; 
and I say that this spirit of creation is not confined to the 
scientific man, but is common to the artist, to the man of 
letters, and even to the philosopher. It is the spirit which 



impels us forward on the road which we must travel, and 
the great pleasure of those of us who feel in that way must 
be to induce others to travel along the same road. There is 
no greater pleasure than to see one's disciples succeed, no 
greater pleasure than to feel that they are pushing along the 
road which leads to victory, and doing something for the 
ultimate happiness and benefit of the human race. 

President Lovett: When the history of the nineteenth 
century comes to be written, it is doubtful whether that cen- 
tury will stand out more prominently as a century of science 
or a century of history. From some points of view, the his- 
tory of historians in the nineteenth century is almost as fer- 
tile in ideas as is the history of scientists in that same period. 
If history has been assuming more and more the character- 
istics of a science, it should nevertheless be losing none of 
its character as an art. If history has become a subject of 
scientific research, not in laboratories but in archives and 
excavations, it still must be more than chronology, more than 
critical survey and systematization of sources; for to be 
great, as the father of history made it great, it still must be 
great as literature. Those of you who listened to the elo- 
quent lecture of Professor Altamira this morning will wel- 
come him again heartily to-night as an able exponent of this 
double aspect of history. 

Professor Rafael Altamira : I should like nothing bet- 
ter than to undertake an apology for historical studies in the 
same fashion as I have seen my colleagues to-night present 
apologies for other scientific fields, but I find that the night is 
too far spent to engage myself in the arguments and explica- 
tions which in the face of the vulgar skepticism concerning 
the subject of history refuse to be summarized either readily 



or succinctly. I prefer, therefore, to limit the representation 
of my studies on this occasion to recalling an historic event 
which most naturally jumps to mind at this time. Ladies and 
gentlemen, it is just past midnight. The eleventh of October 
gone, we have arrived at the unforgetable date of the twelfth 
of October ; that is to say, we have come to the day on which, 
four hundred and twenty years ago, Christopher Columbus 
with his Spanish boats and sailors arrived at the first of the 
American countries to become adequately known to Euro- 
peans. This event, which had quite another object than that 
of discovering a new world, was nevertheless the cause of a 
great change, by which the old continent of Europe, dis- 
tressed by profound crises of conscience, yet illuminated by 
the light of the Renaissance of learning and scientific discov- 
ery, renewed history by passing from the regime of simple 
commerce with people anthropologically different from 
themselves to that of the emigration and the founding of 
new nationalities from the same stock. 

Permit me to recall that to Spain belongs the glory of 
having promoted this new era in human life, and of having 
sent forth the first elements of population and European 
civilization to America. Any consideration of the processes 
which have been necessary to change the America of the 
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries into the America of the 
twentieth century, so full of lessons for human psychology 
and human education, is of itself sufficient to justify the im- 
portance of historical studies. Nowhere in the whole sphere 
of human knowledge could a man find a subject more worthy 
of study and reflection. But this is not the moment to enter 
upon such a study. I can do no more than recall to your 
thought Christopher Columbus and his companions, and ask 
you to think of them with thoughts full of appreciation and 
admiration. This Spain of which they were a part, and 


which is forever linked by them to America, says to you 
through my voice at this solemn hour for Houston : 

'Tiva el Institiito Ricer ("A long life to the Rice 

A more sincere toast, or one fuller of meaning, I know 
not how to utter. 

President Lovett: Comparable with the wealth that 
followed in the wake of the memorable expedition of the 
illustrious Christopher Columbus in the Santa Maria, the 
Nifia, and the Pinta, to which Professor Altamira has so 
pertinently alluded, is the wealth to human thought that 
Charles Darwin brought back from a similar voyage of 
discovery made in the Beagle some three hundred years 
later. I should hesitate to place letters, philosophy, history, 
and art in anything approximating a logical sequence; but in 
arranging the order of responses I had no hesitation in plac- 
ing mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biology in the order 
in which their representatives appear here to-night, for 
mathematics is indispensable to the physicist, mathematics 
and physics to the chemist, and mathematics, physics, and 
chemistry to the biologist. Thus we have in biology a crown 
of the sciences. To make this crowning response for science 
I have great pleasure in calling upon Professor Hugo de 
Vries of the University of Amsterdam, whom others, much 
more competent to speak than I, have characterized as the 
lineal successor of the illustrious Charles Darwin. 

Professor Hugo de Vries : It is with great satisfaction 
that we have seen the foundation of this new Institute. No 
country has such a large number of universities on so small 
a tract of land as has my native country— Holland. Nowhere 
are the relations between science and practice so intimate 
as with us, and nowhere is the influence of research work 



and teaching on the education of the people and on the in- 
crease of wealth and prosperity more evident than with us. 
Therefore I cordially sympathize with your work, and think 
that the best thing William Marsh Rice could have done for 
his beloved Texas was the foundation of a center of educa- 
tion and learning, which should gradually become a con- 
stantly increasing source of evolution on the highest lines. 
The Southern States want to show to all civilized nations 
that they are evolving on the same broad lines, and have 
the means and the will of rivaling them in all those things 
on which the progress of civilization depends. William 
Marsh Rice has incorporated this idea in the form of an 
institution of learning, and the trustees of his foundation 
have developed it to the high standing of a young university. 

I esteem it a favor to express my sincere thanks to the 
trustees and the president for the kind hospitality I have 
enjoyed as their guest. I am very glad to be present here 
and to have the distinguished honor of participating in the 
dedication of the Rice Institute. 

In the play of "Hamlet," Shakspere says: "There are 
more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in 
our philosophy." It is the task of science mainly to find out 
all these things in heaven and on earth which are still un- 
known to us, and there are so many of them that we want 
collaborators all over the earth. We want from you col- 
laboration; and from the things I have seen to-day in the 
beginning of this young Institute, I may predict a proud 
future in scientific research as well as in educational work. 

Such a proud future I may predict, and heartily wish it 
to the president and Board of Trustees of this great Insti- 
tute, which has been made possible by the money of William 
Marsh Rice and the brain of Edgar Odell Lovett. 

I drink to the prosperity of the Rice Institute. 



Professor Sir William Ramsay : I don't know whether 
the ceremony is ended or not, but there is one thing we ought 
all do to-night, and that is drink to the health of your presi- 
dent, Edgar Odell Lovett. 

At this late hour it is obviously not expedient to make a 
long oration in which his many virtues should be chronicled; 
but you will all agree with me that it is our duty, as well as 
our great pleasure, to thank him, before we part, for all his 
kindness to us; to congratulate him on the magnificent suc- 
cess of these celebrations, for which he has so arduously pre- 
pared; and to wish him and Mrs. Lovett many long and 
happy years in which to enjoy their life at this Institute, the 
inauguration of which has been so happily completed. 

President Lovett: I should indeed be short in human 
feeling were I not deeply touched by your generous response 
to Professor Sir William Ramsay's gracious suggestion. 
But, ladies and gentlemen, it is the man I am now about 
to introduce to you that you should have toasted and 
cheered, for it is to the genius of his constructive imagination 
that we owe all the beauty of this place. The appeal of 
these beautiful buildings is his appeal— an appeal that places 
beauty of art alongside of beauty of truth and beauty of 
holiness. In the walls of the first of these monuments which 
he conjured from the civilizations of southern climes we 
have caused to be carved: "The chief function of art is to 
make gentle the life of the world," and "The thing that one 
says well goes forth with a voice unto everlasting." The 
things that Mr. Cram has wrought so well we have builded 
in brick and bronze and marble, in the hope that they may 
endure unto days everlasting. I have the honor of introduc- 
ing to you the architect of the Rice Institute, who will re- 
spond for "Art." 




Dr. Ralph Adams Cram: After what fashion shall I, 
follower of art in a sense, speak on this debatable subject, 
here at the inauguration of a great Institution of culture and 
learning, and before you, its earliest and forever most hon- 
ored guests, who, personally and officially representing 
Church, State and School, here and now pay tribute to that 
great power whose duty it is to lead onward and forward 
every child born of man, until, man at last, he is worthy to 
play his part in the life that opens before him of service and 
charity and righteousness and worship? 

I might speak of art historically, as the perfect flowering 
of sequent epochs of civilization, as the evanescent record of 
man's power of great achievement, as a glory of history in 
Homer and Phidias, in Virgil and Arthemius of Tralles, in 
Ambrosian chant and Gregorian plain-song, in the Arthu- 
rian legends and the Nibelungenlied, in Adam of St. Victor 
and Dante, in Cimabue and Giotto and their great succes- 
sors; in the cathedrals and abbeys of medievalism, in the 
sculptures of Pisa and Paris and Amiens, in Catholic cere- 
monial, in the glass of Chartres, the tapestries of Flanders, 
the metal-work of Spain; in the drama of Marlowe and 
Shakspere, in the music of modern Germany, in the verse of 
the English Victorians. I might speak of art as an ornament 
and amenity of life, a splendid vesture covering the naked- 
ness of society. I might speak of it in its economic aspect, or 
as the handmaid and exponent of religion. 

Art is so great a thing, so inalienably a heritage and a 
natural right of man, it has all these aspects, and more, but 
for the moment I narrow myself to yet another considera- 
tion—the function of art as an essential in education. 

The adjective may strike you strangely— an essential ele- 
ment—not an accessory, an extension; but I use it with in- 
tention, though to justify such use I must hasten to disavow 


any reference to the teaching ot art as this now obtains 
either in art-schools or under university faculties of fine arts. 
It is, I admit, hard to conceive such teaching as being of 
necessity an integral part of any scheme of general educa- 
tion, however efficient it may be when viewed in the light 
of its own self-determined ends, and I should expect from 
no source endorsement of any argument for the universal 
necessity of an art education conceived on similar lines; but . 
I plead for a higher, or at least broader, type of such teach- 
ing, because I try to place myself amongst those who set a 
higher estimate on art, conceiving it to be not an applied 
science or a branch of industrial training, nor yet an extreme 
refinement of culture study, but simply an Indispensable 
means toward the achievement of that which is the end and 
object of education— namely, the building of character. 

There were days, and I think they were very bad old days, 
when it was held that education should take no cognizance 
whatever of character, of the making of sane, sound, hon- 
orable men and women, but only of mental training and 
mental discipline. Then it was said with grave assurance 
that it was not the province of public education to deal with 
religion, ethics, or morals, except from a strictly historical 
and conscientiously non-sectarian standpoint, and that the 
place for the teaching of these things was the Home- 
spelled with very large capitals. After a while the compul- 
sion of events forced a readjustment of judgments and we 
became conscious of the fact that a combination of influ- 
ences—amongst them our very schools themselves— had 
resulted in the production of homes where neither religion 
nor ethics was taught at all, and where conscious character- 
building was of the most superficial nature, while the con- 
crete results were somewhat perilous to society. Struck at 
last by the fact that our most dangerous criminal classes 


llu i^nstJcnf. Council, (uid Pti 
^ULi'hl X LuAlfOX for pmnioting * 

AY*//c/ rnniinl caajk-dtniniions to fhr tftr/fffi..^/ 

i HE Rice /Ns/JTifTj: 

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career bt/on it. as a c 
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the great State in 



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teaching of art as. this now obtains 

:« r university faculties of fine arts. 

coiKeive such teaching as being of 

rt of any scheme of general educa- 

be when viewed in the hght 

is, and I should expeci from 

irt^iiment for the universal 

»ii biiitilar line*; but 

vpe of such teach- 

^ho set a 

■I applied 

an extreme 


i!evfnu*nt (''' ' end and 

obu'ct aucatioii- n.iinciv, in-c i;uiiu cer. 

rherf wei nd I think the re very bad old days, 

whr • was held thdL cui - ^hould take no cognizance 

whatever of character^ ot the making of sane, sound, hon- 
or ^^^- men and women, but only of mental training and 
mental discipline. Then it was said with gr^vc assurance 
*^i of the province of public education to deal with 

t^'^ historical 

'it the 

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dangerous criminal classes 


'///( rn side lit. Coiiiia/, a mi /hi/o7k>s of THE ROYAL 
Society OE London for promofnig \atnral Knowledge 
send coniial congxatitlations to the Goveniors and Staff of 
The Rice Institute, at Houston, Texas, on the initia- 
tion of the active scientific career of that important 

They trust that THE RiCE INSTITUTE has a brilliant 
career before it. as a centre of enlightenment and discoT.fery. 
for the advantage of the whole 7i>orld, and in particular of 
the great State in which the Institute has its seat. 

Sigmd on helm 1/ of flu ROYAL SOCIETY OF LOXDOX 

for pron/oliuo Natnml Knmf/edj^i 

Stfifiiilhy n^r2 



were made up of those who were extremely well educated, 
we were compelled, as Walt Whitman says, "to re-examine 
philosophies and religions," and some of us came to the con- 
clusion that if the schools were to save the day, as they 
certainly must and certainly could, a new vision was neces- 
sary, and that what they were set to do was the bending of 
all their energies and powers toward character-building, 
toward the making, not only of specialists, but of fine men 
and women and good citizens. 

Under the old system the significance of art and the part 
it could play in education were generally ignored; it was 
treated either as an "extra," as a special study like Egyptol- 
ogy or Anglo-Saxon, and so regarded as the somewhat ef- 
feminate affectation of the dilettante, or as a "vocational 
course," ranking so with mining engineering, dentistry, and 
business science. So taught, it was indeed no essential ele- 
ment in general education; but if we are right in our new 
view of the province thereof, it may be that our old estimate 
of art and its function and its significance needs as drastic 
a revision, and that out of this may come a new method for 
the teaching of art. 

What is it, then,— this strange thing that has accompanied 
man's development through all history, always by his side, 
as faithful a servant and companion as the horse or the dog, 
as inseparable from him as religion itself; this baffling poten- 
tiality that has left us authentic historical records where 
written history is silent, and where tradition darkens its 
guiding light? Is it simply a collection of crafts like hunting 
and husbandry, commerce and war? Is it a pastime, the 
industry of the idle, the amusement of the rich? None of 
these, I venture to assert, but rather the visible record of all 
that Is noblest in man, the enduring proof of the divine na- 
ture that is the breath of his nostrils. 




Henri Bergson says, in speaking of what he calls— inade- 
quately, I think— intuition: *'It glimmers wherever a vital 
instinct is at stake. On our personality, on our liberty, on 
the place we occupy in the whole of nature, on our origin, 
and perhaps also on our destiny, it throws a light, feeble 
and vacillating, but which nevertheless pierces the darkness 
of the night in which the intellect leaves us.'' Here lies the 
province of art, where it has ever lain; for in all its mani- 
festations, whether as architecture, painting, sculpture, 
drama, poetry, or ritual, it is the only visible and concrete 
expression of this mystical power in man which is greater 
than physical force, greater than physical mind, whether 
with M. Bergson we call it intuition, or with the old Chris- 
tian philosophers we call it the immortal soul. 

And as the greatest of modern philosophers has curbed 
the intellectualism of the nineteenth century, setting metes 
and bounds to the province of the mind, so he indicates again 
the great spiritual domain into which man penetrates by his 
divine nature, that domain revealed to Plato and Plotinus, 
to Hugh of St. Victor and St. Bernard and St. Thomas 
Aquinas. As Browning wrote, '*A man's reach must exceed 
his grasp, or what is a heaven for?" — so, as man himself, 
transcending the limitations of his intellect, reaches out from 
the world of phenomena to that of the noumenon, as he for- 
sakes the accidents to lay hold on the substance, he finds to 
his wonder and amazement the possibility of achievement, 
or at least of approximation, and simultaneously the over- 
whelming necessity for self-expression. He has entered into 
a consciousness that is above consciousness. Words and 
mental concepts fail, fall short, misrepresent; for again, as 
M. Bergson says, "The intellect is characterized by a natu- 
ral inability to comprehend life," and it is life itself he now 
sees face to face, not the inertia of material things; and it is 


here that art in all its varied forms enters In as a more 
mobile and adequate form of self-expression, since it is, in 
its highest estate, the symbolic expression of otherwise in- 
expressible ideas. 

Through art, then, we come to the revelation of the high- 
est that man has achieved; not in conduct, not in mentality, 
not in his contest with the forces of nature, but in the things 
that rank even higher than these— in spiritual emancipation 
and an apprehension of the absolute, the unconditioned. 
The most perfect plexus of perfected arts the world has ever 
known was such a cathedral as Chartres, before its choir 
was defiled by the noxious horrors of the eighteenth cen- 
tury; when its gray walls were hung with storied tapestries, 
its dim vaults echoed to solemn Gregorians instead of oper- 
atic futilities, and the splendid and dramatic ceremonial of 
medieval Catholicism made visible the poignant religion of 
a Christian people. And in this amazing revelation of con- 
summate art, music was more than "a concord of sweet 
sounds," painting and sculpture more than the counterfeit 
presentment of defective nature, architecture more than 
ingenious masonry; through these and all the other assem- 
bled arts radiated, like the colored fires through the jeweled 
windows above, awe, wonder, and worship of men who had 
seen some faint adumbration of the Beatific Vision and who 
called aloud to their fellows, in the universal language of 
art, the glad tidings of great joy, that by art man might 
achieve, and through art he might reveal. 

Now if art is indeed all this— and the proof lies clear in 
itself— then its place in liberal education becomes manifest 
and its claims incontestable. If education is the eduction of 
all that is best in man, the making possible the realization 
of all his potentialities, the building up of personality 
through the dynamic force of the assembled achievements 




of the human race throughout history, and all toward the 
end of perfecting sane and righteous and honorable charac- 
ter, then must you make art, so understood and so taught, 
as integral a part of your curriculum as physics or mathe- 
matics or biology. Not in dynastic mutations, not in the 
red records of war, not in economic vacillations or in me- 
chanical achievements, lies the revelation of man in his high- 
est and noblest estate, but in those spiritual adventures, 
those strivings after the unattainable, those emancipations 
of the human soul from the hindrance of the material form, 
which mark the highest points of his rise, presage his final 
victory, and are recorded and revealed in the art which is 
their voicing. 

The Venus of Melos, "Antigone," Aya Sophia, Grego- 
rian music, Latin hymnology, the "Divina Commedia,'' 
Giotto's Arena Chapel, Chartres, Westminster Abbey, 
"Hamlet," Goethe's "Faust," "Parsifal," "Abt Vogler," are 
all great art, and as great art beyond price, but greater, 
more significant by far as living indications of what man 
may be when he plays his full part in God's cosmogony. 

Where is art taught in this sense and to this end? I con- 
fess I do not know. Instead we find in many places labora- 
tories of art-industry, where, after one fashion or another, 
ambitious youth— and not always well advised— is shown 
how to spread paint on canvas; how to pat mud into some 
quaint resemblance to human and zoological forms; how to 
produce the voice in singing; how to manipulate the fingers 
in uneven contest with ingenious musical instruments; how 
to assemble lines and washes on Whatman paper so that an 
alien mason may translate them, with as little violence as 
possible, into terms of brick and stone, or plaster and papier- 
mache. And we find names, dates, sequences of artists 
taught from text-books, and sources and influences taught 




from fertile imaginations, together with erudite schemes and 
plots of authorship and attribution, but where shall we find 
the philosophy, the rationale of art inculcated as an ele- 
mental portion of the history of man and of his civilization? 

Categories, always categories; and we delimit them to 
our own undoing. There have been historians who have 
compiled histories with no knowledge of art and with scant 
reference to its existence; there have been artists who have 
taught art with no knowledge of history and with some 
degree of contempt for its pretensions: yet the two are one, 
and neither, from an educational standpoint, is wholly 
intelligible without the other. It is through Homer and 
iEschylus that we understand Hellas; through Aya Sophia 
that we understand Byzantium; through Gothic art that we 
know medievalism; through St. Peter's and Guido Reni that 
the final goal of the Renaissance is revealed to us. And so, 
on the other hand, what, for example, is the art of the Mid- 
dle Ages if we know nothing of the burgeoning life that 
burst into this splendid flowering? What are the cathedral- 
builders to us, and the myriad artists allied with them, when 
severed from monasticism, the Catholic revival, the Cru- 
sades, feudalism, the guilds and communes, the sacramental 
philosophy of Hugh of St. Victor, and the scholastic philos- 
ophy of St. Thomas Aquinas? We build our little categori- 
cal box-stalls and herd history in one, art in another, religion 
in a third, philosophy in a fourth, and so on, until we have 
built a labyrinth of little cells, hermetically sealed and se- 
curely insulated; and then we wonder that our own civiliza- 
tion is of the same sort, and that over us hangs the threat 
of an ultimate bursting forth of imprisoned and antagonistic 
forces, with chaos and anarchy as the predicted end. 

Again we approach one of those great moments of re- 
adjustment when much that has been perishes and much that 




was not comes into being; one of those nodes that, at five- 
hundred-year intervals, mark the vast vibration of history. 
For five centuries the tendencies set in motion by the Renais- 
sance have had full sway; and as the great epoch of medi- 
evalism ended at last in a decadence that was inevitable, so 
is it with our era, called '*of enlightenment,'' the essence of 
which is analysis as the essence of that was synthesis. As 
medievalism was centripetal, so is modernism centrifugal, 
and disintegration follows on faster and ever faster. Even 
now, however, the falling wave meets in its plunge and foam 
the rising wave that bears on its smooth, resistless surge the 
promise and potency of a new epoch, nobler than the last, 
and again synthetic, creative, centripetal. 

No longer is it possible for us to sever being into its com- 
ponent parts and look for life in each moiety; for us, and 
for our successors, is the building up of a new synthesis, the 
new vision of life as a whole, where no more are we inter- 
ested in isolating religion, politics, education, industry, art, 
like so many curious fever-germs, but where once more we 
realize that the potency of each lies, not in its own distinctive 
characteristics, but in the interplay of all. 

And with this vision we return to the consciousness that 
all great art is a light to lighten the darkness of mere activ- 
ity, that at the same time it achieves and reveals. So, as art 
shows forth man's transfiguration, does it also serve as a 
gloss on his actions, revealing that which was hid, illuminat- 
ing that which was obscure. 

So estimated and so inculcated, art becomes, not an acces- 
sory, but an essential, and as such it must be made an inte- 
gral portion of every scheme of higher education. A col- 
lege can well do without a school of architecture, or music, 
or painting, or drama, and the world will perhaps be none 
the poorer; but it cannot do without the best of every art in 



its material form, and in the cultural influences it brings to 
bear upon those committed to its charge, nor can it play its 
full part in their training and the development of their char- 
acter unless, out of the history of art, it builds a philosophy 
of art that is not for the embellishment of the specialist, but 
for all, 

**Man Is the measure of all things," said Protagoras; and 
with equal truth we can say. Art Is the measure of man. 

President Lovett: It Is with sincere regret that I bring 
this meeting to a close. We have listened to philosopher, 
poet, historian, and architect, to biologist, chemist, physicist, 
and mathematician, and while we may neither point to the 
rooms In which Newton lived, as the Cambridge don may 
do at Trinity College, nor to the laboratories where Pasteur 
wrought, as may the doctors of Paris, yet from this night 
forth we shall forever be able to say that at this high table 
of the first Residential College of the Rice Institute, Alta- 
mlra, Borel, Conklln, Cram, de Vrles, Jones, Ramsay, van 
Dyke, and Volterra broke bread with us, and spoke to us 
of the things of beauty and truth that freemen hold dearer 
than life Itself. For them and for you, sound slumber and 
sweet dreams for the night; and for the morrow. In the 
words of Kipling, *'What all men desire— enough work to 
do and strength enough to do that work." And as a final 
favor I am going to ask Professors Sir Henry Jones and Sir 
William Ramsay to lead us In singing, "Should auld acquain- 
tance be forgot." 



^y //f 



A .^ 

t r/' 


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Dr. Robert Ernest Vinson : 

1. The earth Is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof; the 
world, and they that dwell therein. 

2. For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established 
it upon the floods. 

3. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who 
shall stand in his holy place? 

4. He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart ; who hath 
not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. 

5. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and right- 
eousness from the God of his salvation. 

6. This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek 
thy face, O Jacob. Selah. 

7. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye 
everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. 

8. Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and 
mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. 

9. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye 
everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. 

10. Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is 

the King of glory. Selah. 

Psalm xxk\ 


> M 



12. But where shall wisdom be found? and where is the 
place of understanding? 

13. Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it 
found in the land of the living. 





14. The depth saith, It is not in me: and the sea saith, It 
is not with me. 

15. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be 
weighed for the price thereof. 

16. It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the 
precious onyx, or the sapphire. 

17. The gold and the crystal cannot equal it: and the ex- 
change of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold. 

18. No mention shall be made of coral, or of pearls: for 
the price of wisdom is above rubies. 

19. The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall 
it be valued with pure gold. 

20. Whence then cometh wisdom? and where is the place 
of understanding? 

21. Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept 
close from the fowls of the air. 

22. Destruction and death say. We have heard the fame 
thereof with our ears. 

23. God understandeth the way thereof, and he knoweth 
the place thereof. 

24. For he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth 
under the whole heaven; 

25. To make the weight for the winds; and he weigheth 
the waters by measure. 

26. When he made a decree for the rain, and a way for 
the lightning of the thunder: 

27. Then he did see it, and declare it; he prepared it, yea, 
and searched it out. 

28. And unto man he said. Behold, the fear of the Lord, 
that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding. 

Job xxviii, 12-28. 


12. Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the 
light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in 
darkness, but shall have the light of life. 

John via, 12, 

Dr. Robert Ernest Vinson : Almighty God, our Father 
who art in heaven, we bow our heads with our hearts before 
Thee this day in humble adoration. Thou art King of kings 
and Lord of lords. Creator of the heavens and the earth, the 
same yesterday and to-day and forever, God over all, 
blessed forevermore. Thou art worthy of the admiration 
of all intelligent creatures. The heavens declare Thy glory 
and the firmament showeth forth Thy handiwork. 

Thou art the author and source of all life and of all good. 
Thou art the maker of our bodies and the fashioner of our 
spirits. Thou openest Thine hand and satisfiest our desires 
with the desires of every living thing. Thou hidest Thy face 
and we are troubled. Thou takest away our breath, we die 
and return again to our dust. Thou art the sustainer and 
the disposer of our days. Our times are in Thy hand. Thou 
hast made us for Thyself, that we might show forth Thy 


We render Thee most hearty thanks for all Thy great 
goodness unto us, the children of men. Thy mercies are new 
every morning and fresh every evening. Thou hast not left 
Thyself without a witness among men, for Thy loving-kind- 
ness is over all Thy works. Thou hast blessed us as indi- 
viduals and as a people, in basket and in store, in body and 
in mind, and through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ, Thy 
Son, our Lord, Thou hast redeemed us from sin and death, 
hast made us kings and priests unto our God and Father, 
and hast given unto us the hope of eternal life in His name. 

We render Thee most hearty thanks, our heavenly Fa- 



ther, for the favor which is ours to-day as we set apart this 
institution to the promotion of the cause of truth among 
men and to the greater glory of our God. Especially do we 
remember with gratitude to Thee the name of him whose 
generosity and love for his kind have made this day possi- 
ble. We thank Thee, that in him were united both the abil- 
ity and the desire to bless his fellow-men, and that it has 
been given unto him to establish this institution that the 
darkness of Ignorance may be dispelled and that men may 
dwell In the light which comes from the truth. We thank 
Thee that our eyes behold this day the fruition of his hopes, 
and that he, being dead, yet speaketh. 

We humbly pray Thee, therefore, that Thou wilt gra- 
ciously accept this offering at our hands. In Thy mercy 
grant that this Institution may endure through all the years 
to come, that its Influence may broaden with its days, and 
that it may so touch and guide the life of this city, the com- 
monwealth, and the nation, that generations yet unborn may 
bless the day of Its beginning. Guard It by Thy almighty 
power from harm, that Its work may be unhindered by 
calamity. Fill It with the spirit of truth and of service, and 
by Thy grace make It to be a useful instrument in Thy hands 
for the advancement of Thy kingdom, that it may have no 
small part In the hastening of the day w^hen all of the world's 
ignorance shall be abolished, when men shall no longer op- 
press their fellows, but when the spirit of brotherhood shall 
prevail, and all men together shall strive for the common 
good in full obedience to the ordinances of God. 

To this end w^e beseech Thee to look with favor upon the 
Board of Trustees, giving to them all necessary wisdom and 
grace, that they may administer this great trust as good 
stewards, with all fidelity. Crown with Thy favor Thy 
servant, the president. Into whose hands and upon whose 


heart this responsibility has been laid, and who stands to-day 
upon the threshold of this great opportunity. Give to him 
high visions of the service to God and to man to which he 
may minister In this place. May the call of this privilege 
uplift him. May the burden of the heavy task before him 
lead him to lean heavily upon Thy strength. May Thy good 
Spirit so rule In his heart and so own and bless his work that 
he may go forward to his task with unfaltering courage and, 
if it please Thee, to abundant success, being given the desires 
of his heart. We beseech Thee for the teachers who are to 
stand within these walls, the leaders of the youth of to-day 
and to-morrow. Grant, our Father, that they may all be 
taught of Thee, that they may catch Thy Spirit and Thy 
mind, and that Thy truth may be their continual abiding- 
place. May they be conscious of the Issues of time and eter- 
nity with which they must deal as they lead the minds of 
men; and may they, therefore, humbly follow Him who 
alone Is the Light of the world. Give them that wisdom 
which begins in the fear of Thyself, and that understanding 
which is found only In departure from evil, that the youth 
who shall be committed to their charge may be led by them 
not only Into high Intellectual achievement, but also into the 
likeness of Jesus Christ our Lord. 

And thus may all the Influences of this Institution con- 
tribute to human good. Make it, we pray Thee, the uncom- 
promising foe to vice and crime, to Ignorance and sin. May 
the streams of Its Influence heal many of the waste places 
of earth and make glad the city of God, that Thy kingdom 
may come and Thy will may be done upon the earth as It Is 
done in heaven. And to Thy great name. Father, Son, and 
Spirit, shall be all the praise, both now and forever. Amen. 


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Veni Creator Spiritus 

G.P. da Palestrina 





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ALL along the Brazos river, 
jl\. A1! along the Colorado, 
In the valleys and the lowlands 
Where the trees were tall and stately, 
In the rich and rolling meadows 
Where the grass was full of wild-flowers. 
Came a humming and a buzzing. 
Came the murmur of a going 
To and fro among the tree-tops. 
Far and wide across the meadows. 
And the red-men in their tepees 
Smoked their pipes of clay and listened. 
*'What is this?" they asked in wonder; 
**Who can give the sound a meaning? 
Who can understand the language 
Of a going in the tree-tops?'* 
Then the wisest of the Tejas 
Laid his pipe aside and answered: 
"O my brothers, these are people, 
Very little, winged people. 
Countless, busy, banded people. 
Coming humming through the timber. 
These are tribes of bees, united 
By a single aim and purpose. 
To possess the Tejas' country. 


Gather harvest from the prairies, 
Store their wealth among the timber. 
These are hive and honey makers, 
Sent by Manito to warn us 
That the white men now are coming, 
With their women and their children. 
Not the fiery filibusters 
Passing wildly in a moment, 
Like a flame across the prairies. 
Like a whirlwind through the forest, 
Leaving empty lands behind them ! 
Not the Mexicans and Spaniards, 
Indolent and proud hidalgos. 
Dwelling in their haciendas, 
Dreaming, talking of to-morrow, 
While their cattle graze around them. 
And their fickle revolutions 
Change the rulers, not the people 1 
Other folk are these who follow 
When the wild-bees come to warn us; 
These are hive and honey makers, 
These are busy, banded people. 
Roaming far to swarm and settle. 
Working every day for harvest. 
Fighting hard for peace and order, 
Worshiping as queens their women, 
Making homes and building cities 
Full of riches and of trouble. 
All our hunting-grounds must vanish, 
All our lodges fall before them. 
All our customs and traditions. 
All our happy life of freedom. 
Fade away like smoke before them. 



Come, my brothers, strike your tepees. 

Call your women, load your ponies ! 

Let us take the trail to westward. 

Where the plains are wide and open, 

Where the bison-herds are gathered 

Waiting for our feathered arrows. 

We will live as lived our fathers. 

Gleaners of the gifts of nature. 

Hunters of the unkept cattle. 

Men whose women run to serve them. 

If the toiling bees pursue us. 

If the white men seek to tame us. 

We will fight them off and flee them. 

Break their hives and take their honey. 

Moving westward, ever westward. 

There to live as lived our fathers." 

So the red-men drove their ponies. 

With the tent-poles trailing after. 

Out along the path to sunset. 

While along the river valleys 

Swarmed the wild-bees, the forerunners; 

And the white men, close behind them. 

Men of mark from old Missouri, 

Men of daring from Kentucky, 

Tennessee, Louisiana, 

Men of many States and races, 

Bringing waives and children with them. 

Followed up the wooded valleys. 

Spread across the rolling prairies. 

Raising homes and reaping harvests. 

Rude the toil that tried their patience. 

Fierce the fights that proved their courage. 

Rough the stone and tough the timber 

^05 3 



I * 


Out of which they built their order! 
Yet they never failed nor faltered, 
And the instinct of their swarming 
Made them one and kept them working, 
Till their toil was crowned with triumph. 
And the country of the Tejas 
Was the fertile land of Texas. 



Behold a star appearing in the South — 
A star that shines apart from other stars, 

Ruddy and fierce, like Mars ! 
Out of the reeking smoke of cannon's mouth 
That veils the slaughter of the Alamo, 

Where heroes face the foe. 
One man against a score, with blood-choked breath 
Shouting the watchword, "Victory or Death—" 
Out of the dreadful cloud that settles low 

On Goliad's plain, 
Where thrice a hundred prisoners lie slain 
Beneath the broken word of Mexico- 
Out of the fog of factions and of feuds 

That ever drifts and broods 
Above the bloody path of border war, 

Leaps the Lone Star! 

What light is this that does not dread the dark? 
What star is this that fights a stormy way 

To San Jacinto's field of victory? 

It is the fiery spark 



That burns within the breast 
Of Anglo-Saxon men, who can not rest 

Under a tyrant's sway; 

The upward-leading ray 
That guides the brave who give their lives away 

Rather than not be free! 
O question not, but honour every name, 
Travis and Crockett, Bowie, Bonham, Ward, 
Fannin and King, all who drew the sword 
And dared to die for Texan liberty! 
Yea, write them all upon the roll of fame. 
But no less love and equal honour give 
To those who paid the longer sacrifice- 
Austin and Houston, Burnet, Rusk, Lamar 
And all the stalwart men who dared to live 
Long years of service to the lonely star. 

Great is the worth of such heroic souls : 
Amid the strenuous turmoil of their deeds. 
They clearly speak of something that controls 
The higher breeds of men by higher needs 
Than bees, content with honey in their hives ! 

Ah, not enough the narrow lives 

On profitable toil intent! 
And not enough the guerdons of success 
Garnered in homes of affluent selfishness! 

A noble discontent 

Cries for a wider scope 
To use the wider wings of human hope ; 

A vision of the common good 
Opens the prison-door of solitude; 

And, once beyond the wall. 

Breathing the ampler air, 




t '" I 


The heart becomes aware 
That life without a country is not life at all. 
A country worthy of a freeman's love; 
A country worthy of a good man's prayer; 
A country strong, and just, and brave, and fair, 
A woman's form of beauty throned above 
The shrine where noble aspirations meet — 
To live for her is great, to die is sweet I 

Heirs of the rugged pioneers 

Who dreamed this dream and made it true, 

Remember that they dreamed for you. 

They did not fear their fate 

In those tempestuous years. 
But put their trust in God, and with keen eyes, 
Trained in the open air for looking far. 

They saw the many-million-acred land 

Won from the desert by their hand. 

Swiftly among the nations rise,— 
Texas a sovereign State, 
And on her brow a star ! 



How strange that the nature of light is a thing beyond our 
And the flame of the tiniest candle flows from a fountain 
How strange that the meaning of life, in the little lives of 
So often bafl^es our search with a mystery unrevealed ! 



But the larger life of man, as it moves in its secular sweep, 
Is the working out of a Sovereign Will whose ways 
And the course of the journeying stars on the dark blue 
boundless deep. 
Is the place where our science rests in the reign of law 
most clear. 

I would read the story of Texas as if it were written on 
high ; 
I would look from afar to follow her path through the 
calms and storms; 
With a faith in the world-wide sway of the Reason that rules 
in the sky, 
And gathers and guides the starry host in clusters and 


When she rose in the pride of her youth, she seemed to be 
moving apart, 
As a single star in the South, self-limited, self-possessed; 
But the law of the constellation was written deep in her 
And she heard when her sisters called, from the North 
and the East and the West. 

They were drawn together and moved by a common hope 
and aim — 
The dream of a sign that should rule a third of the 
heavenly arch; 
The soul of a people spoke in their call, and Texas came 
To enter the splendid circle of States in their onward 




So the glory gathered and grew and spread from sea to sea, 
And the stars of the great republic lent each other light; 

For all were bound together in strength, and each was free — 
Suddenly broke the tempest out of the ancient night I 

It came as a clash of the force that drives and the force that 
draws ; 
And the stars were riven asunder, the heavens were 
While brother fought with brother, each for his country's 
cause — 
But the country of one was the Nation, the country of 
other the State. 

Oh, who shall measure the praise or blame in a strife so 
And who shall speak of traitors or tyrants when all were 
true ? 
We lift our eyes to the sky, and rejoice that the storm is past, 
And we thank the God of all that the Union shines in the 

Yea, it glows with the glory of peace and the hope of a 
mighty race. 
High over the grave of broken chains and buried hates ; 
And the great, big star of Texas is shining clear in its place 
In the constellate symbol and sign of the free United 





After the pioneers- 
Big-hearted, big-handed lords of the axe and the plow and 

the rifle, 
Tan-faced tamers of horses and lands, themselves remaining 

Full of fighting, labour and romance, lovers of rude 

After the pioneers have cleared the way to their homes and 

graves on the prairies : 

After the State-builders— 

Zealous and jealous men, dreamers, debaters, often at odds 

with each other. 
All of them sure it is well to toil and to die, if need be. 
Just for the sake of founding a country to leave to their 

children — 
After the builders have done their work and written their 

names upon it: 

After the civil war- 
Wildest of all storms, cruel and dark and seemingly 

Tearing up by the root the vines that were splitting the old 

Washing away with a rain of blood and tears the dust of 

After the cyclone has passed and the sky is fair to the far 

horizon ; 


After the era of plenty and peace has come with full hands 

to Texas, 
Then — what then? 

Is it to be the life of an indolent heir, fat-witted and 

Dwelling at ease in the house that others have builded, 
Boasting about the country for which he has done nothing? 
Is It to be an age of corpulent, deadly-dull prosperity, 
Richer and richer crops to nourish a race of Philistines, 
Bigger and bigger cities full of the same confusion and 

The people increasing mightily but no increase of the 


Is this what the forerunners wished and toiled to w^n for 

This the reward of war and the fruitage of high endeavour, 
This the goal of your hopes and the vision that satisfies you? 

Nay, stand up and answer— I can read what is in your 

hearts — 
You, the children of those who followed the wild bees, 
You, the children of those w^ho served the Lone Star, 
Now that the hives are full and the star is fixed in the 

I know that the best of you still are lovers of sweetness and 

light 1 
You hunger for honey that comes from invisible gardens; 
Pure, translucent, golden thoughts and feelings and 

Sweetness of all the best that has bloomed in the mind of 


t I 


You rejoice in the hght that is breaking along the borders of 

science ; 
The hidden rays that enable a man to look through a wall of 

stone ; 
The unseen, fire-filled wings that carry his words across the 

The splendid gift of flight that shines, half-captured, above 

The gleam of a thousand half-guessed secrets, just ready to 

be discovered! 
You dream and devise great things for the coming 

race — 
Children of yours who shall people and rule the domain of 

They shall know, they shall comprehend more than their 

They shall grow in the vigour of well-rounded manhood and 

Riper minds, richer hearts, finer souls, the only true wealth 

of a nation — 
The league-long fields of the State are pledged to ensure this 

harvest I 

Your old men have dreamed this dream and your young 

men have seen this vision. 
The age of romance has not gone, it Is only beginning; 
Greater words than the ear of man has heard are waiting to 

be spoken, 
Finer arts than the eyes of man have seen are sleeping to be 

awakened — 
Science exploring the scope of the world, 
Poetry breathing the hope of the world, 
Music to measure and lead the onward march of man ! 


Come, ye honoured and welcome guests from the elder 

Princes of science and arts and letters, 
Look on the walls that embody the generous dream of one 

of the old men of Texas, 
Enter these halls of learning that rise In the land of the 

pioneer's log-cabin, 
Read the confessions of faith that are carved on the stones 

around you : 
Faith in the worth of the smallest fact and the laws that 

govern the starbeams — 
Faith in the beauty of truth and the truth of perfect beauty. 
Faith in the God who creates the souls of men by knowledge 

and love and worship. 
This is the faith of the New Democracy — 
Proud and humble, patiently pressing forward, 
Praising her heroes of old and training her future leaders, 
Seeking her crown in a nobler race of men and women — 
After the pioneers, sweetness and light I 

Henry van Dyke. 





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' and arts and letters, 

' embody the ge-^"**' us dream of one 

' -'^-'e in the land of the 

^h fhjit are carv^ed on the stones 

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d the truth of perfect beauty, 
r^' ihe ^ >'ib '^ '^'"" ^y knowledge 

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'I .' the faith of the New Demofracn - 
i'food and humDie, paticniiy pre >rward, 

Praising her h of old and traimng her future leaders, 

occiving her Liuvvn in a nobler race of men ana wuiacn — 
After the pioneers, sweetness and light! 

* Henry van Dyke. 

































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THE importance of the dedication of the Rice Institute 
is emphasized by the presence of so many distin- 
guished scientists from other nations and by the presence of 
distinguished educators of other States of this Union. The 
interest which prevails in Texas, and especially in this city, 
in the future of this university, is manifested by the assem- 
blage which is before me. But of equal importance are the 
provisions made by Mr. Rice to secure the success of the 
enterprise by placing it in the hands of such able trustees, 
who can be relied upon to use the funds to the best advan- 
tage. These buildings, so well adapted to the work to be 
done, and especially the competent president and his assis- 
tants selected to execute the provisions of the will, give 
additional assurance of the wise application of the beneficent 
donation to the education of young men and women of 


The American population in the State of Texas revolted 
against the Mexican rule, and on the second day of March, 
1836, published a declaration of independence, specifying 
the causes which justified the act, one of which was expressed 
in this explicit paragraph: "It has failed to establish any 
public system of education, although possessed of almost 
boundless resources (the public domain), and although it is 
an axiom in political science that unless a people are edu- 
cated and enlightened it is idle to expect the continuance of 
civil liberty, or the capacity for self-government.'* The 
Constitution which was adopted by the people of the Repub- 
lic in its General Provisions, Section 5, reads: "It shall be 



the duty of Congress, as soon as circumstances will permit, 
to provide by law a general system of education." 

The Constitution of the State of Texas, adopted in 1845, 
expressed the same purpose in terms thus: ''A general diffu- 
sion of knowledge being essential to the preservation of the 
rights and liberties of the people, it shall be the duty of the 
legislature of this State to make suitable provision for the 
support and maintenance of public schools." That pro- 
vision was repeated in 1866 by the convention which re- 
formed the Constitution of the State so as to conform to our 
new relations to the Federal Government. The Constitution 
of 1876, now in force, contains like provisions, and to secure 
its enforcement the convention set apart certain classes of 
lands and taxes for the maintenance of a system of public 
free schools. On every appropriate occasion the people of 
Texas have expressed their purpose to make ample pro- 
vision for the maintenance of an efficient system of public 
free schools in this State for the education of the masses. 

Prior to the war between the States, the people were 
dependent for the education of their children upon private 
schools organized and supported by the patrons, each pay- 
ine tuition to the teacher. The consequence was that those 
children w^hose parents were unable to pay and orphans who 
were indigent were not provided for. The teachers of those 
schools were usually men, and, as a rule, were better instruc- 
tors than now employed in the public schools of the country 


The purpose to inaugurate free schools survived the war 
between the States, and during the administration of Gov- 
ernor Davis free schools were organized to some extent, but 
had little success until the adoption of the Constitution of 
1876; since which time much progress has been made and 
the public-school system is much improved, especially in the 


cities and towns. The State University, the Agricultural 
and Mechanical College, and a number of colleges of good 
capacity supported by the State afford to students good op- 
portunity for higher education. Austin College, Baylor 
University, and the universities of the different churches 
constitute a valuable auxiliary educational force with which 
Rice Institute will take its place as a part of our system of 
higher education, and no doubt the Institute will be a credit- 
able accession thereto. 

I have briefly reviewed the history of educational institu- 
tions in Texas to point attention to the fact that public senti- 
ment is ready to welcome the Institute, and the provision for 
education in this State, public and private, is in condition to 
promote success. 

I am not informed as to the date of Mr. Rice's settlement 
in Texas, but it was in the life of the Republic, and he im- 
bibed the spirit which prompted the declaration in favor of 
education, above quoted, and which survived the years of an 
active life and prompted the provision made for this Insti- 

Mr. Rice was a young man, with no capital except his 
manhood and his intellectual and moral endowments, when 
he became a citizen of the Republic, and by his industry and 
economy acquired a large fortune. He held public office and 
participated in the public enterprises of the community in 
which he lived up to the date of disqualification by infirmity. 
He was prominent in the upbuilding of the City of Houston, 
and in the construction and operation of railroads by which 
the whole State was benefited. In fact, he was an important 
factor in the development of Texas, and by this donation 
expressed his appreciation of the favors he had received and 
the advantages offered to him, which is creditable to his 




In order to comprehend the full value of the endowment 
of this institution it is necessary to look to the condition of 
the State and the needs of the people who will be indirectly 
benefited by its work; for it is true that the greatest value 
will accrue from the lives and labors of those who may be 
educated here, and will be enjoyed by many who will not 
recognize the fact that it is traceable to this university, but 
that fact does not detract from its importance. 

If the benefits to be derived from this institution be con- 
fined to those persons who may receive instruction here and 
to the financial benefits accruing to the City of Houston, Rice 
Institute would be worth all that it will cost. But, in fact, 
such individual and local benefits will be a small part of the 
total good that will accrue to the people of Texas from this 
liberal donation. The Institute is located at Houston, but it 
belongs to the whole State. The arts and sciences are made 
special subjects of instruction, and they who acquire the 
knowledge of these branches of learning will go forth to put 
into practical use the knowledge thus obtained, with a pur- 
pose to acquire fortune or fame for themselves, but such 
persons will necessarily have good or evil influence upon 
others. "No man liveth to himself." Through its students 
every institution of learning exerts a power for good or evil 
upon society, therefore the instruction given and the char- 
acter of the institution itself are of importance to the public. 

The greatest benefit derived from such teaching is the 
relief that comes to the unlearned masses, through the inven- 
tion of new methods of performing their labor, relieving the 
laborer of the tax on his physical strength and increasing the 
return derived from it. The great progress made in the 
different industries has had its origin and consummation in 
the scientific knowledge of men, students of natural laws. 

Bear with me if I am tedious, but I can better present by 



illustration the fact that the greatest benefit of such training 
as will be received in this institution does not consist in the 
money accumulated or the fame won by the use of training 
received in such an institution as this. The history of the 
United States, and especially of Texas, shows a wonderful 
development and great amelioration of the drastic methods 
that taxed the energies of the pioneers, which have been 
effected by discoveries of methods of labor and the applica- 
tion of new powers. 

To illustrate. Father removed from Jasper County, 
Georgia, to Washington County, Texas, in 1846. We saw 
our first railroad track and train at Atlanta, Georgia, and 
did not cross another railroad on our journey, which was 
made in wagons and carriages drawn by horses and mules, 
consuming three months' time. There was then no railroad 
in Texas. In 1851 father was farming on Mill Creek, west 
of Brenham, in Washington County. iVll family supplies 
were enormously high: flour was sold at fifteen dollars per 
barrel, and other things in proportion. We usually had 
biscuit for breakfast on Sunday mornings and at the preach- 
er's visit. All merchandise was so exorbitant that the people 
were compelled to deny themselves such things as were not 
absolute necessities. The produce of the farm being con- 
veyed to market on wagons, and their supplies being hauled 
by like conveyance to the interior towns, the consumers 
necessarily paid heavy freight charges. The construction of 
railroads has worked such changes that it would be difficult 
for one who has had no experience of those conditions to 
realize the great benefit that railroads have brought to the 


In my boyhood I saw a man lying near a tree appearing 
to be dead. The tree had been struck by lightning and the 
man had been shocked. He had taken refuge under the 


tree from a rain-storm. In that day electricity was known to 
the people only as a dangerous element beyond human con- 
trol. It has by scientists been converted into an important 
servant, doing various important things, as the telegraph, 
which bears the messages of men in all kinds of business, 
also the telephone, which without regard to distance enables 
us, for business or pleasure, to converse as if standing face 
to face. 

In the days of the best mail service a letter sent to one in 
New York would not be delivered and answer returned for 
many days, perhaps weeks. The telegraph wire now trans- 
mits such message and brings a reply in a few hours. The 
telephone carries the voice, and enables one to speak to an- 
other hundreds of miles distant, and in a known tone of 
voice to receive a reply as if the parties were in the same 
room. The wireless telegraph seeks the vessel in distress, 
or person whose locality is unknown, with messages of relief. 
Electricity has in many ways proved to be a very potent 
and valuable servant to man. My proposition is, that the 
relief to the masses in these minor matters, each insig- 
nificant, has conferred more important benefits in the aggre- 
gate than the acquisition of much wealth by the inventor or 
persons who put those inventions and discoveries into oper- 

The wonderful development of the natural resources of 
nature has been accomplished through scientific knowledge 
by persons trained in the sciences, and is the fruit of training 
received in such institutions as this. Therefore, I repeat 
that the relief which is conferred upon the laborers in mak- 
ing less burdensome their tasks, and the conveniences which 
have through this source come to men of business as the 
fruits of learning imparted to students by such institutions, 
are of paramount importance. 




Within the last century both steam and electricity have, by 
scientific knowledge, been converted into the greatest pow- 
ers the world has ever known. In fact, those powers now 
move the machinery of the world. I need not specify the 
particulars of their uses. Without them stagnation would 
reign in every department of life. 

I have given but a very limited statement of the advance- 
ment in all grades of life and all classes of business, but it 
will sufiice as a basis for my conclusion, that the develop- 
ment and progress of the world has been the result of sci- 
entific knowledge, whereby the laws of nature have been 
utilized for the benefit of man. 

The training of men and women mentally or morally is 
not limited in benefit or injury to the individual trained, but 
each student who may be educated in this institution will 
affect the public for good or evil. If the training in the arts 
and sciences produces an inventor of machinery or one who 
applies to practical service an invention by another, it will 
be a benefit to all whose labors may be made lighter or 
whose earning power may be increased thereby. 

I have used the illustrations of the application of steam 
and electricity to the service of man as a basis for my con- 
cluding proposition, that the development of the resources 
of nature and the advancement of mankind intellectually 
and morally have been due mainly to the discoveries by 
scientists of the laws of nature, whereby the labors of men 
have been relieved of much hardship, their ability to produce 
enlarged, and the conveniences of life greatly increased. If 
we consider the labors of the farmer, the new machinery 
multiplies the powers of the man and relieves the laborer of 
the great hardships which formerly attended the work. In 
every department of life we find the contrast between those 
who avail themselves of the discoveries of new methods and 



those who still are unable to secure the benefits, from which 
we get some conception of what scientific discoveries have 
done for men. 

The desire for higher education is increasing, and the uni- 
versities and colleges of the State and of the Christian 
denominations are overtaxed. There is room for this insti- 
tution, and ample work for it to do. Its field of usefulness 
is commensurate with the growing State, and it will be a 
Texas University dispensing to our ambitious young men 
and women the benefits of Mr. Rice's bounty. The people 
of the entire State welcome Rice Institute as more than a 
local school, and I assume to say for them, "God speed Rice 
Institute in its noble work!'* 

Thomas Jefferson Brown. 

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V. • 





IT is a great privilege to be permitted to participate in the 
exercises attendant upon the opening of this great Insti- 
tution. For, as we survey these noble buildings and recall 
the story of the Institute; trying to realize the extraordinary 
and almost unparalleled efforts of the President and Board 
of Trustees to study and profit by the history and results of 
educational enterprise and advance in every civilized coun- 
try; the broad and lofty ideals, to which the work of the 
institute has been thoughtfully and deliberately consecrated, 
and the magnificent financial endowment at their disposal to 
reduce these ideals to practice;— we must indeed feel that 
we are here to-day witnessing and creating an epoch in the 
history of education, not only for the people of Texas, but 
for all Americans. I can only say that I pray God that the 
future usefulness of this Institute may be commensurate with 
the brave and wise and munificent provision of its Founder; 
and that in the years and decades and centuries to come the 
name and memory of William Marsh Rice may be called 
blessed by the thousands of good American citizens who 
shall have been the beneficiaries of his princely generosity. 

I have come here, at the invitation of President Lovett 
and the Board of Trustees, not merely as a private citizen, 
not as the representative of the University of the South, of 
which I happen to be Chancellor, but as a representative of 
the Christian Church, to speak on the general subject of the 
Church and Education. 

The two words are not accidentally associated. From the 
beginning Christianity has been an educational religion, and 
from the beginning has invited and encouraged intellectual 


inquiry. Its first great missionary was a man of learning, a 
brilliant student of the Rabbinic Schools, the Apostle Paul; 
and St. Luke in the Acts of the Apostles praises the people 
of Beroea because they were more noble {eugenesteroi) and 
showed their nobility by listening to new opinions with 
readiness of mind, taking the trouble to examine whether 
they were consistent with what they knew to be the truth. 
As we read the history to-day we can understand why 
through such slow processes of preparation this innate spirit 
of liberty had to express itself. The early Christian Church 
found the classic literature of Greece and Rome filled with 
fables and deceits, and foul stories of the gods, which were 
calculated to injure both the faith and morals of a simple 
people, too unsophisticated to read them merely as litera- 
ture; and therefore there appears very early a growing 
prejudice against pagan learning. But in spite of this fact, 
and in spite of the fact that the persecution of Christians up 
to the beginning of the fourth century bred in them a dis- 
trust and dislike of heathen books,— yes, in spite of the fact 
that the moral and social riot which accompanied the decline 
of Roman civilization created a reaction in favor of Chris- 
tian asceticism and monasticism, which declared its hatred 
of the common world and everything connected with it,— 
its culture and refinement and learning, as well as its false- 
ness, its cowardice, and its degradation, — in spite of all 
these temptations, these propulsions towards barbarism, the 
Christian Church became and continued to be the home and 
nursery of intellectual culture. 

There is no name, for example, of any race or people in 
the third century comparable to that of Origen, the great 
Christian critic, the great Christian scholar; and the intel- 
lectual power and activity of Chrysostom and Basil and the 
Gregories, and Jeromie and Augustine in the fourth and fifth 



centuries, — all of them Christian teachers,— would shed 
glory upon the history of any nation in any age. It is the 
fashion, I know, with unfriendly critics to emphasize the 
ignorance and lack of education in the so-called dark ages: 
but even then there were many instances of Christian enthu- 
siasm for liberal learning. The Benedictine monasteries 
were the storehouses of ancient manuscripts. The schools 
of Charlemagne, under the great Christian teacher Alculn, 
were undoubtedly the foundation of the later university sys- 
tem of Europe. The British and Irish missionaries, shel- 
tered from the wars that desolated continental Europe, were 
men of wide culture and enthusiasm for education. King 
Alfred the Great in England, a true scholar and the father 
of English prose, got his learning from the Church's schools. 
Let us frankly admit all that the critics say: that the epis- 
copal or cathedral schools, and the monastic schools, which 
represented practically all the educational effort of the Mid- 
dle Ages, fell far short of popularizing real education or 
love of learning; and that the fact that there were in every 
generation some teachers and some schools which had a 
broader outlook does not redeem the ninth and tenth cen- 
turies, under the sway of the Christian Church, from com- 
parative ignorance and barbarism. Yet, after all, it was the 
Christian Church which in those stormy and tempestuous 
times preserved the tradition and the materials of know- 
ledge. If ignorance was wide-spread, there was good reason 
for it. The Church wrought and fought for four hundred 
years to justify and establish a new^ ethical ideal; and that is 
worth more to us to-day than any technical learning. Even 
in our time, when we study conditions in our cities we are 
obliged to admit that there are worse things than illiteracy. 
The Church was fighting the gigantic enemies of human 
civilization, and it was no wonder that she postponed her 


battle with mere ignorance. That was comparatively a 
small thing. In the sixth and seventh centuries the barbarian 
hordes were pouring into southern Europe, and the only 
organized resistance to them was the Christian Church. As 
Guizot says, it was not merely Christianity as an influence, a 
doctrine, that saved Europe : it was Christianity as a Church, 
as an institution, that prevented human civilization being set 
back four hundred years. In the ninth and tenth centuries 
the Normans were invading Europe, the Danes were 
descending on England, the Saracens were threatening 
Christendom, and organized human society was fighting for 
its life. Elementary morality, the ten commandments and 
the Lord's Prayer, were of infinitely more importance than 
the study of Homer and Virgil, or even of the names of the 
birds, the fishes, and the trees. 

And when peace at last did come for a season. It was out 
of a Christian school that men like Anselm went forth to 
assert the claims of reason and arouse the higher intellect of 
Europe to activity. With the age of Anselm, and largely 
through the work and thought of Anselm, archbishop of 
Canterbury in the year iioo, the historians of educational 
advance place the rise of universities and the beginning of 
that enthusiasm for knowledge which we commemorate to- 
day. As one of the modern experts on the history of educa- 
tion. Dr. Laurie, says: *The universities may be regarded 
as the natural development of the cathedral and monastery 
schools." We know anyhow that the Church is the real 
founder of the Universities of Paris and Bologna and 
Prague and Oxford and Cambridge; and in more recent 
times the same may be said of the leading universities of the 
United States. There are no words strong enough to ex- 
press the debt which liberal learning and higher education 
owe to the Christian Church. It was the Great Head of 



the Church Who said: *Te shall know the Truth, and the 
Truth shall make you free" ; and men like Agassiz and Ro- 
manes and Pasteur and Lord Kelvin have splendidly dem- 
onstrated that the greatest triumphs of the human mind, in 
scientific discovery and research, have been inspired by loy- 
alty to the Divine Master, Jesus Christ. 

Every day I live I am more and more convinced that the 
true incentive and justification of scientific effort to learn the 
secrets of this world in which we find ourselves is the fact 
of our relation of kinship to the good God, Who made and 
sustains It all, a relation which was revealed and certified to 
us by the Incarnation. 

And this Is why Christianity brought with it a new educa- 
tional Impulse to the world. It introduced Into the life of 
our race new and fruitful ideas, which, working slowly per- 
haps as we count time, but surely, have created whatever is 
best in our modern civilization. It deepened the sense of 
brotherhood, gave it a wider meaning and a Divine sanction. 
At the same time it developed and emphasized the personal 
freedom and the personal responsibility of the individual 
man and woman, by teaching them that they are in a true 
sense children of God, born of God and destined to return 
to God. Yes, It wove the hope of Immortality Into the com- 
mon thought of daily life, and justified higher learning and 
research for their own sakes, by declaring that every bit of 
progress that man makes In knowledge and character has 
value and significance beyond time and forever. 

Christianity taught the worth and Importance of the in- 
dividual, the necessity of his effort for self-development and 
self-expression, as it had never been taught before : but It also 
emphasized the purpose and meaning of this self-develop- 
ment as increase of efficiency for service — service to God and 
to our fellow men. And thus It Invited and challenged the 




world to the realization of an ideal of eternal value, an ideal 
which a thousand thousand years of educational experiment 
will not exhaust or overpass, an ideal which consecrates all 
man's intellectual effort, justifies all his unwearied search for 
knowledge, and holds before him an ever-vanishing goal of 
perpetual pursuit; and that Christian ideal is the develop- 
ment of the utmost efficiency, physical, mental, spiritual, in 
every individual man, woman, and child, for the sake of 
mutual service in the Kingdom of God. 

I have ventured upon this brief and imperfect sketch of 
the historical attitude of the Christian Church towards edu- 
cation in its intellectual aspect, first of all because not a few 
writers and speakers, prejudiced by superficial accounts of 
the Middle Ages, and obsessed with the importance of mere 
mental development, have done injustice to the Church, not 
caring to consider that it was the Church's moral conquest 
of barbarism that created the atmosphere and environment 
which enabled modern physical science to begin its work. 

IFho loves not knowledge? TFho shall rail 
Against her beauty? Who shall fix 
Her pillars? Let her work prevail. 

But what is she, cut of from love and faith, 

But some wild Pallas of the brain 

Of demons, fiery hot to burst 

All barriers in her onward race 

For power? Let her know her place: 

She is the second, not the first. 

But secondly, I have insisted upon the Church's ideal at 
the opening of a great institution like this, because I want to 















_.j^ ;'?>?;: 

Bologna. 24 Settembre 1912. 



>' .'*r. 

'J ^ir '^'i "I II PrESIDENTE 

tils audience ' 

riition of the 

; e Instit- ast, we hope, fo 

• ided that the American reoul- - to 

cverencc zLiu^ir. luuiin lucdm .rtiiie 

V of manhood and vvomanhoo 
,.cnt sec "'- ^' '■^e rr^t cad :. 
elop men and ivoirien, and not to n: 
\ -mnrt mnr h.* <>n frained as to heccr;'^ i verv" «uc- 
. rnacuiae ror maiviag moiiey, or a *veen-. i looi ^r 

' use !n cvploring and producincr mr^tcr; d. ; 

,; p.uduvis uf the schooi:i v.! t ^ ;^*;w,.,o 

■■^t husbands and fathers. 

'irse 1 rc^'i/p that if life fnr ? r^ne of ;:« r 

'make gi>ud," as the phrase goe^, !or o: 
/etting what comfort and ea^e and K c?n 

itort and suuggic iii rhe -^ 
of whatever social. 

Dnduce t 
: t and pragni. 
f'jfijre, or i?i*-erest 

Jic, or the happiness or niiscr 

(oine after us; — I realize that it 
'^ ?n of course the measure of "i 
;!! hke this is the amount in dollars u 
r^nrc cV^'tII Kp trained ^^t necessanK* tn p-im 

r ) get, to acquire, to -, n. 
" I have not so understood the plan and scope of this 

-Cute. ' ' ''^^ ideals and hopes rf *-hr* rp,-^ v^ ,..c uii i^i 
of Administration and compose acuities. 

V 'his Institute Stand*^ ^^r Ul.yh, . -rf-r fhJnvT;: 

lere materialism and commerciaJisr Vnij: 
■ii'^t be conducted according? to the most approveo 

which its 
!" deserve, 





ro i)i 

vU..Ai>bM!i 1 


T! n 

MiJh lit MIDI 



PER 1 


pci; r*r\'r.r:u-, 





plead with this audience for a recognition of the claims of 

The Rice Institute will last, we hope, for centuries to 
come, provided that the American people continue to main- 
tain and reverence those moral ideals of life which create 
the quality of manhood and womanhood that makes free 
government secure. For the true end and aim of education 
is to develop men and women, and not to make machines or 
tools. A man may be so trained as to become a very suc- 
cessful machine for making money, or a keen-edged tool for 
others to use in exploring and producing material wealth; 
but such products of the schools are very often poor citizens, 
and worse husbands and fathers. 

Of course I realize that if life for each one of us means 
simply to ^*make good,'* as the phrase goes, for our genera- 
tion, getting what comfort and ease and luxury we can by 
plan and effort and struggle in the present time; taking ad- 
vantage of whatever social, commercial, or political condi- 
tion may conduce to our individual advantage; opportunists 
in conduct and pragmatists in philosophy; having no thought 
for the future, or Interest in the success or failure of the 
Republic, or the happiness or misery of the generations that 
are to come after us;— I realize that if this be our life's phi- 
losophy, then of course the measure of the value of an insti- 
tution like this Is the amount in dollars and cents which its 
students shall be trained, not necessarily to earn or deserve, 
but to get, to acquire, to gain. 

But I have not so understood the plan and scope of this 
Institute, or the ideals and hopes of the men who are on Its 
Board of Administration and compose Its Faculties. 

Surely this Institute stands for higher and better things 
than mere materialism and commercialism. While, Indeed, 
It must be conducted according to the most approv^ed prlnci- 



pies of scientific method and theory in order to promote the 
practical efficiency of its students from every section, yet it 
will, we hope, also give room and encouragement to that 
loftier human aspiration which we call liberal culture, and 
strive to create and nurture that enthusiasm for real learn- 
ing which has made the finest and truest progress of our 

For I hold that it is not the men of action, whether on 
battle-fields or in cabinets or in commercial business, that 
have most truly helped the world. Nor is it the men who 
have invented new tools and new machinery, and discovered 
new methods of utilizing Nature's forces for man's use and 
comfort, and for the increase of material wealth, who have 
been the foremost benefactors of mankind. Rather it is the 
men who with moral heroism and unwearied love of truth 
for its own sake, asking no recognition and no reward, have 
tried to create through schools and colleges and universities 
an atmosphere, a tone, a Zeitgeist, that will inspire men, in 
spite of themselves, to noble aims; aye, it is these men who 
by their very retirement and isolation have escaped the con- 
tagion of current fashions of thought, whose humility is the 
result of long experience of the difficulty of arriving at abso- 
lute certainty on any subject, and who by patience and faith 
have found for themselves, and are working to protect and 
defend, a height, whence he who will may attain their vision 
—the vision of a larger world and a greater life. 

This is the true measure of the scholar; this is the justifi- 
cation of the University. And this means religion; that a 
man is not a mere brute, nor a unit of sensation, but the child 
of God, akin to God, with capacity for infinite happiness and 
responsibility for infinite progress. And in this definition of 
education all true learning, all advance in real knowledge, 
has a religious value. The search for truth is itself a re- 



ligious act; and the men who, honestly and sincerely, are 
studying and teaching Nature's secrets are the servants of 
the Most High God. 

Let us accept this as the Divine Message, the Divine Chal- 
lenge, and the assurance of the Divine Blessing to this Insti- 
tute. Truly it may be said of it, that it has been founded as 
securely as the wit and knowledge of man can plan, with 
financial support assured to it, in extent almost unequaled in 
the history of educational institutions. If only it will take 
its stand for God and His righteousness, then indeed may 
we apply to it the words of the Prophet : 

'*I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy founda- 
tions with sapphires. And I will make thy windows of 
agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of 
pleasant stones. And all thy children shall be taught of the 
Lord, and great shall be the peace of thy children." 

Thomas Frank Gailor. 




W— www 




IT is a common saying in drawing-room and market-place 
that we are living in a wonderful age. Perhaps no known 
period of the past towers up to it, unless it be the age of 
Pericles, or that in which the Roman Empire was consoli- 
dated, or that of the Reformation. No features of the age 
are more striking than the handsome foundations which have 
been provided by private donation for lengthening the days 
of man and enlarging the content of his spiritual life. Every 
child of ten years knows the names of Alfred Nobel and 
Cecil Rhodes, of Mr. Carnegie and Mr. Rockefeller, of 
Girard and Peabody, of Johns Hopkins, Leland Stanford, 
and Cornell: the names of these gentlemen are household 
words, and in thousands of American homes their bearers 
have become household gods. 

In this charmed circle of immortal philanthropists the 
name of William Marsh Rice is permanently inscribed this 
day by the poet of Princeton, the jurist of Texas, and the 
bishop of Tennessee. Thanks to the inaugural lectures of 
those twelve prophets of the fundamental sciences, the lib- 
eral humanities, the progress of modern learning, Altamira 
of Madrid, Borel of Paris, Croce of Naples, De Vries of 
Amsterdam, Jones of Glasgow, Kikuchi of Tokyo, Mackail 
of Oxford, Ostwald of Leipsic, the lamented Poincare of 
Paris, Ramsay of London, St0rmer of Christiania, and Vol- 
terra of Rome, the good-will of Mr. Rice to open new 
















springs of inspiration and living fountains of knowledge in 
an institution of liberal and technical learning becomes 
known to the world of letters and science and art, to whose 
advancement he gave of his substance and of his life. 

For this fair day we have worked and prayed and waited. 
In the faith of high adventure, in the joy of high endeavor, 
in the hope of high achievement, we have asked for strength, 
and with the strength a vision, and with the vision courage : 
the courage born of straight and clear thinking, the vision of 
enduring forms of human service, the strength in resolute 
and steadfast devotion to definite purpose. And to-day, by 
virtue of the founder's splendid gift to the people, by virtue 
of the public spirit of his early advisers, by virtue of the 
public service of those who defended his last will and testa- 
ment and thereby protected the people's rights, by virtue of 
the covenant which his trustees have kept in all good faith 
and conscience, by virtue of the constant creative work of 
supervising architects and the arduous labors of constructive 
engineers, by virtue of the cheer and the criticism and the 
counsel of friends in the community and throughout the com- 
monwealth, the Rice Institute which was to be, in this its 
modest beginning, now has come to be— the new foundation 
has accomplished in its own being the miracle of all living 
things: it has come to life, and from this day forth takes a 
place, let us hope of increasing influence and usefulness, 
among those institutions which have made possible the civ- 
ilized life of men in communities of culture and restraint— 
the State, the Church, and the University. 

There are men and men and men. There are men of mil- 
lions and men of millions. William Marsh Rice was a man 
in a million, an inspired millionaire who caught the prospect 
of monumental service to Houston, to Texas, the South, and 
the Nation. With no resources other than soundness of 











body and strength of will, from a New England home of 
English and Welsh forebears, he came to Texas in his youth 
to make his fortune. By temperate habits of industry and 
thrift he made a fortune in Texas. He left his fortune in 
Texas. He gave his fortune — the whole of it— to Texas, 
for the benefit of the youth of the land in all the years to 
come ; thus writing in the history of Texas the first conspicu- 
ous example in this commonwealth of the complete dedica- 
tion of a large private fortune to the public good. More- 
over, resolutely living a simple life, he denied himself even 
the "durable satisfaction" of seeing his philanthropy's reali- 
zation in order that he might give more abundantly of life 
to his fellows and their successors. Shrewd in foresight, 
strong in purpose, of stout courage and independent spirit, 
generation after generation will rise to call him blessed— 
"with honour, honour, honour, honour to him, eternal hon- 
our to his name." 






TO his trustees, a self-perpetuating board of seven life 
members, the founder gave great freedom in the inter- 
pretation of his programme and corresponding discretion in 
the execution of its plans. The charter and testament under 
which these gentlemen discharge the obligations of their trus- 
teeship are documents so liberal and comprehensive as to 
leave the institution under practically but one restriction, 
namely, its location must be in Houston, Texas. But therein 
lies what is perhaps its greatest opportunity. For men who 
are too busy doing the world's work to find time to talk about 
it would tell you that there never were more insistent chal- 
lenges to constructive thinking than are confronting the 
South at the present time. Opportunity is written over the 
whole Southwest : opportunity commercial, opportunity po- 
litical, opportunity educational, but educational opportunity 
is written larger than all the rest. We have problems to 
face, serious ones, that have been perplexing the South for a 
generation: but even to the most superficial observer it is 
daily becoming more and more apparent that any solution 
of these peculiar problems of the South calls for solutions of 
Southern educational problems in terms of educational op- 
portunities for all the people. Furthermore, the agricultu- 
ral and industrial transformation now in process of develop- 
ment offers manifold additional arguments to Southern men 
to prepare their sons for the possession of this land of plenty 
and progress. Though for nearly a generation the ambi- 
tious young Southerner may have seen larger possibilities 







ahead of him farther from home, to-day he finds conditions 
completely changed. Go South, young man I is the slogan 
in one section. Stay South, young man! is the answering 
call of opportunity in the other. 

In the South and in the West, of the South and of the 
West, you find yourselv^es in an environment whose clear 
skies make men blandly or keenly observant of their powers, 
whose mild climate keeps men constantly human and neigh- 
borly and friendly in ways of living whose democracy recog- 
nizes no inequalities; in an environment which will have its 
way with us unless we have our way with it; an environment 
bristling with opportunities for creative and constructive 
effort. You find yourselves in a State which can know no 
provincialism, because it has lived under seven flags. You 
find yourselves in a section of that State which lives under 
a categorical imperative of progress, for we of the plains are 
drawn by irresistible lure of the prairie, impelled to advance 
by beckoning mirage quite as wonderful as mountain pros- 
pect. You find yourselves among men who live their lives 
in the open, under a making sun that does not rise but jumps 
from the horizon full-orbed in his noonday splendor. 

And how you do get into your blood and bone the wine 
and spirit of this country! Speedily you absorb its patriot- 
ism and pride, and as speedily come to feel the fearlessness 
and freedom, the frankness and the faith, that characterize 
the life of this Texan empire. For this reason it is that in 
portraying its virtues modesty is not a sin which doth so 
easily beset us. Houston— heavenly Houston, as it has been 
happily named by a distinguished local editor of more than 
local fame— you will find in some ways a bit too close to 
New York, perhaps, but here you will also find many a heart- 
ening reminder of the memories and traditions of the South, 
and all the moving inspiration in the promise and adventure 


of the West. Here, in a cosmopolitan place, in a community 
shaking itself from the slow step of a country village to the 
self-conscious stature of a metropolitan town, completing a 
channel to the deep blue sea, growing a thousand acres of 
skyscrapers, building schools and factories and churches and 
homes, you will learn to talk about lumber and cotton and 
railroads and oil, but you will also find every ear turned 
ready to listen to you if you really have anything to say about 
literature or science or art. Of cities there are genera and 
species and types whose science is still to be written: cities of 
arms, cities of kings, cities of government, cities of com- 
merce and industry, cities of pleasure and leisure, beautiful 
cities of art, holy cities of cathedrals and convents, univer- 
sity cities of letters and science. Houston at present may 
fail of qualifying for admission to certain of these classes, 
but there is great reason to rejoice in the commercial pros- 
perity of the city and in the growing development of the 
community; for just as certainly as trade follows the flag, 
just so certainly does the patron of learning follow in the 
wake of the empire-builder. For builders of cities, great 
merchants and captains of industry, by the character of their 
work and the extent of their interests, are rendered alert, 
open-minded, hospitable to large ideas, accustomed to and 
tolerant of the widest divergencies of view. Thus it has come 
to be that great trading centers have often been conspicuous 
centers of vigorous intellectual life: Athens, Florence, Ven- 
ice, and Amsterdam were cities great in commerce; but, in- 
spired by the love of truth and beauty, they stimulated and 
sustained the finest aspirations of poets, scholars, and artists 
within their walls. It requires no prophet's eye to reach a 
similar vision for our own city. I have felt the spirit of 
greatness brooding over the city. I have heard her step at 
midnight, I have seen her face at dawn. I have lived under 



the spell of the building of the city, and under the spell of 
the building of the city I have come to believe in the larger 
life ahead of us, in the house not made with hands which we 
begin this day to build. However, in the exultation of the 
moment in which we witness the dedication of the new uni- 
versity, we must not forget that the organization which Wil- 
liam Marsh Rice incorporated has already rendered the city 
and State of his adoption considerable service. I need hardly 
remind you that during recent years the Rice Institute has 
contributed in a substantial manner to the upbuilding or 
Greater Houston. On a conservative basis— always on a 
conservative basis— certain of the foundation's funds have 
been invested in various enterprises which have sustained in 
no small measure the steady and continuous advance of the 
city in industrial and commercial prosperity. 

The epoch whose beginning we observe to-day with these 
formal exercises marks the period in which even more pow- 
erfully that same organization is to support the intellectual 
and spiritual welfare of the community; and, finally, to touch 
again upon the material side of progress, the very machinery 
by which the stone age of the new university is about to be 
transformed into its spiritual age will distribute the income 
of the foundation through the several channels of Houston's 
business, philanthropic, social, and religious life; and thus 
we contemplate with some degree of satisfaction the slow 
but sure evolution of a threefold Influence on the material, 
the intellectual, and the spiritual aspects of the life of the 





IT Is now rather more than twenty years since several pub- 
lic-spirited citizens of the community asked Mr. Rice to 
bear the expense of building a new public high school for 
the city of Houston. This direct gift to the city's welfare 
Mr. Rice was unwilling to make, but a few months later, 
taking into his confidence a half-dozen friends, he made 
known to them his desire to found a much larger educational 
enterprise for the permanent benefit of the city and State of 
his adoption. These gentlemen were organized Into a Board 
of Trustees for the new foundation, which was Incorporated 
In 1 89 1 under a broad charter granting the trustees large 
freedom In the future organization of a non-polItlcal and non- 
sectarian Institution to be dedicated to the advancement of 
letters, science, and art. As a nucleus for an endowment 
fund, Mr. Rice at this time made over an interest-bearing 
note of two hundred thousand dollars to the original Board 
of Trustees, consisting of himself, the late Messrs. F. A. 
Rice and A. S. Richardson, and Messrs. James Addison 
Baker, James Everett McAshan, Emmanuel Raphael,^ and 
Cesar Maurice Lombardl. Under the terms of the charter, 
the board Is a self-perpetuating body of seven members 
elected for life: vacancies since Its organization have been 
filled bv the election of Messrs. William Marsh Rice, Jr., 
Benjamin Botts Rice, and Edgar Odell Lovett. 

It was the unalterable will of the founder that the devel- 
opment of the work which he had conceived should progress 

1 In succession to the late Mr. Raphael, whose lamented death has occurred 
since the reading of this address, Mr. John Thaddeus Scott of Houston has 
been elected to membership on the Board of Trustees of the Institute. 



no further during his lifetime. However, in the remaining 
days of his life he increased the endowment fund from time 
to time by transferring to the trustees the titles to certain of 
his properties, and in the end made the new foundation his 
residuary legatee. Upon the termination of the long years of 
litigation which followed Mr. Rice's death in 1900, the 
Board of Trustees found the Institute in possession of an 
estate whose present value is conservatively estimated at 
approximately ten million dollars, divided by the provisions 
of the founder's will into almost equal parts, available for 
equipment and endowment respectively. It may be remarked 
in passing that it is the determined policy of the trustees to 
build and maintain the institution out of the income, thus 
preserving intact the principal not only of the endowment 
fund but also that of the equipment fund. While proceeding 
to convert the non-productive properties of the estate into 
income-bearing investments, the trustees called a professor 
in Princeton University to assist them in developing the 
founder's far-reaching plans. Before taking up his resi- 
dence in Houston, the future president visited the leading 
educational and scientific establishments of the world, re- 
turning in the summer of 1909 from a year's journey of 
study that extended from England to Japan. About this 
time negotiations were completed by which the Institute se- 
cured a campus of three hundred acres situated on the ex- 
tension of Houston's main thoroughfare, three miles from 
the center of the city— a tract of ground universally regarded 
as the most appropriate within the vicinity of the city. 

Another early decision of the trustees of the Institute was 
the determination that the new institution should be housed 
in noble architecture worthy of the founder's high aims; and 
upon this idea they entered with no lower ambition than to 
establish on the campus of the Institute a group of buildings 



Princeton I 

October th. 

u, . « 

To The Rice Institute 

Houston, Texas 

Gentlemen : 

On behalf of the authorities of Prin^* *■ -n Unher*v ^ 
have the honor of acknowledging ) ' - invitai»on 

asking that our academic ho<iy h,i 1 b •c'serircdon O 

tenth, eleventh and twclith a^ th . for^r 

rating the Rice Ji-r^turr' rf j ]} ,! ! . 

It therefore gisus uic j^icav piw^^uj ; 
Princeton University has appointed William FranoN 
Kenr) Professor of Physics and Dean of the Faculty, and Henr) 
van Dyke, Murray Professor of English Iv-'mr mend 

m person as our delegates, •^ - --^ 

ihc Rice Institute on the a^- .sw>n oi tL% 

ication and to extend to our P' 


in Princeton University.^ the a J 

good will. May this new-bor^ ^^ 
nical Learning, ever keeping 1. 
founder, equal the best desires ot those \s the 

opening years of its career, ennch the intellect te of the 

great State of Texa^s and of our narinn, und hrin rr> dcvr^fe man- 
•kind for generations to come^t.v ;- :ii mvn >iiaii care 

for the cause of truth and knowkdge 

■ ■ ItiC Ul|^15 iillCOi O' 


* C 


no furt^pr {-!• 
days of t. 
to time b' 
his proper lies 

»'f-irne. Hntx'fM-er, in the remaining 

>ed the endowment fund from time 

) ihe fnistees the fifl?^s to certain of 

no made the new foundation his 

n •■h{' t^r!?v'r!3tion o( the long years of 

i\icc s vieath in 1900, the 

r; !-h-^ In^tftnte in oossession of an 

DscrvatiV cly estiinaced at 

•v'ded by the provisions 

' "* available for 

!r niav he remarked 

trustees to 

income^ thus 

■ ^wment 


'"^tate into 

I i : i i ^.. 

ment respective 

Ct I-' v.- • . 

mtam the mstitution out 

a out aistj mat Of the t. 
convert rh?- Jnrtiv.' 

inconie-oearinv estn}enri., toe trustees called a professor 
In Princeton University to assist them in developing the 
^""" '■ ^ii'ig plans. Beir, . taking up his resi- 
dence Houston, the ;re oresident visited the lending 
^^" ^ . i^i^ woriu, re- 

turnir iqrx s journey of 

1. About this 

mpieted by which the Institute se- 

■ ^( th-r^ HiM^dred ''i:\ttd on the ex- 

itare, three miles from 
>nnd ijnM'. rc^l'y rctifardcd 
cmity ot the city. 

. institute was 

on snould be housed 

under's high aims; and 


cjsion 01 

the deic 
in noble archifecture worthv 

upon this iu -ntered wtta no iuwer ambition than to 

establish on the campus of the Institute a group of buildings 

[HO J 


Princeton University 

October the first, 191 2 

To The Rice Institute 

Houston, Texas 


On behalf of the authorities of Princeton University I 
have the honor of acknowledging your hospitable invitation 
asking that our academic body shall be represented on October 
tenth, eleventh and twelfth at the ceremonies formallv inaugu- 
rating the Rice Institute of Liberal and Technical Learning. 

It therefore gives me great pleasure to notifv vou that 
Princeton University has appointed William Francis Magie, 
Henry Professor of Physics and Dean of the Faculty, and Henry 
van Dyke, Murray Professor of English Literature, to attend 
in person as our delegates, to present our congratulations to 
the Rice Institute on the auspicious occasion of its formal ded- 
ication and to extend to your President, our former colleague 
in Princeton University, the assurance of our remembrance and 
good will. May this new-born Institute of Liberal and Tech- 
nical Learning, ever keeping faith with the high intent of its 
founder, equal the best desires of those who are guiding the 
opening years of its career, enrich the intellectual life of the 
great State of Texas and of our nation, and help to elevate man- 
kind for generations to come, even for as long as men shall care 
for the cause of truth and knowledge. 




conspicuous alike for their beauty and for their utility, which 
should stand not only as a worthy monument to the founder's 
philanthropy, but also as a distinct contribution to the archi- 
tecture of our country. With this end in view they deter- 
mined to commit to Messrs. Cram, Goodhue, and Ferguson, 
of Boston and New York, the task of designing a general 
architectural plan to embody in the course of future years 
the realization of the educational programme which had 
been adopted for the Institute. Such a general plan, the work 
of Mr. Ralph Adams Cram, L.H.D., exhibiting in itself many 
attractive elements of the architecture of Italy, France, and 
Spain, was accepted by the board in the spring of 1910. 
Immediately thereafter plans and specifications for an 
administration building were prepared, and in the following 
July the contract for its construction was awarded; three 
months later the erection of a mechanical laboratory and 
power-house was begun, and by the next autumn the con- 
struction of two wings of the first residential hall for men 
was well under way. In the preparation of preliminary plans 
for these building operations the Institute enjoyed the co- 
operation of an advisory committee consisting of Professor 
Ames, director of the physical laboratory of Johns Hopkins 
University; Professor Conklin, director of the biological 
laboratory of Princeton University; Professor Richards, 
chairman of the department of chemistry, Harvard Univer- 
sity; and Professor Stratton, director of the National Bu- 
reau of Standards. Among the additional buildings for 
which tentative studies have already been made are special 
laboratories for instruction and investigation in physics,^ 
chemistry, and biology. 

1 Since this address was read the construction of the physics laboratories 
has been begun from plans prepared b}' Messrs. Cram and Ferguson under 
the direction of Mr. Harold Albert Wilson, D.Sc, F.R.S., resident professor of 
physics in the Institute. By the beginning of the next academic year (1914- 
15) these laboratories will be ready for occupancy, as will also the third 
wing of the first residential hall for men. 




THAT we have been making large plans is already a 
commonplace of our thinking and talking. In the pro- 
posed solutions of some of the problems confronting them 
the trustees have been moved by several considerations, 
which may appropriately be recapitulated at this time. In 
the first place, the financial resources of the institution, how- 
ever handsome, are limited; for this reason it was deter- 
mined to build and maintain the Institute out of the income, 
keeping the principal of all funds intact. In the second place, 
the new institution is located in a new and rapidly develop- 
ing country. In the third place, the very problems pressing 
for resolution in the development of the environment seemed 
to call for a school of science, pure and applied, of the high- 
est grade, looking, in its educational programme, quite as 
much to investigation as to instruction. 

Accordingly, and in the spirit of the founder's dedication 
of the Institute, it was proposed that the new institution 
should enter upon a university programme, beginning at the 
science end. As regards the letters end of the threefold 
dedication, it was proposed to characterize the institution as 
one both of liberal and of technical learning, and to realize 
the larger characterization as rapidly as circumstances might 
permit. With respect to the art end, it was proposed to take 
architecture seriously in the preparation of all of its plans, 
and to see to it that the physical setting of the Institute be 
one of great beauty as well as of more immediate utility. 
This in a nutshell is the programme on which we have 



thought with great deliberation and wrought with even 
greater care. Its chronology to date consists of one year of 
preparatory study from England to Japan, one year in the 
making of preliminary plans, and two years in work of actual 
construction and organization. 

The new institution thus aspires to university standing of 
the highest grade, and would achieve its earliest claims to 
this distinction in those regions of inquiry and investigation 
where the methods of modern science are more directly ap- 
plicable. For the present it is proposed to assign no upper 
limit to its educational endeavor, and to place the lower 
limit no lower than the standard entrance requirements of 
the more conservative universities of the country. More- 
over, all courses of instruction and investigation, graduate 
and undergraduate, will be open both to young men and to 
young women, and for the present, without tuition and with- 
out fees. These courses will be offered by a staff, initially 
organized for university and college work, ultimately to con- 
sist of three grand divisions, science, humanity, technology, 
each of which will break up into as many or more separate 
faculties. For these faculties the best available instructors 
and investigators are being sought wherever they may be 
found, in the hope of assembling a group of unusually able 
scientists and scholars through whose productive work the 
Institute should speedily take a place of considerable impor- 
tance among established institutions. Friends of education 
in America would insist that the term "Institute" is too nar- 
row in its connotation, friends of science in Europe would 
contend that it is too broad. However, in its dedication to 
the advancement of letters, science, and art, the educational 
programme of liberal and technical learning now being de- 
veloped may justify the designation "Institute" as represent- 
ing the functions of a teaching university of learning, and, at 


least in some of its departments, those of the more recent 
research institutions founded in this country and abroad. 

The planning of universities is no new problem. The list 
of modern solutions under state initiative is a long one from 
the national universities of Japan at Tokyo and Kyoto down 
to the reconstruction of the University of Paris and the re- 
vival of the French provincial universities; the reorganiza- 
tion of the University of London and the founding of the 
newer English municipal universities at Durham, Manches- 
ter, Liverpool, Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield, and Bristol; 
the newest members of the German system in the universities 
of Frankfort, Dresden, and Hamburg; and the conspicuous 
development of state institutions in our own country— to 
name but a few, in the new California under Wheeler, the 
new Illinois under Draper and James, the new Texas under 
Houston and Mezes, the new Virginia under Alderman, and 
the new Wisconsin under Van Hise. And at this very mo- 
ment there are building two new universities in Hungary, 
three in Canada, and two in Japan, while plans are being 
formulated for new institutions in China, Australia, and 
South Africa. Within the memory of all of us there have 
arisen on the benefactions of American philanthropists the 
Johns Hopkins University under Oilman and Remsen, Cor- 
nell University under White and Adams and Schurman, the 
University of Chicago under Harper and Judson, Leland 
Stanford under Jordan, and Clark under Hall; while the 
same period of university building has witnessed equally 
striking evolutions in the older American private founda- 
tions, notably the new Harvard under Eliot and Lowell, the 
new Yale under Porter and Dwight and Hadley, the new 
Princeton under McCosh and Patton and Wilson and 
HIbben, the new Columbia under Low and Butler, and the 
new Pennsylvania under Harrison and Smith. 



It has been remarked that an inventory of present-day 
universities would reveal thirteenth-century universities, fif- 
teenth-century universities, nineteenth-century universities, 
and twentieth-century universities in formidable array and 
considerable confusion. There are universities that swear 
by Plato, others by Euclid, and others by Adam Smith. Some 
uphold the Thirty-nine Articles, while others worship ra- 
dium and helium. From glorified engineering shops to scho- 
lastic sanctuaries, they offer the widest possible choice of 

Nevertheless, there has been evolving a composite con- 
ception of the university In some such characterization of its 
functions as follows : 

First, from the persistent past, in which there are no dead, 
to embody within its walls the learning of the world in living 
exponents of scholarship, who shall maintain. In letters, sci- 
ence, and art, standards of truth and beauty, and canons of 
criticism and taste. 

Second, for the living present and its persistence in the 
future, to enlarge the boundaries of human learning and to 
give powerful aid to the advancement of knowledge, as such, 
by developing creative capacity In those disciplines through 
which men seek for truth and strive after beauty. 

Third, on call of State or Church or University, to convey 
to its community and commonwealth, in popular quite as 
much as in permanent form, the products of Its own and 
other men^s thinking on current problems of science and so- 
ciety, of government and public order, of knowledge and 

Fourth, in support of all institutes of civilization and all 
instruments of progress, to contribute to the welfare of hu- 
mankind in freedom, prosperity, and health, by sending 
forth constant streams of liberally educated men and women 


to be leaders of public opinion in the service of the people, 
constant streams of technically trained practitioners for all 
the brain-working professions of our time, not alone law, 
medicine, and theology, but also every department of ser- 
vice and learning, from engineering, architecture, commerce, 
and agriculture, to teaching, banking, journalism, and public 

As thus conceived, the university is a great storehouse of 
learning, a great bureau of standards, a great workshop of 
knowledge, a great laboratory for the training of men of 
thought and men of action. Under this conception of its 
functions the university has to do with the preservation of 
knowledge, with the discovery and distribution of know- 
ledge, with the applications of knowledge, and with the mak- 
ing of knowledge-makers. Singling out one line of its activi- 
ties, the business of a university is to teach science, to create 
science, to apply science, to make scientists. To be even 
more specific, its objects in the department of chemistry are 
to teach chemistry, to create chemistry, to apply chemistry 
in all the arts of industry and commerce, and to make more 
creative chemists. This conception of the manifold function 
of a university in scholarship, in science, in social service, 
and in civilization corresponds point by point to the fourfold 
function of the career of a scholar or scientist: in scholar- 
ship, a conservator of knowledge; in science, a creator of 
knowledge; in citizenship, a contributor to public opinion; in 
service, a controller of the destiny of the cherished institu- 
tions of civilization. 

However, even to those who recognize in patriotism, edu- 
cation, and religion supreme enterprises of the human spirit, 
education itself is proverbially a dull subject whose technical 
details are sometimes dry as dust. For instance, I am by no 
means convinced that a discussion of the metaphysics of the 



optative mood in Greek would be especially edifying on this 
occasion. Then, too, mathematical studies are poems of a 
variety better appreciated when read in private than when 
declaimed in public. Nor are you likely moved at this time 
by any overpowering desire for relief from the perplexity 
of that dear old lady who said she could readily make out 
how astronomers determined the distances and dimensions, 
masses and motions, constitution and careers of the heavenly 
bodies, but for the life of her she never could understand 
how they found out their beautiful names. 

But studies and standards, students and staff are elements 
of a university programme quite as important as are a ma- 
chine-shop, a file of journals, a lively imagination, and a 
printing-press, its other constituent parts. If a university 
should take all knowledge for its province, it becomes neces- 
sary to undertake a classification of knowledge, a problem 
never yet done with satisfaction to any one except perhaps 
the last man attempting it. Nor is the problem rendered 
inordinately simple when restricted to a programme in sci- 
ence, for, to say nothing of more recent modifications up- 
heaving in character, the scientific thought of the nineteenth 
century has been made by Dr. J. Theodore Merz to align 
itself in a stately march of no fewer than ten views of nature : 
the astronomical, the atomic, the kinetic, the physical, the 
morphological, the genetic, the vitalistic, the psychophysical, 
the statistical, and the mathematical views. 

Yet all would agree, I think, that in mathematics, physics, 
chemistry, biology, and psychology we have a logical series 
carefully co-ordinated in subject-matter and sequence, fur- 
nishing the theoretic foundations for the applied sciences of 
engineering, economics, eugenics, and education. Further- 
more, there would also be agreement in the opinion that this 
co-ordinated series should be flanked both right and left by 






history and its interpretation, as a great laboratory in which 
to test all plans for political or social reform; by philosophy, 
as a clearing-house for all theories and methods of know- 
ledge; by letters, as the record in "thoughts that breathe and 
words that burn" of all human striving after sweetness and 
light; and by art, the creative imagination's flowering prod- 
uct in the ennobling and enriching of the content of life. 
Our studies are thus to be centered in the fundamental 
branches of pure science with a view to solutions of prob- 
lems of applied science in engineering, whose chief business 
is the development of the material resources of the world; in 
economics, whose cardinal problem is that of the distribu- 
tion of the wealth thus produced; in eugenics as the newest 
of the sciences, but really in idea no younger than Plato, 
which by taking thought would add cubits to the stature of 
the race; and finally in the latest of the experimental sci- 
ences, namely, education itself, in whose philosophical, psy- 
chological, and physiological foundations are now being 
sought the surest means of training the intellects and stimu- 
lating the imaginations of men. 





AS thus projected on a background of philosophy, history, 
xjL letters, and art, the programme of this university of 
science stands forth in the eflSgies and inscriptions which 
have been cut in the walls of this the first house of the home 
of its spirit. 

On the caps of the cloister's granite columns appear the 
heads of sixteen founders, leaders, and pioneers In 

Art . . 

Medicine . 


Electric Oscillations 
Radioactivity . 
Eugenics . 


St. Paul 
Immanuel Kant 

Thomas Jefferson 
De Lesseps 
Christopher Columbus 

Sophus Lie 
Charles Darwin 

Heinrich Hertz 
Samuel Langley 
Pierre Curie 
Richard Galton 

i:h9 3 



The obvious guiding call in this consistory of canonization 
was to pass from the ancient enterprises of humane learning 
to the modern endeavors of scientific exploration. An acci- 
dent of considerable interest is the circumstance that in the 
first group are a Greek, a Hebrew, a Latin, and a Teuton, 
while in the last are representatives of America, England, 
France, and Germany. 

On the exterior wall of the Faculty Chamber the threefold 
dedication is emblazoned in marble tablets to letters, science, 
and art. The Tablet to Letters bears the head of Homer, 
below which is inscribed Mackail's translation of Pindar's 
tribute to style : 

*The thing that one says well goes forth with a voice unto 

The Tablet to Science bears the profile of Isaac Newton 
together with Job's anticipation of the method of scientific 
inquiry in his 

**Speak to the earth and it shall teach thee 1" 

The Tablet to Art bears the head of Leonardo da Vinci, 
under which is inscribed : 

*The chief function of art is to make gentle the life of 
the world." 

Adapted, after some modifications, from certain of Ab- 
bey's mural decorations in the State Capitol of Pennsylvania, 
modeled by C. Percival Dietsch, and executed by Oswald 
Lassig, are the two life-size draped figures adjoining the 
court side of the arch of the sally-port on the left and right 



ifAi-aUnniar a ^ulidimtjiItairJihuvd^iiiiMtar 


l«i-iu-i»olv iuuitMvrio x't xu'biTM'iun mnmni votraui -Ara- 
iViuinm'tam tVluitcr auv^.iorttuno ex aiiiuui anuocumo. (i;}uo^ 
\iern «ct*> Ic.^ntiuti :l^ fcvKi»> ittv-trao luirri'vc iioluioti^:^.i3iiihii^ 
naintiio plaiimno. 
t ihcntiooiuii nuMi Vcormc i'l'oci'ati lu'liiutrtti . c '^cuaru 


iVjiah iljnrmm^ |.tcnituunu 

piulv'oovliiac iillcamiiiinc^ochtmu- ucc mtii iCirtcramin Auijli- 
cavnm ^hvKc'>ootvin, i)ui uiutulntiiuu-o liotnqiu- ttlaaiotri h'lYhmnn 
<>vnatuo IhiiuaoiraHo pcunoL'li'nuictt^t»3 tid imo pcrf^Ta^ cl 
.:^lt cum h-orio hu-titiae uc^tvuc futit pnrtircp^. 

'«i^miii-.> autcnt opcratnuo Korc iir J^ca^cmin \>v-o.h-n. imi- 
'^' itcroitntinn Anti-rrcanninini quaoi oi«rin- iratu minium 
taut luiui^ auopiciio iti luccui riMhi. uxulttto per mmn^ l.itmu 
n^at t>fncii huuiaim iitilcni ocmpt-rquc i^loriu fri-v^ctit . 




Alt (TpiotuHo. 




IDobauuio }.^l^la^Wphiav• , UaJmii^io (g>fritlnilme, 
vXitutt Bouiiui milinioimit iinm^i-ufcnoinui ^1Ul^^•cimvJ. 


/: one, syr, oi ^cicnc ^ > 

cautious and >om' t un* ?n 

uo under AnstoiiC •> uKiuti ■ 

i we pi*openy obserye ceiesiial phenomena w " - 

. -':■■: .. '.s which reii'ilate the:n'" ; 

''^^'tr, symbolic of Art", in nn !n'^n*'r':if''nn-?I ntfif-iv^/^ ^A*r\\ 
;ri ficr iiice nor laiicnn^ i p, ^.Tiijerges 

« the chiseled intuition of Plotinus th (t 

"Love, beaucy, joy* and worshr; ir forever '^^ 
^ !ing, and rebuilding ii; c:.? s s« ' '' 


-vgain, uiiaci the shieJvJ ^ 
•1 of the Rice Institute and the [• 
'in of Houston, the chi^- ^e of 

• t {S perhars the best expression of t 

r5v ronrn;; 

T'lm me r^ 

rrrr-elc in'i'-'-int'm, 

sc historian ot the 
:e Samuel H. R^k .u, 

m the tr 


" T<ather,' said Democritus, v.ouit; ^ abuovci t;]e cause 
T one fact than become King of the Persians/ " 

a declaration made at a time when to be kimr of the ! 

ns was to rule the world. In thur 
:h centurv^ of our era this utterance 
for knowledge for its own •^'^i'?^ 
.osopher oi that people who o 
■n letters and in art, the trustc 

^ant en: ' 

• f> ZPV. 


Institute hai . 



5iii 3>llii'vrr; 



, ■ .N ■>».,• n , 

aiv '. ]j! -• • qui ^latuiuiu 

«i>ii[ cum h't'ti*-' iiU'ti' viit* i»ri5trac tii 

.'r.>5lMiiini J^m»Trcannrttit: ninnita. 


#~1 1 


respectively: one, symbolic of Science, screening her gaze 
under the cautious and somewhat uncertain lead of reason, 
proceeds under Aristotle's dictum: 

"If we properly observe celestial phenomena we may dem- 
onstrate the laws which regulate them'' ; 

the other, symbolic of Art, in an inspirational attitude, with 
neither fear in her face nor faltering in her step, emerges 
from the chiseled intuition of Plotinus that 

'*Love, beauty, joy, and worship are forever building, 
unbuilding, and rebuilding in each man's soul." 

Again, under the shield of the State of Texas and the 
shield of the Rice Institute and the Flowering Magnolia of 
the City of Houston, the chief stone of this building bears 
what is perhaps the best expression of the Spirit of Science 
in any tongue: a Greek inscription in Byzantine lettering, 
from the Praparatto Evangelica of Eusebius Pamphili, the 
first historian of the Church, which, in the translation of the 
late Samuel H. Butcher, reads: 

" *Rather,' said Democritus, Vould I discover the cause 
of one fact than become King of the Persians,' " 

—a declaration made at a time when to be king of the Per- 
sians was to rule the world. In thus preserving in the twen- 
tieth century of our era this utterance of exultant enthusiasm 
for knowledge for its own sake, from a representative phi- 
losopher of that people who originated the highest standards 
in letters and in art, the trustees of the Institute have sought 



to express that disinterested devotion both to science and 
to humanism which the founder desired when he dedicated 
the new institution to the advancement of literature, science, 

and art. 

From inspiration out of the past we pass to the inspiration 
of the living, and in particular to the heartening hail of those 
savants who have come or stretched their hands across the 
seas to us on this occasion. Under sunny skies whose clear 
air makes clear minds blandly or keenly observant of the 
world, with winds fair, on the anniversary of Columbus's 
arrival, we too are setting out on a voyage of discovery in 
three small craft whose lines and keels and turrets you have 
had opportunity to examine and admire. We pledge your 
standards at the masthead and your spirit in the crew, but 
until we find cur treasure island, where faith and promise 
brighten into performance and achievement, we have none 
but empty honors to offer you. Rather do we ask you to 
honor us still further by allowing us to place in the stateroom 
of the flagship the following tablets in commemoration of 
your visit to the fleet: 

Professor Rafael Altamira y Crevea, of Madrid, Spain: 
late Professor of the History of Spanish Law in the Univer- 
sity of Oviedo; Director of Elementary Education in the 
Spanish Ministry of Public Instruction; a scholar of recog- 
nized authority in the history of jurisprudence and politics, 
and a statesman whose public service has extended with in- 
creasing usefulness beyond the borders of his own country 
to the educational institutions of the Latin-American nations. 

Professor Emile Borel, of Paris, France: Director of 
Scientific Studies at the Ecole Normale Superieure; Editor- 
in-chief of La Revue du Mo'is; Professor of the Theory of 



Functions at the Univ^ersity of Paris; successful in the dis- 
charge of exacting duties as administrator, educator, and 
editor, his studies in mathematical analysis worthily maintain 
the standards of scientific work established by the historic 
line of French analysts extending from Lagrange and La- 
place to Hermite and Poincare. 

Senator Benedetto Croce, of Naples, Italy: Life Senator 
of the Italian Kingdom; Member of several Royal Commis- 
sions; Editor of La Critica; an original and profound 
thinker, both constructive and critical, whose philosophy of 
the spirit, and in particular its theory of sesthetics, has com- 
pelled world-wide attention on the part of artists, philoso- 
phers, and men of letters. 

Professor Hugo de Vries, of Amsterdam, Holland : Direc- 
tor of the Hortus Botanicus and Professor of the Anatomy 
and Physiology of Plants in the University of Amsterdam; 
a careful observer and patient investigator of the phenomena 
of growth and change in living things, whose studies and 
experiments of a quarter of a century have resulted in capi- 
tal contributions to the theories of heredity and the origin 
of species. 

Professor Sir Henry Jones, of Glasgow, Scotland : Fellow 
of the British Academy; Professor of Moral Philosophy in 
the University of Glasgow; Hibbert Lecturer on Meta- 
physics at Manchester College, Oxford; an erudite editor 
and expositor of great movements of reflective thought In 
poetry and philosophy and religion, and himself a genial 
human philosopher who has elaborated a working faith for 
the social reformer and professed the docf:rInes of Idealism 
as a practical creed. 

• I 


Privy Councilor Baron Dairoku Kikuchi, of Tokyo, Ja- 
pan: late Japanese Minister of Education; formerly Pres- 
ident of the University of Tokyo, and later of the Univer- 
sity of Kyoto; recently Lecturer on Japanese Education at 
the University of London; a publicist of distinction and a 
close student of affairs, one of the pioneers in the introduc- 
tion of Western learning into Japan, who has rendered his 
native land patriotic service in the organization and admin- 
istration of its schools and universities. 

Professor John William Mackail, of London, England: 
formerly Fellow of Balliol College and later Professor of 
Poetry in Oxford University; a critic who would interpret 
art as art interprets life, favorably known by his many pub- 
lished lectures on Latin literature and Greek poetry, and 
himself a poet whose English pure and undefiled is scarcely 
surpassed in our time. 

Privy Councilor Professor Wilhelm Ostwald, of Gross- 
Bothen, Germany: late Professor of Chemistry in the Uni- 
versity of Leipsic; Nobel Laureate in Chemistry, 1909; a 
versatile man of science whose interests and activities range 
from art through letters into metaphysics, he is justly cele- 
brated as one of the founders of physical chemistry and 
equally well known as the chief propagandist of a new natu- 
ral philosophy based on the theories of energetics. 

The late Professor Henri Poincare, of Paris, France: 
Member of the French Academy; Commander of the Le- 
gion of Honor; Professor of Mathematics and Astronomy 
at the University of Paris; distinguished for discoveries of 
far-reaching significance in pure mathematics, celestial me- 
chanics, and mathematical physics, a varied intellectual activ- 


'I j 


ity of extraordinary fertility has secured for him a place of 
eminence in letters, in science, and in philosophy. 

Professor Sir William Ramsay, K.C.B., of London, Eng- 
land: late Professor of Chemistry at University College, 
London; Nobel Laureate in Chemistry, 1904; President of 
the Seventh International Congress of Applied Chemistry; 
a facile experimenter of boldness and ingenuity, who has 
devised new theories and revived outworn ones in a series 
of remarkable achievements which of themselves constitute 
an epoch in the history of the chemical elements and a per- 
manent chapter in the annals of science. 

Professor Carl Stjeirmer, of Christiania, Norway: Mem- 
ber of the Norwegian Academy of Sciences; Associate 
Editor of the Acta Mathematica; Professor of Pure Mathe- 
matics in the University of Christiania; professorial suc- 
cessor of the illustrious Norse geometer, Marius Sophus 
Lie, and himself a master of the methods of reckoning who 
has drawn from the equations of mechanics a new theory of 
terrestrial magnetism revealing new explanations of the 
lights of the northern skies and kindred manifestations in 
the solar system. 

Professor Vito Volterra, of Rome, Italy: Life Senator of 
the Italian Kingdom; Dean of the Faculty of Science and 
Professor of Mathematical Physics and Celestial Mechanics 
in the University of Rome; recently Lecturer in the Univer- 
sities of Paris and Stockholm; an analyst of rare skill whose 
theories have found manifold applications both in pure and 
in applied science, he has served his country even more di- 
rectly as an able organizer of educational and scientific un- 
dertakings national in scope and international in influence. 






FROM the hands of these illustrious citizens of Amster- 
dam, Glasgow, Leipsic, London, Madrid, Naples, 
Oxford, Paris, Rome, and Tokyo, the torch of civilization's 
great commission to think and to teach and to learn is this 
day passed on to the sons and daughters of the South and the 
scholars and scientists trained at the universities of Cam- 
bridge, Chicago, Harvard, Heidelberg, Leipsic, Michigan, 
Oxford, Pennsylvania, Yale, Virginia, Wisconsin,^ who con- 
stitute the charter membership of the new institution's aca- 
demic guild, a company of students and fellows, lecturers 
and instructors, preceptors and professors, who in a com- 
mon society would seek to realize a composite conception of 
the student-universities and the master-universities of earlier 
times; a voluntary association whose collective will for the 
present is to be executed by one of their number, who is to 

1 Since this address was written the staff of the new institution has grown 
to some thirty members who bring to its problems training, experience, or 
honors from the following universities and colleges: Adelphi, Auburn, Bal- 
liol (Oxford), Berlin, Bethany (West Virginia), Birmingham, Bonn, Cam- 
bridge, Centre, Chicago, Christiania, Clark, Columbia, Cornell, Davidson, 
Drake, Emmanuel (Cambridge), Georgia, Gottingen, Harvard, Heidelberg, 
Illinois, Johns Hopkins, King's (London), Leeds, Lehigh, Leipsic, Liverpool, 
London, McGill, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Munich, Northwestern, 
Oberlin, Oxford, Paris, Pennsylvania, Pittsburg, Princeton, Robert, Rome, 
Southwestern, Stanford, Trinity (Cambridge), Tulane, Union, Vermont, Vir- 
ginia, Washington (College), Washington (University of), Wesleyan, Wil- 
liams, Wisconsin, Wooster, Yale; and the student members of an academic 
community of about three hundred souls come from some seventy-five towns 
in Texas and fifteen States of the Union, among them holders of degrees 
from Austin, Georgetown, Missouri, Phillips, Robert, Union, and Vanderbilt, 
and former students of Austin, Baylor, Daniel Baker, Georgia School of 
Technology, Howard Payne, Illinois, Lehigh, Marion Institute, North Texas 
Normal, Oklahoma (Agricultural and Mechanical), Randolph Macon, St. 
Mary's, Sam Houston Normal, Simmons (Texas), Smith, Sophie Newcomb, 
Southwestern, Sweet Briar, Texas (Agricultural and Mechanical), Texas 
(University of), Trinity (Texas), United States Military Academy. 


play the role of middleman between the public and the uni- 
versity, the trustees and the staff, the staff and the students, 
the students and their parents and guardians; a society of 
scholars which from the first aspires to be "a partnership in 
all science, a partnership in all art, a partnership in every 
virtue and in all perfection''; and "as the ends of such a 
partnership cannot be obtained in many generations," to ap- 
propriate still further Burke's conception of the state, *'it 
becomes a partnership between those who are living, those 
who are dead, and those who are to be born." 

Democracy of science and republic of letters, nowhere 
mere empty phrases, meet in this partnership an unusual 
opportunity for translation into living actualities. Except 
for the organization indispensable to the efficient discharge 
of business, subject only to limitations of character and in- 
tellect, here are leisure and work and liberty, freedom in 
initiative, freedom in invention, the freedom that alone in- 
vites inspiration to thought and action. As at the Univer- 
sity of Virginia from the earliest days, and more lately at the 
University of Chicago, distinctions of academic rank and 
title will appear in official calendars but find no place in 
classroom or on the campus. For purposes of organization 
and administration each member of the university will natu- 
rally fall into one or more of three grand divisions: Science, 
Humanity, Technology. As has already been intimated, 
each of these divisions will eventually consist of several 
faculties : under Science we should have mathematics, phys- 
ics, chemistry, biology, psychology, and so on, together with 
their applications in the fields of engineering, economics, 
education, and so forth; under Humanity would appear his- 
tory, philosophy, letters, politics, and so on to art and re- 
ligion; while Technology would embrace science, humanity, 
and technology as professions of teaching or research, the 




older learned professions of law, medicine, theology, and 
the newer ones from engineering, architecture, and agricul- 
ture on down to the more recent acquisitions of commerce, 
banking, and public administration. 

The first larger divisions of the Staff of the new univer- 
sity to assume form will be a faculty of science and a faculty 
of letters. In the discharge of their functions these bodies 
will be aided by administrative committees constituted of 
their own members. To the duties of the officers of certain 
of these committees deans will succeed when the growth of 
the institution shall have called for more elaborate and more 
highly differentiated machinery of organization and adminis- 
tration. Administrative work, of increasing complexity in 
any modern university, is likely to make frequent calls on the 
time and judgment of its ablest and best trained members in 
the first days of a new one, but it is hoped to reduce the 
burden of these demands considerably by consistent and 
sharp differentiation between the constructive and critical, 
and the clerical. To meet the direct duties of administration 
in schools and departments, laboratories and museums, 
chairmen will be appointed annually and without regard to 
seniority. The Staff will assemble, and at regular intervals, 
in at least three different series of meetings: scientific, social, 
and business. Through the first of these the work of its 
members in the capacity of creator, critic, or censor will be 
assessed in its relations to productive scholarship; by the 
second, the university will be kept in intimate touch with the 
life of its community, and many a plan may trace its start to 
a bowl of punch or the pouring of tea; and finally, through 
the third of these series of meetings the Staff will consider, 
subject to the approval of the trustees, the conduct of the 
academic life of the university in respect of scholarship, 
research, teaching, and public service. 


9 I 1 


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mg compkxuy m 
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chairrn'^'*^ ^ 
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In America the spirit of scientific investigation has, cer- 
tainly until recently, found its best expression in the college 
and the university, and among the men of science associated 
with these foundations. To be sure, research institutions, 
as for example the Scientific Bureaus of the United States 
Government, the Carnegie Institution of Washington, the 
Rockefeller Institute in New York, and, earliest of all, the 
Smithsonian Institution in Washington, independent of uni- 
versities, have abundantly justified their existence among us; 
but no university can live without the vitalizing reaction of 
original investigation. Even in the Rice Institute's days of 
hewing of wood and mixing of mortar, work of investigation 
is not to be allowed to suffer from any inconvenience due to 
inadequate provision of library and laboratory apparatus. 
The first investigators may feel their isolation and the 
absence of atmosphere, but in this day of rapid transit, 
speedy dissemination of intelligence, and manifold multi- 
plicity of periodical scientific publications, isolation offers no 
excuse for inactivity, for one cannot spend half an hour in 
the perusal of a first-class scientific periodical without think- 
ing of at least half a year's things to do. 

To the privileges of research and the duties of adminis- 
tration must be added the pleasures of teaching and public 
lecturing, and if the last phase of this cycle of action is to be 
efl'icient the schedules of daily and weekly performances 
should not be too heavy. Moreover, the time-tables of lec- 
ture and laboratory arrangements In each subject of instruc- 
tion or investigation will be so framed that the first-year 
students shall be brought directly under the tutelage of the 
senior members of the university: here again we are appro- 
priating an Idea of Thomas Jefferson's for the University of 
Virginia. Furthermore, this very work of teaching and pub- 
lic lecturing will Itself be Inspired by the temper of scientific 


investigation; for, as it seems to me, the scientific movement 
of the nineteenth century has no more striking lesson for the 
twentieth than that an inquiring mind is the safest guide for 
an inquiring mind: that the best man to lead the learner 
from the unknown to the known is the man who is continually 
leading himself from the unknown to the known, not only in 
point of encyclopedic and specialized knowledge, but also in 
point of new knowledge contributed by himself to the store 
of learning. Was Burke not right when he said that *'the 
method of teaching which approached most nearly to the 
method of investigation is incomparably the best, since, not 
content with serving up a few barren and lifeless truths, it 
leads to the stock out of which they grew; it tends to set the 
learner on the track of invention and to direct him into those 
paths in which the author has made his own discoveries"? 
And Burke said this half a century before the scientific 
renaissance. Nor was Burke an impractical dreamer, for, in 
his speech on the petition of the Unitarians, he also said: 
''No rational man ever did govern himself by abstractions 
and universals. ... A statesman differs from a professor 
in a university. The latter has only the general view of 
society. ... A statesman, never losing sight of principles, 
is to be guided by circumstances; and, judging contrary to 
the exigencies of the moment, he may ruin his country for- 



Finally, to the energy and Invention of the planner, to the 
enthusiasm and initiative of the producer, to the erudition 
and imagination of the professor, must be added the energy 
and enthusiasm and erudition of the preceptor, whose power 
of summary statement in exposition, whose infinite capacity 
for details in explanation, whose persistent example and oc- 
casional exhortation in manners and morals, must conspire 
with strength of personality to win and guide the student's 



interest in his reading and writing quite as much as in his 
thinking and in the meeting of his formal obligations to the 
university's standards and scheme of studies. This order of 
ideas goes back to a modification of the Oxford and Cam- 
bridge tutorial system which President Wilson Introduced at 
Princeton University several years ago. And the finest thing 
about the introduction of President Wilson's preceptorial 
system at Princeton University was not the bringing of forty 
preceptors to Princeton at one blow, but rather the calling of 
every professor of the university to personal participation In 
the plan as preceptor. The success of that system at Prince- 
ton Is to be attributed to this professorial participation no 
less than to the larger part taken in the execution of the plan 
by the specially appointed junior members of the staff. 

Thus It appears that a professor's work Is never done. 
Probably no expenditure of his time meets with smaller re- 
turn than that employed on editorial duties. Moreover, In 
a time when the world Is flooded with printing one should 
hesitate to increase the number of printed pages. Neverthe- 
less, In order to facilitate the prompt publication and dis- 
tribution of the products of Its library, laboratory, and lec- 
ture activities, the new university proposes to maintain a few 
periodical publications of Its own. Perhaps the most serious 
of these will be the Annals of Letters^ Science, and Art, to 
appear ultimately In several series, carrying the contributions 
of its own and other scholars to knowledge. Simultaneously 
with these quarterly quartos there will appear The Rice In- 
stitute Pamphlets, in octavo form, at least four times a year, 
containing occasional addresses, courses of lectures, and 
smaller papers of current and timely Interest. And finally, 
at least for the present, the Circulars of Information con- 
cerning the Rice Institute, In the numbers of which will be 
published the annual calendar, the programmes of study. 


and other announcements of the undergraduate and gradu- 
ate life of the institution. 

'T is a bold man who would take upon himself the gift 
of prophecy, but from the birth of the science of the stars 
to the physics of the ether and the ion it has been the prov- 
ince of the professor to prophesy; sometimes, as the prophet 
of old, to ''stand like a wall of bronze, and an iron pillar, 
against the whole land, against the kings of Judah and the 
princes thereof"; but always striving, in the spirit of a mod- 
ern philosopher whose noble words might be turned into a 
command and written over the door of every library, labor- 
atory, and lecture-hall as a motto for all seekers after truth, 
to "cherish as a vital principle an unbounded spirit of enquiry 
and ardency of expectation, unfetter the mind from preju- 
dices of every kind, leave it open and free to every impres- 
sion of higher nature which it is susceptible of receiving- 
guarding only against self-deception by a habit of strict 
investigation— encourage rather than suppress everything 
that can offer the prospect of a hope beyond the present 
obscure and unsatisfactory state. The character of the true 
philosopher is to hope all things not impossible and to be- 
lieve all things not unreasonable. . . . Humility of preten- 
sion no less than confidence of hope is what best becomes his 
character." It is the business of the professor quite as much 
as it is the business of the successful promoter to get results 
out of the future by anticipating them through his knowledge 
of the past and his understanding of the present. On such 
an occasion as this it is hard not to prophesy. This academic 
festival provides the first alignment of the Rice Institute with 
other institutions. It is the placing of a new university on the 
map of the earlier universities. The new institution comes as 
a rival to none, as a competitor of none, but as a child hoping 
to grow in favor, to gain the confidence and to win the re- 



spect of older foundations. It is the advent of a man-child 
that we have witnessed, and some of us believe we have dis- 
covered in its form the features and bones of a giant. And I 
like to think that within ten or twenty vears the staff and 
students of whom I am now speaking will have grown to be 
a residential community of at least a thousand souls— or, 
say a staff of a hundred members and a society of students a 
thousand strong. And the year that number, one thousand, 
has been reached — a graduate group of two hundred and an 
undergraduate group of eight hundred— we propose to say 
that in the year following only the best thousand among the 
applicants for admission, whether old or new, shall be re- 
ceived, and to persevere in this process of selection year by 
year for another score of years. This determination of ours 
has been accorded hearty support by many of our guests on 
this occasion ; for if they have urged one thing above another 
upon us, that one thing has been to keep the standards up 
and the numbers down. It is through such standards in 
scholarship and service severely maintained, and by a 
process of selection through these standards of culture and 
character, that the exceptional man is likely to be discovered. 
And, after all, is not this last discovery one of the highest 
forms of service within our aim? 

For the maintenance of these high standards we have 
promising material with which to begin. These first stu- 
dents who have come to us have come to us on faith; they 
have left the beaten paths to established institutions; they 
have left the company of their fellows to come to a new 
institution; and to this institution they have come unsolicited 
and unheralded; they have thus shown some independence of 
judgment, something of initiative, somewhat of the spirit of 
adventure, and these are the things by which men are judged 
and singled out from among their fellows at every stage of 


the game of life. For these reasons we believe that we make 
no mistake in banking on these young men and women and 
the future of the new university at their hands. 

And if we hope that this academic community is to be dis- 
tinguished by high standards in scholarship, we also hope 
that the student life of the community is to be equally distin- 
guished for its system of self-government. The latter sys- 
tem is already assuming form through the constitution of an 
honor system for the conduct of examinations, and the insti- 
tution of student government in the first halls of residence.^ 
With these two strong determinants of public opinion, the 
extension of student control to the entire campus should 
prove to be a comparatively simple undertaking. In the 
so-called honor system in examinations there is nothing novel 
to many i\merican institutions. Two generations ago such 
a system grew into existence at the University of Virginia, 
and some years later found a congenial atmosphere at 
Princeton. Since these beginnings it has grown into the life 
of many other colleges. On the other hand. In some univer- 
sities it has been tried without success. In the first days of a 
new one, however, when all traditions and customs are in the 
making. It promises well. And because of this same free- 
dom—that is to say, freedom from tradition— the Rice In- 
stitute is pre-eminently fortunately situated to undertake the 
building of halls of residence as an integral part of Its pro- 
gramme. As a matter of fact, the residential college Idea Is 
a prominent one In the plans of the new institution. At the 
time these plans were being made the Idea was stirring in the 
air about many of the older universities. It was at Princeton 

iThe Honor Council this year (1914-15) has representatives from three 
classes, and in another year will have become a permanent institution in the 
university. In the conduct of examinations during the first tv^o years of the 
institution's existence, this council has been vigilant in its care. The govern- 
ment of the residential college is in the hands of an elective board of repre- 
sentatives, chosen one each from the ten or a dozen separate houses into 
which the hall of residence is divided. 



that President Wilson proposed to give the idea concrete 
form in the reorganization of the social life of that ancient 
seat of learning. The programme there suggested was an 
adaptation of the English residential college to American 
undergraduate life. A similar plan had been elaborated by 
Dean West some years earlier for a future school of gradu- 
ate studies at Princeton, and the latter plan has come to 
realization In the Gothic halls and towers of the Princeton 
Graduate College about to be dedicated. From Oxford and 
Cambridge the idea goes back to the University of Paris, the 
mother university of all modern ones, which consisted orig- 
inally of residential colleges. In the Paris of the present 
day the type reappears in the Ecole Normale Superieure, 
founded by Napoleon, and in the more recent Fondatlon 
Thiers. Moreover, In Berlin an original suggestion of 
Fichte's in his scheme for a university has led lately to pro- 
posals for such a development at the university which bears 
the name of that city; while at the same time in our own 
country the University of Wisconsin has plans for residential 
halls already worked out and awaiting funds from the State ; 
Cornell University has undertaken such a plan, the first 
buildings of which are soon to be constructed; and Harvard 
has planned for the freshmen of the university a group of 
such colleges to be ready for early occupancy. 

The first of these experiments in college democracy at 
Rice finds its dedication on the corner-stone of its building, 
where, under the shield of the Institute, there appears the 
simple Inscription: 'To the freedom of sound learning and 
the fellowship of youth.'' Here is being realized an old 
seventeenth-century definition of education— William of 
Wykeham's 'Ue making of a man."^ For here In the resi- 

iThis definition of education was made the subject of his inaugural dis- 
course at Princeton University by President Hibben, at whose recent mstalla- 

L 165:1 

• 4r«»rm"T8S^ 


dential college men liv^e in freedom, checked only by self- 
mastery and gentle manners, a freedom of the kind that 
Goethe meant when he said, *'He alone attains to life and 
freedom who daily conquers them anew"; here they grow in 
wisdom, not alone in the wisdom of books but also in the 
wisdom of work and service; here they find the incom- 

tion there appeared for the first timp in an American academic procession 
an official representative of the Rice Institute. 

In many respects the present address is a chronicle of first things— first 
either in point of time or in point of import. 

The first scientific papers by a member of the Rice Institute were presented 
to the American Mathematical Society and the American Philosophical 

The first foreign reference to the new foundation was made by Dr. Henry 
van Dyke in a public lecture at the Sorbonne in his course on "The Spirit 
of America" as visiting professor at the University of Paris, in which, 
speaking of the development of education in our country, he said: "Nor has 
this process of assimilation been confined to American ideas and models. 
European methods have been carefully studied and adapted to the needs 
and conditions of the United States. I happen to know of a new institution 
of learning which has been recently founded in Texas by a gift of ten mil- 
lions of dollars. The president-elect is a scientific man who has already 
studied in France and Germany. . . . But before he touches the building 
and organization of his new Institute, he is sent to Europe for a year to see 
the oldest and the newest and the best that has been done there. In fact, the 
Republic of Learning to-day is the true Cosmopolis. It knows no barriers of 
nationality. It seeks truth and wisdom everywhere, and wherever it finds 
them, it claims them for its own." 

The first printed scientific papers to be dated from the Rice Institute were 
published in the "American Journal of Mathematics," the "Cambridge 
Journal of Pure and Applied Mathematics," the Proceedings of the American 
Philosophical Society, and "Science." The first address by a member of the 
Institute was a vice-presidential address before the Baltimore meeting of the 
American Association for the Advancement of Science, which included some 
results of a paper presented previously at the Dublin meeting of the British 
Association for the Advancement of Science. The first literary addresses 
written at the Rice Institute were a Phi Beta Kappa address on the mind 
and temper of science, delivered at the University of Virginia in June, 1910, 
and a commencement address on the spirit of learning, delivered at the Uni- 
versity of Texas in June, 191 1. 

The first scientific paper to go out from the laboratories of the Institute 
was one by Mr. and Mrs. H. A. Wilson, published in the Proceedings of the 
Royal Society of London; while the first scientific paper to be published by 
a student of the Institute was one by Mr. Eric R. Lyon, an undergraduate, 
which appeared in the "American Physical Review." 

The first book to carry "Rice Institute" on its title-page was Mr. J. 8. 
Huxley's Cambridge manual on "The Individual in the Animal Kingdom." 
The second such book was Mr. A. LI. Hughes's "Photo-electricity," issued by 
the Cambridge University Press, and now in process of translation into 
German in Germany. Books from the pens of Mr. Guerard and of Mr. and 
Mrs. Tsanoff, though prepared elsewhere, have appeared in print since their 
authors came to Houston. Furthermore, Mr. Wilson has a new book in the 


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a* our bclcontc, if tjis arrnuitrturuts permit. 
^l)oulb, liouirtxr, tl)i» tic iuivo9«iblc. nub •Ijoulb 
wc fitil to be v<^vsounUij rrvrc»cutcb. nic ucucr- 
tl|clc69 iu nil aiuirritu ^c•ire to trnuauiit our 
covMnl (trcctiuiift llu^ ooo5 utiei)ca to tljc uciu 
|(uiiu-v«itij ; au^ to rxvrrvs our tjopre tljot tljc 
•Vli*«»i»«b nu»v«ci» uubcr uiljicl) it i* c«trtbli«l|cb. 
lunij be ouev«l^n^olueb by tl)e eelebrity tijnt it 
tierenftcr nttaiu*, nub thnt tt» portiou of pro- 
motiuit tlie iutelleetunl iutercets of tunuhiub nutu 
be rentiseb in tl)e nci)ieueuteut« of lt» future 
tencbers nub nluuiui. llor eou we refrniu frout 
couorntulntiu(i n liiubrrb comnuuiitu wliiclj, 
tl)ouiii| olbcr tbnn tl|o»e iu tbe Goutljeru pens, 
i«, Hhe tlfcnt, n new urowtli iu n nen» tworib, 
in tije euii(ti}teueb liberotitij of it* prioate 
ritiieuB tljnt Ija* iu *o mnuy cn»c« leb to tl)r 
muuificeut eubotoment of culture nub resenrcl), 
onb tlint uout once more receit>e« to concpirtt- 
ou« an iliufttrntiou. 

Hie tru»t tljat in remote (ieurrntiou« tlje f^iee 
fuBtitttte mnij »till be fttlftUiu£i lt» benificeut 
tnia«iou iu nil procperity nub fnir fnme. 

i/// nhi< (fi^* If 't 


/^Ch^LtCL %JcUjUyt^ 

jlctlnfi y(0i«trar. 



»v:i!Tn corn'';? ind ioyou> conri- 

: :€ fearless boi 

J toilowirjg lines ■ < ^ 

^or was it least 
rft< in later veav^ 
'h dcadtmic insAiuits 
111 it thev held somethwif up to \ 

.^uiiL^ j^hsi t, an Stood T 

.. rfround; that vje were brothers ali 

:i "iiy i^ rr: rn m ' • 'f* * t \' 

e\ fUfi 

t>fn lav 1 tha -f 

n tifhi iitu's mere in iC^^ c^io^m 

j prn<^per(ifJS 

ernes of G :<ter'ious 

nanifesti>, .^ .w. ^r-z-rr 
.ozuship with venciai}it uoofis, 
^inn the Prond zvorkint/^ of 
huuiin tibcTiy. 

. n society a coiiuiiun lite uau^ 

Danicll, Evans, and Guerar»i \ 
n<i Dumble ha\e courses of 
ript awaiting puWication 
\ Daniell, Evans, Grn 
'^ have cootributcd 

• %\ritten at the ne-^ 

.ts not attempt to be < 
of the igiitnHoj 

;id other 

L^'^/ J 


l' > 





parable fellowship, warm comradeship, and joyous com- 
panionships of college years; here they live in the uncon- 
querable enthusiasm, the fearless courage, the boundless 
hope of youth. A faithful characterization of the spirit of 
the hall is found in the following lines from Wordsworth's 

Nor was it least 
Of many benefits, in later years 
Derived from academic institutes 
And rules, that they held something up to view 
Of a Republic, where all stood thus far 
Upon equal ground; that we were brothers all 
In honour, as in one community, 
Scholars and gentlemen; where, furthermore, 
Distinction open lay to all that came. 
And wealth and titles were in less esteem 
Than talents, worth, and prosperous industry. 
Add unto this, subservience from the first 
To presences of God's mysterious power 
Made manifest in Nature's sovereignty. 
And fellowship with venerable books. 
To sanction the proud workings of the soul. 
And mountain liberty. 

In this first residential hall students and staff are already 
living in a common society a common life under conditions 

press, Messrs. Caldwell, Daniell, Evans, and Guerard have books in the 
making, Messrs. Axson and Dumble have courses of public lectures on liter- 
ature and science in manuscript awaiting publication in the Pamphlets of the 
Rice Institute, while Messrs. Daniell, Evans, Graustein, Guerard, Hughes, 
Huxley, Reinke, and Tsanoff have contributed to literary and scientific 
periodicals papers which were written at the new university. 

Though this recital does not attempt to be exhaustive, no account of the 
initial scholarly work of the new institution should fail to mention the in- 
augural lectures and other performances of the formal opening to which 
reference has already been made. The omission here of details concerning 
the first Rice Institute university extension lectures will be supplied in a 
subsequent paragraph of this paper. 




the most democratic. They sit at a common table; they 
lounge in common club-rooms; they frequent the same 
cloisters ; in games they meet again upon the same playing- 
fields. The quadrangle is self-governed, with no other 
machinery of government than is necessary to conduct a 
gentlemen's club. To the quadrangle, as to the college, the 
only possible passports are intellect and character. In the 
quadrangle, as on the campus, the business of life is to be 
regulated by no other code than the common understanding 
by which gentlefolk determine their conduct of life, con- 
stantly under the good taste, the good manners, the enduring 
patience of gentle minds, among strong men who believe that 
he lives most who works most, labors longest, worries least. 
Each hall is to have its own literary and debating society, its 
own religious association, and its own musical and athletic 
organizations.^ A little later in the history of the Institute 
similar colleges will be provided for the young women. It 
IS hoped that ultimately all students of the Institute will be 

1 From the start the students of the Rice Institute, irrevocably committed 
Arhurl^lT "^ "u7 'P'^'i ^^^' participated, unde^ the directiHf Mr 
frc..n-l;-'" ^"u^'!?- «f ^"f^collegiate athletic contests. Following the 
organization of the Rice Institute Athletic Association, the first s^cTefv of 

wTatio°n'%°hfs's;:n' 'M'^ ^"^ '^T"'' ^'^ ^^^ Young MenVchriJtial 
Association. This step on the part of the young men was speedily followed 

their hZrl" Tl ''^ u' Pt^' "^ '^' y°""g ^^«"^^" i" the organization of 
IhZ y^ °^ '^' "^^^^^^ ^°""S Women's Christian Association. Each of 
Roth Z/''^''^"' associations has held regular meetings continually since 
Both have contributed to the social life and the religious spirit of the InstN 
tute. Regular classes in Bible study, meeting weekly throughou the tear 
are being conducted by Messrs. Johnson and Tsanoff.^ The foHege studen ' 
above all his kind, is a political animal, and, to a degree far bevLd wha; 

hT.'.r'' ' '^T^' f. ''^'^T' ^^^"g- F«^ ^hi's reason it is gratifying to say 
that the internal religious forces of the new institution have been constanth^ 
and consistently growing in strength. The founding of the religioursocfe" es 
was followed by the forming of three literary societies, one bv the voune 
women, bearmg the name of Elizabeth Baldwin, wife of the founder of thf 
Institute, and tvvo by the young men, known respectively as '"The Owl Liter! 
ary Society" and the "Riceonian Literary and Debating Society '' These so 
cieties have met weekly from the date of their organiLdon Ind have held" 
occasional intersociety meetings in public debate. Though founded by studem 
initiative, the literary and debating societies have called to their assistanceTn 
an advisory capacity a committee consisting of Messrs Arbuckle Axson 
Darnell, Evans, Huxley, Hughes, and Watkin ^rbuckle, Axson, 



housed in such halls of residence. For example, the residen- 
tial section for men calls for a great quadrangle of quadran- 
gles, whose main axis terminates at one end by a great 
gymnasium and at the other by a great union club. In the 
gymnasium all students will receive systematic work in phys- 
ical education, while the union will offer many opportunities 
open by competition to members of all colleges, for among 
these colleges there will arise the liveliest sort of rivalry in 
scholastic standing, in field sports, in musical, literary, and 
debating activities. To those students who for one reason 
or another are obliged to live in the city the union will afford 
many of the opportunities of the residential hall. By thus 
providing in the way of dwelling halls units larger than those 
provided heretofore in American institutions it is hoped to 
preserve and to maintain the present democratic conditions 
of life which obtain on the campus of the new univ^ersity. 
And to that end, side by side with the building of great 
laboratories of investigation and halls of instruction is to 
proceed the building of these collegiate homes for human 
living. Each of these homes will have its roll of honor and 
hall of fame, and, even as the older colleges, will point with 
pride to men of initiative and achievement who were former 
members of the hall. Though these halls may not go as far 
as Balliol College went under Jowett's mastership and re- 
ceive as students only those who are candidates for honors, 
yet, "scorning delights" and ^'living laborious days,'' may 
they not look forward to a time when their historian may 
say as does Mr. W. W. Rouse Ball of his college, Trinity, 
Cambridge— to name another English college represented 
in the first faculty of Rice: 'This particular staircase, which 
I have taken as a typical one, contains one Fellow's set, five 
undergraduates' sets, one of which is now used by the 
porters, and an odd room. The rooms on the ground floor 



on the right-hand side on entering the staircase were occu- 
pied by Thackeray, and later by the present Astronomer- 
Royal; those on the opposite side, by Macaulay; the rooms 
on the first floor next the gate were occupied by Isaac New- 
ton, and later by Lightfoot, afterwards Bishop of Durham, 
and R. C. Jebb, the Greek scholar; and those on the opposite 
side by J. G. Frazer, who has done so much to investigate 
the habits of thought of primitive man. This is an interest- 
ing group of men, but in fact there are few rooms in the 
college which have not been inhabited at some time by those 
who have made their names famous." 

A distinguished mathematician in Germany said very re- 
cently that American college spirit is the greatest need of the 
German university. To this academic audience college spirit 
Is neither novel nor unreal. The boldness in commenting 
upon it may be pardoned when I remind you that it Itself Is 
freedom, courage, comradeship. It is the freedom of sound 
learning and the fellowship of youth; it Is the spirit of soli- 
darity, the spirit of co-operation, the collective spirit of cor- 
porate unity. It appears upon the rostrum, at the desk, and 
In the field, on the gridiron and the diamond and the track. 
Always It Is the spirit of romance, occasionally of revelry, 
sometimes of reformation, and frequently, in its most serious 
and sober moments, bent on nothing more sober or serious 
than recreation. In manners It demands simplicity and sin-' 
cerlty; In morals, honesty and Integrity. It laughs at 
pedantry, howls at the pompous, rebels at cant, exults In 
candor. In judgment merciless, if not always unerring; in 
action immediate, if sometimes unreflecting; of robust adven- 
ture "that bulldeth In the cedars' tops and dallies with the 
wind and scorns the sun"; of virile sport that "greets the 
unknown with a cheer and bids him forward." It rings in 
the song after defeat as well as in the shoutings of victory. 


It Is progress and purpose and pluck and prayer, though 
certain of these aspects reveal themselves only upon analysis 
somewhat refined. It owns the college, loves the college, 
runs the college. Let this be the spirit of Rice. 

If I have adequately described this Incense of college 
spirit as It rises from the college campus, all that I have said 
and a great deal more Is necessary properly to characterize 
that Informing spirit of the college itself whose sources are 
In conference, cloister, and council-chamber. This Inform- 
ing spirit is more than opinion and impulse and enthusiasm, 
though Inspired and directed by each of them In turn. It is 
more than tradition and custom and law, though continually 
molded by all three. It Is the spirit of science and the spirit 
of service. Sustained by such hard and homely supports as 
concentration of study, co-ordination of studies, co-operation 
of students, and capitalization of student activities, its life 
is continually renewed by the native and unceasing demands 
of the human spirit for the sweetness and light of culture, 
for the strength and charity of character, for the law and 
order and security of enlightened citizenship. It Is the brain 
of the college, the heart of the college, the soul of the col- 
lege. May this also be the spirit of Rice. 

There is nothing unusual in insisting that the spirit of 
one's college Is democratic. Every college in the country 
contends that It has the spirit of true democracy; the only 
difference, If any. Is that here we do have it. It is equally 
true that every good thing in college life has been a subject 
of criticism, and this Is well, for criticism Is the way to 
health, while complacency may be on the way to stagnation. 
No feature of organized college life has been the subject of 
greater criticism than the organized devotion to athletic 
sports, both In the college and among the colleges. In cli- 
matic conditions where outdoor life Is easily possible 



throughout the year, the new institution will have to face its 
problems in athletics resolutely. This will be the more nec- 
essary because we believe to a man in outdoor sports; for 
quite as important to the student as his home and standards, 
as his habits and studies, are his hobbies and his sports. We 
used to advocate athletics to make the boy a man; we now 
advocate athletics to keep the man a boy. Youth I eternal 
youth ! lived in a fountain of perpetual youth ! This is one 
of the great compensations of the academic life. Genera- 
tions of coUege men may come and generations go, but 
youth, joyous and eternal in its spirit, runs on through all 
these comings and goings. And this contagion has spread 
beyond the academic atmosphere, for everywhere there is 
the determination to die a hundred years young. This de- 
termination is best realized through systematic and regular 
physical exercise : it may be throwing the discus, hurling the 
hammer, putting the shot, wielding tennis racquet or golf 
stick, participating in football, baseball, and other sports in 
season, felling trees, driving a motor-car, or steering an air- 
plane. Equally advantageous is a similar system of mental 
gymnastics to discipline the intellect and stimulate the imagi- 
nation by some serious study wholly independent of one's 
vocation: for example, the Iliad or Euclid, the Principia or 
the Novum Organum, However, inasmuch as we do no less 
of our thinking with our hearts than with our heads, it be- 
comes imperative that the springs of our impulses be kept 
strong and pure. That is to say, the emotions must be held 
sane and normal; this equilibrium is perhaps best maintained 
by interest or skill in art. A study and a sport and a song! 
Personal prejudice might lead me to suggest mathematics, 
meadow-running across country, and music. In conclusion, 
and on the mighty element of this triad, the great defense of 
college sports is that sane devotion to them which leads not 



only to healthy living but to clean living. The dangers lie 
in over-training, in high specialization, in professional ten- 
dencies in the highly developed team, making sport for the 
few and spectators of the many. The problem is to get the 
student crowds off the bleachers and in the blazers. Some 
of these difficulties we hope to meet by giving athletic train- 
ing a place in the curriculum, by encouraging class, club, and 
college competitions, by fostering the sportsman's spirit of 
amateur sport in all meets— a temper which I can perhaps 
best express by quoting the following striking and appro- 
priate lines from a short poem by Mr. Henry Newbolt, en- 
titled "Clifton Chapel,'' which appeared in the "Spectator" 
of September lo, 1898: 

To set the cause above renown, 
To love the game beyond the prize, 
To honour while you strike him down 
The foe that comes with fearless eyes. 
To count the life of battle good, 
And dear the land that gave you birth, 
And dearer yet the brotherhood 
That binds the brave of all the earth. 

In thus writing about the students of Rice, I have written 
of their standards, their spirit, and their sports; I have yet 
to write, and as briefly as possible, of their studies, their 
shields, and their songs. I have told these students— these 
outriders of a host, these torch-bearers of the sun-dawn, 
these conquerors of a new day, these forerunners of a throng 
that is ultimately to be many thousand strong— these first 
students of the Rice Institute, I have told them that they are 
the Rice Institute. These beautiful buildings are its tene- 
ment of clay, but the staff and students its brain and heart, 
determining and regulating the flow of thought and the flow 


i '' 


of life in its being: in them its character and intellect, its 
standards in scholarship and sports, assume concrete form; 
m them its spirit and temper find a body; without their pres- 
ence these quadrangles would be empty, these halls silent; 
without their co-operation these plans would become inef- 
fective, these programmes unfulfilled. But with their help, 
which they have given heartily, and with their hopes, which 
well up constantly, the dry bones of an academic programme 
are coming to life, and these dry bones live. Probably the 
most joyous expression of that life will find itself in the songs 
of the students. These songs, inarticulate in our hearts, 
will one after another be called to vocal expression by the 
great days and crises of our life. We shall have our "Fair 
Harvard," "Old Nassau," "Hail, Pennsylvania," and "The 
Eyes of Texas are upon You." With Yale men we too shall 
smg of this "Mother of Men," and to "Alma Mater" with 
Stanford, Johns Hopkins, Chicago, and Cornell. Under 
the Lone Star of Texas and the Owls of Rice, under the 
Blue and Gray floating from their standards-a blue still 
deeper than the Oxford blue, and the gray of Confederate 
days warmed into life by a tinge of lavender-they shall 
smg their songs; sing of jasmine, magnolias, and roses, poin- 
settia and violets blue; they shall cheer their teams and their 
heroes for the deeds of valor they do in field or forum or 
class-room ; for Rice and for Houston and Texas they shall 
cheer and shout and sing-sing of campanile stately and 
their college near the sea, sing of sunset on the prairie of 
the moonrise through the pine-trees, of the Spanish moss and 
hveoak, of the Quad's fair towers and cloisters, of undying 
loyalty; songs of sentiment and devotion giving rise to songs 
of service, inspired by the device on their banner, a Homeric 

S^ jOL in THb v>!TY OF ZURICH. 

d.ttoiiiKs most cord'affv for the Mild toivf*tt.»i»f^entf ^-' - 



fevnileJ m the City of Houston, Tcxss ' 
fr^ hr .^reseB^ at the liutu^radon of the in<^ 

Mwt Mant o^ iiitfcre' ■ is vv ^ttzi oi learning, nor the great 

^m dmance ttogr scj r. ; . v> t-^n- mujht aetiiii m fnmi 

oitef^if oiir wishes perse nalh , but the n!»jH>^sibiiir> for any member 

staff to be absent aii the ver> be|?jnning of 'Ije new academic 

NSi'e beg, rherefore. our sincere :-«>it|^«ttiitttioiis 

«< I m of this address, and icve in our kindest feelfeues 

Li and your infititurion. 
May the Rice Instinire with iC' 5$»^eficli<l nev 
uAketiy and halls, its laboratories, ana 25. hcco--K* a rtcb source 

src and erudition, a grear pnmtor ,e and useftii 

dge in your prusfjcrows *xHintfv 

'fce Presideni 


W«»J^^:l oP Tni«fee&: 

tif ill.' Sp«V-'-, 

■'' ■' *; . , 

V . ^. 

Zurich, Sv irzeriuKl, 

iber !0i:. 




.-> iicin us spii 
sncp these 

n fher -act: ^^^^ct, its 

>'UiU, assume concrete torrn ; 

^ a bodv; without their pres- 

-iis silent; 
oiiid become inef- 
^ ■■^' *^heir help, 

'Jieu- hopes, which 


"jucs iivc robably the 

1 find itself 1^' the songs 

-esston by the 

les iin^i?! 

^ ::ir 



atdr ' with 



of th''^^ 

riupkins. thica d Cornell. UnJer 

the ne Star of Tex., nr ^ H,. O. '' R"- -nder-the 

" ilit'ir scandards--~a blue still 

deeper than the Oxford bhie, and tht ,^ ,,. ^confederate 

'' - >J javender— they shall 

f jasmine, matrnol ^ ;;^ poin- 

* ' ms and thejr 

'•^^^' d or fonim or 

.>nd ir^T T^ 11 

^'**^" atelv and 

c, of 

mish moss and 

,vers qn^Jrloi- K^dying 

• '1 giving rise to songs 

:eonthe: inner lomeric 


Aii^v dpia-^ 

-yoi/ ffifxti'ai fy\\r V 

THE Federal Technical High 
School in the City of Zurich, 

Switzerland, thanks most cordially for the kind invitation sent to her by 

the President andTrustees of 

THE Rice Institute of Liberal 


founded in the City of Houston, Texas U. S. A., 
to be present at the Inauguration of the Institution. 

Jot want of interest for this new seat of learning, nor the great 
distance that separates us from you might detain us from 
offering our wishes personally, but the impossibility for any member 
of our staff to be absent at the very beginning of the new academic 
>ear. We beg, therefore, to accept our sincere congratulations 
in the form of this address, and to believe in our kindest feelings 
toward you and your institution. 

May the Rice Institute with its splendid new buildings, its 
colleges and halls, its laboratories and libraries, become a rich source 
of culture and erudition, a great promoter of noble and useful 
knowledge in >our prosperous country. 

The President 
of the Board of Trustees: 

The Rector 
of the Federal Technical High School: 

C ^^-*^ xCyi 

Zurich, Switzerland, September 1912. 

Friti Amtort*r »o»m- Da>i<l HHrkll. Imrich. 

.■ »f ia ».'fky.f 

N ' 


a line appearing twice in the Iliad at vi, 208, and xi, 784, 
said to have been the favorite of Alexander the Great and 
used by him to exhort his men on the great expedition; a de- 
vice borne also as alei^ dpLareveLp by the students of St. 
Andrews, who, in the days when we were laying the founda- 
tions of this building, were celebrating the five-hundredth 
anniversary of the founding of their own university. In the 
longer of Pope's two translations the line reads: 

To win renown^ 
To stand the first in worth as in command; 
To add new honours to my native land; 

Before my eyes my mighty sires to place, 

And emulate the glories of our race. 

And on the flag of these Rice students are two shields, a 
shield of the State of Texas and the shield of the Rice Insti- 
tute. The latter heraldic device was designed by Mr. Pierre 
de Chaignon la Rose of Cambridge, Massachusetts, who has 
ingeniously combined the main elements of the arms of the 
several families bearing the names of Rice or Houston. 
The problem was simplified by the fact that the shields of 
some ten Rice armorial bearings were always divided by a 
chevron, always carried three charges, and when these 
charges were not crows they were ravens. Curiously enough, 
the shields of the half-dozen Houstons who bore arms were 
always divided by a chevron, while here again the three 
charges were birds, and these were always martlets. Accord- 
ingly it was decided to employ a double chevron, and since 
neither the crow nor the raven nor the martlet had any his- 
torical academic standing, owls of Athena were chosen for 
charges, and in the remarkable form in which they appeared 
on a small silver tetradrachmenon of the middle of the fifth 






II f 


century before Christ. The choice of colors was rather 
more difficult, and is a long story; but to make that long 
story short, among the several ends to be desired were, that 
the combination of colors should be stable, should not tres- 
pass upon the five or six hundred combinations already 
chosen by other institutions, should harmonize with State 
and national emblems for purposes of decoration on gala 
occasions, should be standard colors easily and economically 
procurable, and finally they should jump with local climatic 
conditions-that is to say, plenty of color and yet cool in 
the warm sun of summer, delicate and yet of sufficient life 
if days should perchance be dull. At least some of these 
ends were attained in the combination of blue and gray de- 
scribed in the preceding paragraph, namely, the Confederate 
gray enlivened by a tinge of lavender, with a blue still deeper 
than the Oxford blue. 

In an earlier section of this address I have sketched in 
broad lines the scope of the new university's work and the 
range of its studies. I have implied our belief that the col- 
lege and the professional school thrive best in a university 
atmosphere. I have also said that this university programme 
with us is to have no upper limit, and that its lower limit is 
to be no lower than that of the more conservative colleges 
and universities of the country; that is to say, the Rice Insti- 
tute's programme will include within its schedules of studies 
no courses of grade lower than collegiate grade. The op- 
portunity to found a great secondary school, as was the 
opportunity to devote the entire resources of the foundation 
to a smgle professional school, was tempting and equally 
promismg. Neither of these courses, however, would have 
kept full faith with the will of the founder as expressed in 
the charter and testament, nor would either have served the 
city and the State quite as fully as the one finally adopted 


Accordingly it is as a university that the Institute proposes 
to begin, a university of liberal and technical learning, where 
liberal studies may be studied liberally or technically, where 
technical subjects may be pursued either technically or liber- 
ally, where whatever of professional training Is offered Is to 
be based as far as possible on a broad general education. 

Candidates for admission to the Institute who present 
satisfactory testimonials as to their character will be ac- 
cepted either upon successful examination in the entrance 
subjects or by certificate of graduation from an accredited 
public or private high school. The terms of admission to 
the Institute are based on the recommendations of the Car- 
negie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching as ex- 
pressed In the Documents of the College Entrance Examina- 
tion Board. While seeking to develop Its students In char- 
acter. In culture, and in citizenship, the Rice Institute will 
reserve for scholarship Its highest rewards, and In particular 
for evidences of creative capacity In productive scholarship. 
To encourage this devotion to learning a series of under- 
graduate scholarships and graduate fellowships will be de- 
vised, to be awarded preferably to those students who have 
been in residence at the Institute for at least one year. 
Moreover, the varied opportunities for self-help In a grow- 
ing institution in a large city should aid in enabling any 
young man of determination to earn his education in a thor- 
oughly democratic college community. There may thus be 
realized the founder's desire that the advantages which his 
philanthropy would make possible should be brought within 
the reach of the promising student of slender means. 

Although it is the policy of the new institution to develop 
Its university programme rather more seriously from the 
science end, there are also being provided facilities for ele- 
mentary and advanced courses in the so-called humanities, 




thereby enabling the Institute to offer both the advantages of 
a liberal general education and those of special and profes- 
sional training. Extensive general courses in the various 
domains of scientific knowledge are available, but in the 
main the programme consists of subjects carefully co-ordi- 
nated and calling for considerable concentration of study. 
These programmes have been so arranged as to offer a vari- 
ety of courses in arts, in science, in letters, and in their appli- 
cations to the several fields of applied science, leading after 
four years of undergraduate work to the degree of bachelor 
of arts. Degrees will also be offered in architecture and in 
chemical, civil, electrical, and mechanical engineering. Fur- 
thermore, for the degrees of master of arts, doctor of phi- 
losophy, and doctor of engineering every facility will be af- 
forded properly qualified graduate students to undertake 
lines of study and research under the direction of the Insti- 
tute's resident and visiting professors. Thus it appears that 
Rice would interpret in a very large way its dedication to the 
advancement of letters, science, and art. It would look not 
only to the employment of these principles in the develop- 
ment of the life of the individual and in that of the race, but 
It would also play its part in the progress and enlargement 
of human knowledge by the contributions of its own resident 
professors and scholars. We believe that to this end there 
should be a constant and close association of undergraduate 
work and postgraduate work, that any proposals which 
would tend to their separation would be injurious to both 
A hard and fast line between the two is disadvantageous 
to the undergraduate, and diminishes the number who go 
on to advanced work. The most distinguished teachers must 
take their part in undergraduate teaching, and their spirit 
should dominate it all. The main advantage to the student 
IS the personal influence of men of original mind. The main 



advantage to the teachers is that they select their students 
for advanced work from a wider range, train them in their 
own methods, and are stimulated by association with them. 
Free intercourse with advanced students is inspiring and 
encouraging to undergraduates. The influence of the uni- 
versity as a whole upon teachers and students, and upon all 
departments of work within it, is lost if the higher work is 
separated from the lower.'' Accordingly, there should al- 
ways be associated with the staff of the Institute a group of 
advanced students in training for careers both as teachers 
and researchers: with this end in view, graduate fellowships 
will be awarded from time to time to degree-bearing students 
of the Institute or other educational foundations of similar 
standing. As a matter of fact, in the academic year 19 14-15 
there are in residence two fellows in mathematics, two in 
physics, and one in biology. 

The academic schedules of study drawn up in the imme- 
diately succeeding sections of this address had not been pre- 
pared in detail when the address was being written. They 
have grown gradually into form out of the general and local 
experience of the faculty of the Institute. They are taken 
from preliminary announcements, to which they were con- 
tributed on recommendation of the staff after discussions of 
proposals submitted by a committee on studies and schedules 
consisting of Messrs. Axson, Evans, Guerard, Huxley, and 
Wilson, resident members of the faculty. 

The programmes of courses leading to the degree of 
bachelor of arts after four years of study are of a common 
type for the first two years, but for the third and fourth 
years are differentiated into two forms: first, general courses 
leading to the degree of bachelor of arts, either with some 
grade of distinction or without special mention; second, hon- 
ors courses leading to the same degree with first, second, or 



third class honors. These two types will be referred to in 
the sequel as general courses and honors courses, respec- 
tively. The general course leading to the degree of bachelor 
of arts has been arranged to give thorough training to those 
students who are seeking university instruction in literary 
and scientific subjects either as a part of a liberal education 
or as preliminary to entrance upon a business or professional 
career. The general course therefore involves the study of 
several subjects up to a high university standard, but does 
not include a highly detailed specialized study of any one 
subject such as is necessary before research work or univer- 
sity teaching can be profitably undertaken. Students wishing 
to specialize with a view to research work and university 
teaching may either take an honors course and then proceed 
by graduate study to the degrees of master of arts and doc- 
tor of philosophy, or they may first take a general bachelor 
of arts course and after completing it proceed by graduate 
study to the higher degrees. 

The attention of students intending to enter the profes- 
sion of engineering or architecture will be constantly called 
to the great advantages in first taking a general or honors 
course before beginning special study in engineering or archi- 
tecture. As a matter of fact, the time is coming when in the 
South there will be demand for a place where a bachelor's 
degree will be required for admission to courses in engineer- 
ing and other domains of applied science, and when that 
time comes the Rice Institute intends to occupy that place 
However, in the face of present local conditions such a se- 
vere standard can only be reached through an evolutionary 
process that may occupy a score of years or a generation 
For the present the Institute will not offer courses leading to 
professional degrees in law and medicine, but students look- 
ing forward to such careers will find in the earlier years of 




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the bachelor of arts courses all the requirements for admis- 
sion to many medical and law schools, provided suitable sub- 
jects are chosen. However, in view of the fact that several 
of the leading professional schools of law and medicine are 
now requiring a bachelor's degree for admission, all such 
students are urged to proceed to this degree before entering 
upon specialized study preparatory to the practice of their 

To students of architecture the Institute offers a full 
course extending over five years, leading to the bachelor's 
degree at the end of the fourth year and to an architectural 
degree at the end of the fifth year. It is the purpose of the 
course in architecture to lead men during their residence to 
a comprehensive understanding of the art of building; to 
acquaint them with the history of architecture from early 
civilization to the present age ; and to develop within them 
an understanding and appreciation of those conceptions of 
beauty and utility which are fundamental to the cultivation 
of ability in the art of design. The course has been so ar- 
ranged as to include certain indispensable elements of liberal 
education and also such engineering and technical subjects 
as are becoming more and more necessary to the general 
education of a practising architect. Of the more strictly 
architectural subjects, design is given by far the largest place. 
As a matter of fact, the courses in history and design and 
those in free-hand drawing, in water-color, in drawing from 
life, and in historic ornament have all a double object: to 
create in the student an appreciation of architectural dignity 
and refinement, and to Increase constantly his ability to ex- 
press conceptions of architectural forms. Accordingly the 
training of the student must not be limited to the training in 
draftsmanship alone, but all courses should conspire to the 
cultivation of creative and constructive ability In expression 



and design. With a view to keeping in touch with the prog- 
ress of his profession and with the daily routine and detail 
of its practice, it is strongly recommended that the student 
spend his summer vacations in the office of some practising 

Courses will be offered In chemical, civil, electrical, and 
mechanical engineering. A complete course in any one of 
these branches will extend over five years. A student who 
has successfully completed the first four years of a course 
will be awarded a bachelor's degree, and after successfully 
completing the remaining year of his course he will receive an 
engineering degree. The work of the first three years will be 
practically the same for all students, but in the last two years 
each student will be required to select one of the special 
branches mentioned above. The work of the first two years 
will consist chiefly of courses in pure and applied mathemat- 
ics, physics, chemistry, and other subjects, an adequate know- 
ledge of which is absolutely necessary before the more tech- 
nical courses can be pursued with advantage. During the 
first two years, however, a considerable amount of time will 
be devoted to engineering drawing and the elements of sur- 
veying. Technical work will begin in the third year^ with 
courses of a general character in mechanical engineering, 
civil engineering, and electrical engineering, all three to be 
taken by all engineering students, including those in chemi- 
cal engineering. These courses will form an introduction to 
the technical side of each branch, and should enable students 
intelligently to select a particular branch at the beginning of 
their fourth year. In the third year instruction will also be 
begun in shopwork. The classes in shopwork are intended 

1 As a matter of fact, during the present academic year (1914-15) mem- 
bers of the junior class are receiving lecture and laboratory courses of gen- 
eral and introductory character in engineering and architecture at the hands 
of xMessrs. Diamant, Hitch, Humphrey, Pound, Tidden, Van Sicklen, and 





to give familiarity with shopwork methods. The object of 
these classes is not primarily to train students to become 
skilled mechanics, but to provide such knowledge of shop 
methods as is desirable for those who may be expected as 
engineers to employ mechanics and to superintend engineer- 
ing shops. It is intended in the engineering courses to pay 
special attention to the theoretical side, because experience 
has shown that theoretical knowledge is difficult to obtain 
after leaving the university, and without it a rapid rise in 
the profession of engineering Is almost impossible. On the 
other hand, it is not intended to disregard practical instruc- 
tion. For this reason the last three years will include, be- 
sides shopwork, a variety of practical work in engineering 
testing-laboratories. It is recommended that students obtain 
employment in engineering work during the summer vaca- 
tions, for it should be remembered that no amount of uni- 
versity work can take the place of learning by practical ex- 
perience In engineering establishments and In the field. The 
courses In engineering are not Intended to take the place of 
learning by practical experience, but are designed to supply 
a knowledge of the fundamental principles and scientific 
methods on which the practice of engineering Is based, and 
without which it is difficult, if not Impossible, to succeed In 
the practice of the profession. Students who can afford the 
time are recommended to devote three or four years to pre- 
liminary work instead of two, taking the bachelor of arts 
degree at the end of four years and an engineering degree 
at the end of six years. Students proposing to do this are 
advised to take a course devoted largely to mathematics, 
physics, and chemistry, or an honors course in either mathe- 
matics, physics, or chemistry. The subjects taken during 
the years of preparatory work must Include those of the first 
two years In the general engineering course, which may be 



substituted for electives in the academic bachelor of arts 
course. The honors course in physics is strongly recom- 
mended for those who wish to become either electrical or 
mechanical engineers. 

As has already been intimated, the course for the degree 
of bachelor of arts extends over four years. During the 
first two years a considerable part of the work is prescribed, 
while during the last two years each student is allowed, with 
certain restrictions, to select the subjects he studies. In the 
majority of the courses the formal instruction offered con- 
sists of three lectures a week, on alternate days, together 
with laboratory work in certain subjects. 

The academic year is divided into three terms, but as a 
rule the year is the unit of the courses rather than the term. 
In addition to informal examinations held at irregular inter- 
vals, there are formal examinations at the end of each of 
the three terms. In determining the standing of a student in 
each class, both his work during the term and the record of 
his examinations are taken into account. 

Of subjects included in the bachelor of arts course the fol- 
lowing are now available: 

Group A: English, French, German, Spanish, economics, 
education, history, philosophy, architecture. 

Group B : pure mathematics, applied mathematics, physics, 
chemistry, biology, chemical engineering, civil engineering, 
electrical engineering, mechanical engineering. 

Instruction in the classics is also offered on demand. 
Candidates for the degree of bachelor of arts of the Rice 
Institute are required for the first two years of their course 
to select studies from the preceding groups according to the 
following yearly programmes. First year: pure mathemat- 
ics, English, a modern language, a science, and one other 
subject. Second year: pure mathematics or a science, Eng- 


lish, a modern language, and two other subjects. Students 
who enter with credit in two modern languages may substi- 
tute another subject for modern languages in the second 
year. At the beginning of the third year students may elect 
to take either a general course or an honors course. The 
third year general bachelor of arts course consists of four 
subjects, of which two must have been taken in the second 
year and one in both first and second. At least one subject 
from each of the groups A and B must be taken. Students 
will receive advice in the selection of their subjects. The 
fourth year general bachelor of arts course includes four 
subjects, two of which must have been taken in the third year 
and one in both second and third. At least one subject from 
each of the groups A and B must be taken. To students 
who have completed the general course the bachelor of arts 
degree will be awarded either with some grade of distinc- 
tion or without special mention. The third and fourth year 
honors courses are intended for students who wish to spe- 
cialize in particular branches of knowledge with a view to 
research work or teaching or later professional studies. In 
view of these special objects, the requirements in such 
courses will be more severe than in the general courses in 
the same subjects. For this reason it is recommended that 
students exercise due caution and seek advice before electing 
to take an honors course. Only those students who have 
shown in their first and second years that they are especially 
well qualified will be permitted to take an honors course. 
A student proposing to take such a course must satisfy the 
department concerned that he is qualified to proceeed with 
the study of that subject. He will be required to take the 
lectures and practical work provided for honors students in 
that subject during each of the two years, and in addition 
certain courses in allied subjects. The degree of bachelor 


of arts with first, second, or third class honors will be 
awarded, at the end of the fourth year, to students who 
have completed an honors course. Honors courses in mathe- 
matics and physics were given during the academic year 
1913-14- In 1914-15 honors courses will be available in 
pure and applied mathematics, and theoretical and experi- 
mental physics. In addition to these, honors courses in mod- 
ern languages and literatures and in biology will be offered 
in 1915-16. 

A student who has completed a general or an honors 
course for the bachelor of arts degree may obtain the mas- 
ter of arts degree after the successful completion of one 
year of graduate work. A candidate for the degree of mas- 
ter of arts must select a principal subject and will be required 
to take such courses in that subject and allied subjects as may 
be determined for each individual case. He will also be 
expected to undertake research work under the direction of 
the department of his principal subject, and must submit a 
thesis embodying the results of his work. A student who 
has completed a general course for the bachelor of arts de- 
gree may obtain the degree of doctor of philosophy after 
not less than three years of graduate study and research 
work. A student who has obtained the bachelor of arts 
degree with first or second class honors may obtain the doc- 
tor of philosophy degree after not less than two years of 
graduate study and research work. Candidates for the de- 
gree of doctor of philosophy must submit a thesis and pass 
a public examination. For the year 19 14-15 graduate 
courses will be given in biology, pure and applied mathe- 
matics, and theoretical and experimental physics. 

From the preceding systematic schemes for academic and 
scientific work, it would appear that the Rice Institute aspires 
to university standing of the highest grade as an institution 


of liberal and technical learning, dedicated to the advance- 
ment of letters, science, and art, by instruction and by in- 
vestigation, in the individual and in the race, its opportuni- 
ties for study and research being open, without tuition and 
without fees, both to young men and to young women. 
Moreover, to recapitulate more broadly, the new university, 
subject neither to political nor to sectarian affiliations, is gov- 
erned by a self-perpetuating board of seven trustees, elected 
for life. Under a definite educational policy and compre- 
hensive architectural plan, it is being built and maintained 
out of the income of its funds of approximately ten million 
dollars for endowment and equipment. On its campus of 
three hundred acres, in a half-dozen initial laboratory, lec- 
ture, and residential buildings of extraordinary beauty, there 
are at work in the academic session of 19 14-15 a teaching 
staff of some thirty members, all inspired by the spirit of 
research, maintaining highest standards of entrance re- 
quirements and of scholastic standing after admission, of- 
fering university courses In liberal arts, pure and applied 
science, architecture and engineering; a small group of 
graduate students In mathematics, physics, and biology; a 
self-governed democratic undergraduate body of freshmen, 
sophomores, and juniors, of more than two hundred and 
fifty members, from some seventy-five towns In Texas and 
fifteen States of the Union, the first freshman class having 
been received In September, 1912, to earn the first degrees, 
which will be conferred In June, 19 16. 







NO sketch of the university's programme, however 
slight, would be complete without some descriptive 
account of the general architectural plan, according to whose 
principles of beauty and utility students and staff are to be 
provided with theaters of action, groves for reflection, labor- 
atories of discovery, libraries of knowledge, fields for sport, 
halls for speech and song, homes for complete living, and all 
dedicated to the freedom of sound learning and the fellow- 
ship of youth. At the risk of repetition, several details of 
this rather ambitious scheme will now be recited. 

It is not difficult to plan for fifty years, nor is it difficult 
to plan for five years: difliculty enters only when it is neces- 
sary to plan at one and the same time for the immediate 
future and for the next hundred years. The problem is to 
design a scheme which is so flexible as to be capable of in- 
definite expansion along prescribed lines of educational pol- 
icy and physical environment, and which at the same time is 
sufliciently compact and so closely articulated as to be com- 
fortably and economically efficient in the earlier stages of its 
development. The plan about to be described briefly is an 
evolution out of some thirty-five or forty preliminary studies. 
In its final form it is believed to represent with fidelity the 
educational programme of the new institution, and to meet, 
with some measure of success, the demands of local geog- 
raphy, subsequent growth, initial harmony, and final unity. 

Behold a campus of three hundred acres, a tract as irregu- 
lar in form as if purchased in Boston, with four thousand 




feet frontage on the Main Street of Houston. Unfold the 
map we have made, for a great deal of the meaning of this 
new institution appears in its lanes and lawns, its walks and 
drives, its cloisters and retreats, its playing-fields and garden 
courts, its groups of residential halls for men, its halls of 
residence for women, its gymnasium, and stadium, and 
union, its several quadrangles of laboratories in science pure 
and applied, its schools of liberal arts, of fine arts, of me- 
chanic arts, its chapel and choir, its lecture-halls and amphi- 
theaters, its Greek playhouse and astronomical observatory, 
its great hall with library and museum wings, its graduate 
college of research and professional schools. Of the four 
main entrances to the three-hundred-acre campus, the pnn- 
cipal one lies at the corner of the grounds nearest the city. 
From this entrance the approach to the Administration 
Building is a broad avenue several hundred yards long, end- 
ing in a fore-court, which will be bounded on the left by the 
School of Fine Arts, on the right by the Residential College 
for Women. The main avenue of approach coincides with 
the central axis of the block plan, and from the principal 
gateway opens up through the vaulted sally-port of the 
Administration Building a vista of more than a mile within 
the limits of the campus. After dividing at the fore-court 
the driveway circles the ends of the Administration Building 
and continues for half a mile in two heavily planted drives 
parallel to this axis and separated by a distance of seven hun- 
dred feet. Within the extended rectangle thus formed the 
pleasing effect of widening vistas has been realized. On 
passing through the sally-port from the fore-court, the future 
visitor to the Institute will enter upon an academic group 
consisting of five large buildings, which with their massive 
cloisters surround on three sides a richly gardened court 
measuring three hundred by five hundred feet, planted in 



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graceful cypresses. Beyond this group Is another academic 
court of st,ll greater dimensions planted in groves of live- 
oaks ; this Great Court in turn opens into extensive Persian 
gardens beyond which the vista is closed at the extreme west 
by a great pool and the amphitheater of a Greek playhouse 
i he principal secondary axis of the general plan, starting 
from the boulevard and running north perpendicularly to 
the mam axis, crosses the lawns and courts of the Liberal 
Arts and Science groups into the Mechanical Laboratory and 
the Power-house, the first buildings of the Engineering 
Oroup. The fourth entrance on Main Street leads to the 
athletic playing-fields and the Residential Colleges for Men 
While each unit of the latter group has its own inner court' 
the several buildings themselves together inclose a long rec- 
tangular court bounded at the eastern end by a club-house, 
an adaptation of the Oxford Union, and on the west by the 
Gymnasium, which opens on the Athletic Stadium in the rear 
North of the men's residential group and across the Great 
Court, lying between the Botanical Gardens and the Labora- 
tories of Pure and Applied Science, appear the splendid 
quadrangles of the Graduate School and its professional 
departments; south and west of the latter quadrangles will 
rise the domes of the Great Hall with its Library and Mu- 
seum wings, and the Astronomical Observatories, respec- 

Ahhough designed to accommodate the executive and 
administrative offices when the Institute shall have grown to 
normal dimensions, the Administration Building will be used 
during the first few years to meet some of the needs of in- 
struction as well as those of administration. The building 
.s of absolutely fire-proof construction throughout ; it is three 
stones high, three hundred feet long and fifty feet deep 
with a basement running its entire length. Through a cen- 


tral tower of four stories a vaulted sally-port thirty feet 
high, leading from the main approach and fore-garden to 
the academic court, gives entrance to the halls of the build- 
ing and opens the way to the broad cloisters on the court 
side. On the first floor, besides offices of registration, there 
are lecture-rooms, class, study, and conference rooms. In 
the north wing of the second floor the temporary plans make 
adequate arrangements for library and reading-rooms; the 
second and third floors of the south wing are given to a pub- 
lic hall, which, with its balconies, extends to the height of 
two stories. A little later on in the history of the Institute 
this assembly hall will become the faculty chamber. The 
remaining part of the third floor provides additional space 
for recitation and seminar rooms, and offices for members 
of the teaching staff. The meeting-room of the Board of 
Trustees and the office of the President of the Institute are 
located in the tower. 

In its architecture the Administration Building reveals the 
influence of the earliest periods of the Mediterranean coun- 
tries: vaulted Byzantine cloisters, exquisite Dalmatian brick- 
work, together with Spanish and Italian elements in profu- 
sion; all in a richness of color permissible only in climates 
similar to our own. The dominant warm gray tone is estab- 
lished by the use of local pink brick, a delicately tinted mar- 
ble from the Ozark Mountains, and Texas granite, though 
the color scheme undergoes considerable variation by the 
studied use of tiles and foreign marbles. To meet the local 
climatic conditions the building has been pierced by loggias 
and many windows, while its long shaded cloister opens to 
the prevailing winds. The corner-stone of this monumental 
structure was set in place by the trustees of the Institute on 
the seventy-fifth anniversary of Texas independence. 

Two wings of the first building in the students' residen- 


tial group for men are now ready for occupancy This 
quadrangle, consisting of a dormitory and a commons, is 
placed southwest of the Administration Building, its front 
approach leading from the fourth campus entrance on the 
Mam Street boulevard. The residential wings are long three- 
story fire-proof structures with towers of five stories, broad 
cloisters on the front, and basements extending the entire 
length. Each wing opens upon a garden on one side, and 
on the other upon its own court. In arrangement and equip- 
ment the buildmgs are modern and in every way attractive 
and convenient. Accommodations for about two hundred 
students are offered in single and double rooms and suites. 
Lodgmgs have been provided for several preceptors, and 
two large halls have been set aside for the temporary use of 
literary and debating societies. The floors of the wings are 
so planned as to insure for every room perfect ventilation 
and absolutely wholesome conditions. There are lavatories 
shower-baths, and sanitary connections adequate to the needs 
of each floor; the power for both light and heat will be re- 
ceived from the central plant. An arcade rather more than 
one hundred feet in length leads from the dormitory wing 
across the inner court to the commons which constitutes the 
northern boundary of the quadrangle. The commons proper 
mcludes every detail necessary for the perfect service of all 
the men hymg in the residential group and at the same time 
IS of sufiJcent size and capacity to serve other members of 
the student body. In addition to the dining-hall and its 
equrpment, this section of the building contains club and 
reading rooms. It is graced also by a handsome clock-tower 
four stones high, surmounted by a belfry: the several floors 
of the tower have been arranged In suites of rooms to be 
reserved for the use of graduate students and instructors. 
As has been intimated already, the other buildings under 



way propose to reveal in brick and marble some of the more 
subtle suggestions of the southern architecture of Europe 
and the East, and at the same time to realize the funda- 
mental principles of their sources in a distinctive style of 
academic architecture for all the future buildings of the 
Institute. Consistent with the architectural style thus 
evolved, a pleasing and harmonious variation appears in the 
treatment of the first residential group, whose several tow- 
ers and cloisters in brick and stucco are designed to produce 
an effect characteristically Venetian. 

Located at the northern end of the principal secondary 
axis of the general architectural plan are groups of scientific 
and technical laboratories. The first buildings of this sec- 
tion of the campus, namely, the Mechanical Laboratory, 
Machine-shop, and Power-house, have been erected north 
of the Administration Building at the end of a long direct 
driveway from the third Main Street entrance. The Labor- 
atory, a two-story fire-proof building two hundred feet long 
and forty feet deep, with a cloister extending the full length 
of Its court side, is built of materials similar to those used in 
the construction of the Administration Building. The space 
of its floors will be given to scientific laboratories, lecture- 
halls, recitation-rooms, departmental libraries, and oflices 
for Instructors In charge, while its basement will afford addi- 
tional room for further apparatus. Through the Machine- 
shop the Mechanical Laboratory connects with the Power- 
house, where is installed equipment for complete steam, 
refrigerating, and electric generating and distributing sys- 
tems. The lofty campanile of this group, visible for miles 
In every direction, will probably be for many years the most 
conspicuous among the towers of the Institute. 

Further improvements of the campus are being gradually 
effected. An extensive concrete water-proof tunnel has been 



» f 


constructed to transmit power- water, steam, electricity, heat- 
ing, and cooling- from the central plant to all the buildings 
on the grounds. With a diameter sufficient to admit a man 
standing erect, the tunnel has ample space for all wiring and 
piping in positions easy of access, thus insuring perfect care 
of the equipment and a resultant increase in efficiency. Prog- 
ress has also been made in the installation of complete sani- 
tary and drainage systems, which, with an unlimited supply 
of wholesome water, should give assurance of perfect physi- 
cal conditions at the site of the Institute. The most impor- 
tant driveways, including the main approach to the Admin- 
istration Building, the drives along the axes leading to the 
group of scientific laboratories and to the students' residen- 
tial group, and the long roads inclosing the academic court, 
have been laid on deep foundations of gravel with surfacing 
of crushed granite. The planting of double rows of oaks, 
elms, and cypresses along these drives, and the assembling 
of hedges, shrubs, and flowers within the gardens and courts 
of the present groups, will subsequently impress even ^he 
casual visitor both with the magnitude and with the beauty 
of the general architectural plan. 





it ' 


IS not the walls that make the city, but the men" ; and 
the men in the day of Pericles were freemen who *'pur- 
sued culture in a manly spirit, and beauty without extrava- 
gance.'' Such freemen are the men that build the university. 
The strength of this foundation lies in its freedom: the 
freedom to think independently of tradition; the freedom to 
deal directly with its problems without red tape ; the freedom 
to plan and execute vouchsafed by the will of the founder 
and the charter of his foundation; the freedom of his seven 
trustees, seven freemen, who approach its problems of or- 
ganization, policy, and aim, without educational prejudices 
to stultify, without partisan bias to hinder, without sectarian 
authority to satisfy, with open minds accustomed to large 
problems, with clear heads experienced in tracking the minut- 
est details of business; seven men always ready to reason 
together, steady and conscientious in reaching conclusions, 
quick and decisive in action when through common counsel 
they have come to a common mind respecting any line of 
action. Indeed, in no circumstance has the new institution 
been more fortunate than in the circumstance that the foun- 
dation and its future are held in trust by a half-dozen 
Texans, men who have the blood of the pioneers in their 
veins, the purpose and courage of the pioneers in their 
hearts, themselves successful men of affairs, who with the 
characteristic mindedness imposed by the magnitude of the 
State itself, desire only the best, seek only the best, and 
think in none but large terms of any problem or enterprise. 



* f 


For this reason it is easy to dare and to do great things in 
Texas, for the men who have been winning this empire are 
to a man dominated by imperial ideas for it. The dominant 
idea of these trustees is that here in Texas there should arise 
an institution great for the future of Texas. Believing that 
the best is none too good for the sons and daughters of 
Texas, and determined to give to Texans a better Texas, 
these men have not hesitated to command the services of 
men and material and machinery whenever and wherever 
the^ best of such services was to be commanded. And in 
their freedom these trustees are building for the founder a 
university whose greatest strength likewise is in its freedom: 
in the freedom of its faculties of science, humanity, and 
technology, to teach and to search-each man a freeman to 
teach the truth as he finds it, each man a freeman to seek 
the truth wherever truth may lead: in the freedom to serve 
the State because entangled in no way with the government 
of the State, and the freedom to serve the Church because 
vexed by none of the sectarian differences that disturb the 
heart of the Church. 

While we rejoice in our freedom from Church or State 
control, we rejoice none the less in the work of these funda- 
mental and indispensable agencies of civilization, for we can 
conceive of no university in whose life there does not appear 
the energy and enthusiasm, the affection and the calm, that 
we associate in one way or another with reverence, patriot- 
ism, politics, and religion. Hence to us, quite as important 
as is a university's freedom from control by State or Church, 
are its right relations to each of these two institutions, be- 
cause upon principles of order, conduct, and knowledge is 
based our faith in the capacity of the human spirit for prog- 
ress, and without such basic faith all theories of education 
become either confused or futile. As a matter of fact, any 


» I 



October - g - 1012 



iized life or nii-.ti m coiiiiiiuriUiCb 01 vuicurc; aaa rc:>iriiuu 
^ ^ demand for its very existence the three great 
ttal requirements I have just namea- v rde:' --^^^■ 
vvledge; and these three primary requisite 
""ssion in the i"o^m<; rjf f! t^rrat ln5*''*"nfinn«5 - fhp 

ue, the Church, ana cue i>nrvc-fsri v. Th^ istitatjon^ 

iemselves are not fixed and final but {'w 

'^tly in the flow of change, m trar.M 


d and a 

• n:; 

rrter, to meet new requirements of a 
wing humanity. I:^ ♦:heir prescn 
^tate, the master of the sword and peace; tiie <.-iiurcn, the 
guardian of the soul and pu^^v: the Univf^rsitv. rhp ^ervtifit 
>f each of them in preserving co ineri the masicry •>! aicir 
^nirits. The State guarantee' ersirv in 

' jal freedom, to the Church 

'^siiy in freedom o? : and research co v 

iching the St:. i,'--''*'^' 

?:rantly recalling the Lhurch to the theones of lit 1 

ill men are made free* ^h?* rh-.Trrh \r\ \x^ turn 'T2sfnjr?r'i*j : 
Nation and supporting uic University tn mga ivicaii • 
ress and ultimit;- r Thes** th^-ee ins^!rnt?'>n« co'v 

rute the triple ulnLinv; 

/ittiui; . «.i;c 

Iw j.- X iCOt. 

and the professor, the great progress, pre- 

serving to citizen, saint, and sch^ lorn, intel- 

lectual freedom, religious freedor .uanteeuig to all lib- 
''^^v in the pursuit of happiness, lib^-rtv in tht^^ n'Trsiiit o^ 
knowledge, liberty in the pursuit of heaven. Tlus uirceroiei 
freedom, this threefold liberty, brings to -^aint, and 

scholar corresponding obligations. Thc'*' obliga- 

tion, greatest service, indixidual and collective co the State 
is to enlighten public opinion; to the Chu'-^^ ^'=; to cr^^^^^-^ 
faith; to the University, is to save the human race \ 

univer<5n] i^dncn*-ion, universal but not necessarily un. 



t i 

" ' - '; ,—■ ,jU i LHX ' Ll. ' -.-, W ' lJU- juu-ii. ■■Ji ' -u-UMUM B m -a g g! 



\ 'T'OCfT 


I. KVnrUTE' CA. . 
r-M . 3 PLAY A P\ST 

illX)fNG OP TR^~ ;• 

■ ^»*<<i%,c44if L 



civilized life of men in communities of culture and restraint 
does demand for its very existence the three great funda- 
mental requirements I have just named— order, conduct, 
knowledge; and these three primary requisites find their 
expression in the forms of three great institutions— the 
State, the Church, and the University. These institutions 
themselves are not fixed and final but fluid and forming, con- 
stantly in the flow of change, in transition from good to 
better, to meet new requirements of a changing world and a 
growing humanity. In their present mutual relations, the 
State, the master of the sword and peace; the Church, the 
guardian of the soul and purity; the University, the servant 
of each of them in preserving to men the mastery of their 
spirits. The State guaranteeing to the University intellec- 
tual freedom, to the Church religious freedom; the Uni- 
v^ersity in freedom of thought and research constantly 
enriching the State with the theory of its own greatness, con- 
stantly recalling the Church to the theories of life wherein 
all men are made free; the Church In its turn sustaining the 
Nation and supporting the University In high ideals of prog- 
ress and ultimate triumph. These three Institutions consti- 
tute the triple alliance of civilization: the patriot, the priest, 
and the professor, the great triumvirate of progress, pre- 
serving to citizen, saint, and scholar political freedom, intel- 
lectual freedom, religious freedom, guaranteeing to all lib- 
erty in the pursuit of happiness, liberty in the pursuit of 
knowledge, liberty In the pursuit of heaven. This threefold 
freedom, this threefold liberty, brings to citizen, saint, and 
scholar corresponding obligations. Their greatest obliga- 
tion, greatest service, individual and collective, to the State 
is to enlighten public opinion ; to the Church, is to conserve 
faith; to the University, Is to save the human race through 
universal education, universal but not necessarily uniform, 



' * 


voluntary where possible, compulsory when necessary, com- 
petitive and selective always. 

These obligations the State and the Church have made 
noble efforts to meet in Texas. From the early days of the 
Republic the Church has been the founder of colleges and 
the State the patron of learning. Each is constantly seeking 
for its institutions the means for better equipment, for larger 
endowment, for greater efficiency in service.^ We honor the 

1 In most recent days, on the initiative and faith of one man, Mr. Will C. 
Hogg of Houston, an alumnus of the University of Texas and son of a dis- 
tinguished governor of this common vs^ea 1th, there has been formed and en- 

J^l'^'w"^^'' ^^^ auspices of the University of Texas Alumni Association, of 
which Mr. Edwin B. Parker of Houston is president, an Organization for 
the Enlargement by the State of Texas of Its Higher Institutions of Learning. 
Ihis so-called Hogg Organization is prosecuting its work under a Board of 
Control of which Dr. Sidney E. Mezes, president of the University of Texas 
IS chairman, Mr. F. M. Bralley, State superintendent of public instruction, is 
executive secretary, and Mr. Arthur Lefevre, formerly State superintendent 
ot public instruction, is secretary for research. Among the objects of the 
present programme of this organization is the education of public opinion, 
from platform, press, and pulpit, by frank accounts of the present equipment 
ot the educational institutions directly under the patronage of the State of 
Texas, and by comparative studies based on the history of the State institu- 
tions of other States of the Union. This movement has as its final object— 
and this final object is bound in time to be attained— the removal of all the 
State-supported educational institutions, namely, the Agricultural and Me- 
chanical College of Texas, the College of Industrial Arts, the several State 
Normal Schools, and the University of Texas, entirely from the sphere of 
political influence, and their relief from the necessity of depending on appeals 
to the legislative bodies of the State government for periodical appropriations 
to meet expenses of maintenance and equipment. 

And the denominational institutions are keeping pace. The Baptists, with 
the help of a donation from the General Education Board of the Rockefeller 
I oundation, are adding substantially to the endowment of Baylor University 
under the leadership of President Samuel P. Brooks; the Christians, burnt 
out at Waco, are building at Fort Worth a new Texas Christian University 
under the presidency of Dr. Frederick D. Kershner ; the Methodists are adding 
to the resources of Southwestern University at Georgetown under President 
Charles M. Bishop, and with the assistance of an appropriation from the 
Rockefeller Foundation are building in Dallas a new institution to be called 
the Southern Methodist University, with Dr. Robert S. Hyer as president- 
while the Presbyterians are rebuilding Austin College at Sherman unde^ 
President Thomas S. Clyce, are seeking increased endowment for Trinity 
Lniversity at Waxahachie under President Samuel L. Hornbeak, and, under 
the leadership of the president of their educational board. Dr. Robert E 
Vinson of Austin, are proposing to add at least one new college to their list 
of institutions in Texas. Moreover, at the Rice Institute we have already felt 
the influence of the educational institutions maintained by the Catholic Church 
at Dallas, Galveston. Houston, San Antonio, and other points in Texas, and 
we have also felt a similar influence on the part of the Hebrew faith which 
has not been lacking in stimulating the development of education and the 
advancement of learning in Texas. 


State and the Church for the work they have done. Even 
more do we honor them for the greater work they are pro- 
posing to do, for education in Texas. We modestly but 
confidently hope to aid them in this work, for it would be 
pleasant to think that this new university in Texas is the 
best thing that could have happened to every other university 
of Texas. The pioneers believed in education for all the 
people as the surest safeguard of their free institutions. Said 
Sam Houston, "The benefits of education and of useful 
knowledge, generally diffused through a community, are 
essential to the preservation of a free government." Said 
Mirabeau B. Lamar, ''Cultivated mind is the guardian 
genius of democracy. ... It is the only dictator that free- 
men acknowledge and the only security that freemen desire." 
With these pioneers we their successors believe that in the 
character of the cultivated citizen lies the strength of the 
civilized State. In writing thus a cardinal article of our 
creed I have used the phrase "cultivated citizen" deliberately 
and advisedly. I am quick to take off my hat to the self- 
made man, and among people so democratic as is this people 
there will never come a time when any door of opportunity 
will be closed to him. But the race with the college-trained 
man the self-made man is finding a race severer and severer. 
Even as recently as a decade ago the college man was com- 
pelled to defend the course he had pursued, but more lately, 
in business as In professional life, his demonstrated and en- 
during potentialities have been steadily and surely placing 
him in the lead. Nor In public life has It come to pass by 
accident In our national history, that the leading candidates 
in the last two presidential campaigns should have been 
graduates of Harvard and Yale, respectively, and the three 
leading candidates In the present presidential campaign be 
graduates, respectively, of the oldest, the next oldest, and 


i f 



the next to the next oldest of American colleges, Theodore 
Roosevelt of Harvard, William Howard Taft of Yale, and 
Woodrow Wilson of Princeton. That our best trained men 
are showing a growing disposition to enter earnestly into 
political life, is a most encouraging sign for the future of 
our government. For an increasing number of our men 
of education are entering the field of public life to possess 
it for the common weal, and they are transforming it into 
a place where men may take up their residence, live honestly, 
and be held in honor. In disinterested public service they 
are transforming the politics of the professional politician, 
whose problems are sometimes mean, into the politics of the 
statesman and patriot, whose problems are always large. I 
believe in holding up careers in practical politics as inviting 
ones to vigorous young men of broad academic training, men 
of the same fiber and stuff and consecration as are those who 
turn their backs on remunerative callings and possible com- 
mercial success to enter the ministry and other humanitarian 
professions. Honor might come slowly, but honors are not 
the chief thing, though I know of no more inviting or prom- 
ising field where a man might hope to gain the world of 
greatest opportunity and at the same time save his own soul 
in unselfish service to his fellow men. It was to just such 
disinterested active participation in public life that one of 
our great presidents, the late Grover Cleveland, called his 
fellow citizens at a notable academic celebration several 
years ago. *'Of the many excellent speeches at the two 
hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Harvard College," 
wrote the late Mandell Creighton to the London Times,' 
"none was of more general interest than that of President 
Cleveland, who, with great modesty, deplored his lack of 
university education, and exhorted men of learning to take 
a greater part in public affairs. *Any disinclination,' he said, 



*on the part of the most learned and cultured of our citizens 
to mingle in public affairs, and the consequent abandonment 
of political activity to those who have but little regard for 
the student and the scholar, are not favorable conditions 
under a government such as ours. And if they have existed 
to a damaging extent, recent events appear to indicate that 
the education and conservatism of the land are to be here- 
after more plainly heard in the expression of the popular 
will.' " 

Texans have not been slow in responding to calls to public 
service from State or Nation. Such calls they have not in- 
frequently answered with conspicuous public service. But if 
Texas has sent publicists to Washington, bankers, college 
executives, and railway presidents to San Francisco, St. 
Louis, Chicago, and New York, Texas has hardly held her 
own with the rest of the country in science and scholarship, 
whose service is equally important to State and society. Nor 
in this respect has the South as a whole held her own, but 
for that matter the country itself is just beginning to hold 
its own in science and scholarship with the rest of the world, 
and there are better days ahead of Texas and the South. 
These better days will call for leisure as well as learning, 
for the philosopher as well as the promoter, for men of 
daring to think as well as men of courage to act, for men 
whose thoughts are their deeds, men who can exclaim with 
Hegel, "Das Denken ist auch Gottesdienst." The call to 
the vocation of scholar or scientist this address makes a 
thousand times, from its initial line to its final paragraph. 
Where it is not a call it is a charge or a challenge, and ap- 
peal follows on appeal where argument does not follow 
argument. A great wave of agitation and enthusiasm for 
vocational education has been passing over the entire coun- 
try. We have felt the force of this wave, but on the top 



of the wave the Rice Institute would place vocational educa- 
tion for science, for scholarship, for citizenship, training for 
the vocation of scientist, training for the vocation of scholar, 
training for the vocation of citizen. There is not a man in 
this company to-day who does not envy the inventive scholar 
his idealism, his intellectual freedom, his fearless pursuit of 
truth, his persistent devotion to the things of the spirit. Nor 
is there a man within earshot who does not envy the practical 
philosopher his resourceful, practical sense. In these reac- 
tions we have one of the larger ends of education, for one of 
the great ends of education as a social work in our time is 
on the one hand to glorify the workaday world with the 
idealism of the poet and painter, the preacher and professor, 
and on the other hand to humanize and inform the world of 
science and art and letters with the practical purpose and 
poise of the calculating captains of industry and commerce. 
Perhaps I may combine the two orders of ideas on which 
I have touched in no better way than by saying that learning 
in our day is no longer an affair of the cloister and the clinic 
alone; it is also of the mill, the market-place, and the ma- 
chine-shop. In fact, a not unfamiliar conception of the uni- 
versity itself is that of a mill for converting the youth of 
the commonwealth into citizens of the State. Its function 
is to transform mind into a higher order of mind; the mind 
of the individual, the mind of the community, the mind of 
the State, the mind of the race, into a higher order of mind. 
Its business is to train efficient thinking men for the business 
of life. In reality, the earliest mediaeval universities were 
professional and technical schools. It was largely as a pro- 
fessional school for the training of the minister and the 
schoolmaster that the early American college flourished. 
The original learned professions were theology, medicine, 
and law. We are adding engineering to this original list by 



making its elemental doctrines the means of liberal culture 
as well as the groundwork for a profession which is funda- 
mental to all industrial and commercial progress. Similarly 
we are adding architecture and education, and a little later 
agriculture. With us, men for these professions are to be 
scientifically equipped through special training based on a 
broad foundation of liberal education. And as regards this 
broad foundation of liberal education, our ideas of liberal 
and technical learning have been experiencing a transition 
from rather strict delimitation to bounds broader and 
broader. By liberal learning we no longer mean the so- 
called classical humanities alone, but also the new humanism 
constituted of modern civilization and modern culture, of 
modern letters and modern science. And by a foundation 
for technical training in applied science we now mean the 
great range of physical sciences which at one time could be 
subsumed under the term natural philosophy; the great 
range of active biological sciences which have developed 
from the ancient descriptive science of natural history; the 
great range of psychological and philosophical sciences 
which, under the Influence of scientific method, have grown 
out of the older mental and moral philosophy; and finally, 
the larger range where men are still seeking science, in which 
the sciences of matter and of life and of mind are to be 
extended to the crowd, to the community, and to civilization 
itself as objects. 

In the immediately preceding paragraphs of this section 
of my remarks I have spoken of the strength that the new 
university possesses in its freedom, in its faith, and in Its 
faculties of science, humanity, and technology, as well as in 
the financial resources of Its foundation. I have also pointed 
out several ways In which that strength Is to Issue In service 
to State and Church and society through science and schol- 




. I 


arship and citizenship. In the several concluding para- 
graphs I desire to call attention to certain other sources of 
strength and support— sources of human strength that sup- 
port the university— and to some aspects of the larger rela- 
tions of a university's life. 

Education does not begin with the university, nor does it 
end in the university. It is a matter of life, the whole span 
of life, and both before and after. The Church finds its 
continuance beyond the death of a man, and science has been 
teaching the State to look for its beginnings far in advance 
of the birth of the child. *Ts it not s4:range," asks Thomas 
Traherne, ''that a little child should be heir to the whole 
world?" To secure that heritage for the child, man's col- 
lective force and knowledge conspire, in a century "in which 
the care and love of children have taken their place as the 
first general solicitude of all civilized societies." Ours has 
been called the century of the child. No known age of the 
world's history before our own could have painted the pic- 
ture of ''the innumerable children all round the world troop- 
ing morning by morning to school, along the lanes of quiet 
villages, the streets of noisy cities, on sea-shore and lake- 
side, under the burning sun, and through the mists, in boats 
on canals, on horseback on the plains, in sledges on the snow, 
by hill and valley, through bush and stream, by lonely moun- 
tain path, singly, in pairs, in groups, in files, dressed in a 
thousand fashions, speaking a thousand tongues." This 
panorama of the world repeats itself in Texas. In the 
schools for the children of Texas and the South lie the 
deeper roots of this new university's life. The foundations 
on which we build are laid by these schools of the State and 
the Church. The upper limit of their work determines the 
lower limit of ours. On the religious side, the foundations 
are laid by the Sunday-schools and the private preparatory 




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ice as the 
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schools maintained by the churches; on the secular side, by 
the public schools maintained out of public funds, and by 
private secondary schools which may or may not be indepen- 
dent of religious control. In America the separation of 
State and Church is sharp and distinct in matters of gov- 
ernment; this separation is also sharp and distinct in matters 
of education. Religious teaching thus excluded from the 
public day-schools is being systematically and thoroughly 
promoted in the Sunday-schools of the churches. Through 
steady and marked improvement in their teachers, their 
methods, their equipment, their curriculum, their grading, 
and their results, these Sunday-schools are becoming entitled 
to rank as a part of our national system of education. As 
regards the schools for secular education in the older States 
of the South, we find that, largely because of strong individu- 
alistic tendencies in those States, the private preparatory 
school has flourished. The oldest State university in the 
South, namely, the University of Virginia, was until recently 
fed almost exclusively by private schools all over the South, 
manned by University of Virginia men. But the wave of 
public education, from its earliest springs of source in 
Massachusetts and Virginia, has spread over the whole 
South, until now from Virginia to Texas each State is build- 
ing from the moneys of its public chest an educational high- 
way for all its children from kindergarten to university. 
This wave, however, has not submerged completely the 
private schools. Many of these private foundations still 
survive through providing advantages of small classes, indi- 
vidual instruction, personal supervision, and personal contact 
in smaller academic communities — advantages which the pub- 
lic schools are not yet able to offer in the same degree. Nor 
is this wave of public education beating in vain upon the low- 
lands and the highlands of Texas, for any inquiry into public 





education in Texas would show steady growth and improve- 
ment, from earnest beginnings, in at least four things: the 
laws concerning education; the subjects of instruction and 
programmes of study; the organization of the teaching, in- 
cluding training and supervision; and the administration of 
the laws and of the departments created under them. This 
is neither the time nor the place to go into details concerning 
public education in Texas, but a few further general observa- 
tions may perhaps be made with propriety. When the his- 
tory of public education in Texas comes to be written, the 
chapter recording the history of our own time will show that 
the people who are taking thought for education in Texas 
realize that for State as for private education deliberate 
organization is necessary, inspired by an adequate theory of 
education— a theory distilled from the accumulated history 
of education, a spirit of conscientious striving to deal with 
three questions: Why is education undertaken? What to 
teach so as to achieve the ends of education? How to teach 
so as to educate? That same chapter of history will show 
that if, with the inevitable hospitality of a new country where 
all things are open to experiment, there has been a somewhat 
too ready acceptance of novelties in education, there has also 
been deep moral earnestness with its abhorrence of sem- 
blances and shams, for with us a thorough desire to bring 
all current opinions— for example, the educational doctrines 
of such earnest enthusiasts as Mr. Edmond G. A. Holmes 
of London, Dr. Georg Kerschensteiner of Munich, and Dr. 
Maria Montessori of Rome— to the test of experience and 
judgment by results, has always been accompanied by a feel- 
ing of the moral duty of spreading knowledge, of populariz- 
ing the results of study and making them known to all. It 
will show increasing desire of our people for a good race 
and good government, for the city beautiful and the country 



beautiful, for good conscience in matters of truth and good 
conscience in things of taste— a desire remaining without rest 
and unsatisfied until all the children of the State shall be in 
school all the time for nine months of every calendar year. 
That same chapter will also show quick response to the 
present popular movements for social centers and play 
grounds, and more general recognition of the right of every 
child to live and grow up to the full stature of a man, and 
the right of every man that labors to some leisure for his 
own spiritual growth. It will show a growing knowledge 
on our part that democratic education is of all forms the 
most costly, and a generous determination on the part of the 
people to meet the cost through taxation. And, finally, that 
chapter of history will also record a growing disposition on 
the part of the people of Texas to provide at the expense of 
the State all things necessary in the way of education- 
physical, mental, moral, elementary, secondary, university, 
scientific, literary, artistic, liberal, technical, or professional 
—without restriction of subject or kind or grade; without 
limit of amount or cost; without distinction of class or race 
or creed or sex or age. This means money, money, money, 
and men, men, men— the men to assume the responsibilities, 
the money to pay the bills for the provision of all these 
opportunities. And in particular, as regards the high schools 
on which this and other universities and professional schools 
must lean, is not the thing most necessary for the welfare of 
university education in Texas to secure at all costs good 
teachers and plenty of them for these schools? Indeed, if 
the strongest and finest minds are to be prepared for the 
universities, should not the staff of the public high school be 
composed of men and women of very extensive culture in 
several branches of learning and intensive specialization 
in some one field: a few members of erudition in scholar- 



ship, a few of productive capacity in science, a great number 
of exceptional teaching ability? The prime obligation of 
this corps of teachers would be not to scholarship, nor to 
science, nor to study, nor to the school even, but to the stu- 
dents themselves: and to them not merely as mechanisms 
that can be taught to think, but to their whole selves as 
think-ing, feel-ing, will-ing beings. The tutors, not task- 
masters but fellow-workers; the students, not driven by dis- 
cipline, but led by enthusiasm; the school, not an interruption 
in the normal life of the student, but the surest means to its 
complete realization. In a word, the school would be cen- 
tered on the students. Their studies and their sports, their 
work and their play, would be so ordered as to feed and fire 
their enthusiasms, to stimulate and strengthen intellect in 
exact thinking and imagination in clear vision, to arouse to 
action their latent powers of mental acquisitiveness, to de- 
velop initiative and again initiative, to enable them to dis- 
cover themselves and their relations to the great arena of 
service and opportunity, to train them for the duties of 
intelligent citizenship in the republic and fit them also to 
enjoy and perhaps later to advance the larger world of civili- 
zation in letters, science, and art. 

Another source of unfailing strength to the new university 
exists ready to hand in the presence of the several hundred 
college men and women now resident in the city of Houston. 
While the coming of the new institution and contact with its 
life will serve to warm their loyalty to their own respective 
colleges, because of that very interest and devotion they will 
be quick to interpret sympathetically the aims and ideals of 
the Rice Institute to the people of its community. They will 
thus become one of the first of its human assets and one of 
the foremost ui its living sources of strength. To renew 
and freshen the academic interests of these former colle- 



gians, to stimulate and sustain the intellectual life of the 
teachers of the city's schools, to tempt business and profes- 
sional workers to at least occasional excursions into the 
academic atmosphere surrounding the university, to keep all 
the members of the Institute in a lively and appreciative 
sense of familiarity with fields of learning and investigation 
other than their own, to bring all the people of the city and 
community into more intimate touch with the academic life 
of the university, and to carry the influence of that life 
directly to many homes not represented on the rolls of its 
undergraduate or postgraduate students, regular series of 
public lectures, in the form of university extension lectures, 
will be offered without matriculation fee or other form of 
admission requirement. These performances are to be au- 
thoritative in character, but as non-technical and popular in 
treatment as their subjects will permit. From domains of 
literature, history, science, art, philosophy, and politics sub- 
jects will be chosen of current interest as well as those of 
assured and permanent value.^ 

These various sources of strength and support which I 
have catalogued can hardly be measured quantitatively nor 
can they with any ease be arranged in series of greater or 
less, but I have no fear of exaggerating when I say that no 

iThe present plan for university extension lectures at the Institute consists 
in giving each academic year two regular series of thirty-six lectures each, 
the first series running through three divisions of twelve lectures each on 
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from the middle of November to the 
middle of February, and the second series running similarly from the middle 
of Februarv to the middle of May. All these lectures are delivered m the 
lecture halfs and amphitheaters of the Institute, each afternoon lecture begin- 
ning promptly at 4:30 and closing not later than 5:30. In addition to the 
afternoon lectures occasional Thursday evening lectures are being given. 
The plan has met with hearty response on the part of the people of Houston, 
the attendance on the lectures having ranged from some thirty to more than 
five hundred auditors at a single lecture. By the end of the present academic 
year (1914-15) an aggregate of rather more than twenty courses of from 
three to twentv-four lectures each will have been delivered by Messrs. Axson, 
Blayney, Caldwell, Dumble, Evans, Glascock, Guerard, Hitch, Hughes, 
Reinke, Tsanoff, Van Sicklen, Watkin, Weber, and Wilson. 






source of strength to the new university will be more perma- 
nent in its influence than that of the aspirations of the people 
themselves for their children; for, from the captain of in- 
dustry on down to the most modest member of the firm, 
whether any or all had the advantages of a formal education, 
all are determined that their children shall have such advan- 
tages. And in this determination lies the basis for confident 
expectation that within a very few years there will be no 
family of five members in the city of Houston that will not 
have had one or more representatives on the rolls of the Insti- 
tute. Furthermore, the time is not far distant when our citi- 
zens shall be coming to think of the city's university when 
writing their wills, and soon in Houston, as in Cambridge and 
Chicago and San Francisco, a man will leave a stain on his 
family history if he fail to remember the city's university in 
his last will and testament.^ Moreover, the endowing of 
scholarships and fellowships, the founding of memorial 
lectureships and professorships, the erecting and endowing 

1 The day of public benefactions by Houston philanthropists has dawned, 
though still in its earliest morning. The late Mr. George H. Hermann, who 
shortly before his death handed Mayor Campbell a deed conveying to the 
city a tract of nearly three hundred acres of land lying just across the road 
from the Rice Institute, to be used perpetually for the purposes of a public 
park, has by his will given also to the city a site for a Charity Hospital, 
together with holdings that will yield an estimated endowment of three 
million dollars for the latter institution. With engaging frankness Mr. 
Hermann told me that he had been influenced in making this disposition of 
his property by the example of William Marsh Rice and the plans of the 
trustees of the Institute. Thus, in addition to a university for all the people, 
this city of homes and schools and churches is to have a great public park 
and a great public hospital. While the city's list of public institutions pro- 
vided by private donation has been steadily growing, the city has not been 
waiting indifferently until such provision should have met all its needs. 
As a matter of very recent history the city itself built during the mayoralty 
of Mr. H. Baldwin Rice a magnificent municipal auditorium. It was in this 
auditorium that on the occasion of the formal opening of the Rice Institute 
there assembled, under the eloquent dedicatory sermon of the Reverend Dr. 
Charles Frederic Aked and an inspiring service of song and prayer led by 
the Reverend Dr. Henry van Dyke, an audience of some six thousand souls, 
including the clergymen and choirs of practically all the churches of the 
city, "solemnly to link themselves with joy and deep thanksgiving to the con- 
secrating acts by which the new university was publicly dedicated to the 
high purpose set forth in the Founder's will." 



of name-bearing buildings, the equipping of scientific expe- 
ditions, the maintaining of university publications, and a 
score of other ways opened up by the growth of this institu- 
tion, will offer both to young and to old many avenues for 
making and perpetuating family history. 

In the history of the public welfare in Texas many organ- 
ized movements, local. State, and national, for educating 
public opinion, for elevating public morals, for inspiring 
public taste, for improving public health, have by their 
propaganda been assisting in preparing the way for a new 
university in Texas. Of such organizations Houston has a 
long and active list whose members are determined that their 
city shall be great and good and beautiful: an art league, a 
Carnegie library, a chamber of commerce, a Chautauqua 
circle, lecture and lyceum bureaus, a number of musical 
societies, a settlement association, a social service federation, 
a symphony orchestra, and several women's literary and po- 
litical clubs and unions. In all their constructive undertak- 
ings these organizations have at all times enjoyed generous 
and hearty support on the part of the several local news- 
papers, which are maintaining the better traditions of Amer- 
ican public prints in instantaneous seeking and supplying of 
information, in eternal vigilance of editorial comment and 
criticism, in wireless response to the social feeling and sym- 
pathy of the community, in the education of public opinion 
and the reflection of the public mind. With all these local 
associations the university would seek to co-operate, in no 
way would it compete with them, in all possible ways it would 
seek to avoid all unnecessary duplication of their work. Fur- 
thermore, we enter also into the results of years of labor 
for the common welfare which the people of Texas have 
been receiving at the hands of many voluntary State asso- 
ciations dedicated to the public service. Among the latter 




there stand out prominently the Conference for Education 
in Texas, the State Federation of Women's Clubs in Texas, 
the State Teachers' Association, the Texas Welfare Com- 
mission, and the various patriotic associations for perpetu- 
ating relationships with the American Revolution, the Re- 
public of Texas, the War between the States, and other 
periods of State and national history. These women— for 
the majority of such workers in Texas are women— have 
been showing enthusiasm, originality, statesmanship in their 
work; they have also been showing that these qualities are 
not the only ones which make men and women leaders when 
a new country is to be settled in the faith and fear of the 
Lord, for they have been showing that there is also potent 
and efficient force in gentleness, quietness, and confidence. 
These workers make their appeal to the university from the 
intellectual quite as much as from the moral side. The case 
for their propaganda may be set in famous words of Crom- 
well: ''What liberty and prosperity depend upon are the 
souls of men and the spirits— which are the men. The mind 
is the man." And similarly, in a good passage from Mrs. 
Bosanquet's book, 'The Strength of a People,'' which I should 
like to quote : "In all considerations of social work and social 
problems there is one main thing which it is important to 
remember— that the mind is the man. If we are clear about 
this great fact, we have an unfailing test to apply to any 
scheme of social reformation. Does it appeal to men's 
minds? Not merely to their momentary needs or appetites, 
or fancies, but to the higher powers of affection, thought, and 
reasonable action." Ever zealous to understand the aspira- 
tions of the popular will, ever zealous to help the people 
in their quest for enlightenment, ever zealous to lead the 
people to things above themselves, this university would, in 
the spirit of a passage from Spinoza, take its "best pains not 



to laugh at the actions of mankind, not to groan over them, 
not to be angry with them, but to understand them." Test- 
ing any programme for better uses of life and leisure by a 
double criterion : Is it based on an understanding of the ways 
of men and the needs of humankind? and Does it appeal to 
the understandings of men? the university would seek, while 
preserving its own freedom and independence, to assist in 
the advancement of humanitarian movements in State or 
Nation or world. This humanitarian aspect of university 
service, as differentiated from the more strictly scholastic 
and scientific activities of university life, appearing under 
newer forms comparatively recently in the so-called univer- 
sity settlements and in the university extension movement, 
finds its latest phase in co-operative unions for world-wide 
programmes of scientific investigation on the one hand, and 
on the other, in the organized movements for improvement 
of good will and the promotion of peace among the nations. 
In such united efforts the new institution would participate, 
for if the university, though on private foundation, is in its 
first days what Bryce calls a municipal university, Haldane 
a civic university, Dabney an urban university, in its future 
days it is to be more than a university of Houston— it is to 
be a university of Texas, a university of the South, and later, 
let us hope, in reality as in aspiration, one among the na- 
tional institutions, reflecting the national mind, one among 
the universities of the nations, fostering the international 
mind and spirit in cosmopolitan ways such as the mediaeval 
universities enjoyed before the death of universal language 
and the divisions in a universal Church. 





IN thus endeavoring to write about the meaning of the new 
institution I have at some length written about its sources 
in the founder's philanthropy and its history in the public 
spirit of his friends; of its site, glorious in problems bristling 
with difficulties and joyous in possibilities of creative effort; 
of its scope in entering upon a university programme for the 
advancement of letters, science, and art, by investigation and 
by instruction, in the individual and in the race of all human 
kind; of its saints of the past and its seers of the present, 
pointing by exhortation and example to the highroad along 
which progress in these high purposes lies; of the shades and 
towers in which are to be undertaken the daring adventures 
of its life in deeds of thought and action; of its staff of pro- 
fessors, lecturers, and instructors, in whose personality and 
work of research and teaching are to be found combined the 
careers of citizen, scientist, scholar, and schoolmaster; of its 
students, through whose studies and standards in scholarship 
and sport constant contributions are to be made to the char- 
acter, culture, and citizenship of the Republic; of its strength 
in its freedom from political and ecclesiastical affiliations, in 
its faith in the progress of the human spirit, in its faculties 
of science, humanity, and technology, in its self-governed stu- 
dent democracy, in a definite educational policy, and the 
driving power of ideas and ideals backed by material re- 
sources for their realization; of its support in the schools of 
the city, the county, and the commonwealth, in the college 
men and women of the community, in the captains of indus- 



try and commerce, in all organized conferences for educa- 
tion, welfare, and uplift, in the resolute determination of the 
people who have been winning the West, now to win the best 
for the sons and daughters of the West. My further and 
final object is an attempted portrayal of the spirit which 
presides over the university; a presentation, more or less 
rough, of that breath and finer form of the spirit of learning 
which lends what is perhaps its chief glory to the life of 
reflection and gives what may be perhaps its final purpose 

to the life of action.^ 

Twenty years ago it was specialization. Ten years ago 
it was specialization. To-day it is specialization still, 
whether in academic education or in professional training, 
but specialization on the broadest kind of general founda- 
tion. Preparatory to attacking the practical problems of the 
material world, men are coming to provide themselves with 
the most complete theoretical training yet devised in the 
world of mind. On the other hand, pure scientists are con- 
tinually on the outlook for applications of their discoveries 
either to the ideal world in which they live or to the real 
world in which they find their livelihood. As a result the 
professor's desk is nearer the market-place, closer to the 
counting-house, within easier call of State and Church than 
ever before. The university is saying to its men of letters, 
'Tou must be leaders of men''; to its men of science, *'You 
must be also men of affairs." The world in its turn is de- 
manding that its engineers be cultivated men, and that its 
skilled artisans be skilled in the liberal arts as well. 

Where theory and practice thus meet there must be rea- 

iTo bring within the time limits of the programme the reading of an 
address obviously too long to be read in its complete form in public on any 
occasion, onlv four sections of this address were actually delivered as a part 
of the formal exercises of the inauguration and dedication of the Rice Insti- 
tute, and under the caption, "The Meaning of the New Unwersity: Its Source, 
Its Site, Its Scope, Its Spirit." 


■ " i- aii p .im.a !i ^tt,.Lji.x w jia KP^ ' ^i " '* 


son, and this reason is restoring to learning its unity, in 
whose spirit we read the strength and the vision of the uni- 
versity. This spirit appears to us under three aspects in 
those disciplines by which men seek for truth and strive after 
beauty in letters, in science, in art. Art was originally the 
handmaid of religion; science, at one time the servant of 
philosophy, has more lately become its master; letters, in 
the beginning the playfellow of poets and story-tellers, has 
grown to be humanity's recording angel. Science has its 
source in a sense of wonder, art in a sensitiveness to measure 
and proportion, while literature partakes of the substance 
of science and the form of art. Science consecrated to the 
conquest of truth would solve the universe; art would re- 
create it in the conservation of taste. Science progresses by 
inquiry, art under inspiration. Intuition dominates the artis- 
tic reason, while inference controls the scientific. 

In other words, by the spirit of liberal and technical learn- 
ing I understand that immortal spirit of inquiry or inspira- 
tion which has been clearing the pathway of mankind to in- 
tellectual and spiritual liberty, to the recognition of law and 
charm in nature, to the fearless pursuit of truth and the 
ceaseless worship of beauty. Its history is the history of the 
progress of the human spirit. Led by an instinct for know- 
ledge, an instinct for harmony, an instinct for law, that spirit 
has brought the twentieth century its most precious posses- 
sions: the love of reason, the love of art, the love of free- 

There abide these three: the spirit of science, the spirit of 
letters, the spirit of art, but the man has not arisen to say to 
us which is the greatest of the three. These are the faces 
of the spirit of learning, above which there hovers a halo 
called by the m.odern philosopher the spirit of service, and by 
the ancient seer the spirit of wisdom. Knowledge becomes 



power only when it is vitalized by reason; it becomes learn- 
ing only when it lives in the personality of a man; it becomes 
wisdom on translation into human conduct. I know as well 
as you that the spirits of which I speak are ghosts who will 
themselves not speak until they have drunk blood. We pro- 
pose to give them the blood of our hearts in the service of 
the new institution.^ 

Ladies and Gentlemen of Houston: At your gates there 
have arisen for all time the walls and towers and men of the 
Rice Institute, whose life is to be an integral part of your 
life, whose service is to be local in the best sense, whose sig- 
nificance, let us hope, may be State-wide, and even national, 
in its reach, on a foundation builded for Houston, for Texas, 
the South, and the Nation. A long avenue doubly lined with 
trees, at one end the captains of industry and commerce in 
factory and counting-house, at the other a college community 
in academic shades dedicated to liberal and technical learn- 
ing, the happy homes of Houston lying in between! A uni- 
versity devoted to the advancement of literature, science, 
and art; to the promotion of letters as the record of the 
achievements of the human spirit; to the promotion of sci- 
ence as the revealer of the laws and the conqueror of the 
forces of nature; to the promotion of art as the sunshine and 
gilding of life. A society of scholars in whose company 
your children, and your children's children and their chil- 
dren, may spend formative years of their aspiring youth 
under the cultivating influences of humane letters and pure 
science, pursuing culture with forward-looking minds and 
far-seeing spirit before undertaking in the Institute's pro- 
fessional schools special or technical training for the more 
sober business of life. A temple of wisdom and sanctuary 

1 It is to Professor von Wilamowitz-Moellendorif, I believe, that I owe 
this figure of speech. 



of learning within whose courts and cloisters you yourselves 
may find an occasional retreat in which to think more quietly 
and more deeply; perhaps to worship more devoutly and 
more intelligently; certainly to contemplate the deeper things 
of patriotism and politics, of reverence and religion, of peace 
and progress; and mayhap to discover, if never before, that 
you may belong to the great community through which the 
Eternal has worked for ages, that you may have a share in 
the high privileges and solemn duties which belong to every 
member of that great community, that in the continuity of 
human history you may march forward, if you will, in a 
great pageant that moves from the living past through the 
living present into the living future. 

Not long ago I stood on a great rock— a great living rock 
—within eyeshot of the birthplace of modern civilization. 
Upon it rose those incomparable ruins, mighty as the mind 
that conceived them, majestic as the mountains and sea that 
call to them. In their midst the gods of the Greeks still live. 
And of all those gods it was to her who typifies science that 
the Parthenon was dedicated; to that great goddess who 
sprang full-armed from the head of Zeus at the touch of fire 
and toil, to conquer the deep himself.^ It is no long flight 
of fancy from the Parthenon above the fields of Hellas to 
these towers that rise on the plains of Texas. Under her 
ancient promise, may Pallas Athena preside over these aca- 
demic groves and guide men by the spirit of science and the 
spirit of art and the spirit of service in their search for the 
great, and the lovely, and the new, for solutions of the uni- 
verse in terms of the good, the beautiful, and the true ! 

And I recalled the words of the wise man of another 
chosen people: 

1 The Idea and experience of the first part of this paragraph I am obliged 
to share with Professor Sir Ronald Ross, but I am unable to supply the 
appropriate citation. 




(rru^l'te& antr 3hicultu 


ICamcgic 3n^titutc 

' — i»rtirnlr fraternal grirtHngiEr anir rongrahxlaHansi 

ujTon the oeeasian of i\p f0rmnl trelticatiau to the cause 
of technical education. 

On their behalf, 3 tnieh to emfrha^icC our belief 
in uour outlook for Iti^tinijuiehclr ^eroicc in tttc^ 
southern states, anlr to tentrer \tou our co-on^ration 
ani» hforticfrt roifrhes for n long unlr honorcTr career 
of useful ne^s. 

li^fUililai'^ditf Jyf^ Oirrctor 


(i)c^flbcr fifth 3Tinfhrcn'^»>iunUrclr unit drociiTf. 

BCW3K ^ >t: t^! 

•'Except the LorH rioth h 
■a build it.** 
' f prayed, ant! liiukr 
V ui, and the spi* 
. above sceptres and t? 

e that never faileiii. 
"For wisdom is a brearlj 
- hience flowing fmm the 

ection of the evcriasiiiig 4ii.;ui 
c power of God and the 
: ages, entering into holy a- 
' God, and prophets/* 

isdom hath huilded her I 
ihe hath hewn out her seven 
She hath mingled her Ti^;:. ; 
^^fie hath also furn'^hed h-^ i.. 
she hath sent forth /.. 
Vpon the highest ■ 

''Whoso is s'nnpJr. let him t-'trt- 
A s for hi ni i hai i : c o . : ■ ' -^ * 

'*Come, eat ye of my tm 
And drink of the f ' 
And walk in the way of • 



''Blessed is the man that heareih 
JVatckuig daily at my gu*^" 
Waiting at the posts of my doo 
For whoso findeth wa- Undrth hh' 
And shall obtain favor of the I.ord. ' 

Edgar Ooell T 

1 These several passages, from tisc nook n s'i<.i\^iv>2 
dom, in sHghtlv abbrevir^ud farm have been distributed 
caps of the columns which supr-'r^ th- ir-he? in the c 
Winj: of the first Residential ]> 

«r JL» «■* ■* iiftw.'ife'i. 



i 4' 

mi! latuf 

' Jt 9r% .mm 4 ^ .^ % 
,,* i-«i. .,.«» .-* f ,,. V ,'^- <»♦ 


h? Hti 


ufTau thi oiaimtm af ite lirrmai 1* i^n to the muifc 

0f J'cthnifai ctntiTii?n, 

On r 
in uour i 

01 I 

^ou aur co-0|Ttml:iffu 
air hau0Tc7?r carctr 


^'Except the Lord doth build the house, they labor in vain 

that build it." 

''I prayed, and understanding was given me; I called upon 
God, and the spirit of wisdom came unto me; I preferred 
her above sceptres and thrones, for she is unto men a trea- 
sure that never faileth." 

*Tor wisdom is a breath of the power of God, and a pure 
effluence flowing from the glory of the Almighty. She is the 
reflection of the everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of 
the power of God and the image of his goodness. And in 
all ages, entering into holy souls, she maketh them friends 
of God, and prophets.'' 

Wisdom hath huilded her house, 

She hath hewn out her seven pillars; 

She hath mingled her wine; 

She hath also furnished her table. 

She hath sent forth her maidens; she crieth 

Upon the highest places of the city, 

'Whoso is simple, let him turn in hither'' ; 

As for him that is void of understanding, she saith to him, 

''Come, eat ye of my bread. 

And drink of the wine which I have mingled. 

And walk in the way of understanding, 

''Blessed is the man that heareth me, 

Watching daily at my gates. 

Waiting at the posts of my doors; 

For whoso findeth me findeth life. 

And shall obtain favor of the Lord.'' ^ 

Edgar Odell Lovett. 

1 These several passages, from the Book of Proverbs and the Book of Wis- 
dom, in slightlv abbreviated form have been distributed m the carving on the 
caps of the columns which support the arches in the cloisters of the North 
W^ing of the first Residential Hall for men. 




■ 1 

The One Hundredth Psalm 







— « 





1. All 

2. Know 

peo - pie that on 
that the Lord is 

earth do dwell, Sing 
God in - deed; With - 












^'^ j j il jj r~? ? ^ 





to the Lord with cheer-ful voice: Him serve with mirth, His 
out our aid He did us make: We are His flock, He 


praise_ forth-teU, Come ye be - fore Him_ and re - joice. 
doth— us feed, And for His sheep He_ doth us take. 












3. enter then His gates with praise, 

Approach with joy His courts unto: 
Praise, laud and bless His name always, 
For it is seemly so to do. 

4. For why? the Lord our God is good, 

His mercy is forever sur»; 
His truth at all times firmly stood. 
And shall from age to age endure. 


^ I 


Rev. Charles Frederic Aked: Thou who art the Giver 
of every good and perfect gift, who dost inspire every lofty 
thought, from whom all skill and science flow. Thou who 
hast been our help in ages past, who art our hope for years 
to come, crown, we beseech Thee, the labors of Thy ser- 
vants with Thy richest blessing. May the love of the Eter- 
nal Father, the grace of the Lord Jesus, the fellowship of 
the Holy Spirit, abide with us and with our loved ones and 
with all good men and women everywhere forevermore! 



President Lovett: Ladies and Gentlemen— Tht trus- 
tees of the Rice Institute honored themselves and the new 
university by addressing to the universities and learned so- 
cieties of the world invitations to participate in this our first 
academic festival. Many of these institutions are repre- 
sented here to-day in the person of their president, profes- 
sors, or distinguished alumni. Hundreds of others have 
sent us cordial addresses of congratulation, and in addition 
to these formal messages many telegrams and cablegrams 
have been received this morning. In number and signifi- 
cance these responses have far exceeded our best expecta- 
tions of courtesy and good will. To receive all these 
communications with proper ceremonies it would be literally 
necessary for this academic assembly to sit for at least an- 
other three days. In the midst of such an embarrassment of 
riches we have been obliged to restrict this part of our 
program to a few responses from representatives of the rep- 
resentatives. Accordingly, we have asked one of our distin- 
guished guests from abroad to speak for the foreign and 
American learned societies that have sent us greetings on this 
occasion, and another eminent guest from Europe to speak 
for the foreign universities, and for the universities of Amer- 
ica we shall call upon a delegate from one of the oldest en- 
dowed institutions of the East, the representative of one of 
the earliest State universities in the South, the president of 
one of the newer endowed universities of the North, and the 
president of one of the younger State universities of the 


To The Pr^^i^^nr ':\ni\ ! 


T H ] 


HE t>F 

Til" BRn .-'l 

Send Cortii. 

of the nex U 

good w>' 

h- - 

III '"lie g 


.. ^. .A - ^ 





r\w []v*=;titi^tf: commons 





f^men— The trus- 
and the new 
. a ad learned so- 
this our first 
.jas arc rep re- 
nt, profes- 
hers have 


.nd in addition 
• ablegrams 

vc b recci tins nioi ^nd signifi- 

ri* >^?:e "^^vf f'^r rxcff*c]f^(^, niir h<*sf expecta- 

tions ot ci^'uftesy ana good Wiil. vCivc all these 

commonlcntions with Droper ceremonies it would be literally 
necessary tor tti adeniic assembly to si" ^ r at least an- 
other thf' In the m )f such an embarrassment of 
riches we 1 * "- "^-ligedto r*-^*-* t 'his pare of our 

few ^e^ > from representatives of the rep- 

. ...Iced one of our dlstin- 

)reign and 

us ereetin^s on this 

urope to speak 

diversities of Amer- 

t lUL, coldest en- 

ntative of one of 

,. he president of 

■ e North, and the 

tate universities of the 





an ]{ 

■- .. asiu- 
tor the ' 

do- • ' 

the e.. ... 
one of the r 
president o 


To The President and Trustees 



of Liberal and Technical Learning 




SenJ Corduil Greetings o>i the occasion of the formal Opening 

of the nezL- University 

^fm\)t Brtnsl) TitmXXW in the spirit of true fellowship desires to part.cpate m the 
^ inaugxiral Celebration, and to joi,. with tho^e assemWed from far aad near m heart.r.t 
good wi.hes for the suecessful carrying out of the exalted .deals which prompted their large- 
hearted citizen, Wn.UAM Marsh, to endow and to dedicate to the Advancement ot 
Letters, Science and Art, the nobly equipped University Institute-a fitting Memonal ior 
generations to come of public-spirited munificence. 

The Council of the British Academy regret that, owing to the time of the. year, a 
representative of their Body is not able to naend the Celebration; but the Academys 
Congratulations un the present great .>ccasion are none the less sincere. 

May- the R.ce iNST.rcTE reaU/.e the highest hopes of us Founder and of all associated 
in the good work now to be inaugurated by the formal Opening of the new University! 




The BarnsH AcArewv, 


PnsiJcn' 'if' il^' British .it;iJ,n:-. 
Kcrt-lary of the Britiih .L-iSiJ- 

%t**<ir<' ■ 

••. *>;i4., "-,*, I 




On the part of foreign and American learned societies, 
Professor Sir William Ramsay, of the University of 


For the foreign universities. Professor Emile Borel, of 

the University of Paris. 

On behalf of the American institutions of the East, Dean 
William Francis Magie, of Princeton University. 

For the universities of the South, Professor William 
Holding Echols, of the University of Virginia. 

On behalf of the universities of the North, President 
Harry Pratt Judson, of the University of Chicago. 

For the American universities of the West, President 
Sidney Edward Mezes, of the University of Texas. 

I have great pleasure in calling on these gentlemen, who 
have very kindly consented to address you, according to the 
above program. 

Professor Sir William Ramsay: Mr. President, Ladies 
and Gentlemen-\Ye have witnessed within the last couple 
of days a birth, and there is one class of persons in this world 
which represents and is attendant upon births all over the 
world. This person is what is called in French the "sage- 
femme." She is represented here by the wise men who have 
joined in conveying congratulations to this University on 

the occasion of its birth. 

Personally I am the conveyor of congratulations from the 
University of London, from University College, London, 
and from the American Philosophical Society, and In the 
name of these three institutions I am here to wish a very 
long life and great prosperity to this newly born child. 

I have in my hand a number of cablegrams from learned 
societies In every part of the world. From Kief, Moscow, 
and St. Petersburg In Russia, from Berlin and Gottlngen in 



■ 1 



V I 


On the part of foreign and American learned societies, 
Professor Sir William Ramsay, of the University of 


For the foreign universities. Professor Emile Borel, ot 

the University of Paris. 

On behalf of the American institutions of the East, Dean 
William Francis Magic, of Princeton University. 

For the universities of the South, Professor William 
Holding Echols, of the University of Virginia. 

On behalf of the universities of the North, President 
Harry Pratt Judson, of the University of Chicago. 

For the American universities of the West, President 
Sidney Edward Mezes, of the University of Texas. 

I have great pleasure in calling on these gentlemen, who 
have very kindly consented to address you, according to the 
above program. 

Professor Sir William Ramsay: Mr. President, Ladies 
and Gentlemen-\Ye have witnessed within the last couple 
of days a birth, and there is one class of persons in this world 
which represents and is attendant upon births all over the 
world. This person is what is called in French the "sage- 
femme." She is represented here by the wise men who have 
joined in conveying congratulations to this University on 
the occasion of its birth. 

Personally I am the conveyor of congratulations from the 
University of London, from University College, London, 
and from the American Philosophical Society, and in the 
name of these three institutions I am here to wish a very 
long life and great prosperity to this newly born child. 

I have in my hand a number of cablegrams from learned 
societies in every part of the world. From Kief, Moscow, 
and St. Petersburg in Russia, from Berlin and Gottingen m 







Germany, from Bucharest in Rumania, from Copenhagen 
in Denmark, from Christiania in Norway, from Stockholm 
in Sweden, from Lemberg in Poland, from Rome in Italy, 
and from many other points of the compass congratulatory 
telegraphic messages have been sent. Besides these tele- 
graphic good wishes which have been received this morning, 
there have been received from practically every literary and 
scientific center of the world formal addresses of felicitation 

and good will. 

And so I am here to say that the fame of this institution 
has been spread broadcast to the uttermost parts of the 
world, and I am here to convey in their names— the names 
of the institutions and colleges which I have mentioned— to 
this newly born institution, their most hearty congratula- 
tions and their wishes for a long and successful life. 

Professor Emile Borel: Mr. President, Ladies and 
Gentlemen — I have been commissioned to bring to the inau- 
guration of your great and beautiful Institute the best wishes 
of the University of Paris and those of the Ecole Polytech- 
nique. Besides the official messages of my mission, I desire 
to express to you also my warm personal appreciation of 
your cordial hospitality, which we can never forget, and also 
my great admiration for the university which you are found- 
ing. On my return to France I shall often recall the beautiful 
architecture of your Administration Building and the harmo- 
nious aspect of this large hall, with its decorations of flags. 
I am deeply touched to find, at so great a distance from our 
ancient Europe, a desire for work and for service animating 
your students altogether similar to the desire which animates 
ours in our faculties, in our schools. I am conscious here of 
the fraternity which unites men, in spite of the seas, in the 
same objects of research, of development, of progress. 



Your organization, so eminently practical, your plans of 
work, so thoroughly studied, give promise of brilliant re- 
sults. You have chosen some eminent professors. It is with 
complete confidence in the future that in the name of the 
University of Paris, in the name of the Ecole Polytechnique, 
and in my own name, I drink to your future success. 

Dean William F. Magie : Mr, President , Ladies and 
Gentlemen— It is with feelings of pride and pleasure that I 
appear before you to-day as the representative of the East- 
ern Universities of the United States. In their name I bring 
to President Lovett and to the trustees of the Rice Institute 
the cordial congratulations of these Institutions. They all 
join In welcoming to the number of the educational influ* 
ences by which science and art are to be advanced In our 
country, an Institution which takes Its place among them with 
such flattering prospects of a great future. 

Particularly, however, I appear to speak for Princeton 
University, In which President Lovett was for many years 
one of our most honored and best beloved colleagues. I 
shall not read the formal address with which I was fur- 
nished by the authorities of Princeton University, but I shall 
give expression In a more Informal way to that which I 
believe no other Institution can bring In so full a measure, 
the cordial and personal good wishes and congratulations of 
your president's Intimate friends. We all remember him 
with affection. We all felt the deepest regrets when he left 
us, and we now can only express to him our sincere good 
wishes for the greatest possible success In his new and dis- 
tinguished position. 

Our president, who signed the formal letter of congratula- 
tion, of course also sent his warmest personal congratula- 
tions. I shall not attempt to enumerate at this time those of 



. -ll ...^2.^ ■:hl..A:MikAimM.''ijUil-^ 





President Lovett's Princeton friends who wished to be per- 
sonally and by name joined with our president in these con- 
gratulations, but I am sure that you will be pleased to hear 
that I bring to President Lovett and to the Rice Institute the 
congratulations of a woman who is known and honored 
throughout the land— Mrs. Grover Cleveland. 

I would like to say just a word or two besides these words 
of congratulation, and explain why I wish to congratulate 
so particularly your president and your institution. 

I will first say a word on the subject which has just been 
referred to in the eloquent address of the representative of 
the University of Paris, when he spoke about the beautiful 
architecture of the buildings which are going up on this great 
campus. I feel that on this occasion it would not be right 
if we did not give full and hearty recognition— and I am 
glad to say that this has already been done in better words 
than I could possibly use— to the wonderful artistic success 
which has been attained already, and which you can, I think, 
expect to be attained in the future development of the insti- 
tution under the guidance of your supervising architect, Mr. 
Cram. I had the peculiar pleasure of going about with him 
while he inspected the buildings. He saw them in their 
completed form for the first time, and I never appreciated 
so well as I now do, after seeing his delight in his own 
achievements, what is meant by the words, "And God saw 
everything that He had made, and behold, it was very 
good.'' I congratulate you most heartily on having Mr. 
Cram as the supervising architect of this Institute. 

Then again, in line with what was presented in the speech 
of the Bishop of Tennessee and in the address of your presi- 
dent, I congratulate you upon the declared devotion of this 
Institute to science, literature, and art, in their pure form, 
as preliminary to the development of the technical sciences 



and arts which contribute so much to the comfort and plea- 
sure of the world. I do not feel that, after what was said this 
morning, I need repeat the reasons why pure science is par- 
ticularly important in an institution which is to be devoted 
partly to the solution of technical problems. All the great 
inventions grew out of scientific discoveries. I could give 
you example after example, and every other scientific man 
here could do the same, but I cannot stop for it. The pure 
sciences furnish the ideas which are developed in practice. 
They give the student the necessary theoretical foundation 
for his practice and make it possible for him to be more than 
a mere drudge in the technical applications of the sciences. 
Chesterton says, somewhere, that if a machine stops because 
a nut comes off, or a tire is punctured, an ordinary mechanic 
can put it in order; but if some real trouble happens and the 
machine really breaks down, it is far more likely that it will 
be put in order again, not by a mechanic, but by some white- 
haired professor who seems to have very little practical 
knowledge, but who has been trained by his theoretical 
studies to get to the bottom of the trouble and so to remedy 
it. Besides all this, the study of pure science stimulates 
research, and it is to scientific research that we owe the most 
striking development of the modern mind, and it is to re- 
search carried on by men trained in such institutions as this 
that we are to look for the advancement of knowledge in 
the future. I congratulate this institution that, in spite of 
the temptation to found and develop a purely technical 
school, the other course has been taken and an institution has 
been established in which the technical arts and sciences will 
spring, as they ought to do, from a thorough foundation in 
theory; and I again extend to the president our congratu- 
lations on the purposes and noble aims of this Institute, and 
our best wishes that these will develop into full fruition. 





Professor William Holding Echols: The Trustees 

of Rice Institute, Mr. President, my Colleagues, Ladies and 
Gentlemen present— It is somewhat fitting that he who 
brings Virginia's greetings to you should be a Southerner, 
and, as it happens, in a sense a Texan, since he was born in 

San Antonio. 

I bear a message from the oldest Southern State to the 
youngest and most powerful of these States. 

In old Virginia on the east, in younger Texas on the west, 
and in all that land which lies between them without a break, 
live the most homogeneous people of one blood in all these 

United States. 

It is somewhat difficult at times for others to understand 
why we Southern people love so intensely the soil into which 
our blood has gone and out of which our blood has come, 
the deep affection and the swift understanding which we 
have in one another, the mutual dependence and trust with 
which we lean upon each other. 

For forty years the energy of the South has been absorbed 
in striving to satisfy the craving of the primitive belly-need 
of a wrecked people. 

During that period there was scant time among her sons 
for what is called education, there were small means for 
them for what is called culture. 

Let there be no mistake when one says the South is un- 
educated, lest by that one means the South is ignorant. This 
Southern generation knows that it has been hewing wood, 
drawing water; that it has made its bricks without the straw, 
but steadfastly, quietly reconstructing, rehabilitating ah 


The South knows, and she has known it all along, that her 
people are coming into their own inheritance again. A sus- 
picion of this is even now felt beyond her borders. 




The South has now passed through those dark days of 
feeding mouths and clothing bodies after devastation. She 
has not time, even as yet, for the gentler things of literature, 
music, and art. But she has come to the day when no longer 
shall she bear the transit, run the level, and drag the chain 
of an alien industry in the exploitation of her own resources. 

It is of intensely human interest to reflect that, in one 
generation after the bitterest and most fratricidal war the 
world has known, much of the means for the highest re- 
habilitation of her people has come from the personal kind- 
liness and friendly generosity of a one-time foe. 

Your splendid endowment has come from one Initially 
across the line. Also to Virginia has come from a similar 
source, for a similar purpose, more than a million of dollars; 
and so it was with Vanderbilt University, the Peabody 
funds, and many others. He who writes the history of this 
people cannot ignore these deep-rooting influences. 

Here to Texas, the youngest of these States, has come 
this golden opportunity, this great responsibility and sacred 
trust. It is within your power to respond to the great and 
crying need of a people near and dear to you. Yours is the 
exalted privilege and sacred duty to breed for that people 
leaders of men, leaders of industry, and leaders of thought; 
men trained to depend upon the solidity of scientific truth, 
with minds so philosophically trained that they may organize 
the present and with far-reaching insight design the future; 
men so prepared that they may enter the lists to claim and 
hold for the South her people's share in their birthright of 
her natural resources. 

The South is potentially the richest part of the United 
States, and we are the legitimate heirs of her treasures. ^ 

It is only through the minds of men splendidly trained in 
technology and the laboratory, transmitting energy for the 







transmutation of the raw products of mine and soil through 
furnace and mill into the finished detail, that we can hope to 
hold that which has been bequeathed to us. 

Yours is the function to generate these men. Smaller in- 
stitutions can supply the rank and file, but yours is the oppor- 
tunity, the ability, and the solemn duty to carry forward this 
high mission of making high men, keeping ever in mind that 
it is the knowledge of the truth that makes men free. 

There can be no need to fear for the coming of literature, 
music, and art to a sensitive and imaginative people. These 
things will come as naturally in their proper order as does 
the rising sun, after the sterner diet of which I speak. Food 
and clothing, then possession and power— after them, as 
always, the Muses come. 

To you gentlemen of the Board of Trustees of the Rice 
Institute the University of Virginia bids me present her 
heartfelt congratulations upon the good fortune of your op- 
portunity, upon the far-sighted largeness of your design, and 
upon that splendid courage with which you announce to 
those that are to come to you that there shall be no upper 
limit to intellectual attainment save that which God has 
placed upon their personalities. We assembled here could 
not wish more for the welfare of your progress and the suc- 
cess of your design than to hope that some of the genius of 
that great master of science, he who was to have been with 
us in body to-day, and whose spirit, we know, must ever be 
present where men gather in search of truth, may descend 
upon this place and energize it into creative thought. 

Virginia congratulates you upon your choice of the man to 
carry forward your design and lead your hope to its fulfil- 
ment. She is proud that he is one of her own dear sons. 

And now to you, Mr. President, from your Alma Mater, 
I pass the burning cross, and with it Virginia's congratula- 


tions upon your high purpose. She looks with motherly 
sympathy upon your endeavor, and will follow with anxious, 
loving eyes the development of your plans. She bids you 
courage, honest work for the day, honest hope for the mor- 
row, and prayerfully God-speed. 

President Harry Pratt Judson : Mr. President, La- 
dies and Gentlemen— It is my privilege to bring from the 
University of Chicago warm congratulations to you on this 
very auspicious occasion. I bring them from the faculty and 
the trustees, who know what it is to create a new institution, 
and who have confidence in what you are about to do here. 
I come from a city which, I think, has special reasons to 
have a great interest in all the Southland. You will pardon 
me, Mr. President, when I recall one thing you said last 
night at the opening of the exercises, if I can remember back 
so long as that, because the opening and the closing of those 
exercises were very far apart, but I think you said you had 
forgotten every story you ever heard. I seem also to have 
forgotten every story I ever heard, except some of the 
stories about Chicago, and the particular one related last 
night I am not going to repeat. On consulting my note-book 
I find that my record for that particular story is 1746. An- 
other one has a record of something like 762. The record 
of a third one up to the present time is 2107; that is to say, 
I have heard it repeated that number of times since I began 
to count, and for this reason, Mr. President, I will not tell 
any now. I mention this record, however, merely by way 
of indicating that I think many people are interested in Chi- 
cago. The invitation that we have received to your festival 
indicates at least that we are not forgotten in the South, 
and in turn I beg to assure you that we do not forget our 
friends. It has been said that a visitor in Boston is asked, 





: i 



What do you know? In New York he is asked, How much 
have you? In Philadelphia, Who was your grandfather? 
But if I may judge, Mr. President, by the very lavish and 
extensive hospitality that we have enjoyed in these few days 
here, it appears that a newcomer in Houston is asked. What 
can we do for you? And it is because of this spirit that I 
desire especially to congratulate the City of Houston on this 
great enterprise. The coming of this institution, so splen- 
didly and wisely erected, we believe will be a great benefit 
not only to your city but to your entire community. 

This occasion takes me back twenty years, to the time 
when we were founding in Chicago an institution very well 
provided for at that day. And at that time the heads of 
our city and State institutions were saying that perhaps the 
new university would prove to be a dangerous rival. It was 
not many years, however, before they found that nothing 
better than the new university could have happened for the 
spreading of the university idea and its benefits to education. 
Since that time the other city and State institutions have gone 
forward by leaps and bounds, in students, in prestige, and in 
usefulness. Precisely the same way the Rice Institute will 
prove to be the very best of assets to the colleges and uni- 
versities and all enterprises of public education in your sec- 

We congratulate you again, Mr. President, on the splen- 
did and large views with which your Institution starts. In 
the old days the teacher taught what he had been taught, 
and was satisfied to stop there. In these days a teacher is 
not alive unless he is on the firing-line of science, unless he 
has knowledge of the most recent achievements and is press- 
ing those still further in all directions. And we rejoice that 
you are aiming to devote a large part of your resources to 


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time the heads of 
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^mi nine the other city and :>[ate insucuuons have gone 

(nrrv^rc] 'd bound?, in students, in prestige, and in 

usefuiness. irecisciy inL a.u;. ut^ will 

best of asset the colleges and uni- 

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denen sie einen frohen una gidnzenaen Verl.uJ ^c^insc.t, 
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J^^':,^l£-^JL^^Lt»^.i>JL^1)aL^^-:'*'-jr--^ i 






research in scientific knowledge. The learned chief justice 
this morning told of some of the things which science has 
done in our day. There are few things more fascinating. 
The world has a very great deal to thank science for. For 
example, take medicine alone. Just think of the communi- 
ties which a very few years ago were terror-stricken and 
harassed by epidemics of various malignant diseases. To- 
day such epidemics are practically unknown. Only a few 
years ago malaria and yellow fever were ills to be dreaded. 
To-day, thanks to applied science in medicine, we have found 
adequate remedies for each of these scourges. 

Another cause for congratulation, Mr. President, wdl 
appear in what such an institution as yours is going to mean 
to the community in which it lives. Your great institution 
is going to be an evangelic light to your entire community, 
for it will be the means of advancing, among all people of 
all kinds, the scientific attitude toward life. The future of 
this university will depend not alone on your splendid and 
magnificent hospitality, not alone on these beautiful and 
majestic buildings, not alone on your large programs for 
study and research, but quite as much will the real fruitage 
of your institution depend on the men who work here. Its 
future will be made by the men who carry on in these halls 
the researches of the scholar; by the men who will lead and 
guide the university to success; by the men, the professional 
men, who will go out of it— the lawyers, the engineers, the 
architects, and the plain, solid men of business who make 
our country; the men who will put into the life of the Repub- 
lic the knowledge and the training which they will derive 
from the results of your venture. On so auspicious a be- 
ginning and on so bright a prospect I congratulate you most 


i k 


President Sidney Edward Mezes: Mr. President, 
Ladies and Gentlemen— From the first announcement of 
William Marsh Rice's magnificent bequest we have looked 
forward with lively anticipation to this day. We have 
watched with growing interest the development of the trus- 
tees' plans; we rejoiced greatly when we learned that they 
were resolved to risk the charge of tardiness rather than 
build heedlessly; we especially rejoiced when we saw chosen 
to the office of president one of America's ablest and best 
trained scholars. 

In the new president we have found not merely an able 
and aspiring man, not merely a man of noble conceptions 
and prophetic visions, but a man so genial of heart, so true 
in his sympathies, so inspiringly hopeful, that he has carried 
light wherever he has gone, and conviction also that the in- 
stitution whose course he guides will bring an influence that 
deserves and will find a congenial home in Texas. 

In some States of the Union the several colleges and uni- 
versities have not dwelt together in the unity commended 
of the Psalmist. The colleges, for the most part on private 
foundations, have often distrusted one another and united 
in distrust of the State university. This distrust has given 
rise to conduct at times organized into sustained campaigns, 
intent on the purpose of mutual harm, and only too success- 
ful in attaining that unworthy end. Few pages in the edu- 
cational history of our country are so disheartening to high 
endeavor. But from such misguided enterprise Texas has 
most fortunately been unusually free. Across her broad 
expanses the winds of freedom and tolerance have swept, 
scattering the fogs of prejudice and self-seeking as from 
time to time they formed; and to-day, perhaps as nowhere 
in America, there prevails practically throughout our State 
a spirit of the fullest friendliness and co-operation among 



colleges and universities, endowed and State-sustained. That 
the new Rice Institute will strike a note of discord we have 
no fear. Why should we? Why should not a fresh worker be 
welcomed into the vineyard, when his aim is our own, with 
a slant of fortunate difference; when the field is white to the 
harvest, and the laborers are few? Seeing that barely one 
out of every ten high-school graduates takes any higher edu- 
cation whatever; that in Texas only one out of twenty of our 
boys and girls goes to college, whereas in California, for 
example, the proportion is one in eight; how can we do 
otherwise than rejoice at the founding of a new agency to 
help alter these distressing figures? Facing together some 
of the most vital problems before State and Nation, shall 
we not be glad that the new institution is now among us, 
blessed with the means to render great service? 

And now. President Lovett and members of the Board of 
Trustees, we welcome the Rice Institute into the brother- 
hood of Texas colleges and universities; we welcome you 
formally and with all our hearts. You will play a splendid 
part in the upbuilding of Texas; you will help train our 
youth; you will cherish learning; you will foster research; 
your achievements and example will stir us to renewed en- 
deavor. In the noble setting of spacious grounds; with 
buildings planned by a great artist; with a faculty chosen 
from all the world; with the stimulus of a rapidly growing 
city about you, to all human seeing the future holds for you 
a glorious destiny. One and all we unite to say: 

Esto perpetual 

President Lovett: Ladies and Gentlemen— ¥or the 
trustees and faculty of the Rice Institute I thank most sin- 
cerely these gentlemen and all the institutions they represent 
for their cordial greetings and for the warm welcome with 


>'»i!yyi»ifc->"*'*''*''? Lli? * ''' ' "* ' f i ?! ?'-* * * ' **^ ^ 


which they receive us into their fellowship and that of the 
world of learning. I can find no words in which adequately 
to say to them what their presence means to us at this time. 
In return for their great kindness we can only offer them the 
place in our history which they have made for themselves. 
And most cordially do we invite them one and all to come 
back. For their coming we thank God, and from their mes- 
sages we take courage. 







Hymn-O God, our help in ages past 


Voices in harmony 





Dr. Croft 
/^ Sir Arthur S. Sullivan, Mus. Doc. 









1. God, our help in a - ges past, Our hope for years to come, 



























Our shel-ier from the storm-y blast And our e - ter-nal home. 


2. Under the shadow of Thy throne 
Thy saints have dwelt secure; 
Sufficient is Thine arm alone, 
And our defense is sure. 

3. Before the hills in order stood, 
Or earth received her frame, 
From everlasting Thou art God, 
To endless years the same. 

4. A thousand ages in Thy sight 

Are like an evening gone; 
Short as the watch that ends the night 
Before the rising sun. 

5. Time, like an everrolling stream, 

Bears all its sons away; 

They fly, forgotten as a dream 

Dies at the opening day. 

6. O God, our help in ages past. 

Our hope for years to come, 
Be Thou our guide while life shall last. 
And our eternal home. 







President Edgar Odell Lovett 

Almighty and most merciful Father, we have erred, and 
strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed 
too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We 
have offended against Thy holy laws. We have left undone 
those things which we ought to have done; And we have 
done those things which we ought not to have done; And 
there is no health in us. But Thou, O Lord, have mercy 
upon us, miserable offenders. Spare Thou those, O God, 
who confess their faults. Restore Thou those who are peni- 
tent; According to Thy promises declared unto mankind in 
Christ Jesus our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, 
for His sake, That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, 
and sober life. To the glory of Thy holy Name. 

Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be Thy Name. 
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth. As it is in 
heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us 
our trespasses. As we forgive those who trespass against us. 
And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil; 
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for 
ever and ever. Amen. 


Hymn-O God of Bethel 

Sir John Stainer Mus. Doc. 






^— z 


f \ ?l \^i 

10 God of Bethel, byWhose hand Thy peo-ple still are fedj 










o o 

o o 


Who thro' this wea-ry pil-grim - age Hast all our fathers led. Amen 






2. Our vows, our prayers, we now present 

Before Thy throne of grace: 
God of our fathers, be the God 
Of their succeeding race. 

3. Through each perplexing path of life 

Our wandering footsteps guide; 
Give us each day our daily bread. 
And raiment fit provide. 

4. Oh, spread Thy sheltering wings around, 

Till all our wanderings cease. 
And at our Father's loved abode 
Our souls arrive in peace! 

5. Such blessings from Thy gracious hand 

Our humble prayers implore; 
AndThou shalt be our chosen God, 
And portion evermore. 



P. Doddridge, 1736 





Dr. Henry van Dyke 

1. Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, 
and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a 
tinkling cymbal. 

2. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and under- 
stand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have 
all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not 
charity, I am nothing. 

3. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, 
and though I give my body to be burned, and have not char- 
ity, it profiteth me nothing. 

4. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth 
not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 

5. Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, 
is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil ; 

6. Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 

7. Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all 
things, endureth all things. 

8. Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophe- 
cies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall 
cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 

9. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. 

10. But w^hen that which is perfect is come, then that 
which is in part shall be done away. 

11. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood 
as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, 
I put away childish things. 



12. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face 
to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as 
also I am known. 

13. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; 
but the greatest of these is charity. 

/ Corinthians^ xiii. 

Great Lord of Life! Creator of all things seen and un- 
seen! We rise up with an awful joy to worship Thee in 
spirit and in truth. Cast down our earthly pride; shame 
from Thy presence our sinful cares and low desires; breathe 
with Thy blest spirit on the sacred fires of our hearts; and 
may we stand before Thee face to face, as heirs of glorious 
hopes and sons of the holy God. While our fathers serve 
Thee in other worlds of Thy love, amid spirits of more 
heavenly race, we would seek Thee with a lowly faith, and 
trust our lot and times to Thee. Thou art too near for our 
eye to see Thee, too far for our outstretched mind to reach; 
yet is Thy presence ever in the midst; and along the path- 
way of our life, and the wanderings of our hearts, and the 
transit of our days, we are alone unchangeably with Thee. 

Almighty God, whose kingdom is everlasting and power 
infinite; Have mercy upon this whole land; and so rule the 
hearts of Thy servants the President of the United States, 
the Governor of this State, the Mayor of this City, and all 
others in authority, that they, knowing whose ministers they 
are, may above all things seek Thy honor and glory; and 
that we and all the people, duly considering whose authority 
they bear, may faithfully and obediently honor them, in 
Thee and for Thee, according to Thy blessed Word and 
ordinance; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with Thee 
and the Holy Ghost liveth and reigneth ever, one God, 
world without end. 





' V. 

..r»..^^*mt.mmJmt..r^ tr'te'.tt tt^ jm- 1 ■ fW'-. > m iir* IT -"1. ''^I'll' idl> tfH ti> Mf AUlaJiM jll.JE-A«Cai^ ■ 



O Thou Lord of all, who didst send Thy Word to speak 
in the prophets and live in Thy Son; and appoint Thy 
Church to be witness of divine things in all the world; revive 
the purity and deepen the power of its testimony; and 
through the din of earthly interests and the storm of human 
passions, let it make the still, small voice of Thy Spirit 
keenly felt. Nearer and nearer may Thy kingdom come 
from age to age; meeting the face of the young as a rising 
dawn, and brightening the song of the old, ''Lord, now 
lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace." Already let its 
light abash our guilty negligence, and touch with hope each 
secret sorrow of the earth. By the cleansing spirit of Thy 
Son, make this world a fitting forecourt to that sanctuary 
not made with hands, where our life is hid with Christ in 


O Father of light, and Source of knowledge, who canst 
be taught of none, and whose inspiration hath giv^en us un- 
derstanding! O Thou who art love and dwellest in love! 
teach us to be followers of Thee as Thy dear children. We 
praise Thee for all thy wonderful works to the sons and 
daughters of men. The work of our hands, establish Thou 
it upon us, we pray Thee. Thy rich and abiding blessings 
grant to the new university of liberal and technical learning 
whose interests have assembled us in this service of praise 
and thanksgiving. We praise Thee for the founder's great 
gift to the people. We praise Thee for the great work his 
trustees have inaugurated. Give wisdom and sound judg- 
ment to the president and all those associated with him in 
shaping the policy and directing the destiny of this univer- 
sity. May constantly increasing streams of men go forth 
from these halls of learning, trained in the highest degree, 
equipped in the largest sense for positions of trust in the 
public service, for posts of leadership in the world's affairs. 



May all who pursue letters and science and art at the Rice 
Institute, by these disciplines as allies of religion, be led to 
Thee who art the highest and yet the nearest, the holiest and 
yet the One who loves us best. 

Almighty God, who hast given us grace at this time with 
one accord to make our common supplications unto Thee; 
and dost promise that when two or three are gathered to- 
gether in Thy Name thou wilt grant their requests; Fulfil 
now, O Lord, the desire and petition of Thy servants, as 
may be most expedient for them; granting us in this world 
knowledge of Thy truth, and in the world to come life ever- 
lasting. Amen. 






Hymn-A Mig-hty Fortress is our God 

Martin Liithe: 

JAmieht-y fort-jess is our God, A sure de - fenc 
fHehefpsus free from ev-'ry need Which hath us now 


Deep guile and great 

might Are his dread arms in 

fight,- On 

2 In our own strength can naught be done_ 3.And were the world with devils fiUed, 

Our loss were soon effected^ 
There fights for us the Proper One, 
By God himself elected. 

Ask you who frees us? 

It is Christ Jesus - 

The Lord Sabaoth, 

There is no other God; 
He'll hold the field of battle. 

All waiting to devour us; 
We'll still succeed, so God hath willed,. 
They cannot overpower us: 

The Prince of this world 

To hell shall be hurled; 

He seeks to alarm, 

But shall do us no harm; 
The smallest word can fell Him. 

4. The Word they still must let remain, 
And for that have no merit; 
For He is with us on the plain, 
By His good gifts and Spirit: 
Destroy they our life, 
Goods, fame, child and wife? 
Let all pass amain. 
They still no conquest gain, 
For ours is still the kingdom. 


Martin Ltither 1529 
Tr. Joel Swartz 187 9 


Rev. Charles Frederic Aked 


"For the earnest expectation of the creation waiteth for the revealing of 
the sons of God." — Romans viii, ig, 

"For all creation, gazing eagerly as if with outstretched neck, Is waiting 
and longing to see the manifestation of the sons of God."— Nfzt' Tes- 
tament in Modern Speech. 

THIS morning we will make no attempt to reach the 
height of Paul's great argument. We will content 
ourselves with immediate, practical applications of his pro- 
found thought. His view, in a sentence, is that all animate 
and inanimate creation protests against the suffering which 
has been imposed upon it; that the universal longing for a 
better state and a better time is a prophecy of distant glory; 
that these sufferings are but as the birth-pangs of new and 
gladder worlds; that the universe was made subject to 
change, in hope that no evil thing may endure, that even 
Winter may change to Spring, and that love may conquer at 
the last. And the essential condition of the realization of 
this hope is the appearance of the sons of God— the appear- 
ance, that is to say, of good men and women. For this the 
creation, gazing eagerly as if with outstretched neck, waits 
and longs. The good time coming— which is always coming 
but never come— will be here: the prophecies will be accom- 
plished fact; the radiant dreams of poets will be the plain 
prose of life; the creation itself will be delivered from the 
bondage of corruption— in proportion as the race produces 
men and women who are manifestly the children of God. 
What hinders the coming of God's kingdom amongst men? 
How hold we the heaven from earth away? What wait we 
for? We are waiting for more men and women heroic and 






holy, generous and good. We are waiting for the sons of 

This is the energy of all moral effort— a steady supply of 
good men and good women. This is the steam which makes 
the engine move. This is the stored up potency of electricity 
which lights up a city or drives the vast machinery of mod- 
ern life. Do great men produce great ages? Or do great 
ages produce great men? These are questions which our 
Literary and Debating Societies have been arguing for a 
hundred years. Emerson would tell you that an institution 
is only the lengthened shadow of a man: Protestantism, of 
Martin Luther; Quakerism, of George Fox; Abolitionism, 
of Thomas Clarkson; Methodism, of John Wesley. All 
history resolves itself quite easily into the life stories of a 
few stout and earnest persons. 

To-day we give God thanks for the Rice Institute of Lib- 
eral and Technical Learning. We praise the Giver of all 
good for the bright hopes which have gathered about these 
Dedication hours. We rejoice in the public spirit of the man 
whose name it bears, in his broad and generous views, his 
insight into our common needs, his prevision of the dawning 
greatness of this State, his love of the fair Southland. We 
bless God for the inspiration of a great and splendid pur- 
pose in the soul of the founder of this University; not less 
do we praise Him for the men who have given themselves 
w^ith patient, self-denying, patriotic toil to the achievement 
of that purpose. Some have passed into the Unseen: some 
are with us to-day. One sows: another reaps: God be 
praised. Sower and Reaper rejoice together 1 

In the Rice Institute of Liberal and Technical Learning 
the seeing eye perceives an incarnation of constructive en- 
ergy. From its halls and laboratories shall go forth men 
and women who are men and women indeed, trained, 



equipped, fearless, aspiring, self-reliant, faithful to con- 
science and to God — the men and women for whom creation 
waits ! Producing such streams of redemptive, life-giving 
power, the Rice Institute shall make for the worth and 
wealth, the health and happiness, of this old world. And 
happiness is a moral asset, never doubt it. Diffused amongst 
the masses of the people, it is an asset of incalculable value 
in the life of a nation. It is hungry men who make revolu- 
tions. It is what a British journalist has called "a mighty 
mob of famished, diseased, and miserable Helots" who men- 
ace the security of life and property in the midst of a wealthy 
civilization. Happy men and women are under no tempta- 
tion to become anarchists. A honeymooning couple are in 
no mood to throw dynamite bombs at the palaces of the rich. 
Education, all the world over, in all the worlds there are and 
in all ages, is emancipation. It manumits and It edifies. 
First it frees the slave; then It builds the man. Capacity 
and culture — skill for the hand and sight for the soul — to 
open to the Individual, man or woman, a means of living and 
the meaning of life — why, this Is patriotism not less noble 
and ennobling than that of the heroic men whose praises our 
Laureate hymned yesterday, who 

saw the niany-miUion-acred land, 
Won from the desert by their hand, 
Swiftly among the nations rise, — 

Texas a sovereign State, 

And on her brow a star! 

It is poverty, stupidity, ignorance, which do the devIPs work. 
The world is cursed by ignorance and darkness. It will be 
blessed by knowledge and light. "Let there be light!"— it 
is the creative fiat. It thunders down the ages from the 



• I 



dawning of the first morning of the world. And Jesus said, 
"Give them to eatl'' 

When with prayer and praise and in communion with the 
Highest we dedicate this institution to the advancement of 
Letters, Science, and Art, we dedicate it to the making of 
men and the making of nations. We dedicate it to America I 
It is our contribution to the stability of the social order, to 
the permanence of American institutions, to the propagation 
of the principles for which America stands in our modern 
world, to the perpetuation of the forces which called her Into 
being and by which she lives. This is our gift to the great- 
ness of our land. 

For the forms of democracy are precisely those through 
which corruption most easily works if the spirit of democ- 
racy be lacking. What forces inhere in law and constitution 
and in the administration of law which may not be blown to 
the four winds of heaven upon the breath of some dema- 
gogue, drunk with the lust of place and power, most igno- 
rant of what he 's most assured of, and like an angry ape 
playing such fantastic tricks before high heaven as make 
angels weep ? This country was brought to birth under com- 
pulsion of the ideal. Heroes who poured their blood out for 
the truth, women whose hearts bled, martyrs all unknown, 
gave birth to our country and to its liberties. Its greatness 
goes back to the visionary and the seer; to the Jesuit mis- 
sionary marching from the Atlantic to the Mississippi, to the 
Pilgrim and the Puritan of New England, the Lutherans of 
Pennsylvania, the Moravian missionaries of Ohio, and all 
the countless hosts of the obscure, the silent, and the dead 
who, living, believed in God and His goodness, and followed 
the gleam. What is to preserve in our modern life this an- 
cient vigor of the spirit? What is to keep the soul of the 
nation alive? 



On what grounds do you believe that this Republic will 
endure? No republic has yet endured as monarchies have 
done. Fifty years ago some of the most thoughtful minds 
in Europe were satisfied that this democracy could not last. 
During the Civil War the Prince Consort, Queen Victoria's 
husband, said, with a sort of sardonic satisfaction, "Repub- 
lican institutions are on their trial.'' From that trial repub- 
lican institutions emerged triumphant. You believe that the 
noonday splendor of this land will outshine the golden glory 
of its dawn. Whittier declared that the sons and daughters 
of the Pioneer should 

Make the people^ s council hall 
As lasting as the pyramids. 

On what ground does this conviction rest? But on what 
grounds does your belief rest? Why should this Republic 


On the side of a current controversy it is glibly asserted 
that in the last analysis a State rests on force. The oppo- 
nents of a popular movement go on repeating this dictum as 
though it were an oracle from heaven. A State rests on 
nothing of the kind. And force— by which is meant physical 
force— cannot keep a nation strong. Force could not save 
the Roman Republic. Rome possessed the finest army that 
has ever existed on the face of the earth. As a fighting ma- 
chine it had attained unto perfection. And the Roman Re- 
public failed. To-day Sir Edward Grey, Secretary of State 
for Foreign Affairs in King George's cabinet, has warned 
the British Parliament and the British people that if the 
insane rivalry of the nations in the matter of military and 
naval strength be continued, sooner or later it will submerge 
civilization itself. 


The State does not rest on force. It rests upon confi- 
dence—a vastly different thing. The basis of our modern 
society is confidence in one another. You who know a thou- 
sand times more about it than a preacher possibly can, let 
your imagination play for a moment about the vast, far- 
reaching, apparently illimitable ramifications of commerce 
made possible between man and man. How much business 
did you do last year, and how much are you hoping to do 
next, upon guarantees not very much stronger than the word 
of a man of whom you know little, and the honor of corpo- 
rations the individual members of which you do not know at 
all? The State rests upon confidence in the social order; 
upon our common trust in justice and in the administration 
of justice, in law and the sanctity of law. And if the objector 
says, **Yes; upon the knowledge that force can be used to 
secure the due observance of law," the answer is easy: "You 
have not carried your analysis far enough." Our confidence 
is not grounded in the conviction that the State can control 
and direct physical force, but in the conviction that the force 
of the State will in the long run be controlled and directed 
by wise and good ends. That is to say, the strength of states 
is in the fundamental rightness of our human nature and 
our undefined belief that the mass of mankind would rather 
do right than wrong. The material wealth of cities, the in- 
tegrity of states, the happiness of kingdoms, the greatness 
of a republic, alike go back to this, to the number of good 
men and women they can produce. All creation— all crea- 
tion we know, Houston, Texas, the South, America, our 
modern civilization— gazing eagerly as if with outstretched 
neck, IS waiting and longing to see the manifestation of the 
sons of God. 

We have felt the lack of this driving power in the machin- 
ery of our social and political life. We have missed the note 



of moral enthusiasm. The touch of a high spirit upon hu- 
man affairs has been wanting. We seek the compulsion of 
commanding genius and character. Such a voice as that 
which once from Gettysburg, all fragrant with the memo- 
ries of a nation's dead, shook the civilized world, is heard 
no more. Our big men are not big enough. Our leaders 
are too far in the rear of those they lead! We are ready 
to cry out again with the poet— prophet of two democracies : 

O for an hour of that undaunted stock 
That went with Vane and Sydney to the block! 
O for a whiff of Naseby, that would sweep, 
With its stern Puritan besom, all this chaff 
From the Lord^s threshing-floor! 

For our conviction is that deep down in the hearts of the 
people there is a capacity for being led; that the people who 
are being led wrong could be led right; that however corrupt 
interests deceive, fool, and use the people, there is still that 
in a nation which might be called the soul of a people; and 
a soul which would wake at the call of a son of God. Men 
are there, but Man is missing. And like our wild-eyed Hosea 
Biglow, with his tongue of truth and heart of flame, we 

M ore men f More man? It ^s there we fail; 

Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthening' 
Wut use in addin' to the tail, 

When it *s the head '5 in need 0' strength' nin'f 

We wanted one that felt all Chief 

From roots of hair to sole of stocking 

Square sot zvith thousan'-ton belief 
In him and us, ef earth went rockin' ! 



We are waiting for this Man, with the thousand-ton belief 
in himself and in us, in Righteousness and God, who will 
give expression in consecrated and consecrating action to the 
social aspirations of a million hearts. We are waiting, in 
the high places of the land, for the sons of God. 

That is not all. Let us come to something even nearer to 
hand. Upon the work of this institution and of institutions 
like this depends entirely the question whether our amazing 
material resources, our ingenuity, our inventiveness, our sci- 
ence and skill, shall prove a blessing or a curse. A person 
or a community may find the disadvantage of possessing so 
many advantages. We may be ruined by our prosperity. 
We glory in the best equipment which skill and science can 
devise; but there is not one thoughtful person here who has 
not known individuals who would have been better equipped 
for their work if they had not been equipped so well I One 
is haunted by the fear that in our day and country we are not 
producing results commensurate with our efforts. In pro- 
portion to the extraordinary increase of our resources, are 
we doing the good in the world we ought to do? In the 
w^orld of art and science are we, with all our wealth of train- 
ing and equipment, doing relatively greater work and better 
work than, let us say, George Stephenson, the inventor of 
the locomotive, when he taught himself arithmetic on the 
sides of colliery wagons, or Wilkie when he learned painting 
with a piece of chalk and a barn door, or West when he 
made his first brushes out of the cat's tail; than Watt, the 
inventor of the steam-engine, when he made his first model 
out of an old syringe; Humphry Davy, of safety-lamp 
fame, when he extemporized his scientific appliances from 
kitchen pots and pans; and Faraday, described by Sir Wil- 
liam Ramsay last Friday as one of the most brilliant physi- 
cists and most daring experimenters of the nineteenth cen- 



tury, when he made his from glass bottles; or better work 
and greater than when Elihu Burritt mastered eighteen an- 
cient and modern languages while shoeing horses at the vil- 
lage forge? 

We are doing better and greater work, you are confident. 
And you name Mr. Edison and Signor Marconi. But, rela- 
tively to the wealth of our resources, is the result all it 
should be? 

In the world of moral effort are you quite so confident? 
Stephen, the first Christian martyr, John Ruskin reminds us, 
did not get bishop's pay for that long sermon of his to the 
Pharisees. He only got stones. And Paul had no cathedral 
called by his name from which to preach his Gospel to the 
Roman world. When Augustine and his monks landed at 
Ebbsfleet and met the English king between that place and 
Canterbury, and declared the good news of Jesus to him, 
there was no missionary society and missionary press behind 
him. When the famous few met in a house at Kettering to 
win heathenism for Christ, the first collection was sixty-six 
dollars. Do you not think that we ought to do vastly more 
with our wealth and numbers than men did who were few 
and poor? Yet are we in the way of accomplishing more 
for the age we live in and for ages to come than Stephen did 
for the Jewish world, Paul for the Roman world, Augustine 
and his monks for the English world, and Fuller Pearce and 
Ryland for the world of the distant East? 

We are not gaining all we ought to gain from the re- 
sources that are ours. Why? We leave the work to the 
machinery, when we ought to do it ourselves. This nation 
has developed a capacity for organization which is as un- 
mistakably an inspiration of genius as the sculpture of Phei- 
dias or the philosophy of Plato. The art of the Greek, the 
law of the Roman, the Hebrew passion for righteousness, 




the genius of the English for colonization, is not more char- 
acteristic nor more significant in the evolution of the race 
than the genius of the American people for organization. 
But such high and notable qualities have their natural de- 
fects. In this country we first make the machine, and then 
we bow down and worship it. We kneel and say our prayer 
to it: ^^Almighty and everlasting Machine, we beseech thee 
to roll over us, crush down our insurgent will, and grind 
down our souls to a pale unanimity!" But neither an indi- 
vidual nor a nation can be better than the gods it worships. 
If we first make our gods and then worship them, we end by 
becoming like them. We worship the machine— and we be- 
come machines ! We have lived to see the apotheosis of the 
filing cabinet. When Gambetta was praised by a friend for 
what was perhaps the greatest speech of his life he said, 
"For seven years I have wanted to make that speech. I 
have had it here (the heart), but I have not had it here (the 
head) 1'' With us, he would only have had to look under 
A B C, or perhaps under X Y Z, and he would have found it 
all in the card index! 

Our religious work is hag-ridden by this superstition of 
the machine. The worst speech I have heard in more than 
five years of residence in this country— always excepting my 
own, but those I forget— was on "The Standardized 
Church." Every Church was to be raised up and leveled 
down and sawn off lengthwise and chopped across and 
planed superficially to a standard which existed in the ma- 
chine-made mind of the standardizes Somewhere in the 
broad heavens, he seemed to think, there is an everlasting 
stencil, and with every sweep of the cosmic brush a million 
souls are produced, all made to measure! The gifted or- 
ganizer wears himself to a shadow in his determination to 
standardize the world; and one prays for him the cure which 


William III, king of England, desired for the victim of a 
contemporary superstition. He was the last king of Eng- 
land who practised what was known as "touching for the 
king's evil." When kings ruled by divine right— what Byron 
called "the right divine of kings to govern wrong"— it was 
believed that the touch of one of them would cure a certain 
disease. They brought a sick man to bluff William; he laid 
his hand on the sick man's head and said, "May the Lord 
give you better health and more sense !" But we go on dis- 
cussing methods— methods— methods!— methods of Sun- 
day-school work, of Church work, of Missionary work — the 
underlying assumption being that there is one correct, com- 
plete, absolute, and universal method, and if only we could 
find it the work would get done of itself! I sat in a Mis- 
sionary Conference where godly old women of both sexes 
discussed "methods." And a missionary just home from the 
Congo whispered to me, "I have been flat on my back while 
a naked savage about six feet six inches high, and as tall 
across, had his foot on my chest and his spear at my throat. 
What sort of a missionary method ought I to have used 
then?" To be sure! There are just as many methods as 
there are men and women. There are just as many good 
m.ethods as there are wise and good men and women. There 
are just as many bad methods as there are foolish and lazy 
men and women ! 

Henry Ward Beecher once went through a factory 
equipped with the most perfect machines produced in his 
day. He gazed on them with admiration, and after a long 
and lingering gaze he said, "They look intelligent; I think 
they ought to vote." One has heard something somewhere 
about the machine voting, but that is neither here nor there ! 
A machine may look intelligent, but "intelligent" is precisely 
the thing which it is not. All your machinery needs intelli- 



. 'M 


gent men and women to work it. Organization is a neces- 
sity; but there is danger even in a necessity. The danger is 
that we leave the organization to do what can be done only 
by a living spirit. It is the tendency of all human organiza- 
tions to stifle individuality. Let the organization follow its 
own tendency and it droops and dies. It is for the individual 
to assert himself within the organization and, if need be, 
against it. By so doing he serves its interest and saves its 
life. Force and Fire brought the organization to birth- 
Force of Will and Fire of Devotion. By Force and Fire 
alone can it be fed and nourished into vigorous life— Force 
of Character and Fire of Love. The organization is a mag- 
nificent piece of machinery. But no mechanical means at 
present known to mortals will generate energy to set it work- 
ing and keep it going. Human heart-beats must supply the 
driving power. The Apostle Paul is right: we are waiting 
for the sons of God. 

"The Rice Institute of Liberal and Technical Learning'' 
—is it so the name of our institution runs? "Liberal and 
Technical Learning" : what I have lately called "Skill of 
hand and sight of soul"— it is a superb challenge to brain 
and heart. It was expounded yesterday by the President in 
a speech entirely noble, the chaste language worthy of his 
lofty theme. I will not go over the ground again, and do 
badly what Dr. Lovett did so well. But let me set his con- 
ception, v/hich is my own, in the light of religion, and test it 
by its proved capacity to satisfy our human needs. 

In the world of moral effort we meet the Idealist whose 
sublime head strikes the stars— and who tramples human 
hearts beneath his feet. He lifts up his eyes above the 
mountains, and he does not know of any healing ministry for 
the devil-haunted child in the crowded street. The Corn- 
law rhymer in England more than sixty years ago described 



a type of philanthropist with whom our generation is scarcely 
less familiar: 

Their noble souls have telescopic eyes 

Which see the faintest speck of distant pain; 

JVhile at their feet a world of agonies ^ 

Unseen^ unheard^ unheeded, writhes in pain. 

With better intentions and purer life, the Idealist may yet 
fritter away his strength in endeavor as futile. 

But in the world of moral effort we still meet more often 
the person who thinks himself practical and takes pride from 
his belief. He will not look to the far-off interest of tears; 
no, not he ! He is not going to sow the seed and wait for 
after ages to reap the harvest. He tells you that he wants 
results. He wants crops. He wants to get there, and to get 
there quickly. He is the get-rich-quick man of the world of 
altruism, philanthropy, and reform. If he is called to preside 
over the councils of a great nation, the best you can say of 
him is that he is an extempore statesman, a statesman trying 
to set the world right by rule of thumb, profoundly ignorant 
of the nature of the forces with which he is playing, and 
proudly indifferent to the age-long, world-wide consequences 
of his acts. This is the best you can say of him — If you are 
a patient and sweet-natured person; but if you are not — 
why, you say something worse. A man may mean well. But 
men and institutions and nations need to avoid the devil's 
short-cuts to a desired end. 

What then? The Idealist may be a failure and the prac- 
tical man a fool. What we want is the practical man who 
lives by the power of the ideal. Often he has to work al- 
most in the dark; slowly he gropes through the broadening 
dawn. But he sees the light and whence it flows. And he 


^^f-i^iiJf^^,-mM»i'm^ fc a<.fci«;^t. 



knows that each steady step is toward the rising sun. He 
has certain principles. They may be few. But they are suffi- 
cient. They are clear-cut, firm-rooted, four-square to all the 
winds that blow ; and they are safe. He knows, as the world 
knows, that this same world is not ready to apply those prin- 
ciples immediately and universally to the whole round of 
human conduct. But he knows, what the world does not, 
that these are the principles by which alone men live, and 
that the nations which will not adopt them God sends down 
to destruction. He, too, is an Idealist of the purest type ; but 
he will labor night and day to apply his principles where and 
when he can, winning from the unprincipled, anarchic world 
here a little, there a little, and every little looking to the one 
far-off divine event to which the whole creation moves. Do 
you tell me that he is living in each little act, each little step, 
each little gain of justice upon Injustice, each day's work well 
done? I tell you. No! He is living in the true, the good, 
and the beautiful. He sees life, and sees it whole. He is 
living in the march of deathless generations. He is living in 
the sweep of the ages. He Is living In the triumph of Im- 
mortal principle. He may tell you, with his rough practical 
senses alert and his ear to the ground, that he has only to 
live one day at a time; but he knows, though he keeps the 
knowledge to himself, that really and truly he is living in 
eternity— living, that Is to say. In principles older than proto- 
plasm, causes that complete and crown the centuries, and 
movements that roll back the tide of guilt and sin. 

Yesterday, with joy and deep thanksgiving, the Rice In- 
stitute was dedicated to the purpose set forth In Its Found- 
er's win, In the presence of those whom Dr. van Dyke called 

Honoured and z^elcome quests from the elder nations, 
Princes of science and arts and letters. 



Now we, the people of Houston and of Texas, rise and sol- 
emnly link ourselves to that consecrating act. We dedicate 
this institution to the advancement of Letters, Science, and 
Art, to the service of the imperial commonwealth of Texas; 
to the material and moral progress of the Southland; to the 
cause of human improvement over all the earth; and to the 
greater glory of God. Upon President and Trustees and 
Faculty, upon other great-hearted men and women who shall 
bring to the aid of this institution, now and in the coming 
days, gifts of heart and brain and hand, we invoke the bene- 
diction of the Most High. And earnestly we pray that in 
the years to come the sons and daughters of the Rice Insti- 
tute may bring honor to its name; that their children and 
their children's children may rise up to call it blessed; that 
they may show themselves to be the Sons of God for whose 
coming Creation waits and longs, co-operating with the 
world's eternal purposes and preparing for a redeemed 
humanity a renovated earth. 



Hymn-Nearer, my God, to Thee 

'M l J JI J J J 




.l.Near-er, my God, to Thoe, Near- er to Thee, E'enthoughit 

-ft m ■ OO 

'■'V'i' u f F I F ^ 



^ ^ ^ 








be a crosSjTliat rais-eth me; Still all my song shall be, Near- er, my 








f P ' F F r 





Near-er, my God, to Thee, Near-er to Thee. A-men. 

2. Though like a wanderer^ 

Weary and lone, 
Darkness comes over me. 

My rest a stoae; 
Yet in my dreams Vd be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee. 

3. There let my way appear 

Steps unto heaven; 
All that Thou sendest me 

In mercy given; 
Angels to beckon me 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer, ray God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee. 

4. Then with my waking thoughts 
Bright with Thy praise. 
Out of my stony griefs 

Altars ril raise; 
So by my woes to be 
Nearer, my God, to Tiiee, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer to Thee. 



Or if on joyful wing, 

Cleaving the sky. 
Sun, moon, and stars forgot. 

Upward I fly. 
Still all my song shall be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 
Nearer to Thee. 

Mrs. Siirah Adams, 1841 


Hymn -America 


j: j ?l I ^ J P I J' J i I j 'M 



Our fathers' God! to Thee , Author of Ub - er - ty, To Thee we sing: 









f2 — » 

_ 9 5k 









yy= '^ [^ ^ 



U- -6H 







Long may our land be bright With free-dom's ho - ly light; 

Pro-tect us_ by Thy might, Great God, our King! A - men. 




2. Bless Thou our native land! 
Firm may she ever stand, 

Through storm and night; 
When the wild tempests rave. 
Ruler of wind and wave. 
Do Thou our country save 
By Thy great might. 

3. For her our prayer shall rise 
To God, above the skies; 

On Him we wait; 
Thou Who art ever nigh, 
Guarding with watchful eye, 
To Thee aloud we cry, 

God save the state! 

Stanza 1, Rev. S. F. Smith, 1832- 
Stanza 2, Rev. C- T. Brooks, 1835 
Stanza 3, Rev. J. S.Dwight, 1844. 

n263 3 



Rev. Charles Frederic Aked 

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord cause His 
face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord 
lift up upon you the light of His countenance and give you 
peace. Amen. 







<■■■-%«/-%. **^-. 



r -* ^ 

*■ ;" 

: ! 


- » 


fc_«K_,.Tx Tac iM.^.m..:s .■.!:.■!. X . S 91 



Cdiunbia llutbtrsttp 













Volume Two 





Volume II 


U. S. A. 




OG \ 1^ 3G> 


>/ . z. 




TORY 265 




Three inaugural lectures by Professor Rafael Altamira y 
Crevea, late Professor of the History of Spanish Law in the 
University of Oviedo, Director of Elementary Education in 
the Spanish Ministry of Public Instruction. 




Three inaugural lectures by Professor Emile Borel, Di- 
rector of scientific studies at the Ecole Normale and Professor 
of the Theory of Functions in the University of Paris. 

. ;i,i mau4 J8 




I. ^'What IS Art?" 430 

II. Prejudices Relating TO Art . . . . . . . 458 

III. The Place of Art in the Spirit and in Human 
Society 480 

IV. Criticism and the History of Art 499 

A monograph by Senator Benedetto Croce, Editor of 
*Xa Critica." 





Four inaugural lectures by Professor Hugo de Vries, Direc- 
tor of the Hortus Botanicus and Professor of Botany in the 
University of Amsterdam. 




Three inaugural lectures by Sir Henry Jones, Professor of 
Moral Philosophy in the University of Glasgow and Hibbert 
Lecturer on Metaphysics at Manchester College, Oxford. 




Photogravures of 

Rafael Altamira y Crevea /^"'"^ P^^' 

n it 

Emile Borel 

Benedetto Croce 

tt it 
Hugo de Vries 

Henry Jones 






I. 'What IS Art?" 430 

II. Prejudices Relating TO Art . . . . . . . 458 

III. The Place of Art in the Spirit and in Human 
Society 480 

IV. Criticism and the History of Art 499 

A monograph by Senator Benedetto Croce, Editor of 
"La Critica." 





Four inaugural lectures by Professor Hugo de Vries, Direc- 
tor of the Hortus Botanicus and Professor of Botany in the 
University of Amsterdam. 


Three inaugural lectures by Sir Henry Jones, Professor of 
Moral Philosophy in the University of Glasgow^ and Hibbert 
Lecturer on Metaphysics at Manchester College, Oxford. 



list of inserts 




Photogravures of 

Rafael Altamira y Crevea /«"*«^ P''^^ 

Emile Borel 

Benedetto Croce 

Hugo de Vries 

« « 
Henry Jones 









"^ i 






First Lecture 

IN all the dominions of science, and especially in those re- 
lating to the human subject and dealing with first prin- 
ciples, there are questions-I will not say of eternal standing 
and controversy (because to say "eternal" is to anticipate an 
issue of which, in view of the future's uncertainty, we are not 
authorized to speak), but indeterminate questions which 
from the beginning of the known history of scientific thought 
down to the present have been treated by the different 
schools of thinkers very differently. Seen thus through the 
medley of systems and opinions, these questions give the im- 
pression of something which is insoluble and by all our pro- 
cesses of knowledge unattainable, something in regard to 
which it is useless to devote time and energy, since the solu- 
tion arrived at will not give universal satisfaction, a sign 
that it is not truly scientific,— and in this, indeed, is explained 
the position of those individuals (by no means few in num- 
ber) who, intent on the scientific requirements of precision 

1 Three lectures presented at the inauguration of the Rice Institute, by 
Professor Rafael Altamira, late Professor of the History of Spanish Law m 
The University of Oviedo, Director of Elementary Education m the Spanish 
Ministry of Public Instruction. 



and exactitude, exclude such problems from the sphere of 
science and disdain and abandon their investigation. 

In spite of such exclusion, the thinking classes of humanity 
(which are not limited to the professional scientists) persist 
In stating these problems and in asking questions relating to 
them or derived from them. These inquiries demonstrate 
that the problems themselves are a part of an inherent and 
natural curiosity within us, and are a necessity inseparable 
from the human spirit— at least as it has been constituted up 
to the present. We can say no more than this, for it should 
not be forgotten that all our observations regarding our own 
nature are based on what has emanated from a period of 
human life which may seem long, but which is short when 
considered in comparison with what that life may be pro- 
longed to in the future. Our hypothesis, given the present 
nature of our intelligence, can never, however fecund the 
imagination, exceed the finite number of occurrences which 
embraces the known reality. As this limitation to actual ex- 
perience is common to all the orders of our reason, it Is clear 
that we are obliged always to work upon the basis of our 
mind as it now is and has for some time presumably to con- 

The curiosity which belongs to our minds as to-day consti- 
tuted, then, inevitably causes at one time or another the same 
questions to be raised, and Impels even the professional 
scientists to formulate them, notwithstanding the futility of 
previous efforts. But If all this Is certain. It Is not less so 
that some of them, although lacking solutions unanimously 
accepted, begin to show, amid the medley of opinions in 
regard to them, a certain general orientation or certain 
points of common acquiescence which signify their advance 
toward a more scientific basis, a surer and more satisfactory 
ground than that hitherto occupied. It is this which Is occur- 



ring with the question of the Philosophy of History, and to 
signalize and determine In regard to this question that gen- 
eral orientation and those points of acquiescence seems to 
me a service that would be of Indisputable utility. 

It will be useful. In the first place, as a basis of future In- 
vestigation, as a basis of real progress on the road to a solu- 
tion,— on a road which Is, properly speaking, scientific,— 
since progress In the knowledge of things depends on the 
clarity and security of what has already been established. 
But It win also be useful for another reason, a consideration 
of a social character which professionals are In the habit of 
overlooking. I refer to the Influence exerted by their doc- 
trines on the masses among whom these doctrines become 
translated into lines of opinion and of conduct. For a scien- 
tist that which alone Is of importance and alone Is worthy of 
attention Is the truth or the error of a theory, and from 
this standpoint he may, and does, neglect all theories which 
appear to him untrue, discarding them from that which 
merits his attention. Thus, In the Philosophy of His- 
tory a providentialist will reject and disqualify the doctrines 
of a rationalist or those of a positivist, and vice versa, but 
neither one nor the other will be able to prevent these con- 
flicting doctrines from influencing large numbers of people 
and guiding them in not a few questions of their lives. With 
equal reason the contrary positions of those who admit a 
Philosophy of History and those who deny such a thing 
collide with and annul one another, but both are powerless 
before the fact that many people will accept one position or 
the other; and as, in the long run, that which matters is that 
which Influences the masses, the conflicting theories which 
claim the solution of these indecisive questions come to pos- 
sess for the sociologist, for the practical man, and for the 
historian himself a value which Is at best only equally pro- 


^v».-* -■-,- 


portioned to the scope of their diffusion and to the force of 
the conviction they produce. All, then, which may tend to 
eliminate divergences, discover points of contact, or, better 
expressing it, to intensify in the public mind the consciousness 
of common affirmations in what has arisen from distinct 
starting-points and systems,-affirmations which have not, 
perhaps, been realized by the majority,-is preparing the 
way for an ever greater homogeneity in thought and action. 
Now, of late years, in the sphere of the Philosophy of 
History, owing to the discussions which the actual statement 
and formulation of the question has produced, there has 
been a fairly concrete determination of factors and a clarifi- 
cation of ideas relating to the subject. Neither movement 
has descended to the great sphere of those who are non- 
specialist but cultured sufficiently to produce in it a favorable 
change of the same character; but this same lack of corre- 
spondence between the scientific position up to date and the 
sediment of antiquated and already scientifically rectified 
ideas which have passed down into the masses as accepted 
knowledge renders all the more necessary that labor of diffu- 
sion whose first effect has to be the clear determining and 
sizing up of fundamental opinions and authorities. The ne- 
cessity is all the greater in so far as one may consider in- 
cluded in the masses the large number of persons whom, at 
first sight, we should qualify as cultured, persons who have 
obtained university degrees and who undoubtedly possess 
wide information and clear intelligence. Thus, I have heard 
my book "The History of Spain and the Spanish Civiliza- 
tion" described as a work of historical philosophy, although 
it is simple and unmistakable narrative, simply because it 
contains, with the usual chapters on political history, others 
on what has been called Kultiirgeschichte, or internal his- 


This very common error signifies not just a vagueness in 
the conception of the Philosophy of History (vagueness 
there is as well, and in due course we shall examine it), but 
an absolute disorientation in which it is impossible to form 
any argument whatever or even make one's self intelligible 
to those laboring in the fallacy, for the simple reason that 
while employing the same name, they imply something 
wholly different. Let us begin, then, by rectifying this error, 
that it may once and for all be deleted from the public mind. 
Every history-book is pure narrative if it limits itself to re- 
lating facts. Although it may embrace in entirety every 
sphere in the whole life of a state, including the history of 
its thought in the various orders of the sciences and in those 
treating of human questions, it is not a book of Philosophy 
of History. It may be the work of an historian who does 
not believe that science possible or regards it as dissevered 
from his professional mission: his ideas in this respect will 
not in the least have been invalidated. 

Equally common with this error, and perhaps more so, 
there is another one more difficult of eradication and of 
graver consequences for the reason that it comes near, ap- 
parently, to the actual field of philosophy itself instead of 
being plainly and at a glance outside of it. This is the error 
in which, in the name of philosophy, Is inferred every 
generalization regarding historical facts. To those laboring 
in this error everything of a general character that may be 
gleaned from an individual history of concrete facts-the 
character of an institution in a given epoch, the dominant 
and central current in a series of events, the distinctive feat- 
ure of the history of a state, the trajectory and orientation of 
an order of ideas-is Philosophy of History. But as, apart 
from such works of erudition as are purely concrete and 
monographic, every historian must generalize without de- 


i'^^-ij^-* ^ «-,. '-I. 

■ : rJ^ 

, ,-, *>■ » T^y. 


parting from his own material of facts, it may be deduced, 
according to this criterion, that there will scarcely be a his- 
tory-book which is not philosophical. A book which sum- 
marizes in a great compendium, a great "synthesis," as it is 
commonly but erroneously expressed, the facts of a period, 
of an age, or of a state, and popular lectures which epitomize 
the great results of detailed investigation, would be Philos- 
ophy of History when, in general, they are rigorously limited 
to the field of what is narrative— that is to say, purely his- 
torical. The celebrated lectures, for example, on the "His- 
tory of Civilization in Europe," by Guizot, do not in any 
way possess the philosophical character, although their 
eloquent expression and the reflections and opinions often 
to be found in them which do not cover a ground that 
is, properly speaking, historical, added, moreover, to the lax 
and careless criticism of contemporaries to whom all this 
justly came as something new, led to the lectures being desig- 
nated by many as philosophical. Generally speaking, one 
may afiirm, on the contrary, that every generalization about 
facts, while it remains a generalization, and however ab- 
stract be its character, is not philosophical. What always 
result from it are facts, very general, very comprehensive, 
but, in the end and in the long run, facts. Laws themselves, 
or the course they follow in a more or less extended period, 
are likewise facts, although of an abstract character. They 
express what is the line and orientation of individual hap- 
penings; they do not explain them philosophically or, to be 
more precise, metaphysically, 

I have now just enunciated what, in my opinion, is a basal 
quality in the Philosophy of History; but, to avoid confu- 
sion, it will be necessary to define it. Every explanation of 
facts is not a philosophic explanation. Naturally it is not so 
w^hen it treats of causes which are directly or indirectly his- 




torical— that is to say, determines temporal origins and 
precedents, the factors behind an appearance and effect, the 
necessity of a phenomenon in a given moment. No one will 
describe as philosophical the explanation of the collapse of 
the Invincible Armada, an explanation which is entirely con- 
fined to the most concrete facts and as historical as any in the 
world; nevertheless many other analogous explanations of 
greater or less significance than the above are still described 
with manifest equivocation as philosophical. The explana- 
tion of the Hellenic genius and culture as a consequence of 
oriental origins, of such and such Influences derived from the 
geographical situation of that people, is equally not of a 
philosophic character. All such explanation moves entirely 
amid temporal causes and on a ground which is purely his- 
torical, however vast and general Its embrace of the concrete 
facts and data. For the explanation to assume a philosophic 
character It must treat not of temporal but of permanent 
causes and must Inclose facts in a metaphysical impulsion and 
causality outside of the field of history. It is not without 
purpose that the science under consideration Is called Phi- 
losophy of History (of human history. It is clear), which 
means that it is a philosophic science and ought to be treated 
according to Its nature and not on historical lines. The 
antagonism between the Philosophy of History and the His- 
tory of Philosophy, which has been shown and explained by 
certain schools of thinkers, defines thoroughly the distinctive 
character of each of these sciences, notwithstanding that the 
terms employed in them are identical: the different relative 
position of both terms In each of the two cases signalizes 
plainly the opposition in question. 

It is necessary, then, to abandon all false conceptions of 
the science concerned with these reflections in order to place 
ourselves In the actual field with which it corresponds. Once 



settled there, the discussion of the problems belonging to this 
science becomes disentangled because we know now the value 
of the words employed and are no longer in the plight of 
discussing indefinitely and without understanding one an- 
other two things which have nothing else in common but the 
name we give them, a name which is applicable only to one. 

With this point settled, it is now possible to propound the 
first question of the Philosophy of History, which is precisely 
that now most under discussion in our times- to wit, the pos- 
sibility of the science in question. In any case this would 
have to be the first question to be discussed and to be solved; 
for, what would be the use of fantastically pursuing the prin- 
ciples of a science devoid of all reality-that is to say, impos- 
sible? We should be involved in a labor that is not only 
useless but pernicious, through the false ideas that would be 


Before examining this question and expressing in regard 
to it, if necessary, a personal opinion, it is important to sepa- 
rate it from another which is often confounded with it, the 
one prejudging the other with its own solution. It is one 
thing to question the possibility of a Philosophy of History, 
be what it may the field of science in which it is established, 
and it is another thing to inquire if historians as such are 
capable of creating it, or even merely if its existence concerns 
or ought to concern them. The distinction between these 
two questions is all the more necessary in so far as many 
treatises have dealt only with the second of the two, and 
presumed, in the solution of it, to have solved the first and 
fundamental question. In reality, the second question, as 
It is commonly propounded, is beside the point. If the 
Philosophy of History, given that It Is possible, is a philo- 
sophic and not an historical science, it clearly follows that it 
devolves not on the historian but on the philosopher to for- 


mulate and clarify it. It is legitimate and comprehensible on 
the part of the historian to declare himself as such incompe- 
tent; to refuse to employ his energies in the investigation 
of an aspect of human history which does not concern him; 
and to demand the requisite time and energy for what does. 
For this reason it is a strong position which has been adopted 
by those who, under the title of historians, refuse to busy 
themselves with that problem, and even regard it as per- 
nicious that it should be mixed with those peculiar to history; 
basing their opinion either on the supposition that the char- 
acter of historical knowledge fundamentally prohibits a 
philosophical explanation, or on the supposition that the 
actual position of historical science does not as yet authorize 
it.i Observe, however, that the majority of those of this 
opinion admit that outside the sphere of history, in the field 
of other science, the problem is legitimate and is one that 
may be formulated and considered. If he wishes to abide in 
his own sphere, it is not the professional historian who will 
study it, but of the results of the investigations which others 
have accomplished he will be able to take advantage.^ 

It is clear of course that this does not exclude a historian 
from studying the Philosophy of History, just as he may be 
interested in astronomy or any other science, nor can It be 
denied that in the fact of his being a historian his prepara- 
tion In the study of the problem is the more adequate for a 
deep penetration into a given one of its aspects.^ The natu- 

1 An exposition of the situation of that question to date is to be found in 
my tok '"tions of Modern History" (Madrid, 1904), Introduction and 

^^/5ne'of"the scientific weaknesses in many authorities on the PhHosophy of 

History who would be styled classical-and even of not a few mode n ph - 

^sophers-consists in their not being or not havmg been sufficiently At.- 

S that they do not see the problem in its essential historical per pec- 

ive and that they have failed to fulfil that exigency which Dilthey ( Em- 

es^'n^ni de Gentenvissenschaften'') formulated, saying: 'The thinker who 

akes fs his obkct the historical world, ought to be intimately acquainted with 

tht immediate material of history and should be entirely the master of his 




ral supposition, in fact, is that it will be the historian who 
will be interested in that problem because the constant vision 
of the historical material will continually produce in him a 
desire for an explanation transcending the mere facts them- 
selves; and, in any case, as a man of intelligence he will be 
brought up against the problem, though he may not embark 
on the solution of it. Nor, moreover, in the preceding affir- 
mations relative to the independence of position between 
the scientific sphere and the philosophical is there any denial 
of the intimate bond which unites them, and in virtue 
of which not only does the philosopher require, as was said, 
to be master of historical matter, but the historian will find 
in philosophy a force which, although it is not his business to 
create it, will help him in the handling of his data. 

Now, it is quite another thing to state the objection in 
regard to a Philosophy of History to the philosophers them- 
selves, basing one's position on the present status of our 
knowledge of the history of mankind. Such an objection- 
distinct from that embodied in this argument against the pos- 
sibility merely of the ''historians'' creating a Philosophy of 
History— may be based on an affirmation of that strict inter- 
dependence in which, we affirm, both terms are to be found. 
Kohlen has expressed it in a decisive manner with reference 
to the Philosophy of Law: "Without a universal history of 
law a true juridic philosophy is as impossible as is a philos- 
ophy of humanity without a similar history of mankind and 
a philosophy of language without linguistics." This, then, 
denies for all men the possibility of a Philosophy of History, 
although only so long as it fails to fulfil that fundamental 
requisite of previous acquaintance with the facts in all the 
amplitude necessary that it may be possible to philosophize 
about them; and, to my mind, this is the strongest objection 



that can be opposed to the present possibility of a Philosophy 

of History. 

As a matter of fact, it is only by the force of habit and the 
suggestion exerted by those books (that is to say, the doc- 
trines elaborated in them and the systems formulated, which 
give the false appearance of something perfect and conclu- 
sive) that we say and even believe that we are acquainted 
with the History of Humanity. Certain it is that consider- 
able in range as is our historical information, and although 
that information has augmented so vastly in one century in 
regard to the above branch of history in particular, and 
become perfected in certitude and thoroughness, there still 
remains much for us to learn, still many points of obscurity 
and vagueness, many facts and theories in suspense; and that 
on a basis so imperfect any philosophic structure will be 
flimsy, collapsing at the least pressure. For, if we do not 
possess our facts securely and in entirety, how can we build 
upon them anything stable or secure? To the immense force 
embodied in this argument is due the most useful and fruitful 
of the results which modern criticism has produced in the 
discussion of the problem now before us. By dint of this 
argument has been demonstrated the inconsistency between 
systems relating to the Philosophy of History constructed a 
priori by writers who, in not a few cases, are ranked among 
the great. This failure was merited, as merited is the smile 
with which, to-day, we regard, for example, that infantile 
endeavor to inwrap the history of mankind in periods or 
ages of development which limited the future and closed up 
the eternity of life. In drawing up a clear table of all in 
these systems which was warrantable and final, the criticism 
of the professional historians has constituted a service to 
science of immense value, clearing the road so that it should 
be unobstructed by pseudo-scientific— though some of them 



colossal— structures which would render it difficult to make 
the labor of the future step by step and in certainty. It is 
true, however, that it has produced also a pernicious skep- 
ticism in many people who, with the precipitancy so natural 
and difficult to check in human nature when a definite conclu- 
sion is arrived at and a judgment passed, have confused the 
breakdown of the Philosophy of History as interpreted by 
certain authors with the total collapse of the whole science. 
To convince the public of the error of assuming the second 
issue as a consequence of the first is in fact one of the duties 
of men of science in the social aspect of their labor. 

Let us return now to the starting-point of these considera- 
tions. To deny the present possibility of a Philosophy of 
History because we do not as yet know enough of the history 
of mankind is not to deny its possibility absolutely and for- 
ever; agreed, however, on this point, the affirmation which 
has led us to it reappears and confronts us. We are still at 
grips with the fundamental problem. In short, if it is proved 
that it is definitely impossible for us to arrive at that initial 
historical knowledge which has to be the basis of a scientific 
philosophy regarding it, or if it is true, as many believe, that 
historical knowledge is incapable of scientific qualities and 
even of precision and of certitude, then to philosophize about 
it will be eternally impossible. The problem, therefore, is 
transferred to another ground and obliges us to discuss pre- 
viously all those questions alluded to, and which in our days 
cover, as is known, an extensive literature. From the dis- 
cussion as to the degree of generalization which is possible 
in regard to facts about humanity (a discussion maintained 
on the extreme wing by Xenopol, who denied that there 
could be any generalization), to the transference of history 
wholly and solely into the field of science, the series of minor 
problems presented in the different opinions upheld by the 

specialists to-day require to be tackled and cleared up in 
order that we may either be free of all incubus in the affirma- 
tion of a Philosophy of History or else abandon the dream 
of its possibility. It would be long and wearisome here and 
now to enter on this task which I have already elsewhere 
accomplished.! j ^in refer only to the conclusion I there 
arrived at, and take my stand upon it under the plea of a 
personal opinion. The doctrine may be thus epitomized: 
In the present situation of our knowledge relating to these 
questions, and of the opinion of men of science respecting 
them, there is a decided weakness to be observed in the ar- 
guments employed to deny the scientific character (the 
possibility of such) in history, either because the general con- 
ception of science renders it possible to-day to state the prob- 
lem with a different meaning to that of Aristotle, or because 
it is not so certain as is commonly believed that history is 
confined purely to the observation of individual facts, form- 
ing itself into a narrative without any generalization (of a 
more or less abstract character, that is, as all generalizations 
are), in which each fact conserves its unique and differential 
characteristic and only on the strength of it is mentioned. 
For myself, personally, however, the crux of the problem is 
not in whether historical knowledge conforms or not to the 
Aristotelian definition of science, and whether it is suscep- 
tible to abstractions of greater or less amplitude, but in 
whether it can attain those qualities of truth, clearness and 
certainty which distinguish scientific from vulgar knowledge. 
If to the scheme and elaboration of true, evident and certain 
knowledge which has as its objective the facts about human- 
ity in time and space (and derives from that objective its 
own internal coherence) is begrudged the denomination 

1 In the book mentioned previously, "Questions of Modern History," Chap- 
ter III, No. 3. 




^'scientific/' the question at issue is solely the question of a 
name. What matters is that our knowledge of man and of 
the manifestations of society in past ages shall arrive, by 
means of a rigorous employment of the critical methods of 
investigation, at being as certain as our knowledge about 
Nature and the facts concerning her, though neither one nor 
the other, either to the observer or to the experimentalist, 
delivers the totality of its abundant and (from day to day at 
least) mysterious contents. 

The objection, then, which, if valid, would make it impos- 
sible forever, through lack of a foundation, to philosophize 
about the history of mankind, possesses no scientific author- 
ity for opposing an insuperable barrier to this philosophic 
aspiration; but it does serve most effectively to moderate 
impatience and to check precipitancy in the task of solving 
the main problem, showing the connection between this 
problem and many questions of importance still under dis- 
cussion, revealing also its complexity and suggesting that 
even on the strong basis of a personal conviction rooted in 
the feeling that a right solution is arrived at, we are to pre- 
serve the judicious cautiousness which is characteristic of the 
truly scientific mind, and which safeguards against the pos- 
sibility of error and makes us respectful toward contrary 
opinions. All that may avoid that suspicious simplification 
of a problem in easy terms— only subjectively arrived at 
while the problem itself is divested of many elements in- 
herent in its complexity and which we fancifully qualify as 
incidental— and that provides us with the maximum quantity 
of proofs in support of our opinions by probing them and 
developing them with every kind of verification and analy- 
sis, will become a guarantee in support of our conclusion 
and of the doctrinal fabric we erect on it. It is for this rea- 
son that I have been explaining and examining the principal 




objections to a Philosophy of History and the errors and 
confusions of thought in regard to it which draw into a dis- 
tinct field— and one conducive to confusions— the interpreta- 
tion of the name. 

Over and above all this cautiousness and reservation, how- 
ever, stands out one fact which even the most decided an- 
tagonist of a Philosophy of History has to recognize, not 
only as a reality but as a thing of importance and significance. 
This fact is the persistence in the human mind— in every man 
who thinks at all about the world and about life— of those 
fundamental interrogatories in regard to the actual problem 
of the philosophy in question. 

It is true that, in view of the potential immensity of future 
history and the paucity of that at our disposal (as was 
observed not many months ago by your compatriot Profes- 
sor Sloane^, the persistence in humanity or in great masses 
of it, of a given idea or preoccupation does not in itself al- 
ways signify that the notion or ideal in question is consub- 
stantial with our nature, since it may well be a survival, a 
vibration from primitive stages of thought not yet modified, 
and to which, in fact (in that relative value of time), w^e are 
chronologically very near. For this reason it is not a plau- 
sible argument in support of the necessity of an idea or a 
belief that for many centuries down to the present a more or 
less considerable number of people have supported it and 
held it to be something fundamental. The future may 
wholly disillusion us. But if we ascertain that a definite idea 
or an ideal exists throughout mankind and is the stronger in 
a man according to his degree of culture — in an inverse rela- 
tion to other spiritual phenomena, which exist principally on 
a sentimental basis and are rooted above all in the uncul- 

1 "The Vision and Substance of History," address delivered at Buffalo, New 
York, December 27, 191 1. Published in "The American Historical Review," 
January, 1912. 





tured masses or where culture is inclpient-we have a very 
powerful argument in favor of its essential necessity for us. 
It is this which occurs with the problem of the Philosophy of 
History. Be it with a clear understanding of their meaning, 
their classification in the Encyclopedia of the Sciences, or be 
it without ever suspecting the relationship they bear to that, 
great masses of people are to-day, as in the first stages of 
civilization, formulating questions which correspond to the 
fundamental problems of our science; and each individual 
unit in those masses answers these questions from the point 
of view of a religion, a system of philosophy, or simply that 
of a common sphere of culture which finds reflection in him- 
self or in which he has been educated. 

It is true that many people pass through life without ex- 
periencing a moment in which those questions flash before 
their consciousness, because the material occupations of the 
daily struggle for existence leave no room for attention to 
other questions. It is equally true that among those who 
have broken free from this material incarceration, and even 
among those who move by custom in an intellectual circle, 
these questions pass often enough like swiftly flying sparks 
rapidly extinguished, or do not acquire that standard of im- 
portance which is given to a question as the result of deep 
preoccupation. For a long time, owing to doctrinal consid^ 
erations arising from the predominance of certain philo- 
sophic systems (philosophic although some of them dis- 
countenance philosophy), there has existed an indifference 
and an apathy on the part of many people in regard to those 
questions. Although there has been a reaction in this re- 
spect, it is a fact that the number is still large of those who 
fail to appreciate their urgency— a fact, however, which 
depends on general causes traceable to the conditions of our 
modern life. The feverish activity, the superficiality and 


show in which the majority exist, cause our moments of pri- 
vacy and meditation, of communion of the spirit with itself 
and of self-examination in regard to life, to become more 
difficult and rare. Distracted by the outside spectacle, we 
lose the habit of self-examination and become deaf to the 
promptings of the soul, and often enough we pass through 
life in ignorance of the exalted curiosity within us. At times, 
in moments of brief solitude and thought, these questions 
suddenly appear to us, but the intellectual effort required in 
pursuing them, and the time they would demand, make us 
shy and half afraid of them, with the result that we suppress 
them and continue as though in ignorance of their presence, 
until, in another moment of doubt, anguish, discouragement 
or pessimism in which the mind has nothing to fall back upon 
or other resources but its own, they reappear before us, 
without, however, our ever possessing the hope of findmg 
time or opportunity for their consideration and their answer. 
Such a state of inattention to the problem is not enough, 
then, to deny that it exists; this state of mind, on the con- 
trary, continually affirms the problem as a presence. When- 
ever we wish to hear its voice, it is with the utmost clearness 
that the voice echoes, and this in itself will be enough to 
guide us in the circumstances. 

The historian derives a knowledge, or what he believes to 
be a knowledge, of the principal facts concerning the history 
of mankind; he traces the rise and fall of the great empires; 
he describes in its separate stages the process of civilization, 
its oscillating and, at times, contradictory movement, the 
advantage to one state of the labor of another which it re- 
sumes and carries on, the things which have been accom- 
plished in modern times, and the trajectory and law of 
development of institutions and aspirations regarded as 
fundamental in importance ; and then, over and above all 



this remain those same great, disquieting questions which 
embody the whole program of the Philosophy of History: 
Where and toward what is mankind traveling? Is there a 
goal of which, at present, it is ignorant, but toward which is 
moving the central current of its history? Is it being im- 
pelled toward that end by something beyond and transcen- 
dental to it? What is its significance and value in the whole, 
in the general process of the universe? Is it the creature of 
chance, or has it an orientation and direction? And if it has, 
can we deduce that movement through such of the facts 
about humanity as we have knowledge of? Does there exist 
in the actual conditions of its life some other foundation 
than the corner-stone of history? And, following from all 
this, what state is it which marks or is to mark the triumph 
of that history, the culminating situation most nearly ap- 
proaching and conforming to the purpose of the universe? 
Is it possible to define and predict for the future some main 
path for man, or is the Philosophy of History ever restricted 
to the limits of the present? Of the utmost clarity for every 
one engaged in the investigation of those questions which 
history, deeply contemplated, raises, must be the real and 
logical hierarchy which exists between them. Not all are on 
the same level, not all are equally far-reaching, and if I may 
use a phrase which is unscientific and inexact but which well 
reflects what would be thought by an uneducated person 
(that is to say, by the majority of people), they are not all 
equally philosophical, but some more so and others less. 
This question of a hierarchy and of a relative importance 
possesses a greater significance than would at first sight be 
imagined, because if we regard it as a proper and well- 
founded one, it at once brings us to the point as to whether 
or not the professionals, the writers who have propounded 
scientifically the problem of the Philosophy of History, have 



grasped in fact the whole and entire problem, or whether 
they have limited themselves merely to the study of some one 
or several of the questions it embodies, and perhaps to some 
of them which, compared with those embracing the main 
object of the science, would be called secondary; and more 
than this, we are even led to the question whether it may 
not be the case that, while preoccupied with what they re- 
garded as the real problem, they were not confining them- 
selves, through an error of perspective, to aspects of history 
quite general and comprehensive in themselves, but above 
which they have never risen, never attaining a transcen- 
dental vision in the true philosophic field to which they 
were aspiring. I am not far from thinking that it has been 
thus in the majority of cases, at least with those great 
systems which have attempted a fundamental revolution in 
the Philosophy of History. I do not allude by this to the 
observation, continually reiterated by the critics and some of 
the most recent exponents in the matter, that the majority of 
these systems, if not all of them, losing sight of the complex 
nature of the problem, have given an ingenuous explanation 
of the History of Mankind to which is owing their failure or 
insufficiency. I refer to that which, apart from the degree of 
comprehensiveness in the problem they embrace, it is impos- 
sible to ask in regard to whether those systems embark on 
the true problem of the Philosophy of History, on which 
problem depends a series of others to be called consequences, 
or whether, on the contrary, it is not from one of these self- 
same "consequences'' or minor problems that they have 
arisen, the minor being mistaken for the greater problem in 
whose solution rests that of all the others. That this equivo- 
cation is clear in Montesquieu, in Rousseau, in Voltaire ever 
so much more so, and in other authors of an analogous sci- 
entific standing in relation to the Philosophy of History,— 


that they failed to get abreast of the question and seriously 
tackle Its solutIon,-no one will deny. But even with the 
great masters of the school, the same doubt is legitimate, 
and the decision may be actually against them. Will it be 
said that Herder, notwithstanding the discrimination with 
which he subordinated to the more general standpoint those 
secondary questions which were almost the only preoccupa- 
tion of his predecessors in the century, actually raises in his 
problem of the factors and issues of the History of Mankind 
the real and basic question of the Philosophy of History? 
Was it approached by Kant in his own explanation of human 
progress— that is, the solution which is offered to the conflict 
between individual liberty and the general welfare-in the 
State? After this is there no room, even when the Kantian 
solution is accepted, for questions regarding the metaphys- 
ical problem of the plan of history, questions above and 
beyond the antagonism of individual liberties among them- 
selves—that is to say, questions of a more general and 
comprehensive character, by the side of which the above is 
subordinate and over concrete? And In spite of the incon- 
testable grandeur of the conception of Hegel, are we not 
left, perhaps, with the impression that in reality it lowers 
and depreciates the problem and denies it what should be a 
higher point of view, In which the development of the moral 
conscience, of freedom, and of the functions of the State be- 
comes subordinated? The observation of history and its 
mode of development, and the Interpretation of It exclusively 
from the viewpoint of a standard of ethics, notwithstanding 
a metaphysical quality, is yet something which too nearly ap- 
proaches a broad but, in certain respects, very concrete vision 
of historical development which allows a vaster and remoter 
problem to float above it. Yet clearer is this in Comte and 
his disciples, and in Marx and his, the character of whose 


philosophies is purely an analysis of the factors behind the 
phenomena of human history, factors which only explain 
these phenomena in a secondary manner. Even in the acutest 
and most comprehensive of these systems the mind is not left 
satisfied as when one has set hands on the real solution to a 
problem; it feels (and I say it without wishing to depreciate 
the value of those investigations and the clear light they have 
thrown on the movements of mankind) that there is some- 
thing still wanting, something greater which remains unan- 
swered, and which, if answered, would respond more fully 
to aspirations, properly speaking, philosophical. 

I regard as scientifically legitimate this dissatisfaction of 
the mind even with the profoundest and minutest analysis of 
human progress. I am also of opinion that the problem of 
the Philosophy of Human History ought not to be wholly 
limited to the two questions formulated by Herder,— on the 
value of that history and the conditions in regard to its de- 
velopment,-since, although, in the consideration of the 
latter question, there may have been a glimpse of the ulti- 
mate and basic problem, the systems soon settle down into a 
mere analysis of conditions and a generalization about the 

facts of history which is secondary to the main problem 

That which cannot be described as an explanation of human 
facts by other facts of a like nature (they may be as general 
and fundamental as you like, but that does not affect their 
nature) cannot be described as history; and thus, what has 
by some schools of thinkers been called the ''anatomy'' and 
the ''physiology" (or the "psychology,'' from another stand- 
point) of human action, is not Philosophy of History.^ 

1 It Is in not passing from that narrow standpoint that those claiming to 
have construed doctrines and systems of a Philosophy of History have been 
able to introduce and discuss the question of the anticipation of future his- 
tory In the concrete conception of this question it has been attirmed: Hu- 
manity, in the future, will act in such and such a way, and attain such and 
such standards of civilization and development." The question is neither 


And now, in conclusion, there remains this culminating 
question: Does there exist any actual reality and basis cor- 
responding to that aspiration of ours towards a transcenden- 
tal explanation of what is a greater problem than all those 
scientifically formulated until now in the so-called Philos- 
ophy of History, or is it a pure whim and caprice of the 
spirit that is never to be satisfied? To this question I do not 
believe we can provide at present a scientific answer; but I 
should point out that neither our present nor permanent 
impotence regarding the solution of what is an idealistic 
problem can banish that problem from the mind, which con- 
tinues to formulate it as an aspiration that is ineradicable 
and to which it is forever hopeful of finding a solution. 

And lastly we should remember, in order that the logical 
statement of the problem may leave no loophole of uncer- 
tainty, that the questions in which we embody the main sub- 
stance of the Philosophy of History do not, in their 
formulation, prejudge an affirmative answer, nor is such an 
answer an ineludible necessity for their existence. Although 
our answer to all these questions were in the negative, they 
would continue to be problems present in our minds— so 
long, that is, as the answer is not indisputably a scientific 
one; and even if it were, it would, none the less, be legiti- 
mate material for a Philosophy of History as real and 
settled as if it answered in the affirmative those same inter- 
rogations which for the majority of men correspond to a 
desire, latent but ineradicable, to see explained in an or- 
dered, rational and scientific method, according to the gen- 
eral plan of the whole universe, the Life of Man. 

permissible nor can it be included in the field of the Philosophy of History. 
Thus, Meyer is right (in his "History of Antiquity") when he judges that 
such predictions are impossible, since in that which is generally referred to, 
the individual element predominates, escaping all prognostication; and 
affirms, always from that standpoint, that history only allows of comproba- 
tion, and not of any fixing of the future. 


For this reason the essential necessity of a Philosophy of 
History depends neither on a special solution of its problems 
nor on the actual possibility of a solution being afforded 
them. It arises principally from the presence of the prob- 
lem in our minds and from the corroborated fact that the 
highest expression of what, as concerns our history. Is called 
progress, consists in the awakening of humanity to the ideal- 
istic quality behind its actions, of the things it is accustomed 
to perform In ignorance of their value and significance; and 
In the guidance of his life by man, ever increasingly, through 
the medium of that consciousness and with an ever clearer 
vision of the ''why and wherefore'' of things. To assist, by 
due attention to this problem, in promoting the study of it, 
and, some day (whenever that may be), the solution of it, 
is more reasonable and human than to bang the door upon it 
with an a priori negative against its possibility, or than to 
belittle and discard it. 







Second Lecture 

HAVING tackled the main problem of the Philosophy 
of History, we should now ascertain what practical 
issues have arisen from the study of those would-be philo- 
sophic problems undertaken by the specialists, and what, in 
this connection, deserves further attention. 

We saw, it will be remembered, that all these so-called sys- 
tems of a Philosophy of History, all the interpretations of 
this science to which the above name has been arrogated, 
have been limited, in reality, to the scope of history, tran- 
scending this field only in brief moments of the investigation 
or in theological conceptions which we are not concerned 
with. But, although none of the systems in question may 
have afforded a real basis for the science they proposed, they 
have served, on the other hand, in no small measure as a 
means of deepening our conception of history itself and of 
widening our vision of it, while revealing all that is em- 
braced in what is called historical material, determining the 
more important and decisive factors which (some of them 
in distinct periods or epochs, others at all times) are at play 
in the action of mankind. In spite of the exaggerations 
which in most of these systems are conspicuous, and in some 
notorious, it is an undeniable fact, once having discarded the 
false, unilateral pretension common to nearly all of them 
and transferred them to their own sphere of history, in 
which such of their investigations as are of value may be 
developed, that to the science of historiography they have 
rendered immense services, at once widening its horizon and 

revealing the complexity of human labor which each one of 
them has studied in an aspect not infrequently as real as it 
was hitherto unrealized. We can appreciate the positive 
fruits of these investigations on observing the great differ- 
ence between our method to-day of conceiving and writing 
history and that which prevailed some centuries ago ; and 
even, it may be said, between the historians of the seven- 
teenth century and those of the nineteenth. The method- 
ologists, advancing theoretically ahead of the historiograph- 
ers (the latter exerting themselves to fulfil the exigencies of 
the former and turning to account the suggestions obtained 
from the "philosophers" of history, or at times actually 
raising systems of their own by way of experiment and illus- 
tration-^.^., Taine), have paved the way for our modern 
conception, ever becoming wider and profounder, of human 
history. And this labor, which has enabled us to elucidate 
man's past with ever increasing vividness and with a keener 
penetration of its meaning, is a solid basis on which we may 
hope to find an answer to several of the questions which are 
suggested to us in the contemplation of that past. Starting, 
then, from such a basis, with all due prudence and a rigorous 
employment of those critical methods of investigation which 
are essential if one is to avoid wandering into fantasies (fan- 
tasies, though, not necessarily philosophic in pretension), we 
shall be able often enough to arrive at conclusions of real 
scientific value, while other hypotheses will serve as a scaf- 
folding for subsequent investigation. And as this field em- 
braces what is positive and certain, and all that we are inter- 
ested in, deriving from a great portion of the moral and 
political applications of historical knowledge, it is our busi- 
ness to approach and examine it rather than sacrifice It to 
the lure of a higher and remoter explanation, which, even if 
possible, In no way excludes the above study nor renders it 





useless. Within purely terrestrial alms and limitations of 
which we ourselves are cognizant-that is to say, human 
aims, of human interest-while equally, also, in our legiti- 
mate' anxiety to understand more fully the way in which, 
from one moment to another, a community conceives its task 
and function in the world and tackles and solves the prob- 
lems which are its own, what is of immediate consequence is 
the investigation of all those historical elements which may 
afford us the knowledge we require and establish our con- 
clusions; for, in the long run, that in the study of history 
which descends among the crowd and interests it, is the criti- 
cal estimation in which, as a result of historiography, each 
historical epoch and entity is held, and the estimation of the 
general movement of mankind in regard to the question of 
social development or ^'progress" as we define it, though 
with error, since a meaning is, in this connection, attributed 
to the word which implies actual betterment, improvement. 
Clearly such a point of view will be a very subjective and un- 
certain one, since it entails that each epoch judges past ages 
according to its own social and moral criterion, and this 
criterion is not eternally the same; but there is no other 
standpoint open to us, nor can there ever be another, with 
the result that our only course is to reconcile ourselves to the 
manner and circumstances in which these questions must be 
considered and in which they have attracted us. If we are 
bent on verifying history ever more widely and more pre- 
cisely, it is not for the simple esthetic pleasure of knowing 
things, of reading or hearing narratives as children read and 
are told stories, but for the object of explaining to ourselves 
why men have acted in such and such a manner, of apportion- 
ing their responsibility and forming our opinions about their 
conduct. Whether or not we are conscious of this object, it 
is this which is the initial force behind our curiosity regard- 




Ing history, our researches either aiming at an explanation 
and justification of that particular national or political ag- 
gregate to which we may belong, or a criticism of the others 
foreign to It; and the judgments and appreciations which are 
left over in our minds from these researches are factors 
which determine the conduct we pursue In our own private 
sphere of action and in our relationship with other minds. 
From a broader and more disinterested standpoint, above 
mere national distinctions, we are desirous, also, of learning 
the road humanity is taking in what we suppose to be a 
definite trajectory toward a more perfect state; what actual 
advances have so far been achieved; and what are the surest 
means, such as the experience of history has confirmed, for 
guaranteeing and augmenting this improvement. And here. 
In this higher sphere, that which in the other province of con- 
crete criticisms and estimations regarding given communities 
amounts to a conflict between national Influences and inter- 
ests, is now a conflict of general theories about life, of dis- 
tinct methods and systems of organization, a conflict for 
priority between such and such factors in the life of man 
which, on the supposed justification of history, claim, in re- 
gard to that life, the right to be made the controller of It.^ 

And this practical Issue which men deduce from historical 
investigation adds a new value to it over and above what it 
represents In the sphere of pure speculation, and Is one of 
the motives on which Its study may be justified against those 
combating it, in the name of a common utilitarianism which 
Is eternally In doubt but forever reappearing. 

The investigation which is proposed here embraces the 
two points of view referred to, responding to the suggestion 
of the theme taken by Dr. Edgar Odell Lovett, President of 
the Rice Institute, for the present inaugural celebrations. 
We shall discuss first of all, as a general question, the prob- 




lem of the history of mankind, following this with a special 
investigation into the Spanish backgrounds of American his- 

The general problem of human history, as we shall inter- 
pret it, is the problem of "civilization," or, as it is also ex- 
pressed, of "progress." Is the process of human civilization 
something continual and indefinite? Is civilization a thing 
which is permanent, transmissible, and which grows in succes- 
sive stages? What is the actual stage of civilization we of 
this era have arrived at, taking the criterion of humanity in 
general, or of those we regard as the most highly developed 
groups of it? These are the first questions which the prob- 
lem raises. By what means is civilization produced? What, 
in consequence, is the procedure to be adopted in order to 
insure and further it? These are the questions which imme- 
diately follow. 

Now, as regards both series of questions the answer is 
naturally to be sought in history, since civilization is an his- 
torical fact. This historical fact, however, has been trans- 
lated in our minds into a conception, or, to define better this 
appellation of "civilized" which we apply to certain ways 
and customs, certain principles of life and conduct adopted 
by men in their relations with one another (as distinct from 
other ways which we should not describe as civilized), into 
an idealistic criterion— a classification, that is, of the par- 
ticular conception and ideal we stand for. It is thus that the 
first question to be considered and settled is the question of 
the exact categorical meaning we shall agree upon for the 
word in which are embodied all those different principles and 
customs— that is to say, the first question to be answered is: 
What is civilization? As regards the common meaning of 
the word, the vague acceptance accorded it, such as is usually 




accorded words, and which admits of their use in conversa- 
tion and even in books without the necessity, on each occa- 
sion, of explaining them, the answer to the above question 
would appear simple. Yet, nevertheless, as occurs in so 
many other cases when one endeavors to fix the meaning of 
a term, there is not merely a variation in the acceptance of 
this word among different people,-a variation, let it be 
noted, singularly conspicuous among professionals and 
specia'lists,-but often enough an utter contradiction. 

A rapid inquiry into the principal interpretations of the 
word "civilization" will enable us to become master of this 
difficulty on which, sooner or later, one inevitably stumbles. 
... We will discard, at the outset, that acceptance of the 
word, common in modern historiography and prevalent as 
early as the eighteenth century, according to which the his- 
tory of civilization {Kulturgeschichte) is held in contraposi- 
tion to "political history," or which also makes the term 
"history of civilization" synonymous with the internal his- 
tory of communities in opposition to what is external history, 
and comprehensive only of political facts, or rather that sec- 
tion of political facts most superficial and least permanent in 
character.* Such a contradistinction is illogical because 
there is no justification for it in fact. The history of man 
has not evolved in this fashion, divided into two funda- 
mentally separate branches of equal magnitude; and, more- 
over, there are no grounds for maintaining that many— or, 
in fact, any-of the facts of political history are extraneous 
and immaterial to the sphere of civilization. . . . Rid, how- 
ever, of this illogical distinction, we are still faced and 
obstructed by the twofold difficulty that among the defini- 
tions of civilization offered under the title of scientific there 

1 On this question also reference should be made to the book previously 



are scarcely two that coincide/ and that the criterion by 
which a community judges its own and other civilizations is 
not common and the same for all-at least, that is, when it 
is a question of fixing the basic and essential characteristic of 

the civilized state. 

As a first group of opinions may be mentioned those ac- 
cording to which '^civilization*' designates, inexclusively, the 
general situation in any country which has graduated through 
a certain phase of development in Its intellectual and mate- 
rial life,— the requisite development in question being fixed 
as the Invention of the use of Iron, or the discovery of the art 
of writing, or any other analogous event prior to which man 
would be described as without culture, as "barbarous" or 
"savage." Dismissing, however, the doubts and uncer- 
tainties raised by this artificial limit, all that need be em- 
phasized Is the general standpoint shared by all the opinions 
in this category, and In virtue of which such expressions are 
used as "the civilization of Egypt" or "the civilization of 
Greece," terms embracing in totality the life of each, inclu- 
sive of all phases, good or bad, concomitant or not with true 
"civilization" In the modern acceptance of the word. Thus 
the historian who with this criterion and terminology de- 
scribes the civilization of Greece will not exclude as a phase 
and feature of It either the slave system or the Greek re- 
ligion, though the one appear to him unjust and the other 


Diametrically opposed to this Interpretation of the term 
Is the category of opinions which, starting from a given dog- 
matic conception of civilization, partly ethical and In part 
material, excludes from the scope of the word anything which 

1 It is unnecessary to formulate here a list of these definitions; any one can 
find them out from the well known writers on the subject,— to quote, for ex- 
ample, several tendencies: Guizot, Burke, Gumplowicz, Henry George, Kidd, 
MetchnikofiF, Tolstoy, etc. 



is not adjustable to this conception; so that out of what is 
called the civilization of a given people, or of man In gen- 
eral, would be abstracted as uncivilized and barbarous many 
phases-not invariably the same-which according to the 
other terminology would be left included. In this group 
may be included all those authors who hold to be essential, 
before a people or a person may be called civilized, either a 
certain development in regard to material conditions or a 
certain standard of attainment respecting moral relationship 
and conduct. It is clear, of course, that such a category of 
opinions becomes divided into an Infinity of sub-groups, ac- 
cording as the writer judges that It is impossible to regard 
as compatible with the ideal of civilization-being typical 
only of the barbarian or savage-the lack (according to his 
view) of justice and morality in such and such orders of life, 
or the need of a given religious faith, or the absence of such 
and such Ideals, or of certain conditions of culture, comfort, 
hygiene, etc. And this diversity of opinion becomes still 
further complicated when, as often happens, It Is not merely 
that human manifestations are split up into two categories, 
but further than this, that one or more of them, in a certain 
grade of development, are fixed upon and requisitioned as 
an indispensable necessity without which no historical epoch 
or community can be said to have been civilized,— the claim 
being that without this given factor all other phases of life, 
material and spiritual, advanced as their development may 
be, are at a discount and Insufficient In themselves to warrant 
for those who represent them the description of "civilized." 
Most of the interpretations in question refer to cardinal 
necessities in the moral, juridical or Intellectual order; there 
being others, however, for whom the favored sphere Is the 
material, more or less associated with a certain social and 
juridical organization. 



Now, In the truly scientific mind all these distinct stand- 
points and suggestions do not at all awaken the alarm usually 
produced in those who, for lack of a personal opinion, de- 
pend upon the opinions of others, fluctuating and distracted 
amid the variety afforded them. The scientific mind, on the 
contrary, accepts as its definition nothing other than what is 
naturally suggested by a clear grasp of fact— to wit, that 
civilization is a status of human life constituted of several 
and fundamental and integral elements (embracing alike In- 
tellectual, moral, artistic, anthropological and social develop- 
ment, with the development of mind and character), all 
being necessary In that they respond to conditions and 
exigencies of human life that are also fundamental; further, 
that their respective development is not parallel and uni- 
form, either in the general history of humanity or in the 
individual history of each realm, and that what Is properly 
speaking the conception of civilization Is a standard and 
ideal of life according to which we appreciate every his- 
torical actuality and gauge the status and situation of every 
phase and order of the life of nations. Our basis Is the con- 
ception of a perfected existence, and it Is in relation to this 
conception that we signalize grades of perfection and devel- 
opment, of approximation to the Ideal. 

Now, for ourselves, for the nations of America and their 
offspring in America this Ideal Is the Ideal of European 
civilization in what it possesses that is common and inherent 
among all the nations which have collaborated In It through 
the ages. But now, above and beyond this there exist other 
communities which It cannot be denied have attained a high 
level of ''progress" in other directions, and which cannot 
therefore be ostracized from civilization— communities 
whose standard and ideal differ consciously from ours In 
many fundamental aspects. Such is the case with China, for 




example; and It is the truth, however much one hesitates to 
recognize it through attachment to our own special manner 
of regarding things, that in this fact is demonstrated beyond 
doubt the existence of different historical directions of civili- 
zation, or at least of two— namely, European and Asiatic. 
The greater or lesser probability of the former ultimately 
absorbing the latter, apart from the fact that It is a moot 
question whether the probability embraces an absolute ab- 
sorption or only a partial substitution in given phases of 
activity, does not invalidate the fact that there have existed, 
and exist to-day, these two fundamentally distinct directions, 
and ought to create in us a certain caution in venturing on 
dogmatic assertions. 

Returning again, then, to the question of the Integral ele- 
ments of which civilization is constituted, there are two 
things we must observe: first, that these elements respond to 
different manifestations or types of human development; 
and, secondly, that our researches are not limited to merely 
ascertaining the existence of such elements, or even their 
degree of development, but their adaptability, their qualifica- 
tions for fulfilling the Ideal of life aspired to. And, more- 
over, it should be noted that the Importance of the elements 
In question as inherent properties of the human species Is not 
enough to satisfy us, but that we insist emphatically on the 
question of their relative importance, their situation In a 
hierarchy and order of necessity, either in recognition of a 
factor which Is higher than the will of man, or as an opera- 
tion preparatory to uniting the best efforts of men in devel- 
oping and perfecting In a self-conscious plan that element 
which, of all human manifestations, is most highly prized 
and estimated, and regarded perhaps as the basis of the rest. 
And It Is of course undeniable that, from the distinct stand- 
points adopted In this problem result distinct social, political 


, "JK r^ 1 K I 

■ .tJ»».-.. , *- -^>K!'1fcr^ 


and educational criteria and distinct views of history, past 
and present, and of the achievements of man in general or 
given countries in particular. 

But observe, now, the difference between the problems 
and divergences here raised and those resulting from the 
admission or non-admission of such and such phenomena 
into the sphere of civilization. In the present case there is 
nothing of that contradiction and confusion resulting from 
mutually destructive exigencies of inclusion and exclusion, 
for in this case we admit the reality and necessity of all. 
What is proposed is to determine a scale of importance or a 
hierarchy between the factors of civilization. All we have 
to do is to compare, for example, the position of Ruskin, 
who maintained that Art is the most important element in 
life, with that of Marx, or the position of those who regard 
intellectual development as the main factor on which every- 
thing depends, with that of the advocates of the moral or 
religious factor in place of the intellectual. 

This question of hierarchy is the cardinal question, indeed, 
which the problem of civilization raises, because it affords at 
the same time the key for our judgments of both the present 
and the past and the solution of the question as to what sort 
of rational influence and guidance is to be exerted by the 
will and intelligence of man in the directing of his life along 
a certain route, or the adoption of a given organization and 
regime. It will be said, without doubt, that this is not, prop- 
erly speaking, an historical question, but rather a political one 
(in that it embraces the organization of life), or pedagog- 
ical, in the higher and wider acceptance of the word.* There 

1 Some schools, however, have considered it as, actually and strictly speak- 
ing historical: for example, Marx, who does not affirm his theory of the 
predominance of the economic factor as a rational necessity which »««« " 
be granted, but as a fact and a reality which has always existed, and which 
from this historical basis derives its real essentiality. 




is no denying, however, that any one who approaches this 
question is obliged to seek in history many of his data for 
the solution of it, and that its solution is bound inevitably to 
react on his outlook upon history. At least no one can be 
indifferent to this question. The question as to whether it is 
the egoistical and utilitarian principle, in the material ac- 
ceptance of these terms, which is to triumph in the world, or 
the ethical and altruistic; the question as to whether our 
present life embodies in itself its own aim and culmination, 
or has to be directed toward a posterior and ultra-terrestrial 
goal, in relation to which it is merely a transitory and pre- 
paratory phase to be regarded as such and nothing else; the 
question as to whether the world of the future has or ought 
to be "Greek'' in character or "Carthaginian," interpreting 
these names, for the moment, in the idealistic signification 
which a tradition, whose reliability it would be out of place 
to discuss here, has given them across the centuries, is one 
that ought to be the concern, and in fact is the concern, of 
everybody, and in the solution of which that experience 
which is offered by history in the shape of the positive issues 
which characterize two main directions of civilization is a 
guide of considerable importance. For this reason, in the 
theoretical argument conducted between educationalists, 
politicians, theologians, and philosophers, full and compre- 
hensive knowledge of the civilizations of the various nations 
as inspired by one or other of the ideals In advocacy, or by a 
proportionate conjunction of them. Is a basis that Is Indlspen- 
sable, bringing us away from problems which are In the melt- 
ing-pot of other sciences to the strict field of history-ltself 
a fresh comprobatlon, let it be noted, of the organic relation- 
ship, close interdependence and essential Intrinsic unity in 
which all departments of human thought are Included. A true 
understanding of man's labor in the world, and of the prac- 




tical issues and effects of each of the great human divisions of 
civilization, without the admixture of prejudice and fiction, 
without the substitution for corroborated truth of unscien- 
tific suppositions, is thus an exigency which is more than 
merely historical, which transcends the proper limits of his- 
tory and brings us into the arena of man's highest preoccupa- 
tions in relation to the future; while it is clear, of course, 
that if there is much in history which, after an impartial 
segregation of what is definite and trustworthy, is left over 
as uncertain, that section of historical knowledge which Is a 
secure and arguable basis can only possess a relative value 
and a limited application,— this, indeed, being the first point 
which It Is both the right and the duty of the historian to 
confess and discuss before such as apply to him, in the Inter- 
ests of other sciences, for the material and data which are 
his monopoly, and in regard to which he alone is qualified to 
speak. . . . Hence, then, the paramount importance of a 
comprehensive and scientific history of civilization; for this 
reason, also, all the investigations of historians, properly 
described, and of sociologists, economists, pedagogues, psy- 
chologists, etc., respecting the factors which, as such, have 
really actuated and are actuating the life of man,— respect- 
ing their manner of operation, their mutual action and 
reaction, their hierarchy and, finally, their Issues and effects, 
— are indispensable in the attainment of a real and thorough 
understanding of human history, and demand, therefore, the 
most rigorous exactitude as regards scientific proof. So long 
as they lack the security of corroborated truth, there can of 
course be no deductions regarding them — a fact which should 
be remiembered by such as are Impatient for categorical con- 

The other question which stands out with the above as of 
cardinal importance is that of the persistence and continu- 

ance of civilization. We know, as a fruit of modern criti- 
cism and research, that the theory of continuous progress is, 
at any rate, a false one; that history offers repeated instances 
of reaction and decadence now on the part of one particular 
community, now in a whole group of such communities 
(those, even, of an entire continent). We know also that 
there have been highly advanced civilizations that have dis- 
appeared from the world without any transmission or ab- 
sorption into other communities distinct from those that 
embodied them, civilizations whose thread has broken and 
whose labor has remained for centuries and centuries burled 
and abortive; and In the contemplation of these facts It is 
only natural that uneasiness should gain possession of us with 
respect to the future. Is It not possible that the future may 
witness regressions such as that of the Middle Ages-a reac- 
tion which embraced all the most civilized races of the 
world? Is there not a possibility that the entire labor that 
man, up to the present, has accomplished, may one day be 
annihilated, swept from the face of the earth and lost as a 
heritage for future ages? Ought we not take into ac- 
count the intervention of geological upheavals such as those 
which fiction-writers have depicted in stories— without, of 
course, any scientific value? Moreover, in the background 
(it is useless to deny it) there is always this same awful 
specter, the possible annihilation of the whole human race 
itself, some sudden uprooting of its entire records, a pos- 
sibility which chills the spirit of those who contemplate it, 
and engenders a skeptical feeling of futility-the futility of 
a struggle upward toward a better life which is ultimately to 
better no one, which is doomed to be abortive. It Is enough, 
indeed, to recall the possibility that, apart altogether from 
climatic aberrations or the destruction of large parts of the 
earth's crust, this discontinuance may, none the less, occur. 

« I 



as has happened in times past, without the factor of geo- 
graphical changes. 

Against these potentialities of the future we cannot thor- 
oughly tranquilize ourselves or remove misapprehensions 
without a thorough investigation of the following historical 
questions : the conditions which are normally favorable to the 
diffusion and transmission of the distinct civilizations repre- 
sented in the different communities, and the difference or 
resemblance to be noted between present conditions and 
past; the object being to ascertain whether, in the existing 
situation, there are not certain new conditions which render 
less possible, and perhaps impossible, a repetition of those 
reactions and recessions in the progress of great masses of 
humanity (masses embracing, apparently, the most impor- 
tant branches of the race) which have imperiled or delayed 
during immense intervals the general labor of mankind, and 
entailed endless recommencement and repetition. After- 
ward as a practical issue of this, we ought to determine the 
actual safeguards necessary in order that this function of 
transmission may be better guaranteed for future genera- 


In regard to the first question, modern science already pos- 
sesses certain positive knowledge resulting from the concrete 
investigation of given historical instances of the transmis- 
sion process, as also from the criticism and speculation which 
has been accorded the phenomenon in connection with the 
comparative method of investigation, especially in regard to 
the legitimacy of deducing and presupposing the fact of a 
transmission (without previous knowledge or detailed in- 
vestigation of the case) from the simple fact of a coincidence 
of institutions. 1 It should not be forgotten, however, that 

1 The same may be said of the Theory of Imitation of Tarde, which can 
only be applied with great caution. Imitation is a phenomenon of diffusion. 



for historians there are still many doubts and uncertainties 
in the verification of this phenomenon with relation to events 
that are of great historical importance, the study of which 
cannot yet be considered as exhausted or reduced to definite 
conclusions. A definite though general theory, of wide 
application apart from the specific differences of each par- 
ticular case, cannot strictly be established except after a 
series of monographic studies of other data in connection 
with this process, extending over as wide a field as possible 
and necessitating what has still to be a long and complicated 
labor before generalizations will be permissible. 

While fully appreciating the great importance and inter- 
est of these investigations, we must observe, however, that 
for our own particular purpose— In connection, that is, with 
the problem we are here consldering-they lose much of 
that interest when we come to the second of our questions— 
namely, the question of the difference or resemblance be- 
tween past conditions and present in regard to the facility 
with which the issues and achievements of civilization may 
be transmitted and secured as permanent; for, if we could 
be certain that existing conditions, over and above being 
m.ore favorable to the process of transmission, actually guar- 
antee and safeguard for humanity in general all the labors 
realized in its service, then our conclusions In regard to the 
first question are, for all practical purposes, at a discount. 
In effect, without further parley, It is actually the case that, 
from what we know of the past and from our observations 
of the present, there are enough grounds for affirming as a 
definite conclusion that existing conditions are, indeed, far 
more propitious than at any other period of history; on this 
there is no longer any serious doubt. And with the reassur- 
ance the fact brings us, we may satisfy our qualms, confident 
that what we are accomplishing to-day will not be wasted in 



_iix [■■ill iiiiiiii 


the future, and that the fruit of present labors will be reaped 
by our successors. We are aware, also, that this security is 
due chiefly to the development of material civilization, 
which, indeed, possesses here one of its foremost vindica- 
tions and highest claims to attention and furtherance; for, in 
augmenting and facilitating the means of communication 
between communities, it is not only approximating but at the 
same time solidifying them in a bond of mutual interests for- 
ever widening and forever becoming more closely associated 
and interlaced, rendering thus more feasible and rapid the 
diffusion of that culture which, from being self-centered and 
destructible as in the old days, is evolving now into the uni- 
versal and the permanent. The fact of life's present uni- 
formity, of the expansion and domination of a common type, 
and even of the same forms and details in many branches of 
activity, is sufficient evidence for this contention ; and although 
it may be resented and deplored from another— an idealistic 
— standpoint, in so far as it threatens us with a monotonous 
sameness throughout life, destructive of the personal char- 
acter of each given people, it stands out among the facts of 
history as one of the most important and significant circum- 
stances in the question at issue. Concomitantly with this 
immense attainment, modern times have witnessed also a 
wide and fruitful labor of assimilation which applies both to 
the modern world and the ancient. For, in regard to the 
former, the modern aspect, material civilization, while it 
spreads and implants a fixed form of life and a series of 
common industrial appliances disseminated from their point 
of origin over the face of the globe, at the same time, and as 
an inevitable issue of this centrifugal movement, gathers in 
and abstracts from each individual person or community of 
persons the fruits of the original genius of the individual, 
further developing thereby the whole— that is to say, making 



it forever richer and more complex, and facilitating the 
reciprocal action and reaction of the one upon the other. In 
regard to the former aspect, the amazing renovations in his- 
torical knowledge and the resurrection of so many peoples 
buried for centuries from human ken, and for this reason 
useless in the advancement of man's labor, have enriched 
quite suddenly, or in a space of time so short that it is almost 
negligible as such, the heritage of modern civilization, and 
enabled us to reap the richest fruits of defunct civilizations 
of the past, which we have incorporated in our own— to the 
extent, that is, of all that Is of use to us, whether in the shape 
of some practical element of utilitarian service or some edu- 
cational contribution toward our imagination, taste or ideal- 
ity. We have only to compare what at the end of the 
eighteenth century was known of Greece, Egypt, the oriental 
civilizations, and even of Rome itself, as regards the art, 
industry, literature, science and jurisprudence of these coun- 
tries, with the information now at our disposal, to appreciate 
the immense advantage which In many matters we possess 
over our predecessors. The classical restoration movement 
initiated in the Renaissance has, in these days, developed and 
augmented in a manner unhoped for and amazing; and if to 
this we add the deeper and more extensive penetration we 
have realized into so many other epochs of the past, and 
from which so much, until now buried and forgotten, has 
returned to enrich our civilization,— medieval literature, 
primitive art, the pre-Renaissance philosophies, etc.,— we 
realize in how great a measure, in the past unparalleled, 
modern civilization embodies the civilization of all history 
and is truly universal, truly the civilization of man. And 
this stupendous achievement, let It be added. Is due to the 
historians, the disciples of a school of study whose practical 
value Is so often superciliously denied. 



But now, when all this is said, with all the hope and reas- 
surance for the future which it brings, we cannot deny, after 
an analysis of our feelings on the subject, that we are not 
equally at ease on all the issues it embraces. Although it is 
true there is no longer any doubt as to the persistence of 
everything which signifies material progress and of that com- 
mon heritage, scientific and literary, which now seems defi- 
nitely embodied in our life, we are not equally certain as to 
the continuance of other elements of our civilization more 
closely dependent on changes of thought and conduct. The 
material progress we have realized is so intimately asso- 
ciated with primordial necessities of human life and with 
appetites— or, if you prefer, aspirations— inseparable from 
human nature, such as the competitive stimulus and the com- 
mercial factor, the craving for economic profit and material 
comfort, that renunciation of these things seems to us impos- 
sible outside the hypothesis of some general mental aberra- 
tion in mankind. Nor is the retainment of all the learning 
and culture elaborated through the centuries, and of the 
beauties of literature and art, a cause for anxiety in so far 
as such a process of retainment is purely passive in character, 
while the inspiration of these beauties and that culture is 
practically inextinguishable in the human species. But in 
everything that is influenced by opinion such as is not secured 
on the bedrock of the experimental sciences, or in which 
other factors are at work in the form of speculative concep- 
tions whose foundation is rational and not empirical, or of 
feelings of another order from the appetites and aspirations 
previously referred to, a good deal of misgiving, despite the 
optimistic outbursts persistently indulged in, has to be con- 
fessed after considering matters impartially and scien- 
tifically. Who, for example, has not felt the possibility that 
the unmistakable advances we have realized as regards social 



and political organization, in the general province of law 
and the moral conception of life, may not, after all, be 
doomed to immolation before some sudden metamorphosis 
of human thought and opinion, as illogical, according to our 
present judgment, as you like, but not without precedent in 
the history of many countries,-embracing, moreover, widely 
extended areas? What meditative mind has not experi- 
enced, at one time or another, uneasiness over the possibility 
of the general orientation of modern thought being finally 
supplanted by another, to the entire subversion of our basic 
conception of the world; or of our literature and art sinking 
into a decadence in which they will be rendered extravagant 

and impotent? 

With these considerations we are brought to another ques- 
tion that is associated with this theory of civilization- 
namely, that as to whether all the orders of our life are 
following a necessarily ascendent path-that is to say, a 
course of indefinite improvement, considering their history 
as a whole and discarding mere temporary setbacks; or 
whether there are not certain orders which are exceptions to 
this rule, different and distinct in character from those sub- 
ject to a continuous progress; whether, moreover, there are 
not others whose point of culmination (in man) has now 
already been attained and will not be exceeded, perhaps not 
even equaled, in the future. And, as a natural consequence 
of the comparisons and contrasts necessitated by this study, 
there follows yet another question which is repeatedly oc- 
cupying thinkers-namely, the question of a proportion or 
relative development between the distinct reaches of human 
activity, or, broadly speaking, between these two (to be 
taken as embodying the two main divisions of the facts of 
civilization) : the moral order and the material. 

Coming to a closer consideration of the first of the two 




questions raised, we shall see that while historical investiga- 
tion has enabled us to determine the existence, across the 
ages, of a fundamental current which, in spite of temporary 
deflections, has always, in the long run, triumphed, mount- 
ing now higher and higher in the conquest of Nature and 
the applications to human necessities of her elements and 
forces, expanding in the sphere of social organization and in 
the direction of popular liberties, as also in artistic manifes- 
tation of a certain order,— yet, on the other hand, we cannot 
say the same of all the provinces of, for example, art, nor of 
all the orders of scientific research, and still less so of the 
problem of moral conduct, especially as regards certain of its 
most important branches. How many times has it been 
asseverated that Greek art, in certain branches, is insuper- 
able, and that none of man s subsequent creations are to be 
compared with it,— not excepting those of this modern era, 
despite the higher reaches of modern culture and its bound- 
less sources of nutrition from the past? Who is not aware 
that, in spite of the great progress of philosophy since the 
Renaissance, its present situation is still fundamentally in- 
separable from the doctrines of the Greek philosophers, 
whose thought we have not, in many things, so much as 
widened? How often have we not been told that music in 
the great German classics was carried to its apex, both tech- 
nical and ideal? Who can deny that modern literature is far 
from monopolizing all the greatest productions of literary 
art, and that many of the great masterpieces in this line have 
been the work of the ancients— a fact implying that the line 
of development which this departure is following is not sub- 
ject to the same law which is guiding other orders and un- 
mistakably urging them still forward? And finally, who can 
escape the bitter confession that moral development is still 
exiguous, that customs are not improving all around, and 


that the higher ethical doctrines remain untranslated into 
action in the practical life of the majority? 

Let it be observed, however, at the outset, that there is a 
strong possibility of error in these affirmations and compari- 
sons, owing to the influence of a traditional tendency, still 
prevalent, in which the "classical" is seen as a type and 
standard handed down to us from the past as something per- 
fect and insuperable, by which we have unduly limited the 
future, with all its hidden possibilities— possibilities in the 
way of new departures in the sphere of art, thought, origi- 
nality and culture. In face of this doubt and uncertainty 
arising from indefinite and what are for us mysterious pos- 
sibilities of new departures and new doctrines, a past status 
of perfection loses the importance it would otherwise possess 
could it be definitely stated that never in the future will this 
standard either be superseded or equaled. It would be 
sufficient, as regards art and literature, that the future should 
produce things of equal supernal beauty to the great mas- 
terpieces of the past, although the ideal which inspires them 
and the means and medium of their expression may be dif- 

Furthermore, it should be remembered that the only con- 
clusion of any practical value which is to be drawn from the 
fact— supposing it to be a fact— that in certain human de- 
partments of thought the goal of achievement has been ar- 
rived at in past ages-i.^., Greek sculpture-would be that 
certain branches of progress are more easy of development 
than others, and have thus been exploited and exhausted, 
while others are still in the process of development. The im- 
mediate consequence of this conclusion in its influence on our 
conduct, as one of the educative results of knowledge, would 
be that we should dedicate the greater part of our energies 
henceforward to developing all that is relatively backward, 






withdrawing such energies to a great extent from the fully 
exploited branches whose pursuit, it would seem, can only be 
attended now with lesser results. Perhaps, indeed, in certain 
modern propensities, in certain orientations of the main 
body of humanity to-day, which seems to be cultivating by 
choice precisely those branches which are only imperfectly 
developed, there is a vague but effective consciousness of this 


What is of real and actual gravity, however, is the fact of 
the enormous disproportion between the highest results 
which have been achieved in the ethical department and 
those of the other orders. This is an historical fact which is 
evident, even without any special study of the matter, to any- 
body, and on the strength of which we may divide the mani- 
festations of human life into two groups: one in which are 
embodied all those branches which, it may be said, have on 
the whole expanded and developed and are continuing to 
develop in a conspicuous manner, or else have already in the 
past attained their apex of perfection, though to-day in a 
state of collapse and effeteness,— manifestations belonging 
to the artistic and intellectual sphere, or representing the 
material civilization which has resulted from man's dominion 
over nature and from the applications of science, and also to 
certain aspects of social organization; w^hile on the other 
hand is the group which embraces the element of moral con- 
duct and certain other directions of social and juridical or- 
ganization, phenomena which either have not developed in 
any perceptible degree or are obviously behindhand com- 
pared to the phenomena included in the first group. 

It would be superfluous to reopen here the discussion 
which years ago, when the literature of the Philosophy of 
History was flourishing (that literature which dazzled and 
misled so many people, while it offered little that was of real 



scientific value), raised such impassioned argument owing, 
perhaps, to the radical form in which it was planted and the 
rash manner, disregardful of requisite historical data, in 
which it was approached,— the discussion of the question: Is 
there or is there not such a thing as moral progress? Such 
absolute questions it will be a matter of common agreement 
to discard as fruitless because no one doubts the fact to- 
day that, in certain aspects of his moral conduct, social and 
individual man has actually advanced, and that the practical 
ideal which is being realized in the higher circle of society is 
superior to that which prevailed in such circles some cen- 
turies ago. And simultaneously, in the juridical sphere, in 
the strict meaning of the term, accepting the common dis- 
tinction between morality and law, — a distinction which is 
not necessarily exact, — it is equally beyond doubt that justice 
is, on the whole, becoming more and more actual in many of 
the human relations it affects. 

But by the side of this twofold conviction which we possess 
it is equally unmistakable that the moral and juridical order 
still, in many of its phases and even in the most advanced 
communities, embraces what is immoral and unjust, and that 
the majority of individuals are likewise immoral and unjust 
in many features of their lives. The discouraging impres- 
sion which these facts produce in us is not so much suggested 
by the evils they infer as by their exposure of the inefficacy 
of doctrines and ideals proclaimed and effusively embraced 
by millions of human beings many centuries ago. It is com- 
prehensible that there are certain sciences which have not at 
all times realized the perfection and development they have 
now attained, because the advance of these sciences has fol- 
lowed from the grasp of certain truths which have only lat- 
terly been realized; but the ethical and juridical ideal. In its 
application to social and individual life, has been realized In 




many of its fundamental aspects since immemorial time,— 
yet, nevertheless, it has produced only the most exiguous 
effects relatively to the situation which preceded its adoption 
or to its exigencies as an ideal. This inefficacy or extremely 
limited efficacy of the moral ideal is what disheartens the 
sincere observer and at times causes him to despair of the 
province of morality, even theoretically admitting the devel- 
opment attained in the other provinces of life, or at least to 
demand why it is that this element is to be found in what is 
perhaps an immense inferiority to others, and is, at all 
events, held in less importance among the problems of life. 

This situation is explained, according to modern theories, 
on the hypothesis that moral advancement is not solely de- 
pendent on the advancement of ethical ideas, but also on 
other factors belonging to other orders— factors which in 
most cases have made their appearance long after the actual 
ethical ideal. A good illustration of this doctrine is Buckle's 
instance, in connection with war, of the decline of the warlike 
spirit in humanity. For Buckle, as is known, the three great 
causes of this change have been : the invention of gunpowder, 
Adam Smith's book on the "Wealth of Nations," and the 
use of steam in land and maritime communication; that is to 
say, three factors wholly distinct in origin and character 
from the moral sentiments which, at first sight, would have 
seemed to be the principal causes of this momentous change. 
In like manner, other authors, of philosophic affiliations 
very different from those of Buckle, have shown that in 
the abolition of slavery in Europe and in the betterment of 
the juridical situation of the land-laboring classes, moral 
motives represented only an exiguous influence, while eco- 
nomic motives, on the contrary, were paramount.^ These 

1 For all that is to be learned from Spain in this matter, reference should 
be had to the standard work of Eduardo de Hinojosa: "The Feudal System 
and the Agrarian Question in Cataluna," Madrid, 1905. 



and many other historical examples appear to establish the 
theory of the school in question, according to which moral 
progress is made dependent on scientific development, or on 
the changes at work in other very distinct orders of life,— a 
theory according to which the relatively backward situation 
of the moral order is explained by this observation of two 
facts— the fact, primarily, of this same dependence of posi- 
tion and the fact of the personal and intransferable quality 
of moral actions. "Whereas intellectual acquisitions," says 
an exponent of the theory, "are transmitted scrupulously 
from one generation to another and the attainments of the 
moral faculties are not transmissible, in that every one must 
practise goodness for its own sake, by the nature of it good- 
ness is essentially personal and private, and even the good 
which is realized by the purest and most diligent philanthropy 
is of limited duration and can only benefit a comparatively 
small number of people. The actions of the bad produce a 
transient evil; those of the good, a good which is equally 
unenduring: it is only the discoveries of the great thinkers 
which subsist eternally, survive the ruin of empires and the 
fluctuation of beliefs, follow and are added to each other in 
succession, and stand alone immutable amidst the ephemeral 
and fugitive, serving as landmarks In the progress of hu- 

There is of course obvious exaggeration in some of the 
above affirmations, for neither is the moral element so 
changeable as is suggested,— a certain sediment always hav- 
ing persisted and affirmed itself through history,-nor can it 
be said that nothing of what Is attained in this order can be 
added to previous attainments in the way that intellectual 
advancements are recorded and accumulated; nor even is 
there entire justification for the theory that the effect of a 
moral effort can only be passing in duration, for such an 




effort, when it becomes crystallized in a social labor or social 
institution or in a reform of customs, may be prolonged 
through great periods of time and become incorporated in 
the general conduct of a people almost finally and unalterably, 
descending and extending to an immense number of human 
beings. These discrepancies, however, do not invalidate the 
general truth of the theory as regards the intervention of 
non-moral factors— factors, that is, of a different physical 
and spiritual order— in the achievement of advances in the 
actual domain of morality, nor the force of the theory as an 
explanation of this same disproportion in development which 
we are concerned with— this albeit that it is not a matter of 
such certainty that the inevitable action of the intellectual 
over the moral implies an absolute subordination of the lat- 
ter to the former, in so far as the influence exerted by the 
human intelligence over human conduct does not invariably 
signify the actual suggestion of new lines of conduct, but 
represents in many cases merely the thought and reflection 
granted certain principles of life defended by the moralists, 

— reflections that have resulted in a conviction of the essen- 
tial necessity of the principles in question ; — intellectual 
progress, in the strict meaning of the term, thus, apart from 
all it represents in its own sphere, being converted through 
this relationship into a means for serving and furthering the 
end of most importance— the object, that is, of moral prog- 
ress. The fallacy in the argument that because intellectual 
advancement, as is contended in this theory and in fact ad- 
mitted by us, is the impulse of civilization, it has for this 
reason to be considered the measure and criterion of it, is 
evident when we consider that progress does not consist 
merely in the declaration of principles or in the act of men- 
tally appreciating them, but in their practice and realization 

— assuming, that is, that the first and basic necessity in life is 



goodness; the contradiction, moreover, between belief and 
conduct, between thought and action, is sufficiently glaring in 
our lives to save us from the error of deducing the purity of 
the latter as an inevitable issue of the truth and beauty of 

the former. 

But now, so far as our main question is concerned,— the 
actual question under discussion, -the fact remains, whether 
we hold this theory to be valid or regard the two spheres in 
question— the scientific and the moral— as independent, or at 
least independent in many of their aspects, that we are still 
left with the same doubt as we started with, though em- 
bodied in two forms. On the first hypothesis-that of our 
accepting the theory— it is necessary to ask: Up to what limit 
will scientific development be able to influence the moral 
conduct for whose growth it is responsible? In the second 
case we are faced always with this question: Is the present 
disproportion between the development and evolution of 
both spheres to be permanent; will it, in time, become dimin- 
ished, or is It to be augmented still further in the future? 
And in either case, what is the impression, optimistic or pes- 
simistic, that we are left with after the study of all. In this 
connection, that history up to the present has afforded us? 

But now again, it is not impossible— in fact, it is very 
probable— that the question is still imperfectly stated owing 
to the need of a further discrimination. In short, are we so 
very certain that all the actions usually comprehended in the 
sphere of moral conduct belong to the same order and des- 
tiny? Does not historical observation, on the contrary, 
suggest that there are two distinct classes of manifestations 
in this order whose difference may be said to have found 
expression in the distinct directions they have taken across 
history? This very obvious distinction, already noted in a 
preceding argument, that exists between certain features, on 




the one hand, of social morality, embracing determined 
aspects of human relationship— orders that have developed 
in moral status, and become purified, possessing what is per- 
haps an inexhaustible capacity for continued purification and 
development— moral attainments such as honor, tolerance, 
veracity, impartiality, etc.,— between these and other feat- 
ures of social and individual morality, as far as the distinc- 
tion is possible, which are plainly making no headway and 
in which the element of evil is as prevalent to-day as cen- 
turies ago, is surely a powerful argument in favor of the 
theory that there is one branch of our moral life which is 
capable of development and another in which all progress 
seems impossible, or at least has seemed so up to the present. 
That this is the case is, in my opinion, beyond doubt: I be- 
lieve that the experience of history demonstrates with the 
utmost clarity that there are moral inclinations in our nature 
which can actually be checked— which have, indeed, been 
suppressed among certain communities, with a resulting 
transformation in popular customs ; while, on the other hand, 
there are others, always precisely the same, which, subsisting 
as they do in passions apparently ineradicable, dominated 
and subdued by only a limited number of people, not in 
each case the same elements, have not been subject to this 
rectification and continue as sources of evil. Such is the case 
with envy, anger, cupidity, ambition and the craving for 
luxury, and a whole series of other tendencies elemental in 
our nature whose products in the form of misery and pri- 
vation are utterly horrifying as represented to us by modern 
sociologists, psychologists and criminologists, such abomina- 
tions in our days scarcely being considered possible. 

These, then, are the actual facts of the case, the results of 
historical investigation, and beyond the field of these facts, 
on any scientific basis, we cannot venture; for every predic- 



tion is merely a hypothesis, a problematical supposition with 
relation to an uncertain future. Human aspiration, how- 
ever, does not resignedly surrender to a simple recognition 
of the facts as they now are and have been in the past— in a 
recognition, that is to say, of history. Hope ventures into 
the belief that it will also be possible to rectify, finally, that 
which has seemed incorrigible, to subdue those forces which 
up to the present have been irrepressible, and so to subdue 
them that the change shall constitute a social triumph, in- 
corporated as a definite conquest in the civilizations, first of 
the most advanced communities, and finally of all. Such a 
labor, in fact, if we come to think of it, embodies the car- 
dinal problem of education, and it is on the appreciation of 
this problem in the alternative attitude of optimism or pes- 
simism that depends an important difference in the prevail- 
ing scholastic system. ^'Education will do everything!'' or, 
"Education is subject to impassable limits in human nature 
generally and in each individual case in particular!'' Such 
are the two conflicting statements. The second bases itself 
on the concrete data of experience, the first on a generous 
confidence in the perfectibility of human nature and the 
efficacy of method; and so inspiring is the conception it 
awakens in us of the future that it has won the powerful sup- 
port of great men like Goethe and Guyau. Although the 
main course of pedagogy is to-day following another direc- 
tion, refusing to admit the omnipotence of education, it is 
certain, for the moment, that any absolute and categorical 
answer to the question will be problematical. This question 
the advances of psychology, social and individual, may enable 
to be answered in the future. At present the most we can do 
is to formulate the problem. 

But this same uncertainty and doubt which arise, on the 
one hand, from the weakness of our hypothesis respecting 





the future, and, on the other, from the results of our study 
of the past, serves at any rate to bring us to grips with the 
urgent and dominating question: What is it that is of most 
importance in life? If mankind is not improving morally, 
what value is there in the other branches of his progress? 
For what do they serve but as a merely superficial satisfac- 
tion and a delusive mask to the virtual wretchedness in which 
the immense majority of individuals live? 

Let us now fearlessly approach this question, which, al- 
though, like others we have been dealing with, is apparently 
disassociated from an investigation properly speaking his- 
torical, is as a matter of fact essentially allied to such a study. 
The question is inevitably associated with the ideal of life 
which ranks the ethical factor (and quite rightly so, no 
doubt) at the head of all, maintaining that, as compared 
with this, material or purely intellectual advantages are of 
little value; while, for another thing, it presupposes that all 
the elements, both material and spiritual, of human life have 
necessarily to be equally perfectible. As a result of this 
double supposition every deficiency in the moral order fos- 
ters, it is clear, discouragement, pessimism or censure, with 
all the perplexities that historical data awaken with regard 
to the disproportion between the march of the two orders. 
But the question to be considered is whether, while admitting 
the first supposition (for me it is beyond doubt, and in fact I 
believe most firmly that the main value and significance of 
our advances in the intellectual sphere and the material con- 
sists in such assistance as they provide for the juridical and 
moral element in its task of facilitating a real understanding 
of the world and the subdual of natural impulse) , there is not 
a great error in the second. Would it not appear certain that, 
distinguishing as we do between two spheres or groups of 
actions and relationships in that province of civilization 




whose backwardness we are discussing, we should confine 
ourselves, without embarking on the impossible, to the per- 
fecting of those elements which are perfectible, according to 
our evidence from history, while on the other hand recog- 
nizing, and resigning ourselves to the admission, that there 
are other elements which lack this capacity of growth, and 
in respect of which the only feasible course, with human na- 
ture as it is, is to limit their scope for evil, redeeming the 
maximum number of individual cases, and, in short, dimin- 
ishing the deplorable influence they exercise (it bemg im- 
possible to suppress them), as is being done to-day with 
many of them by means of legislation, police, prisons and 
reformatories such as are worth the name, and even medical 
treatment in its particular province ? 

If we were to take this course and bow to the inevitable, 
we should be relieved once and for all of the warring pre- 
occupation over an impossible ideal, over the incompatibility 
between a belief in this ideal and our utter failure to accom- 
plish it; and this relief, freeing us from the despair which is 
born of failure, would enable us to direct the best of our 
energies toward what is feasible, discarding from the field of 
historical investigation problems which have ceased to be 
problems. And then, indeed, our whole theory of civiliza- 
tion, springing from a recognition of the facts of history and 
the undoubted progress realized in the majority of our ac- 
tivities, as also of the fundamental orientation which the 
whole of human history seems to contain below the surface 
of its racial differences,-an orientation which is not preju- 
dicial to the original genius, necessary as long as harmless, 
of each social entity and group,-would have as a practical 
result for the present and the future the ever intenser appli- 
cation of those means and processes by which, up to the pres- 
ent, progress has been realized, especially with the object of 




accelerating the march of those phases of progress which are 
behindhand, and of maintaining the equilibrium In which the 
development of one order will not be sacrificed to that of 
another, either in dragging humanity into a life of egoism 
for a more or less considerable number of people merely 
voluptuous and sybaritical, or in depreciating intellectual and 
material evolution in favor of an esthetic ideal and moral 
standard, to which mankind is to be converted, incompatible 
for society with all the other achievements it has realized. 

Well, now, if we reflect on the aspirations of contem- 
porary civilization as they are manifested and expressed, we 
shall see, as was mentioned before, that all these manifesta- 
tions affirm the resolve to secure and conserve the material 
civilization now flourishing, to augment and at the same 
time disseminate It, embracing the widest number of people 
and thus converting it from the monopoly of the few into the 
heritage of the majority, and, If possible, of every one; also, 
that this same centrifugal tendency Is to be observed in the 
sphere of intellectual culture, forever seeking to penetrate 
more widely the masses at the same time that it is perfecting 
the conditions of the higher investigation which is reserved 
for the chosen few, but open to humanity in general in the 
glory of Its issues and conclusions. And concomitantly we 
shall observe that, alike in the flower of humanity and In the 
surging masses, there is a cry and clamor for the ethical 
basis to life, a demand for the reign of justice in the sphere 
of jurisprudence, of the good in the sphere of morality, these 
being the things which are our only guarantee against the 
tragedy of a life of hatred, tears and curses,— in search of 
these things, however, always in the consciousness, given an 
impartial recognition of experience, that there is a surplus of 
evil still undominated, which is probably indomitable, and 
which embodies the unavoidable lot of human Imperfections, 
human limitations, which are defiant of human will. 




Third Lecture 



WE were saying in the preceding lecture that the gen- 
eral problem of human history-or, in other words, 
of civilization-embraces two classes of questions. The first 
of these we have endeavored to answer in the before-men- 
tioned lecture. The second, although it has been the subject 
of many previous allusions, we shall now answer more di- 
rectly, in order to arrive at the treatment of the concrete 
question in reference to Spain. 

We must bear in mind that our object is to ascertam by 
what methods civilization is evolved, and what is, in conse- 
quence, the best course to adopt in order to strengthen and 

advance it. . 

Passing over the beginnings of history, when each family 
or human group (if we admit the polygenetic theory) or the 
family nucleus (if we accept the monogenetic theory) either 
must have been self-taught and have had to select for itself 
the most important lessons which nature offered, or must 
have arrived at the principles involved through the inventive 
power of human intelligence, there is no doubt that the in- 
stances of autodidacticism, collective and individual, are the 
exception, and that when they do appear they have but a 
limited field of development and leave no lasting impression 
if they remain in the isolation in which they were conceived. 

The general law of civilization, as in education (and, 
strictly speaking, are they not the same?), is reciprocal influ- 
ence and mutual teaching. Those who teach others are at 



the same time taught. There is a continual ebb and flow of 
suggestions, corrections, imitations and reflected experiences, 
by which each individual profits more or less according to his 
power of assimilation and reaction. This law fulfils itself in 
each group, acting between individual and individual, be- 
tween individual and group, and vice versa. The same 
process takes place between group and group, although it 
may be possible that during the centuries one group, or a 
combination of groups, has become isolated and has con- 
tinued to develop an acquired impulse by virtue of the con- 
tinuous growth of human powers and the more than 
geometrical progression of their advance. The latter seems 
to have been the case in primitive America. 

This law takes effect without the knowledge of those it 
influences, and even against their will, as happens, for in- 
stance, between hostile peoples separated by mutual hatred 
and respective interests,^ or as occurs with those peoples 
who attempt to isolate themselves from their neighbors (as 
though this could be accomplished even should all the laws 
of the world seem not only to sanction but to command it 
under a thousand penalties). Aside from the fact that this 
law invariably works itself out naturally, man applies it 
reflectively. He civilizes individuals through education 
(schools, academies, etc.). Nations he civilizes sometimes 
by imposing upon them a regime which influences the great 
majority {e.^., the process of Romanizatlon of the provinces 
in so far as this result was intended and sought after by the 
Romans themselves), sometimes through Individuals, these 
individuals being chosen, as in the modern method of award- 
ing scholarships for study and travel, to learn at first hand 
the history and customs of peoples who are considered more 

1 For example, in the case of Mussulmans and Christians in medieval 
Spain, vho, notwithstanding their constant warfare, influenced each other to 
a great extent. 


advanced, in order that the knowledge thus acquired may be 
diffused throughout the student's own country. 

In this way the civilization of each group continues to pro- 
gress impelled by that which each group receives from the 
other groups and by that which originated within the group 
itself. The absence of either of these two factors would dis- 
turb the equilibrium of the civilizing process, since to mflu- 
ence and to teach, a people must have created somethmg, 
and even that people which has created nothing equal to the 
productions of others, must have in its mental composition 
an original element on which to base and mold mto charac- 
teristic form those qualities borrowed from its fellow bemgs. 
A people lacking this original element (which in its turn will 
convert a people into an active factor in the common work 
of civilization) becomes weakened and atrophied as does a 

disused organ. 

Since civilization and education are essential factors in 
every case, this question immediately arises: Is it right to 
impose civilization by force? In education this question is 
presented in the discussion concerning "obligatory learning 
imposed upon the child, although he may not desire it be- 
cause his resistance to it (if he does resist) is the result of 
his Ignorance of the fundamental Importance of education m 
his life. Had the child as clear a conception of its value as 
the adult man usually possesses, he himself would ask that he 
be educated and would demand this as a right, in the same 
way that he would demand the fulfilment of his right to be 
provided with the necessities of his material life, for which, 
in his earliest years, he could only ask by signs and cries (at 
times he even refused them), but which, nevertheless, were 
not denied him because of this. 

Let us now consider the problem in its bearing upon the 
relations among peoples. Probably ever since humanity has 




existed and groups of men have fought among themselves 
for a thousand causes more or less clear, in the discussion of 
the motives which led to aggression men have resorted, 
whenever the circumstances offered a semblance of justifica- 
tion, to the argument that this aggression was entered upon 
in the interest of culture and education. In some cases this 
interest manifested itself in connection with religion {e.g.^ 
in recognizing as a duty the conversion of infidel nations, 
pagans, etc., and their introduction to the true faith) ; in 
others, the argument had to do with the general welfare of 
humanity, which was being jeopardized by the existence of 
peoples ignorant, backward, fanatic, opposed to all innova- 
tion, etc., incapable of developing with intelligent effort the 
resources offered by their own soil,— peoples, in short, whose 
continued unproductivity justified the interference of the rest 
of mankind; others alleged that humanity was imperiled by 
the existence of peoples stubbornly opposed to the recogni- 
tion of those fundamental rights of man without which com- 
munity life and social relations are impossible. This latter 
argument is of recent origin; indeed, it is the child of our 
own epoch, and has come to replace almost entirely the 
argument of religion, just as that of religion replaced to a 
certain extent the argument of the superiority or inferiority 
of peoples and individuals which was used to explain slavery 
in classic times, and which was even advanced by certain 
philosophers of the Renaissance w^hen referring to the 
American aborigines. 

Apparently we have before us a theory analogous to that 
on which obligatory education is based. Nations, like chil- 
dren, must be taught to realize the importance of their mis- 
sion; if they fail to educate themselves voluntarily, others 
must intervene in their affairs in order to raise them to the 
level of culture they are capable of attaining. Thus, the 




most civilized discharge a tutelary function, aiding and co- 
operating toward the common good. Of the two forces 
working in humanity, one to advance all civilization, the 
other to bring about the sovereignty and independence of 
individual states, the former is, in the theory, the stronger- 
the usefulness of the latter being destroyed when it serves, as 
it does here, merely to maintain a group of men outside the 
established order and conditions of civilized life. 

If this theory were correct, we should have an example of 
a method of civilization distinct from the two common to 
humanity: viz., individual effort and the normal and pacific 
influence of others (if this influence is not rejected or delib- 
erately sought after) . It would be, simply, the employment 
of the coercive method when the voluntary method was not 
spontaneously followed, and all that would remain for us to 
discuss would be whether this method may righttully be 
employed, or whether, on the contrary, there is included 
among the prerogatives of a people's liberty the right to 
remain indefinitely barbarous, uncivilized, or backward and 
markedly inferior to the majority who feel the impulse to- 
ward civilization,-the right, in short, to be an obstacle pre- 
venting the growth of this civilization in strength, its 
acquirement of new methods and its extension over the en- 

tire world. . 

But even if we accept the theory simply as such and with- 
out raising any difficulties, history provides us with this 
extremely powerful argument against it : If obligatory educa- 
tion presupposes a compulsion, this compulsion is not used to 
abuse the child, to diminish his rights, to take possession of 
what is his,-in other words, to do him harm,-but to por- 
tion out to him a benefit in a form equally good. The theory 
referred to, as has already been noted in pointing out its 
origin, is only applied to peoples in the form of conquest. 

I 1 




And, even supposing that it is not a disguise for the mere 
desire for mastery, the form through which it manifests it- 
self usually bears in its train conditions which render the 
theory worthless. In fact, those who have recourse to it as 
an excuse to interfere in the life of a nation, to seize its ter- 
ritory and to direct its affairs, are not in the habit of deciding 
upon this course for the good of that nation (this is the fact, 
no matter what naine may be given to the intervention), but 
egotistically for their own benefit (to take advantage of the 
natural and industrial wealth of the vanquished nation, to 
provide room for expansion, or through pure delight in 
domination, etc.) ; or at least these considerations take first 
place, while the task of education is left very much in the 
background, or is confined to mere contact with that in which 
the conqueror is superior; that is to say, the tutelary mission 
of cooperation and of the regeneration of the less developed 
neighbor is subordinated to the acquisition of those things 
which contribute peculiarly to the advantage of the con- 
queror, or at least it does not occupy the preeminent position 
w^hich befits it; and instead of a work of love, of concord, of 
mutual effort, it becomes a work of hatred, of violence, and 
of plunder more or less dissimulated. 

If it should be objected that in such a case the end justifies 
the means, since in the end the less advanced, conquered 
people,— the Roman provinces, for example, — assimilating 
the advantages of the new civilization, will rise to the level 
of its conqueror,— if this objection is presented, we may 
answer that neither is this always the case (for there are 
many inferior peoples who have never risen to the level of 
their conquerors, but have been absorbed by them and so lost 
their own identity), nor is violence, ordinarily carried to 
bloody limits, the proper road to education. This deplora- 
ble result is brought about sometimes through lack of tact on 



the part of the "educator,'' sometimes through resistance on 
the part of those whom he is attempting to educate. It will 
suffice to recall in this connection the thousands of victims of 
the Roman conquest in the Iberian peninsula,-victims who 
cannot be forgotten even in the light of the superior culture 
which was finally forced upon the descendants of those 
sacrificed. And as it was effected then, so it has continued to 
be effected through all history, and so it is still effected in 

our own times. 

The question, then, immediately arises: Is it possible to 
accomplish this by another method? Is it possible to bring 
into the field of what is considered the more advanced civil- 
ization any nation whatever, without stirring up a conflict 
animated by that very resistance to improvement which is the 
result of their ignorance, and without this conflict degener- 
ating into bloody disputes and plunderings? Or, in other 
terms, is it possible to educate in the same way (that is, 
through the action of love and kindness) as one would a 
child who fails to lend himself willingly to education, a peo- 
ple which does not desire progress? In my opinion this 
question cannot be answered in the abstract. We lack suf- 
ficient historical data to give a well-founded answer, for all 
the material which we do possess is based on contrary pro- 
ceedings : the conqueror has always commenced by troubling 
and molesting, and has thus given a motive for the resis- 
tance. Some exceptions which we might recall, but which 
came to nothing (I have in mind the attempt of the Padre 
Las Casas in Cumana), have usually followed bloody con- 
flicts, and it is impossible to say what they might have ac- 
complished by themselves if they had been employed from 
the start. That very division of mankind into peoples stub- 
born and warlike and peoples docile and submissive in the 
case of intervention, which the conquerors have been accus- 




tomed to make, is in itself suspicious. We cannot be certain 
that the first classification was not often an excuse for the 
violent proceedings which the invaders themselves initiated. 
There is, moreover, a factor in the problem v^^hen dealing 
with nations which greatly complicates the question and 
forces it into the field of violence, although this may not be 
the intention of the one who intervenes. This factor is the 
total or partial loss of independence which the intervention 
of a foreign power always presupposes, and which, no mat- 
ter how slight it is alleged to be, bears down upon and 
hampers its victims, the more severely the nearer they find 
themselves to that state of civilization in which liberty is 
fastidious and does not even recognize the ideal restrictions 
which separate and distinguish it from free will and the most 
absolute personal autocracy. In the case of the child forced 
to attend school there is a loss of independence as he under- 
stands it; but his protests may be overruled and his struggles 
are so insignificant and ephemeral that they leave no traces. 
The protest of a people, on the contrary, is not so easily 
overcome, and is strong enough to bring about the violent 
conflict whose suppression serves to accentuate the hatred 
and increase the tyranny. Since even the slightest interfer- 
ence, actuated by the most generous purpose, brings with it 
some limitation of a people's sovereignty, — if this limitation 
is felt keenly enough by the people interfered with, will all 
the advantages that accompany it be strong enough to 
smother the desire to reconquer their former complete free- 
dom? Moreover, the self-esteem, the national pride of a 
people is far stronger than that of an individual; it reasons 
less and often fails to recognize the superiority of a neigh- 
bor; consequently, as soon as a people whose affairs are 
under the direction of another begins to comprehend its own 
powers and is admitted to the same rank of civilization as 



that of the nation which is intervening with the intention of 
teaching, it will oppose this design with all that feeling of 
repulsion to which the self-respect of a nation is susceptible 
when it is troubled by the mere suggestion that it needs the 
guidance of another and is incapable of working out its own 


And it is to be remarked that this fact, natural in the 
psychology of the group and repeated in history, has been 
dignified in a theory which, idealizing it, has strengthened 
and raised it from the rank of an almost instinctive move- 
ment of reaction to the category of a recognized necessity, 
some of whose principles admit of no discussion. This is the 
position of Fichte when he names independence as a fun- 
damental and essential condition of all culture, since civiliza- 
tion truly serviceable to a people must be the outgrowth of 
their own effort and not something borrowed or taken over 
ready-made from others.^ 

Except for a very few and limited examples of missions 
and governors in the history of our own civilization, we 
lack, I repeat, such data concerning loving guardianship 
over a people as we possess concerning the affectionate teach- 
ing of a child; but this deficiency does not authorize the 
statement that, generally speaking, the humanitarian pro- 
ceeding would not be possible. 

That of which we may be certain is, that humanity, taken 
as a whole, does not know how to use it. It has seen the 
wisdom of dealing gently with the child, but it has not yet 
arrived at this method of dealing with the people of another 
country when that country is open to domination. This his- 
torical law, true in ancient times, true in the Middle x^ges, 

1 History, however, sometimes argues with examples contrary to this state- 
ment-r.F., the Romanization of a great part of Europe, which produced ex- 
tremely beneficial results, notwithstanding the fart that it was accompamed 
by donnination. The truth is that Fichte theorizes concernmg peoples already 


A 1 



true in the epochs of great discoveries and of colonial ex- 
pansion, still reigns in the world to-day. And furthermore, 
notwithstanding certain advances in the laws of war, usually 
more theoretical than practical, illusory promises in the 
reports of the international conventions and frequently con- 
tradicted by reality, we note a retrocession in the ideas rela- 
tive to this point, or a new and unsympathetic assertion 
(dissembled in form and not very explicit in its outward 
manifestations, but very clear and definite as a rule of con- 
duct) concerning the incorrigibility of certain human groups, 
of their unfitness for civilization, and of the advantage of 
making them disappear as one would an obstacle which 
stands in the way of progress. At least there is a general 
indifference to the fact of their disappearance, even in the 
case when this is brought about by violence and has exceeded 
the limits of a natural movement for self-defense on the part 
of the superior group. These sentiments, I repeat, are the 
dominant ones which in the end direct the decisive acts of 
statesmen, and those which triumph beneath racial roman- 
ticisms which, in some places, have wished to bind the pres- 
ent life with native atavisms open to much question when 
considered historically, but worthy of respect from the 
humanitarian point of view. 

The question, then, in its practical aspect is answered day 
by day; and it will be some time at least before any one will 
be able to change Its trend, however fervid and however 
reasonable may be the propaganda against it. Precisely 
here lies the problem— in the fitness of one or the other line 
of conduct. Which of them has reason on its side? Which 
should prevail in the system of relations between people and 
people, state and state? Do there exist, in truth, peoples 
incapable of advancing civilization, refractory to the de- 
mands of modern life; peoples whose mere existence in or 


out of a country is at least a dead weight upon the progress 
of that country, if not actually an active factor of disturb- 
ance and degradation, the suppression of which is a neces- 
sity ? 

It must be observed that the judgment of incorrigibility or 

inadaptability is rendered by the very group which is pro- 
moting or predicting the annihilation of that which it con- 
siders a disturbing element. This judgment, always open to 
suspicion, since the giver is at one and the same time judge 
and party to the suit, is perhaps hasty as well, when we con- 
sider that it Is applied to those who have as yet experienced 
no attempted education. If the condemnatory sentence 
should come as the consequence of a systematic series of 
efforts sufficiently extensive and intensive to educate the 
people or the race qualified as a disturbing factor, there 
would still be room for discussion concerning the logical 
exactness of the conclusion, but one could never deny the 
fact that this conclusion had some foundation, and that be- 
fore arriving at it other methods had been tried. But, as we 
have previously asked, which one of those peoples who have 
planted colonies among inferior races can lay claim to hav- 
ing actually made an attempt at such an education, instead 
of offering a ''civilization" produced through alcohol, decep- 
tion, abuses, and through that contempt which bars from 
communion with the superior race those men considered as 
lower in the scale of humanity? 

The above consideration, just as It stands, would be suffi- 
cient to make us suspend judgment respecting the justice of 
that policy of domination in the relations among peoples; 
but we could strengthen It still further by observing that^ in 
history this judgment of inferiority has not only been applied 
to barbarous and savage human groups, but also to those 
who enjoyed a well-developed civilization; not infrequent 




i I 



are the cases in which a warlike chauvinism, the smoldering 
hatred of nation for nation, also applies this judgment to a 
nation which is almost upon the same plane of development 
as the one which condemns it and passes this opinion only 
because the latter nation does not consider the other as be- 
longing to the same "race," or because a gulf of century-long 
wars separates them and provokes their ill-will, or simply 
because exciting contempt for any foreign accomplishment 
was considered a good method for assuring patriotism. 

Even laying aside these cases of actual injustice, of judg- 
ment blinded by passion, and also those other cases in which 
the condemnatory sentence is notoriously hasty and is not 
based on positive facts, there will still remain a few concern- 
ing which the question reappears in all its vigor. Around it 
the two opposed criteria of humanity will continue to con- 
tend—the sentimental and optimistic, which abhors all 
violent suppressions, and the utilitarian and pessimistic, 
which believes that such suppression is justified in the service 
of civilization and on the grounds of the positive inability to 
advance in culture which it presupposes in certain human 
groups. That is to say, that even on the firm ground of 
sociology and law, laying aside all the selfishness, all the 
deceits and tricks of justice which are produced by special 
interests ever against our wills, and all the illogical precipi- 
tancy of judgment, this question may safely be formulated, 
or rather, in fact, we do formulate it to-day and answer it at 
each step without scruples, and hence we must consider it as 
not to be set aside in our minds,— the question as to whether 
there actually exist people who, because they are refractory 
under any attempt to guide and educate them, should be 
eliminated from modern social life, if not by a quick, violent 
method, then by neglect of their cultural necessities and the 
absorption of their revenues. This recognition of our pres- 


ent attitude of mind toward a question of such importance 
should serve us as a touchstone for investigation and judg- 
ment of past conditions. If humanity to-day, with all its 
progress and culture, is still doubtful on this particular pomt, 
and what is worse, in actual practice still continues to apply 
the system of domination and fails to recognize tutelary 
education, or else does not apply it when it should, how can 
we be surprised that in other centuries humanity less cul- 
tured, harsher, and more implacable toward man, less influ- 
enced by the principles of fraternity and solidarity, should 
usually have proceeded in the same manner and fulfilled its 
duty of transmitting civilization either by subordinating it to 
its own interests, or imposing it by force, or judging that not 
the conquered people were worthy of it, but rather the con- 
queror In the dissemination of colonies which conquest itself 
brings about? Undoubtedly the fundamental work for a 
knowledge of actual human history is a thorough investiga- 
tion as to how each people, on coming into contact with an 
inferior race, has understood its relations with that race in 
the light of its duty toward civilization, and how it has ef- 
fectually realized them (favoring now one system, now the 
other) . This investigation up to the present time has been 
undertaken only in a fragmentary manner (that is, with 
reference only to certain peoples, and, strangely, to certain 
definite classes of culture and of social life), and often in a 
spirit of partiality which sought only faults, not facts. The 
Kulturgeschichte, aspiration of the theorists of the Renais- 
sance, cultivated in the learned manner by many historians 
of the eighteenth century and reduced to a system by those 
of the nineteenth, is still in the main a collection of general 
laws whose ideal interrogatory lacks many of the questions 
which might explain its processes and give significance to the 
material on which it is based. One of these questions-and 


V 1 



one of the most important— is that which we formulated a 
moment ago. While this question remains unanswered with 
that fullness which its conception demands and with the sci- 
entific accuracy which would exclude passion and injustice, 
we have no right, even from the most rigorously sentimental 
and humanistic point of view, to judge any people upon this 
phase of their conduct, because we would lack the exact and 
complete knowledge of what they had accomplished, and, 
consequently, the ability justly to compare this with what the 
rest of mankind had achieved. 

This is the case of Spain considered as a colonizing coun- 
try. Since Las Casas published his "Destruccion de las In- 
dias" (1552), Spaniards and foreigners^ have discussed not 
only the problems proposed by Las Casas — as, for instance, 
the right of conquest in America (the justice or injustice of 
the war), the personal liberty of the aborigines, and espe- 
cially those acts of violence, unauthorized even by war itself 
and which more than anything else aroused the pity and the 
just spirit of the famous friar,— but also our entire colonial 
policy and even our ability as a colonizing people, in so far 
as colonization is to be regarded as an aid to the progress of 
the colonizers, which is the consideration that preoccupies 
those who regard the problem from this point of view. Let 
us put this question aside since it has no immediate relation 
to the problem of civilization which is now occupying our 
attention. Although this is interesting to economists and to 

^ The defense of Spain's colonial policy in America has been very incom- 
plete. Neither Vargas Machuca nor Solorzano nor Nuix, etc., has dealt for 
the most part with more than one aspect — i.e., the slaughter of the Indians, 
their slavery through the abuse of agents, and other matters connected with 
the accusations of Las Casas; and even this they have usually done with ar- 
guments which, judged by our modern standards, at times rather make things 
worse, although such arguments carried great weight at the time they were 
advanced, because they were in accordance with the legal opinion of the age, 
a circumstance which we must never fail to take into account. As an example 
of this type of argument we may take that of evangelization and that of the 
power of the Pope, which Vargas Machuca employs, etc. 



those who with scientific reasoning deduce from every mani- 
festation of a people's character the salient points of their 
psychology and their fitness for social life, it lacks interest 
for those who, like us, are putting a very different question 
-one referring not to the effect of colonization upon the 
colonizing country, but on the country colonized. 

In this respect it is not particularly interesting to note 
those cases in which the Spaniards of the sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries, as sons of their epoch and educators m its 
ideas, acted as did the world at that time (and as is done 
even to-day quite frequently) toward the persons and pos- 
sessions of the natives, their political independence and pe- 
culiar civilization, more or less advanced. That which is 
both interesting and necessary is to note and weigh, after a 
detailed and calm investigation, the true extent of this pro- 
ceeding, or, in other words, of this contempt for the Indians 
and the abuse of their lives and possessions, in order that we 
may be able to say whether the cases in which this occurred 
were such, in number and consequence, as to warrant our 
considering the Spanish conquest and colonization as a 
unique and extraordinary example of a cruelty and arbitrari- 
ness unequaled in history, or, on the contrary, an exam- 
ple of the manner in which human groups which consider 
themselves more advanced have always treated those infe- 
rior to them. And while we are considering those charges 
unfavorable to Spain, it is equally interesting and necessary 
to ascertain and scrupulously to judge those actions, laws, 
sentiments and ideas which counteracted to a certain degree, 
or attempted to counteract, the usual method of formulating 
and carrying into effect a system of treatment for peoples of 
different rank in the scale of culture and civilization, peoples 
of different religion, etc., etc. The accurate and complete 
verification and comparison of these two opposed points of 




view will enable us to form a just and impartial judgment 
upon Spain's early proceedings with regard to the countries 
which she conquered or colonized. This verification of data, 
however, has not yet been carried out, although it has been 
suggested and even initiated in certain historical and polemic 
works, modern and ancient.^ 

The same reaction which is visible to-day in the works of 
so many authors, not Spaniards, against that exaggeration, 
admitted and encouraged for centuries, concerning Spanish 
cruelty as an essential part of our methods of colonization, 
proves that the matter is not yet fully understood nor the 
final judgment upon it rendered. The thousands of com- 
ments dealing with American history which have not been 
read and, consequently, not been used in historical investiga- 
tions are sufficient argument in favor of a just and prudent 
hesitation in pronouncing this judgment. 

There is to be considered, however, a second division of 
this purely historical problem which is occupying our atten- 
tion at present. This division deals with the actual benefits 
conferred by Spain upon the countries she colonized. Mis- 
taken or not, from the point of view of politics, the com- 
parison of the Indies (Spanish possessions in the New 
World) to Spanish territory, the consideration of their in- 
habitants as Spanish subjects, which influenced the laws 
given to them in the same manner as it influenced those given 
the people of the Spanish peninsula, the frequent transplan- 
tation of Spanish institutions to America, the participation in 
public duties allowed these very natives, etc., etc., are facts 
which merit consideration as evidence that Spain gave to the 
new countries she had conquered the same political and 
administrative system by which she herself was governed, 

1 A resume of all that is known on this subject to-day may be found in the 
author's "Historia de Espana y de la Civilizacion espanola," Vol. II, sees. 574, 
575. 588; Vol. Ill, sees. 676, 677, 678, 695, 696, 697, 698; Vol. IV, see. 811. 



and not a distinct and inferior system.' She also followed 
this identical policy with regard to her culture, establishing 
in her colonies the same system of education which the 
mother country possessed and which experienced the same 
fortune and vicissitudes as did the latter. In this respect 
there never existed a system of exceptions (we refer to the 
classical period of colonization), but rather one of perfect 
equality. For the native races and the half-breeds Spain 
even went to the extent of founding special centers of educa- 
tion and means of obtaining it (as, for example, in Cuba, 
Mexico and Chile) . If she did no more, and if she did not 
always succeed in that which she attempted, this failure was 
due either to the fact that the problem of popular education, 
as far as the native was concerned, did not at that time pre- 
sent itself with the same clearness and urgency as it does 
to-day, since culture was then the patrimony of a select class,^ 
or because in the mother country herself they either knew no 
better how to deal with the subject, or if they had at one 
time known, the decadence of education had greatly reduced 
this knowledge. Failure was never due, however, to lack of 
interest in offering to the colonies all that Spain herself pos- 
sessed of culture and of education.^ 

When the Spanish governor failed to observe the general 
rules of the original policy in reference to government and 
instruction in the colonies, curtailing the rights of the Creoles 
to hold public offices and reducing their opportunities of 
seeking prosperity through the liberal professions^ because 

1 For references on this subject, see the references quoted in the preceding 

^""'concerning the aristocratic and narrow field of may con 
sul.^he author's "Historia de Espaiia y de la Civilizac.on espanola, Vol. III. 

"3 •■Hhtoria de Espaiia y de la Civilizacion espanola," Vol. Ill, sec. 774: 

Vol. IV. 



he distrusted the use to which they might turn those advan- 
tages, the situation changed and the conflict with these 
descendants of the Spaniards themselves, not with the native 
Americans, declared itself. This conflict, for the causes in- 
dicated above and for many others extremely complex, was 
at its bitterest during the nineteenth century with respect to 
those colonies which remained in the possession of Spain 
until the close of that century. This change, which was so 
late in appearing, has, nevertheless, not been thoroughly 
studied either in its scope or causes, and consequently it is 
impossible ever to estimate, with any degree of exactness, its 
historical importance and bearing upon the problem of this 

Finally, the study of Spain as a colonizing power would be 
incomplete, from the point of view from which we are now 
considering our question, without a realization of the dis- 
coveries and contributions drawn from the opportunities 
afforded by her colonies and added by Spain to the general 
fund of the world's culture. The services rendered in this 
respect by her geographers, cosmographers, naturalists, 
philologists, navigators, etc., make a considerable item which 
justice demands that we place to the credit of Spain in the 
general work of civilization— that is, in the list of contribu- 
tions which each people owes this work in proportion to the 
resources with which its history show^s it to have been en- 
dowed. The just consideration of this point must wait, as 
does all that precedes it, until historical investigation has 
ascertained the number, quality, and significance of the facts 
relating to it. 

Let us now return to the general question from which this 
digression, or rather this practical application, has led us 
and which most concerns us since it relates to the fundamen- 
tal structure and scientific purpose of these lessons; in other 



words, let us return to our study of the ways in which civili- 
zation is communicated or initiated or encouraged among 
peoples which either fail to possess it at all or possess it m a 
tentative and elementary state. Without discussing agam 
all the points which we have examined, let us accept the law, 
just as history past and present shows it, that the peoples 
superior in culture, wealth and power, and animated by the 
desire to extend their influence over the world, always mter- 
vene in the affairs of other nations which they consider m- 
ferior. This interference, however, is undertaken under the 
pretext or with the sincere intention of aiding a more back- 
ward people toward progress through the infusion and 
transplantation of all the means of culture and of comfort, 
of the methods and standards of conduct which had aided 
the intervening nation in becoming a principal factor m all 
the history of the world during the epoch of its greatest 
power And let us imagine the most favorable case- 
namely, that in which compulsion is limited to the indispen- 
sable (a case in which force is used simply to bring the nation 
under tutelage to submit patiently to the educative action in 
all its branches), and where this compulsion is actuated 
solely by purposes of kindness, cooperation and aid. Even 
then a new problem of unquestionable importance would 
arise because it concerns the future civilization of the world. 
This problem is that of the relation which the distinctive 
characteristics of the educating and educated nations should 
bear to each other, not so much In the field of politics as in 
the more fundamental and important field of the culture and 
philosophy which each nation represents. 

The problem is neither useless nor purely hypothetical. 
On the contrary, it deals with a very common reality which 
repeats in ethical relations that which constantly appears in 
the relations of Individuals, especially where these relations 




enter the field of education. In all grades of instruction there 
are educators who understand their function as simply one of 
causing absorption. This interpretation of their duty is some- 
times due to a sincere pedagogical opinion, sometimes to a 
vanity which considers its own culture ultimate perfection 
and for that reason worth imposing upon others and repeat- 
ing without the slightest variation or amendment. Such in- 
structors consider that they have faithfully performed their 
task if they have reduced to the same pattern the minds and 
characters of their pupils, giving them a single model and 
smothering in them all manifestations of originality and 
individuality in order that no one shall either mar or improve 
the picture. In this same way there exist "absorbing" peo- 
ples who understand their duty toward civilization not in the 
sense of an obligation to arouse and stimulate the free spirit 
of others, so that through original and unhampered impulse 
they may attain, in their own way, the highest ends of human 
endeavor, but in the sense of imposing upon others their par- 
ticular conception of life and manner of complying with its 
demands; thus replacing with their own spirit that of the 
nation they desire to advance — that is, practically crushing 
this nation out of existence by destroying its national spirit 
and replacing it with that of the educator. Historical ac- 
curacy compels us to admit that not merely some but the 
majority of colonizing and civilizing nations proceed in 
exactly this manner. We must also admit that those who 
have entered foreign territory with the frank desire for con- 
quest have been more justified in so proceeding. This im- 
pulse of absorption, this lack of consideration for the 
mentality and character of other human groups, sometimes 
results from the instinctive and irrepressible force of the 
civilizing spirit, which, endowed with overabundance of 
strength, wherever it appears destroys everything less power- 



ful even without the deliberate purpose of so doing ; at other 
tim'es it emanates from the excessive and inflated estimation 
which a nation holds concerning its own accomplishment, 
and from the corresponding contempt which it entertains for 
the accomplishment of others, in which, indeed, it perceives 
only those things which call for reform or abolition. In any 
case, however, the spirit of absorption springs from a lack 
of sociological and educative orientation caused by ig- 
norance, or at least by the lack of a realization, so complete 
that it is formulated and applied in a line of conduct, that 
education produces nothing of worth while it is limited to 
transferring from one mind to another formulae and bits of 
second-hand knowledge, as one pours water from one vessel 
into another, but is only productive of results when the 
pupil's own intelligence is stimulated by examples, by sugges- 
tions and bv the assistance of his own judgment, which has 
been 'encouraged to attain a higher degree of ability to com- 
prehend life and the manners of satisfying humanity's needs, 
both material and spiritual. 

It is interesting to note that this neglect or faulty compre- 
hension of the educational duties of one people toward an- 
other has been increasing and growing more prevalent as 
civilization has advanced. The enormous difference between 
the civilization of the Greeks and Romans and the primitive, 
barbarous state of the other European nations which they 
colonized and ruled explains, on the one hand, the contempt 
of the former for their colonies, and, on the other, the ad- 
miration which the inferior nations felt for the superior, and 
their eagerness to assimilate the higher culture of the latter. 
But we must also notice that the Greeks and Romans (we 
restrict ourselves to the history of European civilization) 
deliberately refrained from attempting to surpass or restrain 
any characteristic manifestation on the part of the nations 



which they colonized and dominated, except, of course, as 
these manifestations might relate to politics and government, 
because this would have concerned their sovereignty. For 
the rest (religion, mode of living, private and even, in part, 
public law— all those things in which the distinctive charac- 
teristics of a people are most clearly shown) they had the 
greatest respect, or, one might say, since "respect" does not 
exactly convey my meaning, the greatest indifference. By 
virtue of this indifference each people was enabled to pre- 
serve and perpetuate these important institutions in their 
original form and purpose. Rome had to attain the height 
of her power in order that Romanization as an absorbing 
force (certainly not repugnant to those subjected to it) 
might extend to matters originally left untouched, but in 
which, as a matter of fact, the dominated peoples possessed 
little that was definitely opposed to the innovation of the 
conquerors. Only religion was exempt from this uniformity 
(and perhaps also a part of customary law), although this 
freedom was without great advantage to those nations whose 
religion was really less advanced than the Roman paganism, 
and, more particularly, than the philosophy which was 
gradually replacing this paganism. 

Christianity changed the aspect of affairs by transferring 
the process of absorption to the religious side of the ques- 
tion. The Germanic peoples, Romanized more or less thor- 
oughly and rapidly and upholding in the field of law the 
principle that each nation should possess a code suited to its 
own peculiar conditions and demands, represent only as 
regards religion the uncompromising uniformist attitude of 
mind which, notwithstanding the indifference of the Mussul- 
mans in the majority of cases and the spirit of practical 
compromise which some Christian nations maintained to- 
ward them and toward the Jews for many centuries, was 



imposed from the twelfth century, and which grew con- 
stantly more bitter and severe until the early part of the 
present age. In other things, however, the conquerors and 
the colonizers returned to the practice of the Greeks and 
Romans, and did not insist upon the suppression of the cus- 
toms and manners peculiar to the inferior peoples as long as 
these did not infringe upon the question of religion and, as 
goes without saying, upon the matter of their own sover- 
eignty. Either they left their subjects in freedom upon all 
other subjects (without this neglect in any way preventmg 
the realization in history of that spontaneous assimilation of 
superior culture which penetrated everywhere, and which, 
through imitation, communicated to the inferior race that 
part of itself which they were capable of adopting), or they 
made them their legal equals, placing within their reach, as 
they did in Spain, all the means of culture and progress 
which the mother country possessed. It must be observed, 
too that all this was worked out with peoples in a very 
primitive state of civilization both socially and intellectually, 
or even in a state of manifest barbarity. 

But to-day the doctrine has taken a new turn, and it is 
applied in dealing with all classes of peoples. The endeavor 
of those who uphold it would be to eradicate from within the 
limits of their political dominion every type of civilization 
and manner of living which differs from their own, andto 
replace them with a new expression of their own doctrine 
of intransigency, which, if it spares religion, affects other 
phases of life as essential and characteristic, and which is, 
after all, no more than an expression either of colossal 
vanity or of inconceivable short-sightedness with regard to 
the way humanity has progressed and can still continue to 
progress. The effective mode of progress which, in obe- 
dience to a psychological law stronger than human will, the 



peoples of all ages have followed, working together for the 
perfection of civilization as a whole, in spite of humanity's 
tendency toward jealous anger and the formation of distinct 
and self-sufficient groups, is not one in which a single phi- 
losophy of life and manner of giving expression to mental 
and spiritual qualities forces into one mold, with deplorable 
monotony and unjustifiable tyranny, the various activities of 
peoples; rather is it one In which each people develops its 
own culture to the highest point, extracting from each men- 
tal trait and quality all that it offers of essential and valuable 
In order thus to enrich the complex whole of life with cus- 
toms varied and distinctive (in so much as they are unique 
and represent the peculiar aptitudes of each people). To 
proceed in any other way— that Is, against this principle of 
consideration of complete and unhampered cultivation of the 
individuality of each people— is to impoverish civilization. 
There exist, without doubt, examples of the above-mentioned 
mode of progress, notably In industrial applications of the 
great scientific principles— that is to say, applications of our 
knowledge of natural forces and their laws which, through 
their very generality, are applicable to all and which all are 
equally free to use. This also Is the case with universal, 
humanity-wide principles of education and moral conduct. 
But, on the other hand, there are many quahtles of the spirit, 
or appertaining to it, which fail to develop in all peoples or 
In all individuals. Each one has been or is master or master 
artisan In one or various lines of progress, and his accom- 
plishment Is offered, in the course of centuries, as a model 
and spur to others who would not know how to surpass It, 
and who need, from time to time, to stimulate their energies 
by contact with an achievement which through Its very nature 
has attained the highest degree of perfection of which 
humanity Is capable. Each particular ''civilization'' of those 



Wch arrive at productive maturity has contributed its char- 

" is ic Item This contribution is the outcome of the 

taTernc oTthe most fundamental, most distinctive quah- 

f the people or the peoples which produced it, and it 

'nral^ys endure as a model for the later civilizations, 

: I T„ .need by .heir own id.osyn.rasies, ma, .dvance 

• ^-ff.r^nf- lines In this manner civilization has 

„a.„«s fac,„. ;^;t;r:::.''p :j^" « ':Ltl' ic 

T»«itudes which are died forth by human needs, from 
11 . elnrary to .h., have no. been and never 
will be »ni..d in on. spiri.. national or ,nd,v,d„al, b„. d„. 

tributed among many. ., 

This being the case, what would c.v.uzat.on gam if even 
nf these contributing factors were destroyed? And 
one of these contrio g destroyed m 

•^"* Z: ,rltiraom'n-.H: world, subiecin, i. 
r: litrX WW* Lnld carry wi.h it ""'o;;- -"^ 

a very sman p u„rnane What will he do, 

of him if he is to be worthy and humane, vv n 

then without the collaboration of those who can supply the 

song of a happy man? Our '■""f 'S"'!"" ' " "tsk of 
(achat we do no. lack any ~'''''7''''" " ^J" Bn 
bringing .he riches, var.e.y » = -' ™;',^_ l^ 

:,::T£:rwrm:::rea;hrn,ea^h people, 




understand Its unavoidable duty and grave responsibility 
toward the cultivation and perfection of its own distinctive 
note in the great harmony of civilization. In other words, 
each people must learn not to flee from the task set before it, 
nor to fail in that assistance which other people expect from 
it. It is also necessary to establish a continuous and sys- 
tematic spiritual communion among nations in order that 
they may understand and mutually aid each other, that each 
one may learn from the rest the lessons they are best fitted 
to teach, and that in this way the work of national civiliza- 
tion may be converted into a truly human work in which all 
groups and all individuals may cooperate, each contributing 
the best and most valuable part of its culture, and each bear- 
ing always in mind the way in which his contribution will 
most benefit others. 

Only in this manner should civilization spread, perfecting 
and enriching itself, — civilization, with the present and fu- 
ture of which we are rightly concerned, and the laws of 
which historians and sociologists do not investigate from 
mere curiosity alone, but rather in order that their know- 
ledge of these laws may enlighten and guide mankind in all 
its present and its future actions. 

Rafael Altamira. 









First Lecture 

HOW could I fail to call up the memory of the illus- 
trious scientist for whose death, so cruelly premature, 
France and the whole world are mourning? When Henri 
Poincare was invited by President Edgar Odell Lovett to 
deliver an address at this scientific celebration, his acceptance 
was conditional on the state of his health. A few months 
later, he finally declined the invitation, promising, however, 
to send his lecture in writing. I cannot remember without 
emotion the last conversation I had with him on that subject. 
I was still hoping that his decision was not final ; but, after 
giving me some friendly advice about my lectures and the 
journey, he told me with what deep regret he had to give up 
the thought of ever visiting the United States again, and I 
felt, for the first time, how serious was the condition which 
justified his refusal. A few weeks afterward he was gone. 
In spite of the difficulties of such a task, I should have con- 
sidered it a pious duty to devote this address to an appre- 
elation of his work; no subject could be more suitable, in 
this Institute consecrated to science, than the life and works 
of this noble champion of disinterested research; but my 
eminent friend Mr. Vito Volterra had, as you know, formed 

1 Three lectures presented at the inauguration of the Rice Institute by 
Fn,ile Bore Professor of the Theory of Functions in the University of Pans. 
^■^Translat'ed ?rom the French by Professor Albert Leon Guerard of the 
Rice Institute. _ ^ 

[1347 3 


the same plan; and no one among you will regret that I 
resigned to him the privilege of carrying it out. 

The relations between the mathematical sciences and the 
physical sciences are as old as these sciences themselves; it 
is the study of natural phenomena which led man to set for 
himself the first problems, out of which, by means of abstrac- 
tion and generalization, the sciences of numbers and of space 
have grown in all their splendid complexity. Conversely, 
through a sort of preestablished harmony, certain mathe- 
matical theories, after being developed apparently far from 
the real, were often found to provide the key to phenomena 
which the creators of these theories did not have in mind. 
The most famous instance in point is the theory of conic 
sections, an object of pure speculation among the Greek 
geometers, but whose researches enabled Kepler, twenty 
centuries later, to formulate with precision the laws of the 
motions of the planets. In the same way, in the first half 
of the nineteenth century, it was the theory of imaginary 
exponentials which made it possible to go deeper into the 
study of vibratory motions, which was found to be of such 
commanding importance in physics and even in the field of 
industry; it is to this study that we owe wireless telegraphy 
and the transmission of energy by polyphase currents. More 
recently still, we know how useful the abstract theory of 
groups proved to be for the study of the ideas, so profound 
and so new, which have been put forward to explain the 
results of the capital experiments on relativity made by your 
illustrious compatriot Michelson. 

But these illustrations, however important they may be, 
are special and relate to particular theories. How much 


more striking is the universal adoption of the forms imposed 
on scientific thought by the genius of Descartes, Newton, 
Leibnitz! The use of rectangular coordinates and of the 
elements of differential and integral calculus has become so 
familiar to us that we might be tempted at times to forget 
that these admirable instruments date only from the seven- 
teenth century, and in the same way the theory of partial 
differential equations dates only from the eighteenth cen- 
tury: it was in 1767 that d'Alembert obtained the general 
integral of the equation of vibrating chords. It was the 
study of physical phenomena which suggested the notions of 
continuity, derivative, integral, differential equation, vector, 
and the calculus of vectors, and these notions, by a just 
return, have become part of the scientific equipment neces- 
sary to every physicist : it is through them that he interprets 
the results of his experiments. There is evidently nothmg 
mysterious in the fact that mathematical theories constructed 
on the model of certain phenomena should have been capable 
of being developed and of providing a model for other phe- 
nomena ; this fact, however, deserves to hold our attention, 
for it implies an important practical consequence; if new 
physical phenomena suggest new mathematical models, 
mathematicians will have to study these new models and 
their generalizations, with the legitimate hope that the new 
mathematical theories thus evolved .vlll prove fruitful in 
their turn in providing the physicists with useful forms of 
thought. In other words, to the evolution of physics there 
should correspond an evolution of mathematics which, with- 
out giving up the study of classical and well established 
theories, should develop in taking into account the results of 
experience. It is in this order of ideas that I should like 
to examine to-day the influence which molecular theories may 
have on the development of mathematics. 






It was in the hypothesis of the continuity of matter that, 
at the end of the eighteenth century and in the first half of 
the nineteenth, what may be termed classical mathematical 
physics was created; one may take as types of the theories 
thus constructed hydrodynamics and elasticity. In hydro- 
dynamics every liquid was considered by definition as homo- 
geneous and isotropic; it was not quite the same in the study 
of the elasticity of solid bodies: the theory of crystalline 
forms had led physicists to admit the existence of a periodic 
network— that is to say, of a discontinuous structure; but the 
period of the network was supposed to be extremely small 
compared with the elements of matter physically considered 
as differential elements; the crystalline structure therefore 
led only to anisotropy, but not to discontinuity; the partial 
differential equations of elasticity as well as those of hydro- 
dynamics imply that the medium studied is continuous. 

Yet the atomic hypothesis, the tradition of which goes 
back to the Greek philosophers, was not abandoned; apart 
from the confirmation which it found in the properties of 
gases and in the laws of chemistry, it was by means of that 
hypothesis that certain phenomena, such as the compressi- 
bility of liquids or the permeability of solids, had to be 
explained, in spite of the apparent continuity of these two 
states of matter; but this hypothesis was placed in juxtaposi- 
tion with the physical theories based on continuity: it did 
not affect them. The rapid advances in thermodynamics and 
in the theories of energy contributed to maintain this sort of 
impenetrable partition between the physical theories and the 
hypothesis of the existence of atoms, however fruitful this 
might prove to be in chemistry. For most of the physicists 
of half a century ago the problem of the reality of atoms 


was a metaphysical question, in the original acceptance of 
the term, a question beyond the domain of physics; it mat- 
tered little to science whether atoms existed or were simple 
fictions, and one might even doubt whether there was any 
sense in affirming or denying their existence. However, thanks 
especially to the labors of Maxwell and of Boltzmann, the 
explicit introduction of molecules into the theory of gases 
and solutions was proving its fruitfulness; and Gibbs created 
the new study to which he gave the name Statistical Me- 
chanics. But it is only within the last twenty years that all 
physicists have been compelled, by the study of new radi- 
ations on the one hand, and by the study of the Brownian 
movement on the other, to consider the molecular hypothesis 
as indispensable to natural philosophy. And more recently a 
more thorough study of the laws of radiation has led to the 
unexpected hypothesis of the discontinuity of energy, or of 
motion. It does not come within my subject to expound the 
experimental proofs which make these hypotheses seem more 
and more probable every day; the most striking experiments 
are perhaps those which have made it possible to observe 
the individual emissions of the a particles, so that we are 
actually able to apprehend one of the concrete units with 
which the physicist builds up the sensible universe, just as 
the abstract universe of mathematics can be built up by 
means of an abstract unit. 

In order definitely to formulate their hypotheses and to 
deduce therefrom consequences that can be experimentally 
verified, the theorists of modern physics make use of mathe- 
matical symbols; these symbols are those which were ere- 
ated on the basis of the notion of continuity; no wonder, 
therefore, if difficulties sometimes appear, the most recent 
of which is the contradiction, at least in appearance, between 
the hypothesis of the quanta and the older hypothesis that 



phenomena are governed by differential equations. But 
these difficulties of principle do not prevent the success of 
what may be called partial theories, by which a certain num- 
ber of experimental results, in spite of their apparent di- 
versity, can be deduced from a small number of formulas 
which are coherent among themselves; thus, for many of 
the phenomena of physical optics, the formulae are the same 
in the mechanical theory of Fresnel and in the electromag- 
netic theory of Maxwell; in the same way, the formulae used 
by electrical engineers are independent of the diversity of 
theories concerning the nature of the current. 

If I have made it a point to call your attention to this use 
of the mathematical instrument as an auxiliary to the partial 
physical theories, although it does not lie within my sub- 
ject, it is in order to prevent any misunderstanding: it seems 
to me beyond doubt that for a long time to come— perhaps 
as long as human science itself shall endure— it will be under 
this comparatively modest form that mathematics will prove 
of greatest use to physicists. This is no reason why we 
should take no interest in the general mathematical theories 
for which physics has provided the models, whether we have 
to deal with speculations on partial differential equations 
suggested by the physics of the continuum, or with statistical 
speculations pertaining to the physics of the discontinuum; 
but it should be clearly understood that the new mathemati- 
cal theories which may be suggested by the discontinuity of 
physical phenomena cannot have the pretension of entirely 
replacing classical mathematics; these are only new aspects, 
for which it is proper to make room by the side of the older 
views, so as to increase as much as possible the richness of 
the abstract world, wherein we seek for models which will 
make us understand concrete phenomena better and foresee 
them more accurately. 




It is frequently a simplification in mathematics to replace 
a very large finite number by infinity. Thus the calculus of 
definite integrals is frequently more simple than that of sum- 
mation formula, and the differential calculus is usually sim- 
pler than that of finite differences. In the same way, we 
have been led to replace the simultaneous study of a very 
lar-e number of functions of one variable by the study of 
a continuous infinitude of functions of one variable; that is 
to say, by the study of a function of two variables. By a 
bolder generalization. Professor Vito Volterra has been led 
to define functions which depend on other functions-that is 
to say, in the simplest case, functions of lines, in considering 
them as the limiting cases of functions which would depend 
on a great number of variables, or, if one prefers, on a very 
great number of points of the line. 

These various generalizations have rapidly secured per- 
manent recognition in mathematical physics; the use of inte- 
gral equations, the classical types of which are the equation 
of Volterra and the equation of Fredholm, has become cur- 
rent Although these theories are well known to all, it may 
not be idle to recall their origin by means of a particularly 
simple example ; we shall thus better understand their sig- 
nificance from our present point of view. 

Let us consider a system composed of a finite number of 
material points, each of which can deviate only by a small 
amount from a certain position of stable equilibrium. The 
differential equations which determine the variations of these 
deviations from their position of equilibrium may be con- 
sidered, under certain hypotheses and to a first approxima- 
tion, as linear in respect to these deviations. If, moreover, 




we introduce the hypothesis that the system conforms to the 
law of the conservation of energy, the differential equations 
assume a very simple and classical form, from which the fact 
can easilv be deduced that the motion may be considered as 
the superposition of a certain number of periodic motions. 
The number of these elementary periodic motions is equal 
to the number of degrees of freedom; it is three times the 
number of the material points, if each of these points can be 
arbitrarily displaced in the neighborhood of its position of 
equilibrium. The periods of the simple periodic motions are 
the specific constants of the system, which depend only on its 
configuration and the hypotheses made concerning the forces 
brought into action by its deformation, but which do not 
depend on the initial conditions: positions and velocities. 
These initial conditions determine the arbitrary constants 
which figure In the general integral and which are two in 
number for each period : the intensity and the phase. 

Now let us suppose that the number of material points 
becomes very large, and let us Identify each of them with a 
molecule of a soHd body— a bar of steel, for Instance; if our 
hypotheses are still verified— and this Is admitted in the 
theory of elasticity- their consequences also will remam 
true; we shall then have a very large number of character- 
istic constants, each of these constants defining a proper 
period of the system. Let us Increase to infinity the number 
of molecules; the system of differential equations. Infinitely 
great in number, Is then replaced by a finite number of par- 
tial differential equations, whose fundamental properties are 
obtained by passing to the limit. In particular, the proper 
periods can be determined, and this remarkable result is 
established— that these periods can be calculated with pre- 
cision and without ambiguity if we take the precaution of 
defining them by commencing with the longest; there is only 



a finite number of periods superior to a given interval, but 
this number increases indefinitely when the interval tends 

toward zero. ,. , • . t 

The reasoning which has just been outhned is the type ot 
those to which the substitution of continuity for discontinuity 
leads- in reality, the considerations based on the existence of 
molecules play but an auxiliary part in them ; they put us on 
the track of the solution, but this solution, once arrived at, 
satisfies rigorously the partial differential equations of Lame, 
equations which can be deduced just as well from theories 
of energy as from molecular hypotheses. The molecular 
theory has therefore been a valuable guide for the analyst 
in suggesting to him the course to be followed in studying 
the equations of the problem, but it is eliminated from the 
final solution. On the other hand, we know that this solu- 
tion is but an imperfect representation of reality; we obtain 
an infinitude of proper periods, instead of a very great num- 
ber of them; the actual number, however, is so great that 
we ought not, perhaps, to feel any scruple in passing to the 
hmit and considering it as practically infinite. If, however, 
one bears in mind that the difficulties of the theory of black 
radiation arise precisely from the very short periods, and 
that these difficulties are not yet solved in an entirely satis- 
factory manner, one will perhaps come to the conclusion that 
one could not be too careful about anything which relates to 
these very short periods. This is probably the reason why 
such a physicist as Lorentz has thought that the considerable 
analytical efforts required by the study of the propagation 
of waves, when molecules are explicitly introduced into it, 
were not superfluous. However this may be, even if the 
substitution of the infinite for the finite is entirely legitimate 
in certain problems, it may be interesting to propose to one s 
self, from a purely mathematical point of view, the direct 



study of functions or equations depending upon a great but 
finite number of variables. 


The first difficulty which presents itself, when one wishes 
to study functions of a very great number of variables, is 
the exact definition of such a function— I mean its individual 
definition— making it possible to distinguish the function 
thus defined from the infinitude of other analogous func- 
tions. It is true that there exist general properties common 
to all the mathematical entities of a certain category, indepen- 
dent of the numerical value of the coefficients; for instance, 
every definite quadratic form (that is to say, one always 
positive) is equal to the sum of the squares of as many inde- 
pendent linear functions as the number of the variables 
which it contains. One has at times attempted to deduce 
physical consequences from mathematical facts of that kind; 
I must confess that I cannot help being skeptical about this 
sort of reasoning ; it may seem rather strange that one should 
be able to deduce anything exact from such a general notion 
as that of a surface of the second degree (let us say, for 
fixing ideas, a generalized ellipsoid) in a space having a very 
great number of dimensions. Let us insist a little on the 
difficulty there is in knowing such an ellipsoid individually: 
its equation may be supposed to be reduced to a sum of 
squares by an orthogonal substitution— that is to say, the 
axes remaining rectangular. Such an ellipsoid then requires, 
for its complete definition, the knowledge of what we may 
call the squares of the lengths of its axes— that is to say, the 
knowledge of as many positive numbers as the space consid- 
ered has dimensions. The question of knowing whether one 
can consider as given so many numbers, when a man's life- 
time would not suffice to enumerate a small part of them, is 



a question which is not without analogy with that of the 
legitimacy of certain reasonings of the theory of ensembles, 
such as the one by which Professor Zermelo Pretends to 
prove that the continuum can be well ordered, and which 
supposes to be realized an infinitude of choices mdependent 
of any law, and yet uniquely determined. Opm.ons may 
differ on the theoretical solution of these difficulties and this 
is not the moment to reopen this controversy but from the 
practical point of view, the answer is not doubtful: it is not 
possible effectively to write the numerical equation of an 
ellipsoid whose axes are as numerous as the molecules con- 
stituting a gram of hydrogen. , 

In what sense then is it possible to speak of a numencally 
determined ellipsoid possessing a very large number o 
dimensions? From an abstract point of view, the simplest 
method for defining such an ellipsoid consists in supposing 
that the lengths of the axes are equal to the values of a cer 
tain function which is simple for the integral values of the 
variable; one may suppose them to be all equal (in which 
case one will say that the ellipsoid is reduced to a sphere) , 
one may also suppose that their values are the successive 
integral numbers in their natural sequence, either starting 
from number one or from any other given number; or that 
they are equal to the inverses of the squares of these inte- 
gers etc. In other words, we suppose that the lengths of 
the 'axes are all determined by the knowledge of a for- 
mula simple enough to be actually written, whereas it is no 
possible actually to write as many distinct numbers as there 

'' Another method, to which we are naturally led by the 
analogies with the kinetic theory of gases, consists m sup- 
posing that the values of a function of the axes, such as the 
square of the lengths of the axes, or of the.r inverses, etc., 



are not individually given, but that we know only the mean 
value of this function, and the law of the distribution of the 
other values around this mean. We propose, under these 
conditions, not to study the property of a unique and well 
defined ellipsoid, but only the most probable properties of 
the ellipsoid, knowing only that it satisfies the required con- 
ditions; we can also say that we study the mean properties 
of the ensemble of the ellipsoids defined by these conditions. 
Here again we may observe that the probable ellipsoid or the 
mean ellipsoid is completely defined by the knowledge of 
the mean value of the law of deviations. If this law is 
the classic law of probabilities. It Includes only two constants; 
if we were led to Introduce a more complicated law, this 
law might In all cases be explicitly written. The two pro- 
cesses that we have indicated are therefore equivalent from 
the analytical point of view; it would evidently be the same 
with all other processes that could be imagined, and in par- 
ticular with the combinations of these two. 

In a word, a figure which depends on an extremely great 
number of parameters can be considered as numerically de- 
terminate only If these parameters are defined by means of 
numerical data sufficiently few In number to be accessible to 
us. It is for this reason that the study of the geometrical 
figures In a space possessing an extremely great number of 
dimensions can lead to general laws If we can exclude from 
this study such of these figures as, humanly speaking, can- 
not possibly be defined Individually. 

Here are, for example, some of the results to which the 
study of ellipsoids leads us. In working the equation In the 
form of a sum of squares, the second member being reduced 
to unity, the coefficients are equal to the reciprocals of the 
squares of the axes. If the mean of the squares of these 
coefficients is of the same order of magnitude as the square 



of their mean, one will say that the ellipsoid Is not very 
irregular. The modes of definition concerning which we 
have just spoken lead to ellipsoids which are not very irregu- 
lar, since one does not systematically Introduce Into those 
definitions functions purposely chosen in a complicated man- 
ner. On the contrary, one gets a very irregular ellipsoid 
in equating to a constant the vis viva of a deformable system 
composed of a very great number of molecules, this vis viva 
being written under the classic form of the sum of the vis 
viva of translation of the total mass concentrated at the cen- 
ter of gravity, increased by the sum of the vires viva of the 
molecules in their motion relative to this center of gravity. 
The great Irregularity comes from the fact that the products 
of the total mass by the three components of the velocity 
of the center of gravity are extremely great in comparison 
with the other terms. When an ellipsoid is not very irregu- 
lar, several of Its properties make it possible to assimilate It 
to a sphere, which may be called the median sphere; the sur- 
face of the ellipsoid is almost wholly comprised between the 
surfaces of two spheres very close to the median sphere; on 
the other hand, if a point Is arbitrarily chosen on the ellip- 
soid. It is infinitely probable that the normal at this point 
passes extremely close to the center. 

This geometrical study of figures with a very large num- 
ber of dimensions deserves, I believe, to be thoroughly in- 
vestigated; It brings out the abstract basis of the theories of 
statistical mechanics and physics-that Is to say, it en- 
ables us to distinguish, among the propositions to which 
physicists are led, those which are a consequence of physical 
hypotheses from those which are derived only from statis- 
tical hypotheses. But, apart from its physical usefulness, 
this geometrical study of spaces having a very great number 
of dimensions offers an interest of its own; it is to the 


molecular theories that we are indebted for this new branch 
of mathematics. 


We can, however, ask ourselves whether it is legitimate 
to consider as bound up with the molecular hypothesis a 
theory which, after all, should depend exclusively on a smal 
.lumber of constants. To say that an ellipsoid with a great 
number of dimensions is entirely defined by five or six con- 
stants, amounts to saying that all the consequences which we 
shall deduce from its study can be expressed by means of 
these five or six constants. Can we not suppose, then, that 
an analytical mechanism could be devised, enabling us to 
arrive at these same consequences, expressed by means ot 
the five or six constants, without its being necessary to bring 
in the equation with a very great number of terms-that is 
to say, without its being necessary to make use of the molecu- 
lar hypothesis. . 

This objection deserves careful consideration, although it 
reminds us of the controversy between the energetists and 
the atomists, a controversy in which the advantage seems 
decidedly to have been on the side of the atomists. It may 
be answered, in the first place, with an argument of fact: it 
matters little that we might conceive the possibility, without 
making use of molecular hypotheses, of combimng among 
themselves the consequences of these hypotheses; the impor- 
tant point is to know whether this possibility is realized at 
present, or if, on the contrary, the calculations based upon 
molecular hypotheses are the simplest, if not the only, mode 
of deduction. If the latter alternative be correct, and it 
seems difficult to deny that it is, molecular hypotheses are 
therefore at present very necessary indeed, and that alone 
ought to be of consequence to us. 



Under this modest form, which leaves room for future 
contingencies, this reply seems peremptory; but I believe that 
many physicists would think it is not categorical enough. It 
must be noted, however, that the question is independent of 
the experimental proofs of the reality of molecules. Even 
if we should succeed in seeing, by means of an instrument 
more powerful than a microscope, the molecules of a solid 
body, it would not follow, however valuable this knowledge 
might be, that one should have to use it in order to account, 
in the simplest possible manner, for the properties of that 
body; in a similar way, the possibility of seeing an isolated 
microbe under the microscope is not an indispensable condi- 
tion for the attenuation of the viruses and the use of vac- 
cines; or again, in the reproduction of a masterpiece by 
photogravure, it is not the individual knowledge of the 
points constituting the negative that interests us.' 

From an abstract point of view, if we admit that any 
human theory must be expressed, in last analysis, by means 
of a finite and relatively small number of data, it seems 
difficult to deny the possibility of entirely constituting the 
theory, without introducing hypotheses which imply the exis- 
tence of elements more numerous than human imagination 
can conceive. But the recognition of this abstract possibility 
cannot prevail against the importance of the services ren- 
dered by molecular theories in linking together apparently 
unrelated phenomena; so it is permissible to consider these 
reserves on future possibilities as purely theoretical. 

1 Xl,;, JnHiviHual knowledge of pomts has a part in the processes for trans- 
mitting the nKative to a distance ; but in this case these pomts however 
numerous are none the less finite in number and accesstble to our ob-rvat,on^ 

Lre^ici^tL^'ibf ;?^e^"arrr;asi air.';u: z "5ts :rc^'rt ^ 

: ^r fons wMch would rehire too much time to be kno,v. -^n-u^ua y ; b t 
in fact these elementary v brations have nothmg to do with musical sestnetics 
an excellem composer'^mav be ignorant of their existence, and an excellent 
physicist may be a wretched musician. 




Is it possible to go still further, and to do away even with 
this kind of reserve? In order to answer this question we 
should have to examine in detail all the phenomena which 
are explained by means of molecular hypotheses, and to try 
to ascertain whether an extremely large number of param- 
eters is indeed necessary to such explanation. Among the 
discontinuous phenomena whose experimental lawsare well 
known, the most characteristic are those of spectra m series; 
we know that the positions of the spectral rays are deter- 
mined with a very great precision by formula the first and 
simplest of which, due to Balmer, includes the difference of the 
reciprocals of the squares of two integers. This is perhaps 
the most remarkable example of the intervention of the inte- 
ger in natural law; if laws of this kind were more numerous 
and better known, one might possibly be led to name arith- 
metic and the theory of numbers among the branches of 
mathematics which can be connected with molecular physics. 
Can one, by induction, admit that the formula of Balmer is 
exact, not only for small integers concerning which the ex- 
perimental verification is rigorous, but for many other larger 
integers concerning which this verification is impossible? 
And if such be the case, is it not one of those discontinuous 
phenomena whose explanation requires a very large number 
of parameters? It does not seem so: on the one hand, the 
formula with the variable integer contains in fact but a small 
number of constants; on the other hand, the attempts made 
for explaining the presence of this integer by hypotheses of 
physical discontinuity have led to the placing of this dis- 
continuity within the atom itself; there is consequently no 
need of a ven' large number of atoms : one alone is sufficient, 
whose structure depends only on certain parameters, on 
magnetons in the theory of Ritz, parameters the number of 
which is far from being of the same order as the number of 
the atoms. 


This remark leads us to consider another category of phe- 
nomena, to which we have already alluded, and in which the 
atoms or corpuscles are observed individually. Does not the 
explanation of these phenomena require atomic hypotheses? 
It seems difficult to deny it without being paradoxical. Let 
us note, however, that such phenomena as the emission of 
the a particles are susceptible only of a globate explanation; 
it is not possible to foresee with accuracy any particular 
emission, but only a mean number; scientifically speaking, 
therefore, this mean number alone has any existence; the 
phenomenon which consists in the emission of one a particle 
does not present the characters which permit of rigorous 
experimentation: one cannot either foresee it or reproduce 
it at will ; it is only the study of the trajectory after the emis- 
sion that offers these characters; and in fact this study re- 
quires only such a limited number of equations that one can 
write them all. The atomic hypotheses would enable us to 
foresee each individual emission, if one could in fact calcu- 
late with reference to an extremely great number of equa- 
tions; but that is not possible, and so far as the globate 
prevision is concerned the atomic hypothesis is not, at least 
a priori, necessary. 

We touch here upon the borders of science, since we reach 
phenomena accessible to our observation, and which depend 
upon causes too numerous for us ever to know them with 
precision in their full complexity. Science remains possible 
only for mean values which can be calculated with precision 
by means of data accessible to observation. 

It is well understood, I hope, that I do not dispute the 
legitimacy and usefulness of molecular theories; my remarks 
as a mathematician cannot attain physical reality; at the bot- 
tom, they do not go farther than this: all the calculations 
we shall ever be able really to effect will comprise only a 
rather limited number of equations actually written; if we 





write one equation, and if we add that we consider several 
billions of analogous equations, we do not, in fact, calculate 
these unwritten equations, but only the written equation, tak- 
ing into account perhaps the number of these unwritten equa- 
tions, a number which also has been written. Every mathe- 
matical theory, therefore, reduces itself to a relatively small 
number of equations and calculations, which involve a 
relatively small number of symbols and numerical constants; 
it is therefore not absurd a priori to suppose that one might 
conceive a physical model containing also a relatively small 
number of parameters and leading to the same equations. 
As long, however, as this model has not been imagined— and 
perhaps it will never be— the analytical or geometrical re- 
searches on functions of a very large but finite number of 
variables will offer some interest for the physicists. 


We have already observed that it is an ordinary proceed- 
ing in mathematics to replace a very large finite by an infinite. 
What result does this method yield when it is applied to 
physically discontinuous phenomena, whose complexity seems 
bound up with the very large number of molecules? Such, 
for instance, are the phenomena of the Brownian movement, 
which is observed when very fine particles are in suspension 
in an apparently quiet liquid. These phenomena fall within 
the category of those we were mentioning a moment ago, of 
which none but a statistical foreknowledge is possible. 

Is it possible to construct an analytical image of such phe- 
nomena? Professor Jean Perrin^ has already called atten- 
tion to the fact that the trajectories observed in the Brownian 

1 Jean Perrin, "La discontinuite de la matiere," Re^'ue du Mois, mars 1906. 
See also Jean Perrin, "Les Atomes," Alcan 1913. 



movement suggest the notion of continuous functions pos- 
sessing no derivatives, or that of continuous curves pos- 
sessing no tangent. If one observes these trajectories with 
optical instruments of increasing perfection, one sees, at each 
new magnification, new details, the curvilinear arc that we 
could have traced being replaced by a sort of broken line 
the sides of which form a finite angle with each other; this 
remains the case up to the limit of the magnifications at pres- 
ent possible. If we admit that the movement is produced 
by the impact of molecules against the particle, we must 
conclude that, with a sufficient magnifying power, we should 
obtain the exact form of trajectory, which would present 
itself under the form of a broken line with rounded angles, 
and which would not be perceptibly modified by a still further 


But the analyst is not forbidden to put off indefinitely in 
his thought the realization of this final state, and thus to 
arrive at the conception of a curve in which the sinuosities 
become finer and finer as one uses a higher magnification, 
without ever obtaining the final sinuosities : this is indeed the 
geom.etrical image of a continuous function not admitting of 

a derivative. 

We obtain also a curve of a similar nature, sufficiently 
interesting to arrest our attention, when we study the func- 
tion which Boltzmann designates by H and Gibbs by 17, and 
which represents, in the case of a gas, the logarithm of the 
probability of a determinate distribution of the velocities of 
the molecules. Each collision between two molecules gives 
a sudden variation to this function, which is thus represented 
by a staircase curve, the horizontal projections of the steps 
corresponding to the intervals of time which separate two 
collisions, the number of the collisions undergone by a mole- 
cule being some billions per second (that is to say, of the 




order of magnitude lo^), and the number of molecules of 
the order of magnitude lo^^ (if we consider a mass of a few 
grams of gas), the total number of collisions per second is 
of the order of magnitude ic^^; such is the number of steps 
projected on a portion of the axis of the abscissas equal to 
unity, if the second is taken as the unit of time.^ What the 
physicists consider is the mean behavior of the curve. They 
replace the serrated curve by a more regular curve having 
the same mean behavior in the time intervals, which are very 
small in comparison to the second, but very great in com- 
parison to lO"^^ of a second. 

These diverse considerations bring interesting suggestions 
to the analyst, on which I should like to dwell for a moment. 

In the first place, referring to the continuous curves with- 
out derivatives of which the Brownian movement has given 
us the image, should the passage from the finite to the infinite 
lead to a curve all of whose points are points of discontinu- 
ity, or to a curve which admits an infinitude of points of dis- 
continuity, but also an infinitude of points of continuity? For 
a proper understanding of the question, it is necessary briefly 
to recall the capital distinction between denumerable infinity 
and continuous infinity. An infinite ensemble is said to be 
denumerable if its terms can be numbered by means of inte- 
gers. Such is the case for the ensemble composed of terms 
of a simple or multiple series; we can also cite as a denu- 
merable ensemble the ensemble of the rational numbers. On 
the other hand, the ensemble of all the numbers comprised 
between o and i, both commensurable and incommensurable, 
is not denumerable: we say that this ensemble has the same 
power as the continuum. If we define a discontinuous func- 

1 This discontinuity supposes evidently that we consider the duration of a 
collision as less than the mean interval of two collisions (in the whole mass), 
a hypothesis difficult to admit. The schema^ to which this hypothesis leads 
is not less interesting from the analytical point of view. 



tion by a series each term of which admits a point of discon- 
tinuity, the ensemble of these points of discontinuity is de- 
numerable, as are the terms themselves. Can we determine 
a function which shall be totally discontinuous— that is to say, 
one whose points of discontinuity shall be all the points of a 
continuous ensemble, and not merely those of a denumerable 
ensemble? It would seem to be easy to imagine such a func- 
tion. Such is the oft-studied function which is equal to i if x 
is commensurable and to x if x is incommensurable; this 
function is indeed discontinuous, as much so for the com- 
mensurable values as for the incommensurable values. If 
we look a little closer, we perceive that the discontinuity is 
not the same in these points: we must note, in fact, that the 
commensurable numbers occupy infinitely less space in the 
axis of the x's than do the incommensurable numbers; the 
ensemble of these commensurable numbers is of dimension 
zero— that is to say, it can be confined within intervals whose 
total extent is less than any number given in advance. Speak- 
ing in more concrete terms, if we choose a number at ran- 
dom, the probability that it will be commensurable is equal 
to zero.i \Ye therefore conclude that the function equal to 
X for the incommensurable values of the variable is, on an 
average, continuous for these incommensurable values, what- 
ever its values may be for the commensurable values— that 
is to say, if we choose in the neighborhood of an incommen- 
surable value, for which we study the continuity, another 
value taken at random, it is infinitely probable that this value 
taken at random will also be incommensurable; it is then 
infinitely probable that the variation of the function will be 
infinitely small when the variation of the variable is small. 

1 To eive one's self a number at random, one may agree to choose at ran- 
dom the successive figures of the decimal fraction which is equal to it ; the 
probability that this decimal fraction will be finite or periodic is evidentU 
equal to zero. 



This remark enables us to understand that it has not been 
found possible to define analytically a function all the points 
of which are effectively points of total discontinuity; it is 
only in points determined according to the definition of the 
function, and playing a particular part in this definition, that 
the function Is actually discontinuous on an average. 

The passing from the finite to the infinite, when we are 
concerned with the discontinuity of functions, is, then, not 
effected after the manner which is most usual in classical 
mathematical physics, in which matter is supposed to be con- 
tinuous, and in which the finite is replaced by the continu- 
ous; we are led to conceive a different process, which seems, 
besides, more in harmony with the molecular conception, and 
which consists in replacing the very great finite by the denu- 

merable infinite. 

This is the way In which the analytical generalization of 
such curves as the H curves presents itself from this point 
of view. Let us consider a number written In the form of 
an Intermlnate decimal fraction, and let us imagine that the 
figures which follow the decimal point are grouped in suc- 
cessive periods, each period containing many more figures 
than the preceding period. To each period we shall cause 
to correspond one term of a series, this term being equal to 
zero If in the corresponding period the ratio of the number 
of even figures to the number of odd figures is comprised 
between 0.4 and 0.6; while if this ratio Is not comprised be- 
tween these limits, the term corresponding to the period is 
equal to the term of the same order of a certain convergent 
series with positive terms. It is clear that, if the lengths of 
the successive periods increase rapidly, it Is infinitely proba- 
ble that a small number of periods only will furnish terms 
different from zero; consequently, the series which corre- 
sponds to the decimal number will be terminate; this termi- 



nate series has a certain sum, which remains the same as long 
as the decimal number varies so little that the last one of the 
periods which gave a term to the series is not modified; at 
least in the interval thus defined it is extremely probable that 
the function corresponding to the decimal number preserves 
this constant and well determined value-that is to say, is 
represented by a horizontal line; however, there are in this 
interval, as in every interval, particular decimal numbers for 
which certain periods of high order, perhaps even an infini- 
tude of such periods, are irregular from the point of view 
of the distribution of even and odd figures; there are then 
intervals which are extremely small, and, on an average, 
extremely rare, but nevertheless dense everywhere, in which 
the curve runs up above the horizontal line which in general 
represents it. In one of these points, which we may call 
maxima of the curve, it is extremely probable that, if we take 
a value in the neighborhood of the variable at random, the 
function will diminish-that is to say, that this point has, on 
an average, the character of a maximum in a point. 

In the preceding example the maxima are represented by 
intervals narrower and narrower, but finite; in modifying 
slightly the definition, one can obtain a curve which would 
coincide everywhere with the axis of x, except in points not 
filling any interval; it is sufficient to agree that, m the series 
which we have just defined, we replace by zero every term 
which is followed by an infinitude of terms equal to zero ; 
the new series can then be different from zero only if the 
terms of the first series are all, after a certain place, different 

from zero. . , i j 

The study of analytical models thus obtained leads us to 
go deeper into the theory of functions of real variables, and 
even to conceive new notions such as the notion of average^ 
derivative, naturally suggested by the physical example ot 



the function H.^ Besides, it is necessary to observe that in 
the study of these functions the notion of continuous en- 
semble is often combined with the notion of denumerable 
ensemble; for example, it is easy to see that the ensemble of 
decimal numbers whose figures are all odd presents certain 
characters of the ensemble of all the decimal numbers ; it has, 
as we say, the same power as the continuum,^ but it is, how- 
ever, of zero dimension. 

We may also connect with these considerations the theory 
of denumerable probabilities— that is to say, the study of 
probabilities in the case in which either the infinitude of 
trials or the infinitude of possible cases is denumerable— a 
study lying between the study of probabilities in the finite 
cases and the study of continuous probabilities. 


In spite of the interest of problems relating to functions of 
a real variable, it is the theory of functions of a complex 
variable which, since the immortal discoveries of Cauchy, is 
really the center of analysis. The analogy between the 
theory of the functions which Cauchy has called monogenic 
functions and which are often called analytical functions, and 
the theory of Laplace's equation which is verified by poten- 
tials, is undoubtedly one of the most fruitful analogies in 
analysis. We know all the advantage Riemann has derived 
from the theory of potential and from physical intuition in 
his profound researches upon the functions of a complex 

^ Emile Borel, "Comptes Rendus de rAcademie des Sciences de Paris," 29 
avril 1912. 

If in a decimal number all of whose figures are odd we replace the 
respective figures i, 3, 5, 7, 9 by the figures o, 2, 3, 4, we may consider that 
number as any number whatever written in the system whose base is 5. 


It is therefore natural to ask one's self what new ideas 
can be brought by molecular theories into this domain of 
complex variables. Here again we shall be led to replace 
the very large finite number by the denumerable infinity: it 
is easy to form series each term of which presents a singular 
point," the ensemble of the terms of the series thus possessing 
a denumerable infinitude of singular points. These singular 
points may, for instance, be so chosen that they coincide with 
all such points among the points inside of a square whose 
two coordinates are rational. The most simple series that 
we can thus form presents itself under the form of the sum 
of a series of fractions each of which admits of only one 
pole which is a simple pole. The physical interpretation, 
in the domain of reality, of such a series leads us to con- 
sider the potential of a system composed of an infinitude of 
isolated points, the mass concentrated in each of these points 
being finite (which leads us to admit that the density in each 
such point is infinite, if the point is considered abstractly 
as a simple geometrical point without dimensions) . We sup- 
pose, of course, that the series whose terms denote the values 
of the masses is convergent, which amounts to saying that 
the total mass is finite, although concentrated in an infinitude 
of distinct points-for example, in all the points whose two 
coordinates are rational numbers. _ 

The potential with which we are now concerned is in the 
case of a plane what we call a logarithmic potential ; we could 
reason similarly in three-dimensional space : we should then 
have the Newtonian potential properly so called. 

The hypothesis that the attracting masses are simple ma- 
terial points without dimensions is difficult to accept from 
the physical point of view; one is thus led to perform the 
analytical operation which consists in dispersing this mass 
into a small circle (or a small sphere) having this point for 





center, without changing the potential outside of this circle 
(or sphere) ; we shall call this circle (or sphere) the 
'^sphere of action" of the point which coincides with its 
center; we shall choose its radius to be proportional 
to the mass concentrated at its center, so that, if the 
series formed by the masses converges with sufficient rapid- 
ity, we may arrange things in such a manner that the radii of 
the spheres of action also form a very rapidly converging 
series, and yet that the maximum density of the attracting 
m^ass be finite. It is also easy, if we admit that v/e can dis- 
pose arbitrarily of the distribution of masses and densities, 
to arrange things in such a way that the distribution in each 
sphere of action, as well as its derivatives, is reduced to zero 
over the whole surface of the sphere; the distribution of the 
density is thus not merely finite, but continuous throughout 

The hypothesis which we have made concerning the con- 
vergence of the series the terms of which are the radii of the 
spheres of action, implies the convergence of the series the 
terms of which are the projections of these spheres on any 
straight line whatever; if, therefore, in this series, we sup- 
press a certain number of the first term, the rest of the series 
can be made less than any number fixed in advance. From 
this we conclude that in an interval, however small it may be, 
taken on the straight line on which we project the spheres, 
we can find an infinite number of points which belong at the 
most to a finite number of such projections— namely, those 
belonging to the spheres S which correspond to the first 
terms of the series, and which were suppressed in the series 
in order to make the remainder less than the interval con- 
sidered. If we consider a plane perpendicular to the straight 
line and passing through one of these points (this point being 
chosen, as is possible, distinct from the projections of the 


centers of the spheres S, finite in num.ber, concerning which 
we have just spoken) , this plane will at most intersect a finite 
number of spheres S, without going through their centers, 
but will be exterior to all the other spheres of action. It is 
possible to modify the distribution of matter within the 
spheres S which are finite in number and intersected by the 
plane in such a manner as to replace these spheres by smaller 
ones which do not intersect the plane, this operation not 
modifying the potential outside of the spheres, and the den- 
sity remaining finite, since the operation relates to only a 
limited number of spheres. To sum up. It Is possible to find 
a plane perpendicular to any straight line whatever, cutting 
out of this line any segment whatever given in advance, and 
such that In all the points of this plane the density shall be 
zero. Since our potential function is defined by a density 
everywhere finite and continuous, this potential satisfies the 
equation of Polsson, which reduces itself to the equation of 
Laplace wherever the density is zero-that is to say, in all 
the points of the planes which we have just defined. It was 
not idle to insist upon this point, for these planes may 
traverse regions of space In which the given material points 
are everywhere dense-as are, for example, all the points 
whose coordinates are rational numbers. We might have 
feared that there would be no free space between points so 
closely pressed together, so to speak; we have just seen that 
this fear was unjustified. The theorem of the theory of en- 
sembles which is necessary and sufficient for demonstrating 
this result In a rigorous manner Is the following: // on a 
segment of a straight line we have an infinite number of par- 
tial segments {in this particular case, the projections of the 
spheres of action) whose total length is less than the length 
of the segment, there exist on that segment an infinite num- 
ber of points which do not pertain to any of the partial seg- 



merits. This formulation is almost self-evident, and besides, 
it would be easy to demonstrate it rigorously. 

In the case of the plane we shall replace the spheres by 
circles and the plane perpendicular at a point of the segment 
by a perpendicular straight line; we can easily prove that, 
even in the region where the singular points are everywhere 
dense, there are points at which an infinite number of such 
lines intersect, on which the density is zero; at these points 
the logarithmic potential function satisfies Laplace's equation 
in two variables. If we study in a similar w^ay the function 
of a complex variable with poles dense in one region, we 
define an infinite number of straight lines of continuity, inter- 
secting in all directions, the function admitting of derivatives 
w^hich are continuous on these lines, and the derivative hav- 
ing the same value in all the directions in each of the points 
of intersection. To express this fact we shall use the word 
created by Cauchy for designating functions which admit of 
a derivative independent of the argument of the increment 
of the variable; these functions may be called monogenic, 
but they are not analytical, if we reserve for the word "ana- 
lytical" the very definite meaning which it has possessed 
since the labors of Weierstrass. 

Without lingering on the physical analogies suggested by 
the existence of planes which do not intersect the spheres of 
action of the attracting masses, I should like to insist a little 
upon the nature of the mathematical problems arising out of 
the existence of these monogenic but not analytical functions. 
We know that the essential property of analytical functions 
is that they are determinate in the whole domain of their 
existence, when their values are given in one portion, how- 
ever small it may be, of that domain. Is that property a con- 
sequence of analyticity— that is to say, of the existence of the 
Taylor series with radius of convergence differing from zero 



^or of monogeneity-that is to say, of the existence of the 
unique derivative? This question was meaningless as long 
as it was possible to confound analyticity with monogeneity; 
on the other hand, it takes a very clear signification as soon 
as we have succeeded in constructing non-analytical mono- 
genic functions. 

I cannot enter to-day into the detail of the deductions 
which have led to the solution of this problem;^ here is the 
result : it is, indeed, monogeneity which is the essential char- 
acter to which the fundamental property of analytical func- 
tions is due; this fundamental property subsists for the non- 
analytical monogenic functions as soon as we specify clearly 
the nature of the domains In which these functions are con- 
sidered. I have proposed to call the domains satisfying these 
distinct conditions "domains of Cauchy." A domain of 
Cauchy Is obtained by cutting off from a continuous domain 
domains of exclusion analogous to the spheres of action just 
mentioned, domains which may be Infinite In number, but 
whose sum can be supposed to be less than any given number 
(just as the spheres or circles of exclusion just considered, 
whose radii once chosen we can multiply by any number less 
than unity, while we are free to Increase the upper limit of 
the density at the same time as we decrease the radii of exclu- 

The series formed by these excluded domains should, evi- 
dently, be supposed to be convergent; moreover, we ought to 
suppose that Its convergence Is more rapid than that of a 
determinate series which it is not necessary to write here. 
Under these conditions, which refer only to the domain and 
not to the function, every function which in Cauchy's domain 

1 See Emile Borel, ''Definition et domaine d'existence des fonctions mono- 
eenes uniformes" { ournal of the International Congress of Mathematicians 
Cambridge, England, 1912) ; ''Les fonctions monogenes non-analytiques 
{Bulletin de la Societe Mathematique de Trance, 1912). 



satisfies the fundamental equation of monogeneity possesses 
the essential property of the analytical function; we can cal- 
culate it throughout its domain of existence by the knowledge 
of its derivatives at one point (the existence of the first 
derivative involves the existence of all the derivatives, at 
least in a certain domain which forms part of the Cauchy 
domain), and this mode of calculation implies the conse- 
quence that, if the monogenic function be zero on an arc 
however small, it is zero in every point of the domain of 
Cauchy; two functions, therefore, cannot coincide on an arc 
without coinciding throughout their domain of existence, in 
the generalized sense. 

I cannot develop the consequences of these results from 
the point of view of the theory of functions; but I should 
like, in closing, to submit to you some reflections which they 
suggest concerning the relations between mathematical and 
physical continuity. 


Most of the equations Into which we translate the physical 
phenomena have certain properties of continuity; the solu- 
tions vary in a continuous manner, at least during a certain 
interval, greater or less in length, when the given quantities 
vary in a continuous manner. Besides, this property Is not 
absolutely general, and It might happen that the theories of 
the quanta of emission or absorption may lead us to give 
more importance than heretofore to exceptional cases; but 
to-day I do not wish to enter upon this discussion; I limit 
myself to the general property, verified In a large number of 

When we seek to interpret this property In the theory of 
the potential and of the monogenic functions, we should ex- 
pect. If for simplification we confine ourselves to the real 
functions of a single variable, to find a sort of continuous 



passage between such of these functions as are analytical in 
the Welerstrasslan sense and those which are entirely dis- 
continuous. Now, this Is precisely what does not occur un- 
less we consider non-analytical monogenic functions; as soon 
as a function ceases to be analytical it no longer possesses 
any of the essential properties of analytical functions: the 
discontinuity Is sudden. The new monogenic functions per- 
mit one to define functions of real variables which might be 
called quasi-analytical and which constitute in some way a 
zone of transition between the classical analytical functions 
and the functions which are not determined by the know- 
ledge of their derivatives in a point. This transitional zone 
deserves to be studied: it is oftentimes the study of hybrid 
forms which best teaches us about certain properties of 
clearly defined species. 

We see that the points of contact between molecular phys- 
ics and mathematics are numerous: I have only been able to 
point out. In a rapid manner, the most important among 
them. I am not competent to ask whether the physicists will 
be able to derive Immediate advantage from these analogies; 
but I am convinced that mathematicians can only gain by in- 
vestigating them more thoroughly. Mathematical analysis 
has ever been rejuvenated by contact with nature; It is only 
because of this permanent contact that it has been able to 
escape the danger of becoming a pure symbolism, revolving 
in a circle about Itself; thanks to molecular physics, the 
speculations on discontinuity will assume their full sig- 
nificance, and will develop in a truly fruitful manner. And 
while it is impossible to foresee the exact applications of 
these researches, it is not unlikely that the mental habits they 
foster will not prove useless to those who desire to under- 
take the task, that cannot long be deferred, of creating an 
analysis adapted to theoretical researches in the physics of 


Second Lecture 


WE say that a linear aggregate E is of measure zero if, 
when we are given a number e arbitrarily small, we 
can inclose all the points of E within intervals whose sum is 
less than e. For an aggregate of two dimensions we have a 
similar definition, replacing the intervals by the rectangles. 
Moreover, we see that we may speak of squares instead of 
rectangles, because if we are given a rectangle we can find 
a finite number of squares of which the total area differs 
as little as we please from the area of the rectangle, and 
such that every point within the rectangle is also within one 
of these squares. We could also replace squares by circles 
without altering the generality of the definition. 

Aggregates of measure zero play a very important part in 
the theory of functions of a real and of a complex variable. 
It is therefore useful to be able to compare the different 
aggregates of measure zero among themselves. This com- 
parison is aided by the concept of regular aggregates. In 
the first place, then, we shall define regular aggregates and 
the fundamental points of these aggregates, and we shall 
show that every regular aggregate is equivalent to another 
regular aggregate of which the fundamental points are 
chosen in a special manner, for example, as the points with 
rational coordinates. Finally, we shall consider the classifi- 
cation of aggregates of measure zero, with given funda- 
mental points. This classification will be based on the 
asymptotic decrease of the intervals (or squares) of exclusion. 

^ Translated from the French by Professor Griffith Conrad Evans, of the Rice 



An aggregate of measure zero is said to be regular when 
It can be defined in the following manner : 

Let ^1, ^25 •••j ^n) "'be a denumerahle infinity of points^ 
said to he fundamental points. To each integral number h let 
us make correspond an infinity of squares Cf\ C'i\ •••, C^n\ •••, 
of which the areas form a convergent series^ such that the 
square C^^ incloses in its interior C^'^^^ and approaches A^ 
when h increases indefinitely. Let Ef^ be the aggregate of 
points inside of the squares Cn\n= i, 2, •••)• The aggregate 
of points contained in all the Ef, is a regular aggregate (which 
is evidently of zero measure). 

Every aggregate of zero measure can be considered as 
part of a regular aggregate. In other words, if J is any 
aggregate of measure zero, we can define a regular aggregate 
E of zero measure, such that every point of A belongs to E. 
To prove this proposition let us imagine a sequence of num- 
bers €1, €2, •••, €„, decreasing and tending to zero, the series 
2e„ being supposed convergent. Since the aggregate J is 
of measure zero, we can define an aggregate J^^^ of squares 
(with sides parallel to the axes) the sum of whose area is less 
than e^, and such that every point of J is inside one of 
these squares J^^\ We define first the squares J^^\ then the 
squares A^^^ ; if there are portions of these squares A^^^ which 
are outside all the squares J^^\ we can suppress them as 
useless. In order to proceed in a perfectly definite manner, 
we consider the first of the squares J^^\ say Ji\ and oper- 
ate successively on the portions of the successive squares 
J^^^ which are inside J[^^ ; we continue in the same way 
with J2\ being careful each time to omit the portions 
already considered, etc. These operations lead us to con- 
sider rectangles, each of which may be replaced by an 
enumerable infinity of squares (in particular cases a finite 
number). It is suflficient, in order to form the squares ac- 
cording to a definite law, to construct successively the 



greatest possible square inside the rectangle, taking as the 
vertex nearest the origin of coordinates that vertex of the 
rectangle which is nearest the origin of coordinates. If 
among the squares so defined there are some which contain 
no point of the aggregate A we suppress them. We may 
assume the squares to be arranged in the order of de- 
creasing size (if two of them happen to be equal in size we 
shall arrange them according to the relative values of the 
abscissas of their centers ; and if these abscissas are equal, 
according to the value of their ordinates). In the same way 
we arrange the squares A^"^^ (after the required transforma- 
tions), and so on. 

We define an aggregate B of squares which will con- 
sist of all the squares A^^\ and besides a certain number of 
the squares A^'^\ A^^\ •••. In the same way B^^^ will include all 
the squares A^^^ and, besides, a certain number of the squares 
A^^\ •••. It is clear that the sum of the squares B^^^ is less 
than Ef^ + E^+i + ••• is finite no matter what h may be and ap- 
proaches zero when h increases indefinitely. Since all the 
squares A''^^ will be part of the B^^\ every point of A is in- 
side of one of the squares B'^^K In order that the aggregate 
E defined by the B^^^ may be regular we must be able to 
number the B^''\ B^^\ Bf, •••, Bl,^\ .-, in such a way that 
^r'^ shall be less than B'J:\ 

We achieve this result in the following manner. Consider 
first the squares A^^\ if there are any, whose area is greater 
than €2 (we know that there are none whose area is greater 
than €1, since the sum of all the A^^^ is less than €1). We 
designate these squares as Bi\ B2\ •••, Bn\\ Let us con- 
sider next those remaining squares A^^^ of which the area is 
greater than €3, and let us denote them by ^;^+i, ^a,+2> "•) Bp\\ 
Let us take now the squares A^^^ whose area is greater than 
€3 ; they are arranged in a definite order, as we have said. 
If the first of inside one of the A^^^ already numbered, 




for example inside Bll\ we shall denote it by 5f \ otherwise 
we shall denote it at the same time by B^^^^^ and by B^pJ^^, In 
the same way, if the second of the A^^^ that we take is inside 
one of the A^^^ already numbered, diiferent from Bl,^\ say B[^\ 
we shall denote it by B^,^\ If it is not inside any of the A''^^ 
(it cannot be inside an A^^^ without a number, since its area 
is greater than €3 and the A''^^ without numbers have areas 
less than €2), or if it is inside the particular B^^^ which has 
already been utilized, we shall denote it at the same time by 
BpX2 and by BpJ+2' In this way we manage to define a cer- 
tain number of new squares B^^^ which we will call ^^ii, 
BpJ^.2, •••, Bi^^\ and a certain number of squares B^^^ which in- 
clude all the A^^^ of area greater than €3. 

Let us consider now the squares A^^^ of area greater than 
€4, and let us denote them by 5n,ii, Bl^J^.2, •••, BpJ ; we can 
proceed in the same way as before for the A^^^ whose areas 
are greater than €4, and we can then pass on to the A^^^ whose 
areas are greater than e . Those among them which are in- 
side of the B^^^ already numbered will have the same num- 
bers (each number being given of course but one time). The 
others will be denoted at the same time by B^s\ B^i\ Bf\ 
We can continue indefinitely in the same way, the e^ ap- 
proaching zero when k increases indefinitely and each opera- 
tion involving only a finite number of squares. In this way 
every square belonging to A^^^ will appear in B^^^ in a deter- 
minate position. Moreover, it is obvious that Bf^ ap- 
proaches zero no matter what q may be when h increases 
indefinitely. It is impossible that certain series B^q\ Bf\ 
•••, B^p should terminate, because that would mean that no 
one of the squares A^^'^^^ is inside B'^J^ ; that is to say, that B^^ 
would inclose no point of the aggregate A, which is contrary 
to our hypothesis. The aggregates of squares B^^^ define, 
then, a regular aggregate which includes all the points of A, 
and our theorem is proved. 





We notice that in the definition of the regular aggregate 
E there are certain series ^i'\ 5f\ •-, of which a certain 
number of the first terms denote squares that coincide among 
themselves. That, in fact, is no difficulty. We can, how- 
ever, avoid this circumstance by slightly modifying the defi- 
nitions of the first Bg of such a series ; if, for instance, B 
Bf\ 5f coincide, we can replace Bf' by (i +e)Bf\ and 5, 
by (i 4-Ci)(i -\-€)B^^^^ (we designate by aC a square similarly 
placed to C, with the ratio a of similarity). These opera- 
tions multiply the total extent of the squares B^^^ by a factor 
less than the convergent infinite product n(i +ej,). 

We notice that the regular aggregate E which we have 
defined is not necessarily the most simple of the regular 
aggregates of measure zero which include the J, but it is 
not important that our demonstration should give us the 
most simple. The essential thing is to show that there 
exists one; it is then possible to consider without contradic- 
tion the collection of all the regular aggregates of measure 
zero which contain A, and we can choose from this collection 
if not the simplest (which may not exist, in the same way 
that the smallest number greater than V2 does not exist), 
at least an aggregate E whose simplicity is as close as we 
please to the greatest possible. 

From now on we shall consider especially the regular 
aggregates. Such an aggregate is defined by the funda- 
mental points An, which are limits of the B^^^ when h in- 
creases indefinitely, and by the magnitudes of the excluding 
squares B^''^ corresponding to An^ The derived aggregate 
of the fundamental points is a closed set A\ In the general 
case this set is composed of a perfect aggregate and a reduc- 
ible aggregate. The excluding intervals which correspond 

1 It might seem desirable to consider also the relative positions of the Jn in these 
squares ; but by modifying slightly the definitions we can so arrange that every 

Bi^^ has Jn for its center. 



to the points of the reducible aggregate have only in common 
the points of this reducible aggregate itself. Their study 
therefore gives us nothing new. The really interesting part 
of a regular aggregate of zero measure is that which is 
attached to those points of A' which form a perfect aggre- 
gate. We shall have to distinguish cases according to the 
nature of this perfect aggregate. We shall limit ourselves, 
however, to the consideration of the case where the aggregate 
A' contains all the points of a certain area of simple form. 
The points An will then be dense within this area.^ All the 
cases where the area is of a single piece and simply connected 
may be reduced by conformal representation to the case 
of the area bounded by a circle. We shall show that if we 
have two different systems of points An and B„, dense within 
the interior of equal circles and also dense on their circum- 
ferences, ^ we can establish between these points a reciprocal 
continuous one-to-one correspondence in such a way that the 
ratio between the distance of any two points Aj,, A^ and the 
distance of the corresponding points 5^, 5, will be included 
between two limits as close to unity as we please. It will 
follow from this theorem that we shall be able without loss 
of generality to suppose that the fundamental points of an 
aggregate of zero measure, when these points are dense 
within a certain region, coincide with a given dense aggregate 
in that region — for instance, with the points of rational 

1 We shall thus leave aside those aggregates of zero measure which we obtain by 
assuming that ^ is a perfect linear aggregate which without being Imear yetcontains 
no area. For example, we could exclude certain fixed areas around the pomts with 
rational coordinates and take for the An the points with algebraic coordinates 
which did not belong to the excluded areas. We could also build up in some arrange- 
ment several similar constructions, or even a denumerable infinity of such construc- 
tions superposed, and thus obtain regions which would be quite complicated from 
the point of view of Analysis Situs. u a 

2 The case when neither aggregate has points on the circumference can be treated 

in the same way. 




The theorem which we have in view can be expressed as 
follows : Given two equal circles C and C\ and two enumerable 
aggregates A and B, of which the first is dense in C and on the 
circumference C, and the second is dense in C and on the cir- 
cumference C, and given an arbitrarily small number €, then 
we can number the points of A and B in such a way that to a 
point on the contour we make correspond a point on the contour, 
and that we have, whatever p and q may be, 

We shall say that in this case the two aggregates are similar 

by €. 

In order to prove this theorem we shall assume that the 
points of the two aggregates are arranged provisionally in a 
determinate order, and we shall consider successively the 
first point of A, then the first point of B, then the second 
point of A, then the second point of B, and so on. Thus we 
shall not miss any point belonging to either of the two 
aggregates. To each new point that we consider in one 
aggregate, we shall make correspond a determinate point 
in the other; and when the turn of this new point comes 
we shall omit it. 

We shall suppose that the centers of the circles C and C 
do not belong to the aggregates A and B (nothing would be 
changed if both of them should belong, for we could make 
them correspond ; and if one of them belonged, but the other 
not, we could make a conformal transformation, differing 
little from the identical transformation, which would trans- 
form the second circle into an equal circle whose center 
could then be made to correspond to the center of the first 



circle). In this way we can investigate the two circles by 
considering them superposed and yet distinct. It is possible 
now to choose two rectangular axes Ox and Oy in such a way 
that the diameters parallel to the axes contain no points of 
A or B, and every line parallel to either of the axes contains 
at most one point of A and one point of B (because the to- 
tality of directions of lines which connect the center with 
points of A or with points of B, or connect the points of A 
among themselves, or the points of B among themselves, 
or which are perpendicular to these directions, form an 
enumerable aggregate). Let us assume an infinite series 
of positive numbers «i, «2, "•, e„, ••• such that 

l_e<n(i-e„) , n(i+«„)<i+*. 

The circle C is divided by the diameters parallel to the 
axes in four equal regions which provisionally we shall call 
I, 2, 3, 4 ; and the circle C is divided in homologous regions 
which we shall designate in the same manner. 

Consider first A,, which may be, for instance, in the region 
3 : since it cannot be on the diameters, it must be inside 
this region, unless it be on the circumference (a case which 
we are for the moment excluding). Let us now designate 
by A[ the point of the region 3 of C which coincides with A, 
when C is moved upon C by a translation. If A'^ happens 
to belong to B, which is not the general case, we shall call 
it Bx. Otherwise we shall define a square with center at Ai, 
such that the ratio of the greatest to the least of the shortest 
possible distances of all the points in the square to points 
on the boundary of the region 3 shall be less than i + e.. 
This shortest distance is parallel to the axes for the recti- 
linear portions of the boundary and coincides with the radius 
for the curvilinear portion, and, from our hypothesis in regard 
to ^ 1, is not zero. So the construction of the square is always 
possible. We now choose 5, arbitrarily from the points of 


B inside this square (if we wish to avoid having to make an 
arbitrary choice from among a denumerable infinity of 
points, we can take the point of B whose number is smallest 
in the provisional classification). Having chosen this 
point Bi we construct parallels to the axes passing through 
Ai and 5i, each set of which, with the diameters already 
drawn, will divide its circle into regions (nine in each) which 
will correspond two by two. Some of these regions will be 
rectangles (in this case only one), while the others will be 
quadrilaterals or triangles of which certain sides are parallels 
to the axes and one side is an arc of the circle. If we agree 
to consider as the dimensions of such regions the dimensions 
of the rectilinear sides, it follows from the construction that 
the ratio between homologous dimensions of two correspond- 
ing regions is included between i + e and i — e.^ In the 
case which we have momentarily excepted, where A\ is on 
the circumference, we can take 5i, also on the circumference, 
in such a way that the same condition shall be verified with 
respect to the regions, a construction which is always pos- 

Let us turn now to the second point ^2, taken from the 
second aggregate. We make correspond to it a point A2 
situated in the homologous region, chosen in such a way 
that the new regions obtained by drawing parallels to the 
axes through A2 and B2 have homologous sides whose dimen- 
sions are included between (i + €i)(i + €2) and (i — ei) 
(i — €2). This condition necessitates assigning to A2 a 
certain area inside this region, and A2 is chosen inside this 
region either arbitrarily, or according to some definite law, 
as has been explained for Bi, care being taken to have A2 
on the circumference C, if B2 is on the circumference C 

1 We have, in fact, — -— - > i - ci, and, according to our construction, the ratios 
of homologous sides are included between i + ci and — ^ — • 


We continue in the same way, taking alternately a point in 
A and a point in B, making it correspond to some point in 
the other aggregate. After n operations we shall have at 
most (n + 2)2 regions, and the ratio of two homologous 
dimensions of two regions which correspond will always be 

included between 

(l - ei)(l - ^2) •■• (i - e-.) 

and ^ ^ , ^ , \ 

(I + ei)(l + «2) ••■ (l + «») 

and therefore between i - « and I + e. If we continue in 
this way indefinitely, every point of A and every point of 
B will have a number, after a finite number of operations, and 
this number will be at most double the number of the same 
point in the provisional classification. 

This final classification satisfies completely the conditions 
of our theorem. For, if we consider any two points A^, A„ 
with their corresponding points B„ 5„ the difference of the 
abscissa x, and x, of J, and A„ when the regional division 
has progressed far enough (that is, after a number of opera- 
tions not greater than the larger of the two members p, q), 
will be equal to the sum of the rectiHnear sides of certain 
regions, and the abscissas x'„ x\ of B, and B, will be equal to 
the sum of rectilinear sides of the corresponding regions. 
We shall have then 


and similarly 


Xj, Xq 

from which follows immediately 

But this last relation is the statement of our theorem. 


We might show in the same way the analogous theorem 
about the angles a and /? which the lines A^A^ and Bj,B^ 
make with the axis Ox. In fact, we have 

tan a: = 


so that from equations (i) and (2) we deduce immediately 

I— e tan a l+e 
i+e tan/3 i— € 

If we take the angles a and /3 positive, since they are al- 
most of the same value, cot /3 -f tan a is greater than or at 
least equal to 2, and therefore, neglecting e^, we shall have 

a-0\ < I tan(a-/3) | = 

tan a 

tan /3 





— I 

< €. 

The properties of the correspondence which we have 
shown to exist between two enumerable aggregates A and J5, 
which are dense in equal circles C and C\ are worth studying 
more completely. Here follow some remarks that might 
be useful in such a study. In the first place we observe 
that if any partial arrangement of points An, An, -•' 
approach a limiting point P, there corresponds to it a partial 
series of points 5„^, Bn^, ••• which approaches a limit P\ 
The correspondence between P and P' is well defined, — 
that is, is independent of the partial series that may be 
chosen. We have in this way a one-to-one correspondence 
between the points of C and the points of C, 

Let us agree to call the parallels to the axes, drawn through 
the points of the aggregate, lines of discontinuity. To any 
point M not on a line of discontinuity corresponds an homol- 
ogous point M\ and the transformation of the region in the 


neighborhood of M into the region in the neighborhood of 
M' may be written in the form 

a;' = (A + v)x 

y = {h-^ V)y, 

where x, y are the coordinates of M, x\ y' are the coordinates 
of M', h, k are constants of value between i - e and i + e, 
and rj and rj' are functions of x and y which approach zero 
when x^ + y^ approaches zero. The constants h and k are 
the two ratios of similitude (parallel to the two axes) of the 
neighborhoods of M' and M. If the points M' and M lie 
on a line of discontinuity, the ratio of similitude in the 
direction perpendicular to this line has not the same value 
on both sides of the line. At a point M which is the inter- 
section of two lines of discontinuity, there are four values for 
each ratio of similitude, corresponding respectively to the 
positive and negative variations of the two coordinates. 
The ratio of similitude h is thus defined throughout C. It is 
discontinuous on the lines of discontinuity, but continuous 

at other points. 

If we know nothing about the provisional numbering of 
the aggregates A and B, we can merely say this about the 
relation between the provisional numbering and the final 
numbering : that the final number n is at most twice the 
provisional number p; for every point numbered provi- 
sionally A p or Bp is chosen after at most 2p operations. 
We cannot, however, give an upper limit to ^ as a function 

of n. 

It will be possible to determine such a limit, provided 
that we take care to choose the system of provisional num- 
bering from among those that are sensibly homogeneous. 
Let us make our meaning clear. By definition, in order to 
arrange a very large number p of points in a homogeneous 
manner in a circle C, we shall construct a square grating 



such that p of its vertices are inside C; if a^ is the length 
of a segment of the grating, we shall put one point in each 
square of side 0;^, and l^ in each square of /a^, exactly if / is 
an integral number, approximately if / is not. Let us write 
lap = \ and take X as fixed and p variable. Then for every 
value of p we can calculate the approximate number of 
points inside the square of side X, a number which may be 
given asymptotically as p\^/Tr^, r being the radius of the 
circle C. We shall say that the arrangement of points of 
the enumerable aggregate Ji, J2, •••, ^p, ••• is asymptotically 
homogeneous if, for any square of side X, the number X^ of 
points of index less than p inside this square approaches 
this same symptotic value p\~/7rr^ when p increases indefi- 
nitely; i.e., if the ratio irXpr^/pX^ between the numbers X^ 
and the symptotic value pX'^/wr'^ approaches i as ^ increases 
indefinitely. We shall say that the arrangement is sensibly 
homogeneous if this ratio becomes and remains limited by 
two constants a and /5(q: < I </5) independent of p and of 
the position of the square of side X. 

In the preceding definition of homogeneous arrangement, 
nothing was said about the points that happened to be 
situated on the boundary. If the boundary is a square of 
side <2, the maximum number of points situated on this 
boundary for a grating of measure a/n is \n, the total num- 
ber of points being n-. Generally speaking, the number of 
points on the boundary will be said to be normal if it is of the 
order of magnitude of the square root of the total number of 
points. We must observe that this notion of normal depends 
on the assumption that there are points on the contour. If 
the points were arranged arbitrarily, in the general case there 
would be no point on the boundary, and this is indeed the 
simpler hypothesis. But if there are points on the contour, 
the case is probably that there is some sort of a relation 
between the way the contour is chosen and the way the 



points are given. Hence it is natural to suppose that the 
probability that a point falls on an arc of the boundary of 
unit length is some finite proportion of the probability 
that a point falls in unit area. This hypothesis is verified, 
for instance, if the boundary is a circle and if the points of the 
aggregate are those with rational coordinates. Other such 
hypotheses might be conceived, related to the theory of 


We must then, in the case where there are points on the 
boundary, add to the hypothesis that the arrangement is 
sensibly homogeneous inside, the hypothesis that it is sensibly 
homogeneous on the boundary. 

In many questions, the preceding definition of sensibly 
homogeneous arrangements is inadequate; it is necessary 
to add a condition which may be called intrinsic homogeneity, 
because it introduces the relative positions of the points 
of the aggregate. If we consider the vertices of a grating, 
which we take as the type of homogeneity (or, say, a net of 
equilateral triangles), we see that the shortest distance 
between two vertices is proportional to the inverse square 
root of the total number of points. We say that a two- 
dimensional aggregate is Intrinsically homogeneous if the 
shortest distance between any two of its points_of number 
less than p is of the order of magnitude i/V^^.^ Homo- 
geneity of arrangement and intrinsic homogeneity are thus 
seen to be independent conceptions, neither being a conse- 
quence of the other. 

Given a denumerable aggregate, dense within a circle (or 
square), it is always possible to number its points in such a 
way as to satisfy the conditions of homogeneity. One of 
the simplest methods of doing this is as follows. After 
having numbered some of the points, we trace a gratmg 

1 An analogous condition should be verified for the shortest distance to the 
boundary of points very near to this boundary and not lying on it. 

. v*- . ,,..>. . 


fine enough to make a few more squares than points already- 
numbered, and such that one square includes at most one 
of these points. There will then be some squares that do 
not contain such points. In each of these we number one 
point of the aggregate, by choosing it inside a square con- 
centric with the first, and twice smaller, taking the point of 
smallest subscript in the provisional numbering (thus we are 
sure of not omitting any point). 

Any system of numbering that satisfies both conditions of 
homogeneity will be spoken of as normal. It is easy to 
verify the fact that the methods of numbering habitually 
used lead to normal arrangements. 

When the two aggregates that are dense in C and C are 
numbered normally, it is possible to arrange matters so that 
the one-to-one correspondence set up between their elements 
shall be itself normal ; i.e., there exist between the provi- 
sional numbering, p, and the final numbering, w, inequalities 
of the form 

p" < n < p^, 

where the exponents a and /3 are finite and depend only on 
the number of dimensions in the aggregate considered, and 
on the convergent series ^€n which has been used. (In 
order to be sure that a and ^ are finite, there must be a finite 
quantity h such that limn^en = o.) 

We divide the aggregate J into two others, J^ and J^\ 
still everywhere dense, and the aggregate B, similarly, into 
B' and B'\ It is then easy to show that the correspondence 
can be set up in such a way that the points of A^ correspond 
to those of B' and the points of A'' to the points of B'\ 
For that, it would not be sufficient of course to apply the 
general theorem first to J^ and B' and then to J and B, 
because the correspondence thus set up between two 
points P and P' inside C and C\ respectively, would not in 



general be the same by means of the two separate corre- 

This procedure we can extend to the case where A and B 
each consists of a denumerable infinity of aliquot parts, every- 
where dense. We can establish, for instance, a continuous 
one-to-one correspondence between the rational numbers in 
a certain interval, and the algebraic numbers in an equal 
interval, in such a way that to the rational numbers whose 
denominators consist of h and only h distinct prime factors, 
correspond the algebraic numbers which are the roots of an 
irreducible equation of degree h (for /t = i we get the rational 
numbers ; if we wish to consider only the irrational algebraic 
numbers we must take irreducible equations of degree A + i). 


Let us consider now two regular aggregates of zero 
measure, of which the fundamental points are precisely the 
denumerable aggregates A and B inside the circles C and C 
If we suppose that the squares of exclusion belonging to the 
corresponding fundamental points have as their sides lines 
which correspond, it is evident that the two aggregates will 
correspond point by point in the one-to-one correspondence 
that we have established between the points P inside C 
and the points P' inside C In other words, given a regular 
aggregate of zero measure of which the fundamental points B 
are dense in C, we can define a regular aggregate of zero meas- 
ure of which the fundamental points are the elements of an 
arbitrary aggregate A, dense in C, in such a way that the two 
aggregates correspond to each other continuously and in a one- 
to-one manner (the ratio of similitude being contained be- 
tween I — € and I + e). 

Hence in order to study regular aggregates of zero measure 
of which the fundamental points are dense within a certain 




region, we can without loss of generality assume that the 
fundamental points are, for instance, the points with rational 
coordinates. In particular it is easy to prove this important 
proposition : Every regular aggregate of zero measure of which 
the fundamental points are dense within a certain region has 
the order of the continuum. In other words, if we arrange at 
pleasure the diminishing of the squares of exclusion in the 
neighborhood of fundamental points, it is not possible to 
make this diminution rapid enough so that the fundamental 
points shall be the only ones of the aggregate. 

For simplification let us consider the case of a single 
dimension ; the demonstration is in principle the same for any 
number of dimensions. Let ^„ be the intervals of exclusion 
belonging to the points ^„. For each value of h we can 
define a positive function <i>n{n) increasing with n, such that 

we shall have 


measure (y^J) > 


On the other hand, if we are given a denumerable succes- 
sion of increasing functions <i> ^(n), it is possible, according to a 
theorem of Paul du Bois-Reymond, to construct a function 
(/)(n) increasing more rapidly than any of the functions <A/i(n). 
After having found this function </)(n), the theory of con- 
tinuous functions enables us to define an infinite number of 
irrational numbers x (an infinity which has the order of the 
continuum) such that there exists for each of them a denu- 
merable infinity of relations of the form 

X — 





where m and n are integers. Such a number x, whatever 
h may be, belongs to at least one of the intervals P^^ ; it is 
therefore an element of the aggregate defined by the points 



An and these intervals of exclusion. In order to define the 
numbers x and show that their aggregate is of the order of the 
continuum, it is sufficient to investigate a continuous fraction 
in which the incomplete quotients increase very rapidly. 
If we write 

and assume that 

!3n+l = ClnQn + Qn-l 

where (/)(w) is the function which we have just defined, we 
shall have, from the nature of the convergents. 

X — 





(Jn+1 Qn 


QnQn^l <t>{Qn) 

But the totality of systems of integers a„ which verify the 
relations a^ > <f>{Qn) have, themselves, the order of the con- 

If we wished to have intervals of exclusion which should 
decrease rapidly enough so that the aggregate of points 
defined by them would be composed only of the fundamental 
points, the </)/,(n) would have to contain functions increasing 
more rapidly than any 0(n). According to the theorem of 
Paul du Bois-Reymond, that is not possible if the indices 
h are denumerable. It would be necessary then to make 
belong to any fundamental point a transfinite infinity of 
intervals of exclusion, the corresponding functions 0a(w) 
(where a denotes a transfinite number) being such that every 
increasing function <j)(n) is surpassed by one of them. In 
this way, however, we get outside the domain of definitions 
expressible in a finite number of words. 

In order to classify the regular aggregates of zero measure, 
it is better to consider rather than the functions </);»(w) which 

^ Each an may be odd or even ; the aggregate of x then includes an aggregate 
of the same order as that of the numbers o.ioioiio •••, written in the binary scale. 



we have defined, the functions xP,{n) determined by the 

^ measure Jp^ = j^y 

The convergence of the series formed by the intervals of 
exclusion of order h implies that the functions Mn) should 
increase indefinitely with n. After the theorem of Paul du 
Bois-Reymond, there exists a function iA(n) increasing less 
rapidly than any of these, which nevertheless approaches 
+ 00 as w approaches oo. Hence whatever the value of h, 
if we take n large enough, we shall have 

^ measure Jl< 



that is to say, that the different series formed by the intervals 
of exclusion all converge more rapidly than the series 



Jp(n) xP{n-\-i). 

The more rapid the increase of iA(n), the fewer points are 
included in the aggregate of measure zero, because the 
intervals of exclusion in that case decrease more rapidly. 
It is natural, then, to take the function \P{n) as defining 
what we may call the asymptotic order of the regular aggre- 
gate of zero measure. These orders can be expressed by 
means of the notations used for orders of infinity ; \P{n) = n^ 
will be said to be of order p, xl^{n) = e** of order «, e*" of order 
co\ etc. We meet the aggregates of order co^ in defining 
monogenic functions which are not analytic. 


Perhaps it is opportune to emphasize a little the general 
conclusions which follow from this rapid study of aggregates 
of zero measure. 



Aggregates of zero measure have a fundamental position 
in the theory of functions. It is, in fact, always possible to 
inclose the singularities of finite functions in aggregates 
which are either of zero measure or of measure as small as 
we like. On the other hand, aggregates which are not of 
zero measure have a uniform quality, being formed of con- 
tinuous aggregates either positive or negative. They are 
heterogeneous with regard to the continuum. Aggregates 
of zero measure can, however, be sensibly homogeneous with 
regard to the continuum, that is to say, identical with them- 
selves in intervals as small as we like. 

The concept of aggregate of zero measure is so general 
that we cannot hope to make a profound investigation of the 
properties of functions without studying minutely this 
general notion. That is to say, we must not regard all 
aggregates of zero measure as undifferentiable. The classi- 
fication based on the asymptotic diminution of intervals of 
exclusion seems to me to be a first step in this study which 
faces the students of analysis. 

With this question, as with all those where the general 
notion of increasing functions enters (as, for example, in the 
theory of the convergence of series with positive terms), 
difficulties of a transfinite nature are presented which we 
cannot hope entirely to surmount. But, on the other hand, 
the problems which are actually met with are generally 
if not always free of these difficulties (this is the case, for 
instance, with the usual criteria for the convergence of series 
of positive terms ; for, although theoretically quite special, 
they are nevertheless practically sufficient for the treatment 
of the series which are presented in all researches in analysis). 
We can legitimately hope that it will be the same way with 
the classification of aggregates of measure zero. Theoreti- 
cally the complexity of this classification surpasses that of 
the study of series of positive terms, a study which will never 



be finished ; but practically, a relatively restricted number 
of classes will suffice for the needs of analysis. 

In closing I should like to direct attention to a notable 
consequence of the theorem about the correspondence 
between two denumerable aggregates which are everywhere 
dense. It might seem natural, passing from the finite to a 
denumerable infinitive, to suppose that the positions of equi- 
librium of the centers of gravity of the molecules of a solid 
body should form a denumerably dense aggregate. But 
a priori it would seem quite an arbitrary hypothesis to 
suppose that they should coincide with the points of rational 
coordinates. This simple arithmetic determination seems 
to have nothing to do with the physical conception. In fact, 
it evidently is not necessary. But it is as general as any 
other. The important point is that the hypothesis verifies 
the conditions of homogeneity of arrangement and intrinsic 
homogeneity, as we have stated them. The arithmetic 
treatment of the approximation of numbers by rational 
numbers is thus the reflection of the general properties of 
dense aggregates. 



Third Lecture 



THE integration by d'Alembert of the equation of vibrat- 
ing strings led to a series of researches out of which 
the notion of an arbitrary function took shape. Among the 
geometricians who contributed to clarify the new ideas, there 
should be mentioned Euler, in the front rank, and besides 
him Clairaut, Daniel Bernoulli and Lagrange. The question 
was that of the relation between the analytic and the physical 
definitions of a function : if a string is displaced arbitrarily 
from its position of equilibrium, does there exist a formula 
which represents exactly the initial state of the string? 
Fourier answered in the affirmative and set out the method of 
calculation of the coefficients of the trigonometric series 
which represents an arbitrary function. The views put 
forward by the genius of Fourier have been confirmed by 
the vigorous analysis of Lejeune-Dirichlet. 

The discovery of Fourier revolutionized the notions preva- 
lent up to that time ; it was believed, with Euler, that to 
every analytic expression there corresponded a curve of 
which successive parts depended on each other : in order to 
express this interdependence, Euler created the expression 
' continuous function ' : the sense of this expression has since 
been modified. 

Under the influence of the same ideas Lagrange endeavored 
to prove that every continuous function can be developed 

1 Translated from the French by Professor Percy John Daniell, of the Rice 




in a Taylor series : this series would be the tangible form of 
the connection, so mysterious till then, between the different 
arcs of a continuous curve ; the knowledge of a small arc 
would have been sufficient to know the whole curve; but 
Fourier proved exactly that the problem here was illusory, 
for the physicist who draws a curve remains at each instant 
free to modify its aspect ; the curve once drawn, it is always 
possible to represent it in its entirety by a unique analytic 

This led to the apparently paradoxical result that there 
existed no logical reason for regarding two segments of the 
same straight line, for example, as corresponding to the same 
function, since it was always permissible likewise to regard 
as a unique function the ordinate of the continuous curve 
formed of two different straight lines. At the most it could 
be said that, in the case of two segments of the same straight 
line, the formula is simpler than in the case of two segments 
of different straight lines, but this criterion of simplicity 
does not seem capable of precise definition, unless one is 
confined to algebraic functions. The paradox was cleared 
up by extension of the field of study of functions ; Cauchy 
showed that the properties of real functions could only be 
well understood if imaginary values of the variable were also 
studied ; the idea of a function of a complex variable became 
indispensable. Cauchy based this idea on the definition of 
monogeneity ; a function of the complex variable z = x + iy 
is called monogenic if it has a unique derivative. A function 
which is monogenic at every point of a region without any 
exception — that is, not allowing in the region any singular 
point — can be developed in a Taylor series in the neighbor- 
hood of any point in the region ; the radius of convergence 
of the series is equal to the distance from the center to the 
nearest singular point. From this fundamental theorem 



Cauchy deduces the calculation of the integrals of the proper 
differential equations along any path in the plane. 

Cauchy's theory was systematized by Weierstrass and 
Riemann. Weierstrass defined an analytic function, in an 
exact manner, by means of elements and thus arrived at the 
idea of a region of natural existence, an idea which was 
contained implicitly in Cauchy's work, but which was not 
mentioned explicitly by him. Riemann conceived a mon- 
ogenic function a priori independently of any analytic 
expression and showed the advantages of this geometrical 


In reality, the analytic point of view of Weierstrass and 
the geometric one of Riemann find their most perfect 
synthesis in Cauchy's fundamental theorem : monogeneity 
within a circle involves the existence of a Taylor series con- 
vergent within the circle. This theorem established a 
necessary connection between values of the same function 
as a simple consequence of monogeneity : it is sufficient to 
know that a function is monogenic within a circle, in order 
that its value at any interior point should be known by a 
knowledge of its values in the neighborhood of another 
point. Since our aim is to define monogenic functions in 
regions more general than those considered up to the present 
in the theory of analytic functions, it is necessary to make 
precise the definition of these new regions. 

I shall call a region in which an analytic function can be 
defined in the sense of Weierstrass a Weierstrassian region or 
W region. I shall call regions more general than /F regions, 
in which a uniform monogenic function can be defined, 
Cauchy regions, or C regions, in honor of the creator of the 
theory of monogenic functions. We shall see that the 
essential properties of monogenic functions in the C domains 
which we define are the same as in W regions ; this does not 




exclude the possibility of defining C regions more general 
again than our C regions. In other words, we cannot assert 
that our generalization covers all uniform monogenic func- 
tions : but it brings us to a definition of a more general class 
than the class /Fof the analytic functions of Weierstrass. 

fV regions are characterized by the following properties. 
Let us call a F circle every circle such that all the points 
within r belong to fF. Every point P of /F is within a 
r circle : the F circles corresponding to two points P and Q 
of W can be reunited by a finite number of F circles cutting 
each other two by two. To every uniform analytic function 
there corresponds a fF region ; inversely, M. Runge has 
shown that to every fF region corresponds an infinity of 
uniform analytic functions having precisely fF as the region 
of existence. 

If it is assumed that there is no other process of analytic 
continuation than the Taylor series, the boundary of the 
fF region is a natural limit of existence of the analytic func- 
tion, and those portions of the plane, if such exist, which do 
not belong to fF ought to be considered as a lacunar space. 
On this point Weierstrass has insisted several times, and it 
has been made conspicuous in the clearest way by M. Henri 
Foincare. Let us consider a region D of simple form, such 
as the interior of a circle, and let us define a function G(z) 
having D as its lacunar space and another function Gi{z) 
defined only within D and having consequently all the rest 
of the plane as its lacunar space. Let us divide the contour 
of D into two arcs D^ and /)''. M. Foincare shows that it is 
possible to find two uniform functions F{z) and Fi{z) existing 
in the whole plane, except for the singular line D' for F 
and D'^ for Fi, and in such a way that 

F -{- Fi = G outside D, 
F -j- Fi = Gi within D. 



If then the functions F and Fi are regarded as uniform, 
the function G{z) has the continuation Gi{z) which has been 
chosen entirely arbitrarily ; it is then proper to discard all 
ideas of a continuation within the lacunar space. This 
paradox is apparently cleared up if it is observed that, when 
a function such as F{z) possesses a singular line D', supposed 
impassable, this function remains uniform in Weierstrass's 
sense when there is added a non-uniform function such as 

^, Zq and z;i being two points of the line D\ The 

2; — z 

Z — Zi 


remarkable result due to M. Foincare can then be inter- 
preted by the hypothesis that F{z) and Fi{z) are not really 
uniform : but in order that this hypothesis should have a 
meaning, it is necessary to generalize the definition of con- 
tinuation, in a way so as to be able to pass in certain cases 
the impassable cuts of Weierstrass ; we shall see very soon 
how this result can be obtained. 

But I wished before now to say some words concerning the 
ideas of Riemann, although it is specially in the study of 
non-uniform functions, of which I shall not speak here, that 
Riemann's theory has shown itself productive. 

Cauchy has insisted several times on the importance of 
monogeneity. If an elementary function obtained by a 
simple calculation made on z is considered and if, for such 
a function G{z), the ratio 


is calculated, this ratio tends to a determinate limit when 
52; tends to zero, with any argument. Cauchy expresses this 
essential fact by calling the function monogenic. 

If we put 

G(z) =P{x,y)-{-tQ{x,y), 



the condition of monogeneity is translated into the two 

fundamental equations 


dx dy^ 


dy dx 

Cauchy has shown that these equations, when they are 
verified in a region of the plane, involve the existence of the 
Taylor series; that is to say, of that which can be called 
analyticity in Weierstrass's sense. Cauchy's demonstra- 
tion assumes the continuity of the derivative ; M. Goursat, 
in a well-known piece of work, has shown that the existence 
of the first derivative is sufficient, and involves the con- 
tinuity and existence of all the derivatives ; M. Paul Montel 
has extended this result to cases where the existence of the 
derivative has not been assumed in a set of points of measure 
zero. The statement of these researches is outside my scope ; 
I should mention them nevertheless, because they are in a 
way complementary to the results which I shall state further 
on. What is sufficient to remember is that, in the /F regions, 
monogenic functions are analytic; for this reason the 
expression monogenic function is no longer in use by certain 
geometricians, the expression analytic function being con- 
sidered equivalent ; as our aim is precisely to define mono- 
genic functions which are not analytic, it is important to 
distinguish clearly between the two expressions. 

It is difiicult to find out if Cauchy conceived the existence 
of a monogenic function independently of any analytic 
expression. In fact, he always reasoned about functions 
which were defined, implicitly or explicitly through known 
functions, by means of ordinary or partial differential equa- 
tions ; but his reasoning applies without modification to a 
function defined in a purely ideal way as a correspondence 



between z and G{z), This was the conception of Riemann, 
and has certainly rendered good service, as much in the 
field of real variables where it was introduced by Dirichlet, 
as in the field of complex variables, by accustoming mathe- 
maticians to very general methods of reasoning, made once 
for all and susceptible of application to cases not foreseen 
at the time when the reasoning was done. In fact, there 
is no real difference between Cauchy's and Riemann's point 
of view ; to apply considerations like those of Riemann to 
one determinate function, this function must be defined, that 
is to say must be distinguishable from other functions ; and 
if this definition is effective, it returns to the category of those 
which Cauchy admitted. This point belongs to the con- 
troversies concerning the axiom of Zermelo ; RIemann's 
point of view is otherwise legitimate, whatever attitude is 
adopted in this controversy ; for those who require a precise 
definition. It saves one from thinking of all the processes of 
definition which can be imagined; for those to whom an 
Ideal definition is sufficient, it allows one to treat ideally 
even those functions which will never be defined practically. 
It Is by means of Cauchy's fundamental theorem 



that it can be shown that monogeneity in a /F region involves 
analyticity in the region. We shall use this theorem also 
in studying monogenic functions in a region, not /F; It will 
be convenient in order to argue in a general manner about 
all the possible methods of definition of these functions, to 
consider them as defined In RIemann's way; that is, to 
assume that nothing is known about such a function except 
that it is monogenic. It is necessary to show afterward that 
a theory thus constructed is not empty, by giving actual 
examples of functions defined no longer ideally, but explicitly. 



I shall restrict myself to stating the definition of C 
regions in a particular case ; if the properties of sets of zero 
measure studied in the previous lecture are used, it can 
be seen that this particular statement can be considerably 

Let us consider a fF region, and a region within W in 
which we define a denumerable infinity of fundamental 
points, everywhere dense ; we shall assume that these funda- 
mental points J„ are the points within the circle | z | = i 
whose coordinates are rational. To each point ^^ is at- 
tached a positive number r^, and we shall assume that these 
numbers r„ tend very rapidly to zero as n increases indefi- 
nitely ; we shall define later the manner of decrease ; it is 
sufiicient here to know that the remainder of the conver- 
gent series n + r2 H h ^„ H is less than a quarter of the 

last term retained ; we shall denote by C^ the region ob- 
tained by excluding from the W region the points within 
circles C^^ defined as follows. Let us consider circles Sn^ 

having as their centers the points ^„ and for their radii — ; 

the circle Of has its center at Ji, and its radius is the smallest 
of the numbers between ri/2'^ and ri/i'^^^ and such that 
it does not cut any of the circles Sn\n > i) ; this is possible 

in virtue of the hypothesis ri> 4.^ r^, from which it follows 


> 2 V -^ ; the Sl!^ circles are then either inside 

that ^--4- 

2« 2«+^ ^7 2« 

Cf (including those which touch internally), or outside Ci^ 
(including those which touch externally). We shall take 
no account of the interior circles, and we shall denote by 
An^ the fundamental point of smallest index correspond- 
ing to the exterior circles ; the circle & will have its cen- 
ter at Aa^ and its radius the smallest number contained 



between — and — such that it does not cut any of the 

^ 20. 2^^^ 

circles Sif^(w > n^) ; it is exterior to the circle Of since it is 
interior to the circle S^^\ and at the same time exterior to 
the circles SJ?^ of index less than n^, for these circles are in- 
terior to Ci^^ because of the method by which n^ was chosen. 
Similarly the circle Gf etc. is defined and one sees that if 
the region obtained by excluding the points inside circles 
C^^ is denoted by C^, and the region obtained by excluding 
the points inside circles Sf by CJ, all the points of C, 
belong to C^+i, while all the points of C[^x belong to Ca+i ; 
the consideration of the regions C^ is then equivalent to that 
of the regions C^+i and evades the difiiculties which result 
from intersections of the circles. 

The points of the circumference of O^'^ are said to con- 
stitute the frontier of C^ ; the points of C, which do not 
belong to this frontier are called interior to C^ ; it is impor- 
tant to observe that we use the word interior here in a dif- 
ferent sense from the usual one in the theory of W regions. 
The points of the set C^, situated in the interior of the circle 
of radius i, form a perfect set, which can be considered as the 
derived set of the set of its frontier points C)^\ 

The region C is defined as the set of all points such that 
each of them is interior to some C^ : the region C is not perfect, 
for it does not contain the points ^„, which are its limiting 
points. We know that the set (of zero measure) of points 
which do not belong to C has the power of the continuum. 
We shall say that a region D is interior to C, when all the 
points of D belong to one and the same C^, of fixed index. 
Among the regions interior to C, we shall consider a little 
more exclusively the regions Q : every point of C^ is interior 

to Cg+x. 

The region C will be said to belong to the class (C) of 




Cauchy regions which we are studying here if the numbers 
r„ are such that, for n sufficiently large, 


log log log — > n ; 


if this condition is verified for two regions C and C\ it is 
verified for the part common to C and C 

Together with the regions Cj, and C, we shall consider 
reduced regions which we shall denote by F^ and F. To a 
region C corresponds a determinate system of regions Cp, 
and an infinity of systems of reduced regions ; the following 
is the definition of one of these systems. Let us suppose 
numbers p„ given, tending to zero rapidly as n increases 
indefinitely, but much less rapidly than tn ; more precisely, 
we shall suppose that 

(2) -^<loglogi; 

and, at the same time, whatever the fixed number a, that, 
for n sufficiently large, 

(3) ->^^ 


these two conditions (2) and (3) are quite consistent by virtue 

of (i).^ 

The regions F^, are defined by means of pn as the Cj,'s 
by means of Tn, that is, are limited by circles of radii be- 
tween — and -^ exterior to each other. The region F Is 

formed of the set of points interior (In the sense Indicated 
above) to each F,,. The regions F^ are perfect, F Is not 
perfect; the set complementary to F has zero measure 
and the power of the continuum. 

The set C contains all points of F since Cp contains all 

^ (i) (2) and (3) could be replaced by wider conditions : my aim here is to simplify 
the statement. 



points of Tj, : but C contains besides points which do not 
belong to F. 

The following theorem is fundamental : 

If a function of the coordinates of a point P is defined in C 
and continuous in every Cj„ the knowledge of its values at all 
points of F involves the knowledge of its values at all points of C. 

In other words, two functions continuous In C (that is, 
defined In all C and continuous In every region interior to C) 
cannot coincide In all F without coinciding in all C; or, 
finally, a function continuous in C and zero in F is zero in C, 

In fact, let P be a point of C ; this point belonging to a set 
Cj, interior to C, It is a limiting point of the set formed by the 
frontier^ of C^; it is sufficient In order to prove that the 
function is zero at P, since it is continuous in C^, to show that 
It is zero on each circumference which constitutes this 
frontier (the remark has already been made that each of these 
circumferences is interior to C^+i) ; then, on one of these 
circumferences (as on every rectifiable curve traced in the 
plane), the points which are part of F are everywhere dense ; 
the function being continuous on this curve is then zero 
throughout this curve if it Is zero at all points of F. 

When we speak of a reduced region, we shall assume that 
we consider a determinate region, the p„'s being chosen in a 
precise way, satisfying the inequalities (2) and (3). It might 
happen that we had to consider at the same time another 
region F' defined by numbers p^ ; If 

(4) P-=Pn 

we say that F' is of order /? with respect to F ; if /3 is greater 
than one, the numbers p^ satisfy the inequalities (2) and (3) 

1 We neglect points P which would be interior to C in Weierstrass's sense ; for 
them the proposition is evident, since they are centers of circles inclosing no An in 
their interior, they are also interior to T in Weierstrass's sense. 




when the Pa's satisfy them: in this case the set T^ is 
interior to T^, for the excluded circles of radii ^ are larger 
than the circles of radii ^ (for p„ can always be supposed 


less than i). 

Let us remark finally that the points of C, which lie on 
any curve whatever, a straight line for instance, form a 
perfect set, defined by contiguous intervals (in M. Baire's 
sense), which are the chords intercepted on the straight line 
by the circles. This set may or may not contain intervals : 
but in every case it is perfect, and consequently a function 
continuous in Cp and zero at all the points which limit the 
contiguous intervals is zero at all points of the set at the 
same time with all its derivatives in C,. 


We shall say that a function F{z) is monogenic in a region 

such as C if : 

1°. It is continuous zviVain C (that is, as we have explained, 
continuous in every C,, interior to C; since the set Cp is 
perfect, this continuity in Cj, is uniform) ; 

2°. At every point P of C, it has a derivative with respect 
to z, unique and continuous within C. To define the deriva- 
tive a set Cp of which P is a part is considered, and denoting 
by ?' any other point of C, the limit of the ratio 




is found when the vector pp' = z' - z tends to zero ; if 
this limit exists for every value of p, it is evidently independ- 
ent of the value of p, for all points of Cp belong to Cj,+ g; 
for this reason this limit can be called the derivative of F{z) 



within C, that is in every region interior to C. The con- 
tinuity of the derivative within C is to be understood in the 
same way as the continuity of the function itself within C : 
continuity in each C,, interior to C. This hypothesis of the 
continuity of the derivative is doubtless superfluous ; but 
it simplifies the argument. 

Since the set C, is perfect, every function continuous in 
Cj, is bounded in Cp. 

Let us mention at once an example of the simplest kind 
of a C region and of a function monogenic in this region.^ 

Let us form the series 


00 n n ^ * 


Clearly this series is convergent outside the square T of 
which the vertices are the points 2; = o, i, i, i + i. Inside 
this square the series has an infinity of poles ; in fact, all the 

points whose coordinates are rational numbers x ^■^^ y =-. 


But if circles having these poles as centers and radii —^ be 


considered, the series is absolutely and uniformly convergent 
at all points outside these circles, whatever the fixed number 
€ may be. The same is true if circles F^J^ with centers at 

the points ^, ^ and radii y <?"'*" are considered, where A is a 
n n h 

fixed integer which we are allowed to Increase Indefinitely. 

I shall call F, the set of circles F^*^ and C, the set of points 

which are not inside any of the circles T^i\ There exists an 

infinity of curves which cross the circle and of which all the 

points belong to one same region C^. 

1 The region C considered here is a little more general than the regions defined 
above, in the sense that the series 2n converges a little less rapidly. 

\ i 


The function F{z) is evidently monogenic within the 
region C which is the Hmit of the C^'s ; it has in fact at each 
point of this region a determinate unique derivative, which 
is obtained by differentiating the series term by term. The 
value of this derivative is independent of the way in which 
the increment dz tends to zero, with the reservation, of 
course, that z and 2; + 62; are inside C^. 

The study of monogenic functions within a region C 
requires the extension of Cauchy's fundamental theory to the 
contour which limits a perfect region C^. To this end we 
shall establish at once the following fundamental property 
of a function F{z) monogenic in the region C. If we denote 
by ^ a fixed number 


f^F(z)dz=xSc^^ nz)^^ 

the curve K being any simple curve all of whose points are 
inside C^, the sum 2 referring to all the circles Cf which are 
inside Cj, ; the integrals are all taken in the direct sense. 

We shall set 
(7) F{z) =P{x,y) +iQ{x,y), 

so that the equation (6) becomes two equations, of which 
it is sufficient to demonstrate one ; for example. 


S^Pdx-Qdy = !,£,, Pdx-Qdy, 

To prove this relation, we define a function Pi{x, y), finite 
and determinate at all points interior to K, and coinciding 
with P{x, y) at the points inside K which belong to C^ ; 
there remains the definition of Pi{x,y) inside the circles 
ST ; on the circumference of these circles it coincides with 
P{x,y). We shall define Pi{x, y) inside the circle by the 
condition that on chords of the circle parallel to Oy it varies 



linearly. (Its values at the extremities are known for they 
coincide with that of P{x^ y).) The function Pi{x^ y) thus 
defined is continuous within K and has at every point a 


derivative — ^ ; this derivative is bounded according to the 

hypothesis that the derivatives of P are bounded (which 

is involved by the existence and continuity of the derivatives 

of F{z)) ; in fact, at points inside C^ the derivative of Pi 

coincides with the derivative of P; at points inside Cn\ 

the derivative of Pi is constant along a chord parallel to Oy 

and equal to the quotient of the difi'erence of the values of 

Pi (that is, of P) at the ends of the chord, divided by the 

length of this chord. The difi'erence of the values of P is 





MN dx dy 

if MN denotes the arc subtended by the chord. 

This integral is less than the product of the length of the 

arc MN and the sum 




and its quotient when it 

is divided by the chord MN is at most equal to 






and is consequently bounded at the same time as the de- 


dP 1 dP 




Similarly the values of Pi lying between the values of P, 
Pi have the same boundary as P} 


1 The derivative -— ^ is discontinuous at points on a circumference. This pro- 

duces no inconvenience; one can modify the definition of Pi by choosing other 
curves instead of straight lines. Sufficiently simple results can be obtained by 
taking the sum of a parabola and a sinusoidal curve. 



1 I 


According to a classical result, denoting by ^^^ the area 
within K 

since on K, P\ coincides with P. 

Similarly Qi{x, y) being defined by means of Q{x, y) in 
the same way as Pi by means of P (taking always parallels 
to Ox in place of parallels to Oy) : 

It follows that 

do) X/'^-eiy=-/l('^ + fWy- 

The double integral of the right-hand side reduces to zero 
for those portions of the area {K) which belong to C^, for 
at a point inside Cj, 

dy dx dy dx 

The formula (lo) then reduces to 

' 2 

But the area of Cf is equal to ^ ; on the other hand, 

the moduli of — and -^ are less than a fixed number in- 

dy dx 

dependent of n (depending on p, but p is fixed) ; then 



It IS easy to obtain from this the formula (6) ; since the 
series 2rJ is, in fact, convergent, we can choose n in such a 
way that the remainder of this series l^n+i^l is less than -p. 



When the number n has been thus chosen, let us denote by K' 
the contour formed of the contour K traversed in the direct 
sense and the circumferences Cf, Cf , •••, C^f traversed 
in the retrograde sense ; we can argue about K' as we have 
done about K (by completing it if we wish by rectilinear 
cuts to make it a simple contour) ; we shall obtain 

I f Pdx-Qdy <AI%^a<^ 

that is, the integrals being taken in the direct sense 

S^Pdn^Qdy^XSc^.^P^''- Q^y 

r=l r 


If € is made to tend to zero, n increases indefinitely and 
from it we obtain the relation (8) from which the relation (6) 


We deduce now from (6) Cauchy's fundamental theorem ; 
let X denote a point within a reduced region F^, and 7,^ a 

circle with center x within Cp, and with radius between — 



There exists such a circle 7^, whatever the number q (at 
least after a certain value of q). In fact x being within T^,, 
whatever n may be, an being the aflfix of J a 

x — a 


> - P 

Consequently, the points Un for which 


X — a 




are such that 


2" " 2«-' 

Let us denote by n, the smallest value of n after which 
this inequality (13) is satisfied ; all the a„'s inside the circle 



of center x and radius -— r have indices greater or equal to 

w^; the sum — 2r„ of the radii of the corresponding circles 

in Cp is then extremely small compared to — Pn^ since the 
r„'s are much smaller than the corresponding P„'s ; since this 
sum is extremely small compared to -^^ there exist circles 

of center x and radius between — : and — and which do 

2^ ^ 2* 

not cut any of the circles O^^ ; a fortiori they do not cut the 
circles Cn^ whose centers are more distant from x^ for the 

radii —of these other circles are very small compared with 

P P 

— ^ and their centers are further from x than — p. 

The circle y^ being thus defined, let us consider the func- 


z — X 

within the region contained between the contour K and 7,; 
clearly in this region this function is monogenic ; we then 
obtain the relation 

the sum on the right-hand side referring to the Ci^^'s which 
are contained between y^ and K. 

If M denotes the maximum value of | F{z) \ within Cp 
the maximum value of f{z) on different Ci^^'s is evidently 
2*"^^i¥ ; if ^ -f I is put in the place of q, an infinity of new 
terms are introduced on the right-hand side, but it is easily 
seen that the lengths of the paths of integration (circum- 
ferences of the Ci^^'s contained between 7^ and 7^+1) have a 



sum of an order much less than -^ ; the right-hand side is 
then a convergent series and 

lim //(z) dz=fj(.z) dz -XX<^>/(^) ^^ 

the sign S now referring to all the circumferences CI which 
limit C,. As for the left-hand side, it follows from the con- 
tinuity of F{z) at the point x in C„ all the t,'s being interior 
to C„ that it is equal to 2 iriF(.x). The generalized Cauchy 

formula follows 

■r( \ CF{z)dz_y C F{z)dz 

From this formula the classical consequences can be de- 
duced and in particular the fact that monogeneity {existence 
of the first derivative) within the region C involves the existence 
of the derivatives of all orders. This formula (14) shows 
moreover that non-analytic monogenic functions can be 
put in the form of series whose terms are analytic functions. 
It is natural then to look for an associative method of con- 
tinuation applicable to such sums. The problem is nothing 
else than the problem of divergent series : to each analytic 
function corresponds a Taylor development convergent in a 
circle, but divergent outside this circle ; this development 
is determined by a knowledge of the values of the derivatives. 
If a series of analytic functions is indefinitely differentiable, 
its derivatives are expressed linearly by means of the deriva- 
tions of the terms, and the Taylor series which corresponds 
to these derivatives is a linear function of the Taylor series 
corresponding to the diiferent terms of the series. But if the 
function is not analytic at the point where the series is 
developed, this Taylor series will be the sum of series whose 
radii of convergence decrease indefinitely and, in the case 
we are studying, will have a zero radius of convergence. 




The problem of divergent series consists in transforming 
such a series into a convergent series in such a way that the 
result coincides with the analytic continuation in the case 
where this continuation is possible. Thanks to the fine 
researches of M. Mittag-Leffler, this problem has been 
resolved for the first time in an entirely satisfactory way ; 
it should be observed that, if it is desired to use these 
results for the continuation of non-analytic monogenic 
functions, they must be interpreted either by the language 
of divergent series, or by an equivalent language if one prefers 
not to speak of divergent series ; but in every case by a new 
language, specially adapted to the real novelty of the results, 
and not by the old language of Weierstrassian analytic 
continuation ; that is the only language which may not be 
used, since it has an absolutely precise meaning, which can- 
not be modified ; Weierstrass's theory is, in some way, so 
perfect that it can only be departed from by creating a new 
language : if, as M. Mittag-Leffler proposed, Weierstrass's 
language were adopted, M. Mittag-Leffler's series would be 
only a simplified method of calculation containing nothing 
more from the theoretical point of view than Weierstrass's 
theory contains. 


In order to study continuation by M. Mittag-Leffler's 
series, or series (M), we suppose that the point is interior 
to a reduced region F^, of order equal to 2 with respect to 
Fj, (the circles of exclusion are defined by numbers pj, 
equal to Vp„) ; evidently then an infinity of straight lines 
issuing from the point x can be drawn interior to Fp. 
More precisely, if x belongs to F\ within every given angle 
having its vertex a:, a straight line interior to F^,/, of con- 
venient index, can be found ; this index can increase in- 



definitely as the angle tends to zero, but is determinate 
when the angle is given (this follows from the fact that the 
sum of the angles subtended at x by the circles which limit 
F / is less than twice the sum of the convergent series 

"^fpjtiBA and is consequently as small as we please if 

p' is sufficiently large). We shall suppose, so as not to com- 
plicate our notation, that p has been taken equal to p' in the 
preceding argument (the point x interior to Fp is a fortiori 

interior to F^^ li p' > p). 

We develop F{z) in a series on one of the straight lines 
which we are about to define, interior to F^. Each of the 
terms of the right-hand side of (14) is an analytic function on 
this straight line and can therefore be developed in a series 
of Mittag-Leffler or (M) polynomials ; it is enough to show 
that the multiple series formed of the set of these series is 
absolutely convergent, in order to show that it represents 

2 iriFiz). 

This series is then formed by means of the derivatives of 
F{z) at the point x (these derivatives exist, as we have 
remarked, according to (14) for every displacement on the 
straight line and in fp), in the same way as the (M) develop- 
ment of an analytic function is formed by means of the 
derivatives of that function; we assume, to save writing, 

that X =0. 

I remind the reader of the properties of (Af) developments 
which I have demonstrated in my memoir on series of poly- 
nomials and rational fractions ("Acta Matematica," I, 
xxiv). One finds that 

(IS) ^=2:cnW, 

G„(2;)'s being polynomials which it is useless to write again 
and the series 2 \ Gn{z) \ being convergent in the ' star.' A 



region S (R, p) is defined as follows : R being > i and p < i, 
we consider the circle of center o and radius R, the circle of 
center i and radius p and the tangents to this last circle 
from o, the points of contact being M and N; the region 
S(R, p) is bounded by the arc MN less than tt, the continua- 
tions MM' and A^A^' of OM and ON as far as the circum- 
ference of radius R and the arc M'N' greater than tt. In this 

32 i? . 

region, puttmg ^ =a , 

(16) ^ X I Gr.(z) 1 < R'"' 

Consider an integral along one of the circumferences C^^^ 

of radius 



Lp) Md'^ 

We develop it on a straight line interior to F,,, that is outside 
the circumference having the same center ^„ as Cn^ and of 

radius — • The radius — being very small compared 

2r 2 

with p„, we shall commit no appreciable error by replacing 
this integral by the majorant function —, denoting by M 

the maximum of | ^(2;) | in Cp, 27rr„ being the length of the 
path of integration (we suppress the factors 2^ which have 
no influence since p is fixed). If one puts x^a^x^ 

( o^ Mr„ Mr^ i 


dn I — X 

f • 

If the point x is inside the region S{R,p) defined by the 
circle of radius — and center Jn and by a circle of radius > i 

(2 for example) which contains within it all the regions we 

are considering, the point y = — will be within the region 









, and by developing ^ we get the inequality 

I —X 


putting X=^; since |^„| is greater than p„ we can write 

The development (AT) of (17) is, according to (18), when all 
the terms are replaced by their moduli, less than 

But according to (2) 




' n 



and if n is large enough -^ > X^ since X = -^ and so 

^ Pn Pn 

> Pn, 


This converges very rapidly to zero when n, and consequently 
X, increases indefinitely. The absolute convergence of the 
(M) series is then demonstrated. 

Now consider two points Xi and X2 belonging to T' ; we 
can construct two angles Ji and J2 with vertices at Xi and X2, 
and such that every half-straight line Di within Ai meets 
every half-straight line Do within J2 at a point Xs within the 
total reeion considered. We can choose Di and D2 in such 
a way that these two straight lines belong to the same T^ 
{p being chosen large enough, but afterwards remaining 
fixed). It will then be possible to calculate the function at 
X2 by means of its values and the values of its derivatives at 
Xi, by forming only two (M) developments, one with the 



origin Xi and the other with the origin x^. If the function 
is zero at x, as well as all its derivatives, these (Af) develop- 
ments are identically zero and the function is zero at ^2. 
From what has been said further back it can be concluded 
that if a monogenic function is zero at every point of an arc, 
however small (at all points of this arc interior to C), when 
there exists on this arc at least one point interior to Tj, a 
limit of points interior to T^, the function being zero at all 
these points is zero, as well as its derivatives, at one point 
of r^ at least, and consequently identically zero in T^ 
(whatever p may be) and identically zero in C. These new 
monogenic functions possess then the fundamental property 
of analytic functions. 


In the preceding work we have considered singular isolated 
points, corresponding in the physical point of view to the 
hypothesis of an infinite density at certain points ; a state- 
ment can easily be given in which the density is everywhere 


Consider a regular uniform analytic function zero at 
infinity. If S is a circle such that all the singular points of 
the function are inside 2, if f is any point outside 2, 

the integration being taken in the direct sense. 

Let 2i and ^2 be two concentric circles outside 2, let a 
be the center of these circles, pi and p2 their radii. 

Evidently, if p is contained between pi and p2. 




If we multiply this equality by {p2-pT(p-PiT ^nd inte- 
grate between the Umits pi and P2, the expression becomes 


^j_ r- Fja + pen (p. -PTJP- pXpe'^dad^ 
2 7r*^° 


£\p2-Pnp-pd''dr = ^H 
a+pe^'' = x-\-iy. 



rrh = -L C( F(x+iy)(p2-Pnp-Piy/^^xdy 

or puttmg 

^—x — ty 

the region of integration being the ring contained between 

the circles Ci and C2. 

We shall define the function (l>{x, y) outside this ring by 
giving it the value zero ; the whole plane can then be taken 
as the region of integration. The function <l>(x, y) is bounded 
and continuous in the whole plane ; its derivatives are also 
bounded, at least as far as order m on Ci and as far as order 
n on C2 ; by an artifice analogous to that which we are about 
to employ, it would be easy to arrange matters so that all 
the derivatives would be continuous ; in general it is enough 
to know that the derivatives are continuous as far as some 
order, fixed beforehand. 

If the function F(z) has a singular point a, pi can be made 
to tend to zero and if, further, the product p^F{z) remains 
finite for z = a, the formula holds for pi = o ; if this product 
does not remain finite, in the formula we replace (p - piT 




by e ^ or e~^ etc. Further, in the case of a unique 
singular point, the circle Ci can be drawn with a radius as 
small as we please, after the circle C\ has been reduced to 

It is easy to deduce from this that every regular analytic 
uniform function, zero at infinity, can be represented in every 
region D interior to Its region of existence W^ and approach- 
ing W as nearly as we wish, by an expression of the form 

(20) /-(f) =e(l, V) = /"/" ^fc y^dxdy 

the function <^(a:, y) being bounded and, further, zero at all 
points of D (this hypothesis involves the fact that </)(a:, y) is 
zero at infinity, since the point at infinity belongs to D), 

Inversely every expression of the form (20) in which 
0(a:, y) is a bounded function, zero at infinity, and contin- 
uous in the whole plane, as w^ell as its derivatives (at least 
up to order w), represents a function which is monogenic at 
every point where 0(a;, y) is zero; for by a simple calcu- 

If the points where 0(;c, y) is zero form a W region, the theory 
of analytic functions shows us that the function ^(f, r?) is 
determined at every point of W by the knowledge of its 
values in the neighborhood of any particular point of W. 
The problem of the general determination of the region of 
existence of monogenic functions can then be set as follows : 
to find the conditions which 0(a:, y) should satisfy in order 
that this fundamental property of 0(f, r;) should hold ; that 
is, that the knowledge of this function on an arc of a curve 
where it is monogenic allows the calculation of its value in 
the whole region of monogeneity. 



Consider, for example, the series of rational fractions with 
simple poles. Denoting by C^ a circle with center a and 
radius p, and taking a point f outside this circle for which 
z - a\ = r, j^ ^r r T^{p-r) dxdy ^ 

When the point f is inside the circle C^, the integral is 

easily calculated; putting ^— ^ =X its value is 


The function 


7rp^ ^+iv-x-iy 

Is then bounded in the whole plane; outside Ca it is mono- 
genic and coincides with the analytic function 


Evidently an infinity of functions ^„(|, v) can be defined 
in a similar way, such that the equation 


holds for every point ^ = ^ + iv outside the circle Cn with 
center Un and radius p„, these functions being moreover 
bounded and continuous in the whole plane ; if the | ^„ |'s are 
bounded and if the coefficients An are such that the series 




is convergent, the series 

will be absolutely and uniformly convergent in the whole 
plane, and will be represented by an integral of the form 


»/-« */-ao PJ^ir) — X—lV 



the function </)(a:, y) being the sum of a series everywhere 
convergent whose respective terms are zero outside various 
circles C„; this function <l>{x, y) is then zero at all points 
exterior to all these circles and the function ^(|, rj) is mon- 
ogenic at these points. If the radii pn are replaced by 
6p„, € being as small as we please, the function (t>{x, y) is 
zero in a more and more extended region; it remains 
bounded, but its bound increases indefinitely as e tends to 
zero. We are thus led to consider a priori a function such 
as (21) and to study it in the region C where 0(a:, y) is zero. 
It is natural to suppose the region C to be simply connected ; 
we limit ourselves to the case where this region C consists of 
JV regions (these regions may reduce to a zero as a limiting 
case) and of a finite or infinite number of straight lines A, 
in such a way that any two points can be reunited by a polyg- 
onal line with a finite number of sides. 

An important idea is then that of the order of infinity of 
the function </)(a:, y) in the neighborhood of the straight lines. 
By a calculation analogous to that which has just been 
developed, the convergence of the (M) developments can be 
shown by making the hypothesis that </)(^, y) is not only zero 
upon the straight lines (which is the necessary condition 
of monogeneity) but tends very rapidly to zero in the neigh- 
borhood of each straight line. More precisely, if o- denotes 
the distance of the point {x, y) from the straight line A 
considered, it is assumed that the product 

e'^(f>{x, y) 

tends uniformly to zero as a- tends to zero. By means of this 
hypothesis, it can be affirmed that the function d{^, 77) is 
determined in the whole region of its existence by the knowl- 
edge of its values at any point of this region. This hy- 
pothesis contains as a special case the condition satisfied 




by analytic functions in fV regions, for if a straight line is 
within fF, the function (t>(x, y) is identically zero at all 
points whose distances from the straight line are less than 
a number o-, chosen conveniently. 

The region C can be reduced to the real axis ; that is the 
case of the function 

+00 x»+00 

^+00 x»+aO 

'^dx dy 


The Taylor development 

^(?) = ^(lo) + (?-?o)^'(^o)+- 

diverges for any value of fo but is summable (M), whatever 
fo may be, for every value of |, its sum being equal to the 
function (9(?). The function ^(|) will be called quasi- 

Calculations of double integrals of form (21) lead easily 
to expressions of the same form ; similarly in differentiating, 
transforming the double integral by integration by parts, 
it is only necessary to assume the existence of the derivatives 
of </)(;c, y) exactly to the order of the derivatives of ^(f, r?) 
which it is desired to calculate. To calculate the product, 
if we put 

(.3) ^^(^'')=£X.^^^T^'' 

the product becomes 

,+co ^-f« /.+C0 f^^ ^{x,y)4>i{xuyi)dxdyd^cidyi 

^+00 y»+« ^+00 ••-ra 
*^-oo *^-oo *^— 00 •^-00 

or smce 

I I 

(f-2;)(r-2;i) z-zAr-z r-zi' 


if we put 


+» /'+" 4,{xi, yi)dxidyi 


+« y^+so 

z — Zi 

</>i('^i, yO^-yi^yi 

—00 ^ -x> 

Z — Zi 


We can then put in the form of a double integral (24) 
every polynomial P in terms of one or more functions of 
(9(J, 7]) and their derivatives; if the regions of existence 
have a simply connected common region the differential 
equation obtained by equating P to zero cannot be satisfied 
in any portion of this region without being satisfied in the 
whole region C. 


The results we are establishing suppress the absolutely 
sharp demarcation established by Weierstrass's theory 
between real analytic functions and real non-analytic func- 
tions. I do not wish to develop the consequences of this 
fact from the point of view of the theory of functions ; I 
prefer to insist a little on its importance from the point of 
view of the relations between mathematics and physics. 
It is a necessary postulate in the application of mathematics 
to experimental sciences, that sufficiently slight variations 
in the data ought not to influence the results appreciably ; 
for, if it were not so, since the experimental data are never 
known with vigorous precision, one could not foresee any 
phenomenon. But certain mathematical properties are 
at least apparently discontinuous, depending for example on 



the fact that some number is rational or irrational, 
the solutions of the equation 



- + m^y = cos nx 

are of a different nature according as the ratio ^ is commen- 
surable or incommensurable. Nevertheless, in this case, if 

^ varies continuously, the solution y varies very little in an 


interval of variation of x large compared with the length ot 

the periods. It is not always thus, certainly, but the cases 

in which there is no continuity have been little studied ; the 


can be given as an example in which the solutions vary dis- 
continuously as X becomes equal to zero ; but this equation 
does not come under the Hamiltonian type. 

It is important to know whether the properties of harmonic 
functions (that is, of potentials) vary continuously when the 
definition of the functions itself varies continuously. This 
has no place in Weierstrass's theory ; the introduction^ of 
quasi-analytic functions restores continuity ; a distribution 
of attracting masses infinitely near to Ox leads, if the density 
is sufficiently slight in the neighborhood of Ox, to properties 
of the potential on Ox which are not dissimilar from the case 
where the density is zero in the neighborhood of Ox. 

Emile Borel. 


' #1!^ f' " -■■ -"^ 




IN reply to the question, *'What is art?", it might be said 
jocosely (but this would not be a bad joke) that art is 
what everybody knows it to be. And indeed, if it were not 
to some extent known what it is, it would be impossible even 
to ask that question, for every question implies a certain 
knowledge of what is asked about, designated in the ques- 
tion and therefore known and qualified. A proof of this is 
to be found in the fact that we often hear expressed just and 
profound ideas in relation to art by those who make no pro- 
fession of philosophy or of theory, by laymen, by artists 
who do not like to reason, by the ingenuous, and even by the 
common people: these ideas are sometimes implicit in judg- 
ments concerning particular works of art, but at others as- 
sume altogether the form of aphorisms and of definitions. 
Thus it happens that there arises the belief in the possibility 
of making blush, at will, any proud philosopher who should 
believe himself to have '^discovered'* the nature of art, by 
placing before his eyes or making ring in his ears proposi- 
tions taken from the most superficial books or phrases of the 
most ordinary conversation, and shewing that they already 
most clearly contained his vaunted discovery. 

And in this case the philosopher would have good reason 
to blush— that is, had he ever nourished the illusion of intro- 
ducing into universal human consciousness, by means of his 

1 A monograph prepared for the inauguration of the Rice Institute, by Bene- 
detto Croce, Senator of the Kingdom of Italy, Member of several Royal 
Commissions, Editor of "La Critlca." Translated from the Italian by Doug- 
las Ainslie, B.A. Oxon., of The Athenaeum, London, England. 




doctrines, something altogether original, something extra- 
neous to this consciousness, the revelation of an altogether 
new world. But he does not blush, and continues upon 
his way, for he is not ignorant that the question as to what 
is art (as indeed every philosophical question as to the nature 
of the real, or in general every question of knowledge) , even 
if by Its use of language it seem to assume the aspect of a 
general and total problem, which it is claimed to solve for 
the first and last time, has always, as a matter of fact, a cir- 
cumscribed meaning, referable to the particular difficulties 
that assume vitality at a determined moment in the history 
of thought. Certainly, truth does walk the streets, like the 
esprit of the well-known French proverb, or like metaphor, 
''queen of tropes'' according to rhetoricians, which Mon- 
taigne discovered in the babil of his chambriere. But the 
metaphor used by the maid is the solution of a problem of 
expression proper to the feelings that affect the maid at that 
moment; and the obvious affirmations that by accident or in- 
tent one hears every day as to the nature of art, are solu^ 
tions of logical problems, as they present themselves to this 
or that individual, who is not a philosopher by profession, 
and yet as man is also to some extent a philosopher. And as 
the maid's metaphor usually expresses but a small and vul- 
gar world of feeling compared with that of the poet, so the 
obvious affirmation of one who is not a philosopher solves a 
problem small by comparison with that which occupies the 
philosopher. The answer as to what is art may appear 
similar in both cases, but is different in both cases owing 
to the different degree of richness of its intimate content; 
because the answer of the philosopher worthy of the name 
has neither more nor less than the task of solving in an 
adequate manner all the problems as to the nature of art that 
have arisen down to that moment in the course of history; 



whereas that of the layman, since it revolves in a far nar- 
rower space, shews itself to be impotent outside those limits. 
Actual proof of this is also to be found in the force of the 
eternal Socratic method, in the facility with which the 
learned, by pressing home their questions, leave those with- 
out learning in open-mouthed confusion, though these had 
nevertheless begun by speaking well; but now finding them- 
selves, in the course of the inquiry, in danger of losing what 
small knowledge they possessed, they have no resource but 
to retire into their shell, declaring that they do not like 

The philosopher's pride is solely based therefore upon 
the greater intensity of his questions and answers; a pride 
not unaccompanied with modesty— that is, with the con- 
sciousness that if his sphere be wider, or the largest pos- 
sible, at a determined moment, yet it is limited by the history 
of that moment, and cannot pretend to a value of totality, 
or what is called a definite solution. The ulterior life of the 
spirit, renewing and multiplying problems, does not so much 
falsify, as render inadequate preceding solutions, part of 
them falling among the number of those truths that are un- 
derstood, and part needing to be again taken up and inte- 
grated. A system is a house, which, as soon as It has been 
built and decorated, has need of continuous labour, more or 
less energetic, in order to keep it in repair (subject as It is to 
the corrosive action of the elements) ; and at a certain mo- 
ment there is no longer any use in restoring and propping 
up the system, we must demolish and reconstruct it from top 
to bottom. But with this capital difference : that in the work 
of thought, the perpetually new house is perpetually main- 
tained by the old one, which persists in it, almost by an act 
of magic. As we know, those superficial or Ingenuous souls 
that are ignorant of this magic are terrified at it; so much so, 



that one of their tiresome refrains against philosophy Is that 
it continually undoes its work, and that one philosopher 
contradicts another: as though man did not always make 
and unmake his houses, and as though the architect that fol- 
lows did not always contradict the architect that precedes; 
and as though It were possible to draw the conclusion from 
this making and unmaking of houses and from this contra- 
diction among architects, that it is useless to make houses! 

The answers of the philosopher, though they have the ad- 
vantage of greater intensity, also carry with them the dan- 
gers of greater error, and are often vitiated by a sort of lack 
of good sense, which has an aristocratic character, in so 
far as it belongs to a superior sphere of culture, and even 
when meriting reproof, is the object not only of disdain and 
derision, but also of secret envy and admiration. This is the 
foundation of the contrast, that many delight to Illustrate, 
between the mental equilibrium of ordinary people and the 
extravagances of philosophers; since, for example, it is clear 
that no man of good sense would have said that art is a 
reflexion of the sexual instinct, or that It is something 
maleficent and deserves to be banned from well-ordered re- 
publics. These absurdities have, however, been uttered 
by philosophers and even by great philosophers. But 
the innocence of the man of common sense Is poverty, the 
innocence of the savage; and though there have often been 
sighs for the life of the savage, and a remedy has been called 
for to rescue good sense from philosophies, it remains a 
fact that the spirit, in its development, courageously affronts 
the dangers of civilisation and the momentary loss of good 
sense. The researches of the philosopher in relation to art 
must tread the paths of error In order to find the path of 
truth, which does not differ from, but is, those very paths of 
error which contain a clue to the labyrinth. 






The close connection of error and truth arises from the 
fact that a complete and total error is inconceivable, and, 
since it is inconceivable, does not exist. Error speaks with 
two voices, one of which affirms the false, but the other 
denies it; it is a colliding of yes and no, which is called con- 
tradiction. Therefore, when we descend from general con- 
siderations to the examination of a theory that has been 
condemned as erroneous in its definite particulars, we find 
the cure in the theory itself— that is, the true theory, which 
grows out of the soil of error. Thus it happens that those 
very people who claim to reduce art to the sexual instinct, 
in order to demonstrate their thesis have recourse to argu- 
ments and meditations w^hich, instead of uniting, separate 
art from that instinct; or that he who would expel poetry 
from the well-constituted republic, shudders in so doing, and 
himself creates a new and sublime poetry. There have been 
historical periods in which the most crude and perverted 
doctrines of art have dominated; yet this did not prevent 
the habitual and secure separation of the beautiful from the 
ugly at those periods, nor the very subtle discussion of the 
theme when the abstract theory was forgotten and particular 
cases were studied. Error is always condemned, not by the 
mouth of the judge, but ex ore siio. 

Owing to this close connection with error, the affirmation 
of the truth is always a process of strife, by means of which 
it keeps freeing itself in error from error; whence arises 
another pious but impossible desire, namely, that which de- 
mands that truth should be directly exposed, without discus- 
sion or polemic; that it should be permitted to proceed 
majestically alone upon its way: as if this stage parade were 
the symbol suited to truth, which is thought itself, and, as 
thought, ever active and in labour. Indeed, nobody succeeds 
in exposing a truth, save by criticising the different solutions 



of the problem with which it is connected; and there is no 
philosophical treatise, however weak, no little scholastic 
manual or academic dissertation, which does not collect at 
its beginning or contain in its body a review of opinions, his- 
torically given or ideally possible, which it wishes to oppose 
or to correct. This fact, though frequently realised in a 
capricious and disorderly manner, just expresses the legiti- 
mate desire to pass in review all the solutions that have been 
attempted in history or are possible of achievement in idea 
(that is, at the present moment, though always in history), 
in such a way that the new solution shall include in itself all 
the preceding labour of the human spirit. 

But this demand is a logical demand, and as such intrinsic 
to every true thought and inseparable from it; and we must 
not confound it with a definite literary form of exposi- 
tion, in order that we may not fall into the pedantry for 
which the scholastics of the Middle Ages and the dialec- 
ticians of the school of Hegel in the nineteenth century be- 
came celebrated, which is very closely connected with 
the formalistic superstition, and represents a belief in the 
marvellous virtue of a certain sort of extrinsic and mechan- 
ical philosophical exposition. We must, in short, understand 
it in a substantial, not in an accidental sense, respecting the 
spirit, not the letter, and proceed with freedom in the ex- 
position of our own thought, according to time, place, and 
person. Thus, in these rapid lectures intended to provide as 
it were a guide to the right way of thinking out problems of 
art, I shall carefully refrain from narrating (as I have done 
elsewhere) the whole process of liberation from erroneous 
conceptions of art, mounting upwards from the poorest to 
the richest; and I shall cast far away, not from myself, but 
from my readers, a part of the baggage with which they will 
charge themselves when, prompted thereto by the sight of 



the country passed over in our bird's flight, they shall set 
themselves to accomplish more particular voyages in this or 
that part of it, or to cross it again from end to end. 

However, connecting the question which has given occa- 
sion to this indispensable prologue (indispensable for the 
purpose of removing from my discourse every appearance 
of pretentiousness, and also all blemish of inutility),— the 
question as to what is art, — I will say at once, in the simplest ^'^ 
manner, that art is vision or intuition. The artist produces 
an image or a phantasm; and he who enjoys art turns his 
gaze upon the point to which the artist has pointed, looks 
through the chink which he has opened, and reproduces that 
image in himself. ^'Intuition," ^Vision,'' "contemplation,'* 
"imagination," "fancy," "figurations," "representations," 
and so on, are words continually recurring, like synonyms, 
when discoursing upon art, and they all lead the mind to the 
same conceptual sphere which indicates general agreement. 

But this reply, that art is intuition, obtains its force and 
meaning from all that it implicitly denies and from which it 
distinguishes art. What negations are implicit in it? I shall 
indicate the principal, or at least those that are the most 
important for us at this present moment of our culture. 

It denies, above all, that art is a physical fact: for exam- 
ple, certain determined colours, or relations of colours; 
certain definite forms of bodies; certain definite sounds, 
or relations of sounds; certain phenomena of heat or of elec- 
tricity—in short, whatsoever be designated as "physical." 
The inclination toward this error of physicising art is al- 
ready present in ordinary thought, and as children who 
touch the soap-bubble and would wish to touch the rainbow, 
so the human spirit, admiring beautiful things, hastens spon- 
taneously to trace out the reasons for them in external na- 
ture, and proves that it must think, or believes that it 






should think, certain colours beautiful and certain other col- 
ours ugly, certain forms beautiful and certain other forms 
ugly. But this attempt has been carried out intentionally 
and with method on several occasions in the history of 
thought: from the "canons" which the Greek theoreticians 
and artists fixed for the beauty of bodies, through the specu- 
lations as to the geometrical and numerical relations of 
figures and sounds, down to the researches of the aesthe- 
ticians of the nineteenth century (Fechner, for example), 
and to the "communications" presented in our day by the 
inexpert, at philosophical, psychological, and natural science 
congresses, concerning the relations of physical phenomena 
with art. And If It be asked why art cannot be a physical 
fact, we must reply, in the first place, that physical facts do 
not possess reality, and that art, to which so many devote 
their whole lives and which fills all with a divine joy, is 
supremely real; thus it cannot be a physical fact, which Is 
something unreal. This sounds at first paradoxical, for 
nothing seems more solid and secure to the ordinary man 
than the physical world; but we, in the seat of truth, must 
not abstain from the good reason and substitute for it one 
less good, solely because the first should have the appear- 
ance of a lie; and besides. In order to surpass what of 
strange and difficult may be contained In that truth, to be- 
come at home with It, we may take Into consideration the 
fact that the demonstration of the unreality of the physical 
world has not only been proved in an Indisputable manner 
and Is admitted by all philosophers (who are not crass mate- 
rialists and are not involved in the strident contradictions of 
materialism) , but Is professed by these same physicists in the 
spontaneous philosophy which they mingle with their phys- 
ics, when they conceive physical phenomena as products of 
principles that are beyond experience, of atoms or of ether, 



or as the manifestation of an Unknowable: besides, the 
matter Itself of the materialists is a supermaterlal principle. 
Thus physical facts reveal themselves, by their internal logic 
and by common consent, not as reality, but as a construction 
of our intellect for the purposes of science. Consequently, 
the question whether art be a physical fact must rationally 
assume this different signification: that Is to say, whether 
it he possible to construct art physically. And this Is cer- 
tainly possible, for we indeed carry it out always, when, 
turning from the sense of a poem and ceasing to enjoy It, 
we set ourselves, for example, to count the words of which 
the poem is composed and to divide them into syllables and 
letters; or, disregarding the aesthetic effect of a statue, we 
weigh and measure it : a most useful performance for the 
packers of statues, as is the other for the typographers who 
have to ''compose" pages of poetry; but most useless for 
the contemplator and student of art, to whom it Is neither 
useful nor licit to allow himself to be "distracted" from his 
proper object. Thus art is not a physical fact in this second 
sense, either; which amounts to saying that when we propose/ 
to ourselves to penetrate its nature and mode of action, to - 
construct it physically is of no avail. 

Another negation is implied in the definition of art as 'm-( 
tuition: If It be intuition, and intuition is equivalent to theory^ 
in the original sense of contemplation, art cannot be a utili--^ 
tarian act; and since a utilitarian act aims always at obtain- 
ing a pleasure and therefore at keeping off a pain, art, 
considered In Its own nature, has nothing to do with the 
useful and with pleasure and pain, as such. It will be ad- 
mitted, indeed, without much dlfl^culty, that a pleasure as a 
pleasure, any sort of pleasure, is not of itself artistic; the 
pleasure of a drink of water that slakes thirst, or a walk In 
the open air that stretches our limbs and makes our blood 



circulate more lightly, or the obtaining of a longed-for post 
that settles us In practical life, and so on, is not artistic. 
Finally, the difference between pleasure and art leaps to the 
eyes in the relations that are developed between ourselves 
and works of art, because the figure represented may be dear 
to us and represent the most delightful memories, and at the 
same time the picture may be ugly; or, on the other hand, 
the picture may be beautiful and the figure represented hate- 
ful to our hearts, or the picture Itself, which we approve as 
beautiful, may also cause us rage and envy, because It is the 
work of our enemy or rival, for whom it will procure advan- 
tage and on whom it will confer new strength: our practical 
Interests, with their relative pleasures and pains, mingle and 
sometimes become confused with art and disturb, but are 
never identified with, our aesthetic Interest. At the most it 
will be affirmed, with a view to maintaining more effectively 
the definition of art as the pleasurable, that It is not the 
pleasurable in general, but a particular form of the pleasur- 
able. But such a restriction Is no longer a defence. It Is in- 
deed an abandonment of that thesis; for given that art is a 
particular form of pleasure, its distinctive character would 
be supplied, not by the pleasurable, but by what distinguishes 
that pleasurable from other pleasurables, and it would be 
desirable to turn the attention to that distinctive element- 
more than pleasurable or different from pleasurable. Nev- 
ertheless, the doctrine that defines art as the pleasurable has 
a special denomination (hedonistic aesthetic), and a long 
and complicated development in the history of aesthetic doc- 
trines: it shewed itself In the Graeco-Roman world, prevailed 
In the eighteenth century, reflowered in the second half of 
the nineteenth, and still enjoys much favour, being especially 
well received by beginners in aesthetic, who are above all 
struck by the fact that art causes pleasure. The life of this 




doctrine has consisted of proposing in turn one or another 
class of pleasures, or several classes together (the pleasure 
of the superior senses, the pleasure of play, of consciousness 
of our own strength, of criticism, etc., etc.), or of adding to 
it elements differing from the pleasurable, the useful for 
example (when understood as distinct from the pleasura- 
ble), the satisfaction of cognoscitive and moral wants, and 
the like. And its progress has been caused just by this rest- 
lessness, and by its allowing foreign elements to ferment in 
its bosom, which it introduces through the necessity of some- 
how bringing itself into agreement with the reality of art, 
thus attaining to its dissolution as hedonistic doctrine and to 
the promotion of a new doctrine, or at least to drawing at- 
tention to its necessity. And since every error has its ele- 
ment of truth (and that of the physical doctrine has been 
seen to be the possibility of the physical "construction" of 
art as of any other fact), the hedonistic doctrine has its eter- 
nal element of truth in the placing in relief the hedonistic 
accompaniment, or pleasure, common to the aesthetic activity 
as to every form of spiritual activity, which it has not at all 
been intended to deny in absolutely denying the identification 
of art with the pleasurable, and in distinguishing it from the 
pleasurable by defining it as intuition. 

A third negation, effected by means of the theory of art as 
intuition, is that art is a moral act; that is to say, that form 
of practical act which, although necessarily uniting with the 
useful and with pleasure and pain, is not immediately utilita- 
rian and hedonistic, and moves in a superior spiritual sphere. 
But the intuition, in so far as it is a theoretic act, is opposed 
to the practical of any sort. And in truth, art, as has been 
remarked from the earliest times, does not arise as an act of 
the will; good will, which constitutes the honest man, does 
not constitute the artist. And since it is not the result of an 





act of will, so it escapes all moral discrimination, not because 
a privilege of exemption is accorded to it, but simply because 
moral discrimination cannot be applied to art. An artistic 
image portrays an act morally praiseworthy or blamewor- 
thy; but this image, as image, is neither morally praisewor- 
thy nor blameworthy. Not only is there no penal code that 
can condemn an image to prison or to death, but no moral 
judgment, uttered by a rational person, can make of it its 
object: we might just as well judge the square moral or the 
triangle immoral as the Francesca of Dante immoral or the 
Cordelia of Shakespeare moral, for these have a purely ar- 
tistic function, they are like musical notes in the souls of 
Dante and of Shakespeare. Further, the moralistic theory 
of art is also represented in the history of aesthetic doctrines, 
though much discredited in the common opinion of our times, 
not only on account of its intrinsic demerit, but also, in some 
measure, owing to the moral demerit of certain tendencies 
of our times, which render possible, owing to psychological 
dislike, that refutation of it which should be made— and 
which we here make — solely for logical reasons. The end 
attributed to art, of directing the good and inspiring horror 
of evil, of correcting and ameliorating customs, is a deriva- 
tion of the moralistic doctrine; and so is the demand ad- 
dressed to artists to collaborate in the education of the lower 
classes, in the strengthening of the national or bellicose spirit 
of a people, in the diffusion of the ideals of a modest and la- 
borious life; and so on. These are all things that art can- 
not do, any more than geometry, which, however, does not 
lose anything of its importance on account of its inability to 
do this; and one does not see why art should do so, either. 
That it cannot do these things was partially perceived by the 
moralistic sestheticians also; who very readily effected a 
transactioii with it, permitting it to provide pleasures that 



were not moral, provided they were not openly dishonest, or 
recommending it to employ to a good end the dominion that, 
owing to its hedonistic power, it possessed over souls, to 
gild the pill, to sprinkle sweetness upon the rim of the glass 
containing the bitter draught— in short, to play the courte- 
zan (since It could not get rid of its old and inborn habits), 
in the service of holy church or of morality: meretrix eccle- 
sia. On other occasions they have sought to avail them- 
selves of it for purposes of instruction, since not only virtue 
but also science is a difficult thing, and art could remove this 
difficulty and render pleasant and attractive the entrance 
into the ocean of science— indeed, lead them through it as 
through a garden of Armida, gaily and voluptuously, with- 
out their being conscious of the lofty protection they had 
obtained, or of the crisis of renovation which they were pre- 
paring for themselves. We cannot now refrain from a 
smile when we talk of these theories, but should not forget 
that they were once a serious matter corresponding to a seri- 
ous effort to understand the nature of art and to elevate the 
conception of it; and that among those who believed In It 
(to limit ourselves to Italian literature) were Dante and 
Tasso, Parini and Alfierl, ManzonI and Mazzlni. And 
the moralistic doctrine of art was and Is and will be per- 
petually beneficial by its very contradictions; it was and will 
be an effort, however unhappy, to separate art from the 
merely pleasing, with which it Is sometimes confused, and 
to assign to It a more worthy post: and it, too, has its true 
side, because, if art be beyond morality, the artist is neither 
this side of it nor that, but under Its empire, in so far as he 
is a man who cannot withdraw himself from the duties of 
man, and must look upon art Itself— art, which Is not and 
never will be moral— as a mission to be exercised as a priestly 



fir Again (and this is the last and perhaps the most Important 
of all the general negations that It suits me to recall In rela- 
tion to this matter), with the definition of art as intuition, 
we deny that it has the character of conceptual knozvledge. 
Conceptual knowledge, in its true form, which is the philo- 
sophical, is always realistic, aiming at establishing reality 
against unreality, or at lowering unreality by including it in 
reality as a subordinate moment of reality Itself. But in- 
tuition means, precisely, indistinction of reality and unreal- 
ity, the image with Its value as mere image, the pure ideality 
of the image; and opposing the intuitive or sensible know- 
ledge to the conceptual or Intelligible, the aesthetic to the 
noetic, it aims at claiming the autonomy of this more simple 
and elementary form of knowledge, which has been com- 
pared to the dream (the dream, and not the sleep) of the 
theoretic life, in respect to which philosophy would be the 
waking. And Indeed, whoever should ask, w^hen examining 
a work of art, whether what the artist has expressed be 
metaphysically and historically true or false, asks a question 
that is without meaning, and commits an error analogous to 
his who should bring the airy images of the fancy before 
the tribunal of morality: without meaning, because the 
discrimination of true and false always concerns an affirma- 
tion of reality, or a judgment, but It cannot fall under the 
head of an image or of a pure subject, which is not the sub- 
ject of a judgment, since It is without qualification or predi- 
cate. It is useless to object that the individuality of the 
image cannot subsist without reference to the universal, of 
which that image Is the individuation, because we do not 
here deny that the universal, as the spirit of God, Is every- 
where and animates all things with itself, but we deny that 
the universal is rendered logically explicit and is thought 
in the intuition. Useless also Is the appeal to the principle 



of the unity of the spirit, which is not broken, but, on the 
contrary, strengthened by the clear distinction of fancy from 
thought, because from the distinction comes opposition, and 
from opposition concrete unity. 

Ideality (as has also been called this character that dis- 
tinguishes the intuition from the concept, art from philoso- 
phy and from history, from the affirmation of the universal 
and from the perception or narration of what has hap- 
pened) is the intimate virtue of art: no sooner are reflection 
and judgment developed from that ideality, than art is dis- 
sipated and dies: it dies in the artist, who becomes a critic; 
it dies in the contemplator, who changes from an entranced 
enjoyer of art to a meditative observer of life. 

But the distinction of art from philosophy (taken widely 
as including all thinking of the real) brings with it other 
distinctions, among which that of art from myth occupies 
the foremost place. For myth, to him who believes in it, 
presents itself as the revelation and knowledge of reality 
as opposed to unreality, — a reality that drives away other 
beliefs as illusory or false. It can become art only for him 
who no longer believes in it and avails himself of mythology 
as a metaphor, of the austere world of the gods as of a 
beautiful world, of God as of an image of sublimity. Con- 
sidered, then, in its genuine reality, in the soul of the believer 
and not of the unbeliever, it is religion and not simple fancy; 
and religion is philosophy, philosophy in process of becom- 
ing, philosophy more or less imperfect, but philosophy, as 
philosophy is religion, more or less purified and elaborated, 
in continuous process of elaboration and purification, but 
religion or thought of the Absolute or Eternal. Art lacks 
the thought that is necessary ere it can become myth and 
religion, and the faith that is born of thought; the artist 
neither believes nor disbelieves in his image: he produces 



it. And, for a different reason, the concept of art as in- 
tuition excludes, on the other hand, the conception of art as ' 
the production of classes and types, species and genera, or 
again (as a great mathematician and philosopher had occa- 
sion to say of music), as an exercise of unconscious arith- 
metic; that is, it distinguishes art from the positive sciences " 
and from mathematics, in both of which appears the con- 
ceptual form, though without realistic character, as mere 
general representation or mere abstraction. But that ideal- 
ity which natural and mathematical science would seem to 
assume, as opposed to the world of philosophy, of religion 
and of history, and which would seem to approximate it to 
art (and owing to which scientists and mathematicians of 
our day are so ready to boast of creating worlds, of fictiones, 
resembling the fictions and figurations of the poets, even in 
their vocabulary), is gained with the renunciation of con- 
crete thought, by means of generalisation and abstraction, 
which are capricious, volitional decisions, practical acts, and, 
as practical acts, extraneous and inimical to the world of 
art. Thus it happens that art manifests much more repug- 
nance toward the positive and mathematical sciences than 
toward philosophy, religion and history, because these seem 
to it to be fellow-citizens of the same world of theory or of 
knowledge, whereas those others shock it with the brutality 
toward contemplation of the practical world. Poetry and 
classification, and, worse still, poetry and mathematics, ap- 
pear to be as little in agreement as fire and water: the esprit 
mathematiqiie and the esprit scientifique, the most declared 
enemies of the esprit poetique; those periods in which the 
natural sciences and mathematics prev^ail (for example, the 
intellectualism of the eighteenth century) seem to be the 
least fruitful in poetry. 

And since this vindication of the alogical character of art 




is, as I have said, the most difficult and important of the 
negations included in the formula of art-intuition, the 
theories that attempt to explain art as philosophy, as re- 
ligion, as history, or as science, and in a lesser degree as 
mathematics, occupy the greater part of the history of 
aesthetic science and are adorned with the names of the 
greatest philosophers. Schelling and Hegel afford examples 
of the identification or confusion of art with religion and 
philosophy in the eighteenth century; Taine, of its confusion 
with the natural sciences; the theories of the French verists, 
of its confusion with historical and documentary observa- 
tion; the formalism of the Herbartians, of its confusion with 
mathematics. But it would be vain to seek pure examples of 
these errors in any of these authors and in the others that 
might be mentioned, because error is never pure, for if it 
were so, it would be truth. Thus the doctrines of art that 
for the sake of brevity I shall term "conceptualistic" contain 
elements of dissolution, the more copious and efficacious 
by as much as the spirit of the philosopher who professed 
them was energetic, and therefore nowhere are they so 
copious and efficacious as in SchelHng and Hegel, who thus 
had so lively a consciousness of artistic production as to sug- 
gest by their observations and their particular developments 
a theory opposed to that maintained in their systems. Fur- 
thermore, the very conceptualistic theories are superior to 
the others previously examined, not only in so far as they 
recognise the theoretic character of art, but also carry with 
them their contribution to the true doctrine, owing to the 
claim that they make for a determination of the relations 
(which, if they be of distinction, are also of unity) between 
fancy and logic, between art and thought. 

And here we can already see how the simplest formula, 
that "art is intuition,''— which, translated into other sym- 



bohcal terms (for example, that "art is the work of fancy"), 
is to be found in the mouths of all those who daily discuss 
art, and is to be found in older terms ("imitation," "fiction," 
"fable," etc.) in so many old books,— pronounced now in the 
text of a philosophical discourse, becomes filled with a his- 
torical, critical, and polemical content, of which I can hardly 
here give any example. And it will no longer cause astonish- 
ment that its philosophical conquest should have cost an 
especially great amount of toil, because that conquest is like 
setting foot upon a little hill long fought for in battle. Its 
easy ascent by the thoughtless pedestrian in time of peace 
is a very different matter; it is not a simple resting-place 
on a walk, but the symbol and result of the victory of an 
army. The historian of aesthetic follows the steps of its diffi- 
cult progress, in which (and this is another magical act of 
thought) the conqueror, instead of losing strength through 
the blows that his adversary inflicts upon him, acquires new 
strength through these very blows, and reaches the sighed-for 
eminence, repulsing his adversary, and yet in his company. 
Here I cannot do more than record in passing the importance 
of the Aristotelian concept of mimesis (arising in opposition 
to the Platonic condemnation of poetry), and the attempt 
made by the same philosopher to distinguish poetry and his- 
tory: a concept that was not sufficiently developed, and per- 
haps not altogether mature in his mind, and therefore long 
misunderstood, but which was yet to serve, after many cen- 
turies, as the point of departure for modern aesthetic 
thought. And I will mention in passing the ever-increasing 
consciousness of the difference between lo^ic and fancy, be- 
tween judgment and taste, between intellect and genius, 
which became ever more lively during the course of the sev- 
enteenth century, and the solemn form which the contest 
between Poetry and Metaphysic assumed in the "Scienza 



Nuova" of Vico; and also the scholastic construction of an 
^sthetica, distinct from a Logica, as Gnoseologia inferior 
and Scientia cognitionis sensitive, in Baumgarten, who, how- 
ever, remained involved in the conceptualistic conception of 
art, and did not carry out his project; and the Critique of 
Kant directed against Baumgarten and all the Leibnitzians 
and Wolffians, which made it clear that intuition is intuition 
and not a "confused concept"; and romanticism, which 
perhaps better developed the new idea of art, announced 
by Vico, in its artistic criticism and in its histories than in 
its systems; and, finally, the criticism inaugurated in Italy by 
Francesco de Sanctis, who caused art as pure form, or pure 
intuition, to prevail over all utilitarianism, moralism, and 
conceptualism (to adopt his vocabulary). 

But doubt springs up at the feet of truth, "like a young 
shoot," — as the terzina of father Dante has it,— doubt, 
which is what drives the intellect of man "from mount to 
mount." The doctrine of art as intuition, as fancy, as form, 
now gives rise to an ulterior (I have not said an "ultimate") 
problem, which is no longer one of opposition and distinc- 
tion toward physics, hedonistic, ethic and logic, but the field 
of images itself, which sets in doubt the capacity of the im- 
age to define the character of art and is in reality occupied 
with the mode of separating the genuine from the spurious 
image, and of enriching in this way the concept of the image 
and of art. What function (it is asked) can a world of 
pure images possess in the spirit of man, without philosophi- 
cal, historical, religious or scientific value, and without even 
moral or hedonistic value? What is more vain than to 
dream with open eyes in life, which demands, not only open 
eyes, but an open mind and a nimble spirit? Pure images! 
But to nourish oneself upon pure images is called by a name 
of little honour, "to dream," and there is usually added to 




this the epithet of "idle." It is a very insipid and inconclu- 
sive thing; can it ever be art? Certainly, we sometimes 
amuse ourselves with the reading of some sensational ro- 
mance of adventure, where images follow images in the most 
various and unexpected way; but we thus enjoy ourselves in 
moments of fatigue, when we are obliged to kill time, and 
with a full consciousness that such stuff is not art. Such in- 
stances are of the nature of a pastime, a game; but were art 
a game or a pastime, it would fall into the wide arms of 
hedonistic doctrine, ever open to receive it. And it is a 
utilitarian and hedonistic need that impels us sometimes to 
relax the bow of the mind and the bow of the will, and to 
stretch ourselves, allowing images to follow one another in 
our memory, or combining them in quaint forms with the aid 
of the Imagination, In a sort of waking sleep, from which we 
rouse ourselves as soon as we are rested; and we sometimes 
rouse ourselves just to devote ourselves to the work of art, 
which cannot be produced by a mind relaxed. Thus either 
art is not pure intuition, and the claims put forward In the 
doctrines which we believed we had above confuted, are not 
satisfied, and so the confutation Itself of these doctrines is 
troubled with doubts; or Intuition cannot consist in a simple 
act of Imagination. 

In order to render the problem more exact and more diffi- 
cult, It will be well to eliminate from It at once that part to 
which the answer is easy, and which I have not wished to 
neglect, precisely because It Is usually united and confused 
with it. The intuition Is the product of an image, and not of 
an incoherent mass of Images obtained by recalling former 
Images and allowing them to succeed one another capri- 
ciously, by combining one Image with another in a like capri- 
cious manner, joining a horse's neck to a human head, and 
thus playing a childish game. Old Poetic availed Itself 





above all of the concept of unity ^ in order to express this 
distinction between the intuition and imagining, insisting 
that whatever the artistic work, it should be simplex et 
iinum; or of the allied concept of unity in variety— th^Lt is to 
say, the multiple images were to find their common centre 
unit of union in a comprehensive image: and the aesthetic of 
the nineteenth century created with the same object the dis- 
tinction, which appears in not a few of its philosophers, 
between fancy (the peculiar artistic faculty) and imagina- 
tion (the extra-artistic faculty). To amass, select, cut up, 
combine images, presupposes the possession of particular 
images in the spirit; and fancy produces, whereas im- 
agination is sterile, adapted to extrinsic combinations and 
not to the generation of organism and life. The most pro- 
found problem, contained beneath the rather superficial 
formula with which I first presented it, is, then: What 
is the office of the pure image in the life of the spirit? or 
(which at bottom amounts to the same thing), How does 
the pure image come into existence? Every inspired work 
of art gives rise to a long series of imitators, who just re- 
peat, cut up in pieces, combine, and mechanically exaggerate 
that work, and by so doing play the part of imagination 
toward or against the fancy. But what is the justification, 
or what the genesis, of the work of genius, which is after- 
ward submitted (a sign of glory!) to such torments? In 
order to make this point clear, we must go deeply into the 
character of fancy or pure intuition. 

And the best way to prepare this deeper study is to recall 
to mind and to criticise the theories with which it has been 
sought to differentiate artistic intuition from merely In- 
coherent imagination (while taking care not to fall into real- 
ism or conceptualism), to establish In what the principle of 
unity consists, and to justify the productlv^e character of the 



fancy. The artistic image (it has been said) Is such, when 
it unites the intelligible with the sensible, and represents an 
idea. Now ^'intelligible" and "Idea" cannot mean anything 
but concept (nor has it a different meaning with those who 
maintain this doctrine) ; even though it be the concrete con- 
cept or idea, proper to lofty philosophical speculation, which 
differs from the abstract concept or from the representa- 
tive concept of the sciences. But in any case, the concept or 
idea always unites the intelligible to the sensible, and not 
only in art, for the new concept of the concept, first stated by 
Kant and (so to speak) immanent in all modern thought, 
heals the breach between the sensible and the intelligible 
worlds, conceives the concept as judgment, and the judgment 
as synthesis a priori, and the synthesis a priori as the word 
become flesh, as history. Thus that definition of art leads 
the fancy back to logic and art to philosophy, contrary to 
intention; and is at most valid for the abstract conception of 
science, not for the problem of art (the aesthetic and teleo- 
logical' ''Critique of Judgment" of Kant had precisely 
this historical function of correcting what of abstract there 
yet remained in the "Critique of Pure Reason" ) . To seek a 
sensible element for the concept, beyond that which it has 
already absorbed in itself as concrete concept, and beyond 
the words in which it expresses itself, would be superfluous. 
If we persist in this search, it is true that we abandon the 
conception of art as philosophy or history, but only to pass 
to the conception of art as allegory. And the unsurmounta- 
ble difficulties of the allegory are well known, as its frigid 
and anti-historical character is known and universally felt. 
Allegory Is the extrinsic union, the conventional and arbi- 
trary juxtaposition of two spiritual acts, a concept or thought 
and an image, where it is assumed that this image must 
represent that concept. And not only is the individual char- 



acter of the artistic image not explained by this, but, in addi- 
tion, a duality is purposely created, because thought remains 
thought and image image in this juxtaposition, without rela- 
tion between themselves; so much so, that in contemplating 
the image, we forget the concept without any disadvantage, 
—indeed, with advantage, — and in thinking the concept, 
we dissipate, also with advantage, the superfluous and tire- 
some image. Allegory enjoyed much favour in the Middle 
Ages, that mixture of Germanism and Romanism, of bar- 
barism and culture, of bold fancy and of acute reflection; 
but it was the theoretic element in, and not the effective real- 
ity of, the same mediaeval art which, where it is art, drives 
allegory away from or resolves it in itself. This need for 
the solution of allegorical dualism leads to the refining of 
the theory of intuition, in so far as it is allegory of the idea, 
into the other theory, of the intuition as — symbol; for the 
idea does not stand by itself in the symbol, thinkable sepa- 
rately from the symbolising representation, nor does the 
symbol stand by itself, representable in a lively manner 
without the idea symbolised. The idea is all reduced to rep- 
resentation (as said the sesthetician Vischer, if to anyone be- 
longs the blame of the very prosaic comparison for so poetic 
and metaphysical a theme), like a lump of sugar melted 
in a glass of water, which exists and acts in every molecule 
of water, but is no longer to be found as a lump of sugar. 
But the idea that has disappeared, the idea that has become 
entirely representative, the idea that we can no longer suc- 
ceed in seizing as idea (save by extracting it, like sugar from 
sugared water), is no longer idea, and is only the sign that 
the unity of the artistic image has not yet been achieved. 
Certainly art is symbol, all symbol— that is, all significant; 
but symbol of what? What does it mean? The intuition is 
truly artistic, it is truly intuition, and not a chaotic mass of 



images, only when it has a vital principle that animates it, 
making it all one with itself; but what is this principle? 

The answer to such a question may be said to result from 
the examination of the greatest ideal strife that has ever 
taken place in the field of art ( and is not confined to the epoch 
that took its name from it and in which it was predomi- 
nant) : the strife between romanticism and classicism. Giv- 
ing the general definition, here convenient, and setting aside 
minor and accidental determinations, romanticism asks of 
art, above all, the spontaneous and violent effusion of the af- 
fections, of love and hate, of anguish and jubilation, of des- 
peration and elevation; and is willingly satisfied and pleased 
with vaporous and indeterminate images, broken and allu- 
sive in style, with vague suggestions, with approximate 
phrases, with powerful and troubled sketches: while classi- 
cism loves the peaceful soul, the wise design, figures studied 
in their characteristics and precise in outline, ponderation, 
equilibrium, clarity; and resolutely tends toward represen- 
tation, as the other tends toward feeling. And whoever puts 
himself at one or the other point of view finds crowds of 
reasons for maintaining it and for confuting the opposite 
point of view; because (say the romantics). What Is the 
use of an art, rich in beautiful images, w^hlch, nevertheless, 
does not speak to the heart? And If it do speak to the 
heart, what Is the use If the Images be not beautiful? And 
the others will say, What is the use of the shock of the pas- 
sions, if the spirit do not rest upon a beautiful image? 
And If the Image be beautiful, if our taste be satisfied, 
what matters the absence of those emotions which can all 
of them be obtained outside art, and which life does not 
fall to provide, sometimes In greater quantity than we de- 
sire?— But when we begin to feel weary of the fruitless 
defence of both partial views; above all, when we turn 



away from the ordinary works of art produced by the ro- 
mantic and classical schools, from works convulsed with 
passion or coldly decorous, and fix them on the works, 
not of the disciples, but of the masters, not of the medio- 
cre, but of the supreme, we see the contest disappear in 
the distance and find ourselves unable to call the great por- 
tions of these works, romantic or classic or representative, 
because they are both classic and romantic, feelings and 
representations, a vigorous feeling which has become all 
most brilliant representation. Such, for example, are the 
works of Hellenic art, and such those of Italian poetry 
and art: the transcendentalism of the Middle Ages be- 
came fixed in the bronze of the Dantesque terzina; melan- 
choly and suave fancy, in the transparency of the songs and 
sonnets of Petrarch; sage experience of life and badinage 
with the fables of the past, in the limpid ottava rima of 
Ariosto; heroism and the thought of death, in the perfect 
blank-verse hendecasyllabics of Foscolo; the infinite variety 
of everything, in the sober and austere songs of Giacomo 
Leopardi. Finally (be it said in parenthesis and without 
intending comparison with the other examples adduced) , the 
voluptuous refinements and animal sensuality of interna- 
tional decadentism have received their most perfect expres- 
sion in the prose and verse of an Italian, D^Annunzio. All 
these souls were profoundly passionate (all, even the serene 
Lodovico Ariosto, who was so amorous, so tender, and so 
often represses his emotion with a smile) ; their works of 
art are the eternal flow^er that springs from their passions. 

These expressions and these critical judgments can be 
theoretically resumed in the formula, that what gives co- 
herence and unity to the intuition is feeling: the intuition is 
really such because it represents a feeling, and can only ap- 
pear from and upon that. Not the idea, but the feeling, is 



\ 1 




what confers upon art the airy lightness of the symbol: an 
aspiration enclosed in the circle of a representation— that is 
art; and in it the aspiration alone stands for the representa- 
tion, and the representation alone for the aspiration. Epic 
and lyric, or drama and lyric, are scholastic divisions of the 
indivisible: art is always lyrical— that is, epic and dramatic 
in feeling. What we admire in genuine works of art is the 
perfect fanciful form which a state of the soul assumes; and 
we call this life, unity, solidity of the work of art. What 
displeases us in the false and imperfect forms is the struggle 
of several different states of the soul not yet unified, their 
stratification, or mixture, their vacillating method, which 
obtains apparent unity from the will of the author, who for 
this purpose avails himself of an abstract plan or idea, or of 
extra-aesthetic, passionate emotion. A series of images 
which seem to be, each in turn, rich in power of conviction, 
leaves us nevertheless deluded and diffident, because we do 
not see them generated from a state of the soul, from a 
'^sketch" (as the painters call it), from a motive; and 
they follow one another and crowd together without that 
precise intonation, without that accent, which comes from 
the heart. And what is the figure cut out from the back- 
ground of the picture or transported and placed against 
another background, what is the personage of drama or of 
romance outside his relation with all the other personages 
and with the general action? And what is the value of this 
general action if it be not an action of the spirit of the au- 
thor? The secular disputes concerning dramatic unity are 
interesting in this connection; they are first applied to the 
unity of "action'' when they have been obtained from an 
extrinsic determination of time and place, and this finally 
applied to the unity of ''interest," and the interest would 
have to be in its turn dissolved in the interest of the spirit of 


ky«.-j .*-* p - 


„:,,•- «k 


the poet— that is, in his intimate aspiration, in his feeling. 
The negative issue of the great dispute between classicists 
and romanticists is interesting, for it resulted in the negation 
both of the art which strives to distract and illude the soul 
as to the deficiency of the image with mere feeling, with 
the practical violence of feeling, with feeling that has not 
become contemplation, and of the art which, by means of the 
superficial clearness of the image, of drawing correctly false, 
of the word falsely correct, seeks to deceive as to its lack of 
inspiration and its lack of an aesthetic reason to justify what 
it has produced. A celebrated sentence uttered by an Eng- 
lish critic, and become one of the commonplaces of journal- 
ism, states that "all the arts tend to the condition of music"; 
but it would have been more accurate to say that all the arts 
are music, if it be thus intended to emphasise the genesis of 
aesthetic images in feeling, excluding from their number those 
mechanically constructed or realistically ponderous. And 
another not less celebrated utterance of a Swiss semi-philos- 
opher, which has had the like good or bad fortune of be- 
coming trivial, discovers that "every landscape is a state of 
the soul" : which is indisputable, not because the landscape is 
landscape, but because the landscape is art. 

Artistic intuition, then, is always lyrical intuition: this 
latter being a word that is not present as an adjective or 
definition of the first, but as a synonym, another of the 
synonyms that can be united to the several that I have men- 
tioned already, and which, all of them, designate the Intuition. 
And if it be sometimes convenient that instead of appearing 
as a synonym, it should assume the grammatical form of 
the adjective, that is only to make clear the difference be- 
tween the intuition-Image, or nexus of images (for what 
is called image is always a nexus of images, since image- 
atoms do not exist any more than thought-atoms), which 



constitutes the organism, and, as organism, has Its vital prin- 
ciple, which is the organism itself,— between this, which is 
true and proper intuition, and that false intuition which is a 
heap of images put together in play or intentionally or for 
some other practical purpose, the connection of which, be- 
ing practical, shows itself to be not organic, but mechanic, 
when considered from the aesthetic point of view. But the 
word lyric would be redundant save in this explicative or 
polemical sense; and art is perfectly defined when It is simply 
defined as intuition. 



m^m mim ^ » > ^ i: 




THERE can be no doubt that the process of distinction 
of art from the facts and the acts with which it has 
been and is confused, which I have summarily traced, neces- 
sitates no small mental effort; but this effort is rewarded with 
the freedom which it affords of handling the many fallacious 
distinctions which disfigure the field of aesthetic. These, al- 
though they do not present any difficulty in thinking out (in- 
deed, at first they seduce by their very facility and deceitful 
self-evidence) , yet imply the other and greater annoyance of 
preventing all profound understanding, and indeed of mak- 
ing it impossible to understand anything as to what art truly 
is. It is true that many people, in order to retain the power 
of repeating vulgar and traditional distinctions, voluntarily 
resign themselves to this ignorance. We, on the contrary, 
now prefer to throw^ them all away, as a useless hindrance in 
the new task to which the new theoretic position that we 
have attained invites and leads us, and to enjoy the greater 
facility which comes from feeling rich. Wealth is not only 
to be obtained by acquiring many objects, but, on the con- 
trary, by getting rid of all those that represent economic 

Let us begin with the most famous of these economic 
debts in the circle of esthetic : the distinction between con- 
tent and form, which has caused a division of schools even 
in the nineteenth century: the schools of the aesthetic of 
the content (Gehalts^sthetik) and that of the aesthetic of 
form {Formcesthetik). The problems from which these 




opposed schools arose were, in general, the following: Does 
art consist solely of the content, or solely of the form, or of 
content and form together? What is the character of the 
content, what that of the aesthetic form?— It was an- 
swered, on the one hand, that art, the essence of art, is all 
contained in the content, defined as that which pleases, or as 
what is moral, or as what raises man to the heaven of re- 
ligion or of metaphysic, or as what is historically correct, or, 
finally, as what is naturally and physically beautiful. And, 
on the other hand, that the content is indifferent, that it is 
simply a peg or hook from which beautiful forms are 
suspended, which alone beatify the aesthetic spirit : unity, har- 
mony, symmetry, and so on. And on both sides it was 
attempted to attract the element that had previously been 
excluded from the essence of art as subordinate and second- 
ary: those for the content admitted that it was an advantage 
to the content (which, according to them, was really the con- 
stitutive element of the beautiful) to adorn itself with beau- 
tiful forms also, and to present itself as unity, symmetry, har- 
mony, etc.; and the formalists, in their turn, admitted that 
if art did not gain by the value of its content, its effect did, 
not a single value, but the sum of two values being in this 
case offered. These doctrines, which attained their greatest 
scholastic bulk in Germany with the Hegelians and the 
Herbartians, is also to be found more or less everywhere in 
the history of aesthetic, ancient, mediaeval, modern, and most 
modern; and is what amounts to most in common opinion, 
for nothing is more common than to hear that a drama is 
beautiful in "form," but a failure in "content'^ that a poem 
is "most nobly" conceived, but "executed in ugly verse" ; that 
a painter would have been greater did he not waste his 
power as a designer and as a colourist, upon "small and un- 
worthy themes," instead of selecting, on the contrary, those 




of a historical, patriotic, or sociological character. It may 
be said that fine taste and true critical sense of art have to 
defend themselves at every step against the perversions of 
judgment arising from these doctrines, in which philosophers 
become the crowd, and the crowd feels itself philosoph- 
ical, because in agreement with those crowd-philosophers. 
The origin of these theories is no secret for us, because, even 
in the brief sketch that we have given, it is quite clear that 
they have sprung from the trunk of hedonistic, moralistic, 
conceptualistic, or physical conceptions of art: they are all 
doctrines which, failing to perceive what makes art art, 
were obliged somehow to regain art, which they had allowed 
to escape them, and to reintroduce it in the form of an acces- 
sory or accidental element; the upholders of the theory of the 
content conceived it as an abstract formal element, the for- 
malists as the abstract element of the content. What inter- 
ests us in those aesthetics is just this dialectic, in which the 
theorists of the content become formalists against their will, 
and the formalists upholders of the theory of the content; 
thus each passes over to occupy the other's place, but 
to be restless there and to return to their own, which gives 
rise to the same restlessness. The "beautiful forms" of Her- 
bart do not differ in any way from the "beautiful contents" 
of the Hegelians, because both are nothing. And we become 
yet more interested to observe their efforts to get out of 
prison, and the blows with which they weaken its doors or its 
walls, and the air-holes which some of those thinkers suc- 
ceed in opening.— Their efforts are clumsy and sterile, like 
those of the theorists of the content (they are to be seen 
in a repulsive form In the Philosoph'ie des Schonen of 
Hartmann), who, by adding stitch to stitch, composed 
a net of "beautiful contents" (beautiful, sublime, comic, 
tragic, humouristic, pathetic, idyllic, sentimental, etc., etc.), 



in which very coarse net they tried to enclose every form of 
reality, even that which they had called "ugly." They 
failed to perceive that their aesthetic content, thus made to 
enclose little by little the whole of reality, has no longer any 
character that distinguishes it from other contents, since 
there is no content beyond reality; and that therefore their 
fundamental theory was thus fundamentally negated. These 
contradictory and ingenuous explosions resemble those of 
other formalistic theorists of the content who maintained the 
concept of an aesthetic content, but defined It as that "which 
interests man," and made the interest relating to man to lie 
in his different historical situations-that is, relative to the 
individual. This was another way of denying the Initial 
assumption, for it is very clear that the artist would not 
produce art, did he not interest himself In something which 
is the datum or the problem of his production, but that this 
something becomes art only because the artist, by becoming 
interested in it, makes it so.-These are evasions of formal- 
ists, who after having limited art to abstract beautiful forms, 
void of all content and only to be summed up with contents, 
timidly introduced among beautiful forms that of the har- 
mony of content with form; or more resolutely declared 
themselves partisans of a sort of eclecticism, which makes art 
to consist of a sort of "relation" of the beautiful content with 
the beautiful form, and, with an incorrectness worthy of 
eclectics, attributed to terms outside the relation qualities 
which they assume only within the relation. 
*^ For the truth is really this: content and form must be 
clearly distinguished in art, but must not be separately quali- 
fied as artistic, precisely because their relation only is artistic 
—that is, their unity, understood not as an abstract, dead 
unity, but as concrete and living, whichisthat of the synthesis 
a priori; and art is a true asthetic synthesis a priori of feeling 



and image in the intuition, as to which it may be repeated 
that feeling without image is blind, and image without 
feeling is void. Feeling and image do not exist for the 
artistic spirit outside the synthesis; they will have existence 
from another point of view in another plane of knowledge, 
and feeling will be the practical aspect of the spirit that 
loves and hates, desires and dislikes, and the image will be 
the inanimate residue of art, the withered leaf, prey of the 
wind of imagination and of amusement's caprice. AH 
this has no concern with the artist or the aesthetician: 
just as art is no vain fancying, so is it not tumultuous pas- 
sionality, but the uplifting of that act by means of another 
act, or, if it be preferred, the substitution of that tumult for 
another tumult, that of the longing to create and to contem- 
plate for the joys and the sorrows of artistic creation. It 
is therefore indifferent, or a question of terminological op- 
portunity, whether we should present art as content or as 
form, provided it be always recognised that the content is 
formed and the form filled, that feeling is figurative feeling 
and the figure a figure that is felt. And it is only owing to 
historical deference toward him who better than others 
caused the concept of the autonomy of art to be appreciated, 
and wished to affirm this autonomy with the word "form," 
thus opposing alike the abstract theory of the content of the 
phllosophisers and moralists and the abstract formalism of 
the academicians,— in deference, I say, to De Sanctis, and 
also because of the ever active polemic against the attempts 
to absorb art in other modes of spiritual activity,— that the 
aesthetic of the intuition can be called "Esthetic of form." It 
is useless to refute an objection that certainly might be made 
(but rather with the sophistry of the advocate than with the 
acuteness of the scientist), namely, that the aesthetic of the 
Intuition also, since it describes the content of art as feeling 




or state of the soul, qualifies it outside the intuition, and 
seems to admit that a content, which is not feeling or a state 
of the soul, does not lend Itself to artistic elaboration, and 
is not an esthetic content. Feeling, or the state of the soul, 
is not a particular content, but the whole universe seen sub 
specie intuitionis; and outside It there Is no other content 
conceivable that Is not also a different form of the intuitive 
form; not thoughts, which are the whole universe sub specie 
cogitationis; not physical things and mathematical beings, 
which are the whole universe sub specie schematismi et 
abstractionis; not wills, which are the whole universe sub 

specie volitionis. 

Another not less fallacious distinction (to which the 
words "content" and "form" are also applied) separates in- 
tuition from expression, the Image from the physical transla- 
tion of the Image. It places on one side phantasms of feeling, 
images of men, of animals, of landscapes, of actions, of ad- 
ventures, and so on; and on the other, sounds, tones, lines, 
colours, and so on; calling the first the external, the second 
the internal element of art: the art properly so-called, the 
other technique. It is easy to distinguish Internal and exter- 
nal, at least In words, especially when no minute enquiry Is 
made as to the reasons and motives for the distinction, and 
when the distinction Is just thrown down there without any 
service being demanded of it; so easy that by never think- 
ing about It the distinction may eventually come to seem^ to 
thought Indubitable. But It becomes a different question 
when, as must be done with every distinction, we pass from 
the act of distinguishing to that of establishing relation and 
unifying, because this time we run against desperate obstacles. 
What has here been distinguished cannot be unified, because 
It has been badly distinguished: how can something external 
and extraneous to the Internal become united to the internal 




and express it? How can a sound or a colour express an im- 
age without sound and without colour? How can the bodi- 
less express a body? How can the spontaneity of fancy and 
of reflection and even technical action coincide in the same 
act? When the intuition has been distinguished from the 
expression, and the one has been made different from the 
other, no ingenuity of terms can reunite them; all the proc- 
esses of association, of habit, of mechanicising, of forget- 
ting, of instinctification, proposed by the psychologists and 
laboriously developed by them, allow the scissure to re- 
appear at the end: on one side the expression, on the other 
the image. And there does not seem to be any way of 
escape, save that of taking refuge in the hypothesis of a 
mystery which, according to poetical or mathematical tastes, 
will assume the appearance of a mysterious marriage or of 
a mysterious psychophysical parallelism. The first is a par- 
allelism incorrectly overcome; the second, a marriage de- 
ferred to distant ages or to the obscurity of the unknowable. 
But before having recourse to mystery (a refuge to which 
there is always time to fly), we must enquire whether the 
two elements have been correctly distinguished, and if an 
intuition without expression be conceivable. It may happen 
that the thing is as little existing and as inconceivable as a 
soul without a body, which has truly been as much talked 
of in philosophies as in religions, but to have talked about 
it is not the same thing as to have experienced and con- 
ceived it. In reality, we know nothing but expressed in- 
tuitions : a thought is not thought for us, unless it be possible 
to formulate it in words; a musical fancy, only when it 
becomes concrete in sounds; a pictorial image, only when it 
is coloured. We do not say that the words must necessarily 
be declaimed in a loud voice, the music performed, or the 
picture painted upon wood or canvas; but it is certain that 



when a thought is really thought, when it has attained to the 
maturity of thought, the words run through our whole or- 
ganism, soliciting the muscles of our mouth and ringing 
internally in our ears; when music is truly music, it trills in 
the throat and shivers in the fingers that touch ideal notes; 
when a pictorial image is pictorially real, we are impreg- 
nated with lymphs that are colours, and maybe, where the 
colouring matters were not at our disposition, we might spon- 
taneously colour surrounding objects by a sort of irradia- 
tion, as is said of certain hysterics and of certain saints, who 
caused the stigmata upon their hands and feet by means of an 
act of imagination ! Thought, musical fancy, pictorial image, 
did not indeed exist without expression, they did not exist at 
all previous to the formation of this expressive state of the 
spirit. To believe in their pre-existence is ingenuousness, 
if it be ingenuous to have faith in those impotent poets, paint- 
ers, or musicians who always have their heads full of poetic, 
pictorial, and musical creations, and only fail to translate 
them into external form, either because, as they say, they are 
impatient of expression, or because technique is not suffi- 
ciently advanced to afford sufficient means for their expres- 
sion: many centuries ago it offered suflScient means to 
Homer, Pheidias, and Apelles, but it does not suffice for 
them, who, if we are to believe them, carry in their mighty 
heads an art greater than those others ! Sometimes, too, in- 
genuousness arises from the illusion due to keeping a bad 
account with ourselves that, having imagined, and conse- 
quently expressed, some few images, we already possess 
in ourselves all the other images that must form part of a 
work, which we do not yet possess, as well as the vital nexus 
that should connect them, which is not yet formed and there- 
fore is not expressed. 

Art, understood as intuition, according to the concept that 


I have exposed, having denied the existence of a physical 
world outside of it, which it looks upon as simply a con- 
struction of our intellect, does not know what to do with the 
parallelism of the thinking substance and of substance ex- 
tended in space, and has no need to promote impossible mar- 
riages, because its thinking substance-or, better, its intuitive 
act— is perfect in itself, and is that same fact which the in- 
tellect afterwards constructs as extended. And inasmuch as 
an image without expression is inconceivable, by just so much 
is an image which shall be also expression conceivable, and 
indeed logically necessary; that is, which shall be really an 
Image. If we take from a poem its metre, its rhythm, and 
its words, poetical thought does not, as some opine, remain 
behind: there remains nothing. The poetry is born, like 
those words, that rhythm, and that metre. Nor could ex- 
pression be compared with the epidermis of organisms, un- 
less it be said (and perhaps this may not be false even in 
physiology) that all the organism in every cell's cell is also 


I should, however, be wanting to my methodological con- 
victions and to my intention of doing justice to errors (and 
I have already done justice to the distinction of form and 
content by demonstrating the truth at which they aimed and 
failed to grasp), were I not to indicate what truth may also 
be active at the base of the false distinction of the indistin- 
guishable, intuition and expression. Fancy and technique are 
rationally distinguished, though not as elements of art; and 
they are related and united between themselves, though not 
in the field of art, but in the wider field of the spirit in its 
totality. Technical or practical problems to be solved, diffi- 
culties to be vanquished, are truly present to the artist, and 
there Is truly something which, without being really physical, 
and being, like everything real, a spiritual act, can be meta- 



phoricised as physical in respect to the intuition. What is 
this something? The artist, whom we have left vibrating 
with expressed images which break forth by infinite channels 
from his whole being, is a whole man, and therefore also a 
practical man, and as such takes measures against losing the 
result of his spiritual labour, and in favour of rendering 
possible or easy, for himself and for others, the reproduc- 
tion of his images; hence he engages in practical acts which 
assist that work of reproduction. These practical acts are 
guided, as are all practical acts, by knowledge, and for this 
reason are called technical; and, since they are practical, they 
are distinguished from contemplation, which is theoretical, 
and seem to be external to it, and are therefore called phys- 
ical : and they assume this name the more easily in so far 
as they are fixed and made abstract by the intellect. Thus 
writing and phonography are united with words and music, 
canvas and wood and walls covered with colours, stone cut 
and Incised, iron and bronze and other metals melted and 
moulded to certnin shapes by sculpture and architecture. 
So distinct among themselves are the two forms of activ- 
ity that it is possible to be a great artist with a bad tech- 
nique, a poet who corrects the proofs of his verses badly, an 
architect who makes use of unsuitable material or does not 
attend to statics, a painter who uses colours that deteriorate 
rapidly: examples of these weaknesses are so frequent that 
it is not worth while to cite any of them. But what is Im- 
possible is to be a great poet who writes verses badly, a great 
painter who does not give tone to his colours, a great archi- 
tect who does not harmonise his lines, a great composer who 
does not harmonise his notes; and, in short, a great artist 
who cannot express himself. It has been said of Raphael 
that he would have been a great painter even if he had not 
possessed hands; but certainly not that he would have been 



a great painter if the sense of design and colour had been 

wanting to him. 

And (be it noted in passing, for I must condense as I pro- 
ceed) this apparent transformation of the Intuitions Into 
physical things-altogether analogous with the apparent 
transformation of wants and economic labour into things 
and into merchandise-also explains how people have come 
to talk not only of "artistic things" and of "beautiful things/' 
but also of "a beautiful of nature." It is evident that, be- 
sides the Instruments that are made for the reproduction of 
images, objects already existing can be met with, whether 
produced by man or not, which perform such a service- 
that is to say, are more or less adapted to fixing the memory 
of our intuitions; and these things take the name of "natural 
beauties," and exercise their fascination only when we know 
how to understand them with the same soul with which the 
artist or artists have taken and appropriated them, giving 
value to them and indicating the "point of view" from 
which we must look at them, thus connecting them with their 
own intuitions. But the always imperfect adaptability, the 
fugitive nature, the mutability of "natural beauties" also 
justify the Inferior place accorded to them, compared with 
beauties produced by art. Let us leave It to rhetoricians or 
madmen to affirm that a beautiful tree, a beautiful river, a 
sublime mountain, or even a beautiful horse or a beautiful 
human figure, are superior to the chisel-stroke of Michel- 
angelo or the verse of Dante; but let us say, with greater 
propriety, that "Nature" is stupid compared with Art, and 
that she is "mute," If man does not make her speak. 

A third distinction, which also labours to distinguish the 
indistinguishable. Is attached to the concept of the aesthetic 
expression, and divides It into two moments of expres- 
sion abstractly considered, propriety and beauty of expres- 



slon, or adorned expression, founding upon these the classi- 
fication of two orders of expression, naked and ornate. 
This is a doctrine of which traces may be found in all the 
various domains of art, but which has not been developed in 
any one of them to the same extent as In that of words, 
where it bears a celebrated name and Is called "Rhetoric," 
and has had a very long history, from the Greek rhetoricians 
to our own day. It persists in the schools, In treatises, 
and even In aesthetics of scientific pretensions, not to mention 
in comm.on belief (as is natural), though in our day it has 
lost much of its primitive vigour. Men of lofty intellect 
have accepted it, or let it live, for centuries, owing to the 
force of Inertia or of tradition; the few rebels have hardly 
ever attempted to reduce their rebellion to a system and 
to cut out the error at Its roots. The Injury done by 
Rhetoric, with its idea of "ornate" as differing from, and 
of greater value than, "naked" speech, has not been limited 
solely to the circle of aesthetic, but has appeared also in criti- 
cism, and even in literary education, because, just as It was 
incapable of explaining perfect beauty, so It was adapted to 
provide an apparent justification for vitiated beauty, and to 
encourage writing in an inflated, affected, and improper 
form. However, the division which it introduces and on 
which it relies Is a logical contradiction, because, as is easy 
to prove, it destroys the concept Itself, which It undertakes 
to divide into moments, and the objects, which It undertakes 
to divide into classes. An appropriate expression, if appro- 
priate, is also beautiful, beauty being nothing but the deter- 
mination of the image, and therefore of the expression; and 
If it be wished to indicate by calling it naked that there is 
something wanting which should be present, then the expres- 
sion is inappropriate and deficient, either it is not or is not 
yet expression. On the other hand, an ornate expression, if it 



be expressive in every part, cannot be called ornate, but as 
naked as the other, and as appropriate as the other; if it 
contain inexpressive, additional, extrinsic elements, it is not 
beautiful, but ugly, it is not or is not yet expression; to be so, 
it must purify itself of external elements (as the other must 
be enriched with the elements that are wanting). 

Expression and beauty are not two concepts, but a single 
concept, which It is permissible to designate with either 
synonymous vocable: artistic fancy is always corporeal, but 
it is not obese, being always clad with itself and never 
charged with anything else, or "ornate." Certainly a prob- 
lem was lurking beneath this falsest of distinctions, the neces- 
sity of making a distinction; and the problem (as can be 
deduced from certain passages in Aristotle, and from the 
psychology and gnoseology of the Stoics, and as we see it, 
intensified in the discussions of the Italian rhetoricians of the 
seventeenth century) was concerned with the relations be- 
tween thought and fancy, philosophy and poetry, logic and 
aesthetic (dialectic and rhetoric, or, as was still said at the 
time, the "open" and the closed "fist"). "Naked" expres- 
sion referred to thought and to philosophy, "ornate" ex- 
pression to fancy and to poetry. But It Is not less true that 
this problem as to the distinction between the two forms of 
the theoretical spirit could not be solved in the field of one of 
them, intuition or expression, where nothing will ever be 
found but fancy, poetry, aesthetic; and the undue introduc- 
tion of logic will only project there a deceitful shadow, which 
will darken and hamper intelligence, depriving it of the view 
of art in Its fulness and purity, without giving It that of lo- 
giclty and of thought. 

But the greatest injury caused by the rhetorical doctrine 
of "ornate" expression to the theoretical systematlsation of 
the forms of the human spirit, concerns the treatment of lan- 



guage, because, granted that we admit naked and simply 
grammatical expressions, and expressions that are ornate or 
rhetorical, language becomes an aggregate of naked expres- 
sions and is handed over to grammar, and, as an ulterior 
consequence (since grammar finds no place in rhetoric and 
aesthetic), to logic, where the subordinate office of a 
semeiotic or ars significandi Is assigned to It. Indeed, the 
logistic conception of language Is closely united and proceeds 
pari passu with the rhetorical doctrine of expression; they 
appeared together In Hellenic antiquity, and they still exist, 
though disputed, In our time. Rebellions against the logl- 
clsm of the doctrine of language have rarely appeared, and 
have had as little efficacy as those against rhetoric; and only 
In the romantic period (traversed by VIco a century before) 
has a lively consciousness been formed by certain thinkers 
as to the fantastic or metaphoric nature of language, and Its 
closer connection with poetry than with logic. Yet since a 
more or less Inartistic Idea of art persisted even among the 
best (conceptualism, moralism, hedonism, etc.), there re- 
mained a very powerful Impediment to the identification oft 
language and art. This Identification appears to be as un- 
avoidable as it is easy, having established the concept of 
art as intuition and of intuition as expression, and there- 
fore Implicitly its identity with language: always assuming 
that language be conceived In its full extension, without ar- 
bitrary restrictions to so-called articulate language and 
without arbitrary exclusion of tonic, mimetic, and graphic; 
and in all its intension— that is, taken In its reality, which Is 
the act of speaking itself, without falsifying It with the 
abstractions of grammars and vocabularies, and with the 
foolish belief that man speaks with the vocabulary and with 
grammar. Man speaks at every instant like the poet, be- 
cause, like the poet, he expresses his impressions and his 




feelings In the form called conversational or familiar, which 
Is not separated by any abyss from the other forms called 
prosaic, poetlc-prosalc, narrative, epic, dialogue, dramatic, 
lyric, mellc, song, and so on. And If It do not displease man 
in general to be considered poet and always poet (as he Is by 
force of his humanity), It should not displease the poet to 
be united with common humanity, because this union alone 
explains the power which poetry, understood in the loftiest 
and In the narrowest sense, wields over all human souls. 
Were poetry a language apart, a "language of the gods," 
men would not understand It; and If It elevate them, It ele- 
vates them not above, but within themselves : true democracy 
and true aristocracy coincide In this field also. Coincidence 
of art and language, which Implies, as Is natural, coincidence 
of aesthetic and of philosophy of language, definable the one 
by the other and therefore identical,— this I ventured to 
place twelve years ago in the title of a treatise of mine on 
iEsthetIc, which has truly not failed of Its effect upon many 
linguists and philosophers of i^sthetlc In Italy and outside 
Italy, as Is shewn by the copious "literature" which It has 
produced. This Identification will benefit studies on art and 
poetry by purifying them of hedonistic, moralistic, and con- 
ceptualistic residues, still to be found in such quantity in lit- 
erary and artistic criticism. But the benefit which it will con- 
fer upon linguistic studies will be far more Inestimable, for It 
is urgent that they should be disencumbered of physiological, 
psychological, and psychophysiological methods, now the 
fashion, and be freed from the ever returning theory of the 
conventional origin of language, which has the Inevitable 
correlative of the mystical theory as its inevitable reaction. 
It will no longer be necessary to construct absurd parallel- 
Isms even for language, or to promote mysterious nuptials 
between sign and Image: when language Is no longer con- 



ceived as a sign, but as an image which is significant— that Is, 
a sign In Itself, and therefore coloured, sounding, singing, 
articulate. The significant Image Is the spontaneous work 
of the human spirit, whereas the sign, wherewith man agrees 
with man, presupposes language; or If It be wished, never- 
theless, to explain language by signs, it recommends us to 
call upon God, as upon the giver of the first signs— that is, to 
presuppose language In another way, by consigning it to the 

I shall conclude my account of the prejudices relating 
to art with that one of them which Is most usual, because it 
Is mingled with the daily life of criticism, namely, history of 
art: prejudice of the possibility of distlnguishng several 
or many particular forms of art, each one determinable 
in Its own particular concept and within its limits, and fur- 
nished with Its proper laws. This erroneous doctrine Is em- 
bodied in two systematic series, one of which is known as 
the theory of literary and artistic kinds (lyric, drama, ro- 
mance, epic and romantic poem, idyll, comedy, tragedy; 
sacred, civil-life, familiar, from life, still-life, landscape, 
flower and fruit painting; heroic, funereal, costume, sculp- 
ture; church, operatic, chamber music; civil, military, eccle- 
siastic architecture, etc., etc.), and the other as theory of 
the arts (poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture, music, 
art of the actor, gardening, etc., etc.). One of these some- 
times figures as a subdivision of another. This prejudice, 
of which It is easy to trace the origin, has its first notable 
monuments In Hellenic culture, and persists In our days. 
Many sesthetlcians still write treatises on the aesthetic of the 
tragic, the comic, the lyric, the humorous, and aesthetics of 
painting, of music, or of poetry (these last are still called 
by the old name of "poetics") ; and, what Is worse (though 
but little attention Is paid to these aesthetlclans who are Im- 




pelled to write through solitary dilettantism or academic 
profession), critics, in judging works of art, have not alto- 
gether abandoned the habit of judging them according to 
the genus or particular form of art to which, according to/ 
the above aestheticians, they should belong; and, instead 
of clearly stating whether a work be beautiful or ugly, they 
proceed to reason their impressions, saying that it well 
observes, or wrongly violates, the laws of the drama, or of 
romance, or of painting, or of bas-relief. It is also very 
common in all countries to treat artistic and literary his- 
tory as history of kinds, and to present the artists as culti- 
vating this or that kind; and to divide the work of an artist, 
which always has unity of development, whatever form it 
take, whether lyric, romance or drama, into as many com- 
partments as there are kinds; so that Lodovico Ariosto, for 
example, appears now among the cultivators of the Latin 
poetry of the Renaissance, now among the authors of the 
first Latin satires, now among those of the first comedies, 
now among those who brought the poem of chivalry to per- 
fection: as though Latin poetry, satire, comedy, and poem 
were not always the same poet, Ariosto, in his experiments, 
in his logic, and in the manifestations of his spiritual devel- 

It is not to be denied that the theory of kinds and of the 
arts has not had, and does not now possess, its own internal 
dialectic and its autocriticism, or irony, according as we may 
please to call it; and no one is ignorant that literary history 
is full of these cases of an established style, against which an 
artist of genius offends in his work and calls forth the repro- 
bation of the critics: a reprobation which does not, however, 
succeed in suffocating the admiration for, and the popularity 
of, his work, so that finally, when it is not possible to blame 
the artist and it is not wished to blame the critic of kinds, the 




matter ends with a compromise, and the kind is enlarged 
or accepts beside it a new kind, like a legitimated bastard, 
and the compromise lasts, by force of inertia, until a new 
work of genius comes to upset again the fixed rule. An 
irony of the doctrine is also the impossibility, in which the 
theoreticians find themselves, of logically fixing the boun- 
daries between the kinds and the arts : all the definitions that 
they have produced, when examined rather more closely, 
either evaporate in the general definition of art, or shew 
themselves to be an arbitrary raising to the rank of kinds 
and rules particular works of art irreducible to rigorous 
logical terms. Absurdities resulting from the effort to de- 
termine rigorously what is indeterminable, owing to the 
contradictory nature of the attempt, are to be found even 
among the great ones, even in Lessing, who arrives at this 
extravagant conclusion, that painting represents "bodies" : 
bodies, not actions and souls, not the action and the soul of 
the painter ! They are also to be found among the questions 
that logically arise from that illogic: thus, a definite field 
having been assigned to every kind and to every art, what 
kind and what art is superior? Is painting superior to sculp- 
ture, drama to lyric? And again, the forces of art having 
been thus divided, would it not be advisable to reunite them 
in a type of work of art which shall drive away other forces, 
as a coalition of armies drives away a single army: will not 
the work, for instance, in which poetry, music, scenic art, dec- 
oration, are united, develop a greater aesthetic force than a 
Lied of Goethe or a drawing of Leonardo? These are ques- 
tions, distinctions, judgments, and definitions which arouse 
the revolt of the poetic and artistic sense, which loves each 
work for itself, for what it is, as a living creature, individual 
and incomparable, and knows that each work has its individ- 
ual law. Hence has arisen the disagreement between the 



affirmative judgment of artistic souls and the -g^tive one 
of professional critics, between the negafon of the former 
and the affirmation of the latter; and the professional critics 
pass for pedants, not without good reason, a though artistic 
souls are in their turn "disarmed prophets"-that is, inca- 
pable of reasoning and of deducing the correct theory im- 
manent in their judgments, and of opposing it to the 
pedantic theory of their adversaries. 

That correct theory is precisely an aspect of the concep- 
tion of art as intuition, or lyrical intuition; and, since every 
work of art expresses a state of the soul, and the state of the 
soul is individual and always new, the intuition implies in- 
finite intuitions, which it is impossible to place in pigeonholes 
as kinds, unless these be infinite pigeonholes, and therefore 
not pigeonholes of kinds, but of intuitions. And since, on 
the other hand, individuality of intuition implies individu- 
ality of expression, and a picture is distinct from another 
picture, not less than from a poem, and picture and poem 
are not of value because of the sounds that beat the air 
and the colours refracted by the light, but because of what 
they can tell to the spirit, in so far as they enter into it, it is 
useless to have recourse to abstract means of expression to 
construct the other series of kinds and classes: which 
amounts to saying that any theory of the division of the arts 
is without foundation. The kind or class is in this case one 
only, art itself or the intuition, whereas single works of art 
are infinite : all are original, each one incapable of bemg 
translated into the other (since to translate, to translate with 
artistic skill, is to create a new work of art) , each one uncon- 
trolled by the intellect. No intermediate element interposes 
itself philosophically between the universal and the particu- 
lar, no series of kinds or species, of generalia. Neither the 
artist who produces art, nor the spectator who contemplates 

n 476:1 



it, has need of anything but the universal and the individual, 
or, better, the universal individuated: the universal artistic 
activity, which is all contracted or concentrated in the repre- 
sentation of a single state of the soul. 

Nevertheless, if the pure artist and the pure critic, and 
also the pure philosopher, are not occupied with generalia, 
with classes or kinds, these retain their utility on other 
grounds ; and this utility is the true side of those erroneous 
theories, which I will not leave without mention. It is cer- 
tainly useful to construct a net of generalia, not for the pro- 
duction of art, which is spontaneous, nor for the judgment of 
it, which is philosophical, but to collect and to some extent 
circumscribe the infinite single intuitions, for the use of the 
attention and of memory, in order to group together to some 
extent the innumerable particular works of art. These classes 
will always be formed, as is natural, either by means of the 
abstract imagination or the abstract expression, and therefore 
as classes of states of the soul (literary and artistic kinds) 
and classes of means of expression (art). Nor does it avail 
to object here that the various kinds and arts are arbitrarily 
distinguished, and that the general dichotomy is itself ar- 
bitrary; since it is admitted without difficulty that the proce- 
dure is certainly arbitrary, but the arbitrariness becomes 
innocuous and useful from the very fact that every preten- 
sion of being a philosophical principle and criterion for the 
judgment of art is removed from it. Those kinds and classes 
render easy the knowledge of art and education in art, offer- 
ing to the first, as it were, an index of the most important 
works of art, to the second a collection of most important 
information suggested by the practice of art. Every- 
thing depends upon not confounding hints with reality, 
and hypothetic warnings or imperatives with categoric 
imperatives: a confusion which multiple and continuous 



temptations are certainly apt to induce, whence it is easy to 
be dominated by them, but not at all inevitable. Books of 
Hterary origin, rhetoric, grammar (with their divisions into 
parts of speech and their grammatical and syntactical laws), 
of the art of musical composition, of metre, of painting, and 
so on, contain the principal hints and collections of precepts. 
Tendencies toward a definite expression of art are manifested 
in them either only in a secondary manner, — and in this case 
it is art that is still abstract, art in elaboration (the poetic arts 
of classicism or romanticism, purist or popular grammars, 
etc.),— or as tendencies toward the philosophical comprehen- 
sion of their argument, and then they give rise to the divi- 
sions into kinds and into arts, an error which I have criti- 
cised: an error which, by its contradictions, opens the way to 
the true doctrine of the individuality of art. 

Certainly this doctrine produces at first sight a sort of 
bewilderment: Individual, original, untranslatable, unclassi- 
fiable Intuitions seem to escape the rule of thought, which 
would seem unable to dominate them without placing them 
in relation with one another; and this appears to be pre- 
cisely forbidden by the doctrine that has been developed, 
which has rather the air of being anarchic or anarchoid than 
liberal and llberlstlc. 

A little piece of poetry is aesthetically equal to a poem; a 
tiny little picture or a sketch, to an altar picture or an 
affresco; a letter is a work of art, no less than a romance; 
even a fine translation is as original as an original work! 
These propositions will be indubitable, because logically 
deduced from verified premises; they will be true, although 
(and this is without doubt a merit) paradoxical, or at va- 
riance with vulgar opinions: but will they not be in want of 
some complement? There must be some mode of arrang- 
ing, subordinating, connecting, understanding, and domi- 



nating the dance of the intuitions, if we do not wish to be- 
wilder our wits with them. 

And there Is indeed such a mode, for when we denied 
theoretic value to abstract classifications we did not intend to 
deny it to that genetic and concrete classification which is 
not. Indeed, a "classification" and is called History. In his- 
tory each work of art takes the place that belongs to It— that 
and no other: the ballade of Guido Cavalcanti and the son- 
net of Cecco Angioleri, which seem to be the sigh or the 
laughter of an instant; the ''Cornmedia'' of Dante, which 
seems to resume in itself a millennium of the human spirit; 
the "Maccheronee" of Merlin Cocaio at the close of the Mid- 
dle Ages, with their noisy laughter; the elegant Cinquecento 
translation of the JEneid by Annlbal Caro; the dry prose of 
Sarpi; and the Jesuitic-polemical prose of Danielo Bartoll: 
without the necessity of judging that to be not original which 
is original, because it lives; that to be small which is neither 
great nor small, because it escapes measure: or we can say 
great and small. If we will, but metaphorically, with the In- 
tention of manifesting certain admirations and of noting 
certain relations of Importance (quite other than arithmetic 
or geometrical). And in history, which is ever becoming 
richer and more definite, not in pyramids of empirical con- 
cepts, which become more and more empty the higher they 
rise and the more subtle they become, is to be found the 
link of all works of art and of all intuitions, because In 
history they appear organically connected among them- 
selves, as successive and necessary stages of the development 
of the spirit, each one a note of the eternal poem which har- 
monises all single poems In Itself. 





THE dispute as to the dependence or independence of 
art was at its hottest in the romantic period, when the 
motto of "art for art's sake" was coined, and as its apparent 
antithesis that other of "art for life" ; and from that time 
it was discussed, to tell the truth, rather among men of let- 
ters or artists than philosophers. It has lost interest in 
our day, fallen to the rank of a theme with which begin- 
ners amuse or exercise themselves, or of an argument for 
academic orations. However, even previous to the romantic 
period, and indeed in the most ancient documents containing 
reflections upon art, are to be found traces of it; and philos- 
ophers of .Esthetic themselves, even when they appear to 
neglect it (and they do indeed neglect it in its vulgar form), 
really do consider it, and indeed may be said to think of noth- 
ing else. Because, to dispute as to the dependence or the 
independence, the autonomy or the heteronomy of art does 
not mean anything but to enquire w^hether art is or is not, 
and, if it is, what it is. An activity whose principle depends 
upon that of another activity is, effectively, that other ac- 
tivity, and retains for itself an existence that is only putative 
or conventional: art which depends upon morality, upon 
pleasure, or upon philosophy is morality, pleasure, or phi- 
losophy; it is not art. If it be held not to be dependent, it 
will be advisable to investigate the foundation of its inde- 
pendence—that is to say, how art is distinguished from 
morality, from pleasure, from philosophy, and from all 



other things; what it is— and to posit whatever it may be as 
truly autonomous and independent. It may chance to be 
asserted, on the other hand, by those very people who affirm 
the concept of the original nature of art, that although it 
preserve its peculiar nature, yet its place is below another 
activity of superior dignity, and (as used at one time to be 
said) that it is a handmaid to ethic, a minister to politics, and 
a dragoman to science; but this would only prove that there 
are people who have the habit of contradicting themselves 
or of allowing discord among their thoughts: dazed folk 
whose existence truly does not call for any sort of proof. For 
our part, we shall take care not to fall into so dazed a condi- 
tion; and having already made clear that art is distinguished 
from the physical world and from the practical, moral, and 
conceptual activity as intuition, we shall give ourselves no 
further anxiety, and shall assume that with that first dem- 
onstration we have also demonstrated the independence of 


But another problem is implicit in the dispute as to 
dependence or independence; of this I have hitherto pur- 
posely not spoken, and I shall now proceed to examine it. 
Independence is a concept of relation, and in this aspect the 
only absolute independence is the Absolute, or absolute rela- 
tion; every particular form and concept is independent on 
one side and dependent on another, or both independent and 
dependent. Were this not so, the spirit, and reality in gen- 
eral, would be either a series of juxtaposed absolutes, or 
(which amounts to the same thing) a series of juxtaposed 
nullities. The independence of a form implies the matter to 
which it is applied, as we have already seen in the develop- 
ment of the genesis of art as an intuitive formation of a sen- 
timental or passionate material; and in the case of absolute 
independence, since all material and aliment would be want- 



ing to it, form itself, being void, would become nullified. But 
since the recognised independence prevents our thinking one 
activity as submitted to the principle of another, the de- 
pendence must be such as to guarantee the independence. 
But this would not be guaranteed in the hypothesis that one 
activity should be made to depend upon another, in the 
same w^ay as that other upon it, like two forces which 
counterbalance each other, and of which the one does not 
conquer the other; because, if it do not conquer it, we have 
reciprocal arrest and static; if it conquer the other, pure and 
simple dependence, which has already been excluded. Hence, 
considering the matter in general, it appears that there is no 
other way of thinking the simultaneous independence and 
dependence of the various spiritual activities than that of 
conceiving them in the relation of condition and condi- 
tioned, in which the conditioned surpasses the condition 
and presupposes it, and, becoming again in its turn condition, 
gives rise to a new conditioned, thus constituting a series of 
developments. No other defect could be attributed to this 
series than that the first of the series would be a condition 
without a previous conditioned, and the last conditioned 
which would not become in its turn condition, thus causing a 
double rupture of the law of development itself. Even this 
defect is healed if the last be made the condition of the first 
and the first the condition of the last; that is to say, if the 
series be conceived as reciprocal action, or, better (and aban- 
doning all naturalistic phraseology), as a circle. This con- 
ception seems to be the only way out of the difi^culties with 
which the other conceptions of the spiritual life are striving, 
both that which makes it consist of an assemblage of 
independent and unrelated faculties of the soul, or of inde- 
pendent and unrelated ideas of value, and that which sub- 
ordinates all these in one and resolves them in that one, 



which remains immobile and impotent; or, more subtly, con- 
ceives them as necessary grades of a linear development 
which leads from an irrational first to a last that would wish 
to be most rational, but is, however, superrational, and as 
such also irrational. 

But it will be opportune not to insist upon this somewhat 
abstract scheme, and rather consider the manner in which it 
becomes actual in the life of the spirit, beginning with the 
aesthetic spirit. For this purpose we shall again return to 
the artist, or man-artist, who has achieved the process of 
liberation from the sentimental tumult and has objectified it 
in a lyrical image— that is, has attained to art. He finds 
his satisfaction in this image, because he has worked and 
moved in this direction : all know more or less the joy of the 
complete expression which we succeed in giving to our own 
psychical impulses, and the joy in those of others, which are 
also ours, when we contemplate the works of others, which 
are to some extent ours, and which we make ours. But is the 
satisfaction definite? Was only the man-artist impelled 
toward the image? Toward the image and toward another 
at the same time; toward the image in so far as he is man- 
artist, toward another in so far as he is artist-man; toward 
the image on the first plane, but, since the first plane is con- 
nected with the second and third planes, also toward the sec- 
ond and third, although immediately toward the first and 
mediately toward the second and third ? And now that he has 
reached the first plane, the second appears immediately be- 
hind it, and becomes a direct aim from indirect that it was 
before; and a new demand declares itself, a new process 
begins. Not, be it well observed, that the intuitive power 
gives place to another power, as though taking its turn of 
pleasure or of service; but the intuitive power itself— or, 
better, the spirit itself, which at first seemed to be, and in a 



certain sense was, all intuition— develops in itself the new 
process, which comes forth from the vitals of the first. "One 
soul is not kindled at another" in us (I shall avail myself 
again on this occasion of Dante's words), but the one soul, 
which first is all collected in one single "virtue," and which 
"seems to obey no longer any power," satisfied in that virtue 
alone (in the artistic image), finds in that virtue, together 
with its satisfaction, its dissatisfaction: its satisfaction, be- 
cause it gives to the soul all that it can give and is expected 
from it; its dissatisfaction, because, having obtained all that, 
and having satiated the soul with its ultimate sweetness,— 
"what is asked and thanked for,"— satisfaction is sought for 
the new need caused by the first satisfaction, which was not 
able to arise without that first satisfaction. And we all know 
also, from continual experience, the new want which lurks be- 
hind the formation of images. Ugo Foscolo has a love-affair 
with the Countess Arese; he knows with what sort of love 
and with what sort of woman he has to do, as can be proved 
from the letters he wrote, which are to be read in print. 
Nevertheless, during the moments that he loves her, that 
woman is his universe, and he aspires to possess her as the 
highest beatitude, and in the enthusiasm of his admiration 
would render the mortal woman immortal, would transfig- 
ure this earthly creature into one divine for the time to come, 
achieving for her a new miracle of love. And indeed he 
already finds her rapt to the empyrean, an object of worship 
and of prayers: 

And thou, divine one, living in my hymns, 
Shalt receive the vows of my Insubrian descendants. 

The ode AW arnica risanata would not have taken shape in 
the spirit of Foscolo unless this metamorphosis of love had 
been desired and longed for with the greatest seriousness 



(lovers and even philosophers, if they have been in love, 
can witness that these absurdities are seriously desired) ; 
and the images with which Foscolo represents the fasci- 
nation of his goddess-friend, so rich in perils, would not 
have presented themselves so vividly and so spontaneously 
as they did. But what was that impetus of the soul which 
has now become a magnificent lyrical representation? Was 
all of Foscolo, the soldier, the patriot, the man of learn- 
ing, moved with so many spiritual needs, expressed in that 
aspiration? Did it act so energetically within him as to 
be turned into action, and to some extent to give direction to 
his practical life ? Foscolo, who had not been wanting of in- 
sight in the course of his love, as regards his poetry also from 
time to time became himself again when the creative tumult 
was appeased, and again acquired full clearness of vision. 
He asks himself what he really did will, and what the woman 
deserved. It may be that a slight suspicion of scepticism had 
Insinuated itself during the formation of the image, if our 
ears be not deceived in seeming to detect here and there in 
the ode some trace of elegant Irony toward the woman, and 
of the poet toward himself. This would not have happened 
in the case of a more ingenuous spirit, and the poetry would 
have flowed forth quite ingenuously. Foscolo the poet, 
having achieved his task and therefore being no longer 
poet, now wishes to know his real condition. He no longer 
forms the image, because he has formed It; he no longer 
fancies, but perceives and narrates ("that woman," he will 
say later of the "divine one," "had a piece of brain Instead 
of a heart") ; and the lyrical Image changes, for him and 
for us. Into an autobiographical extract, or perception. 

With perception we have entered a new and very wide 
spiritual field; and, truly, words are not strong enough to 
satirise those thinkers who, now as In the past, confound 



Image and perception, making of the Image a perception (a 
portrait or copy or Imitation of nature, or history of the 
individual and of the times, etc.), and, worse still, of the 
perception a kind of image apprehensible by the ''senses." 
But perception Is neither more nor less than a complete 
judgment, and as judgment Implies an image and a cate- 
gory or system of mental categories which must domi- 
nate the Image (reality, quality, etc.); and in respect of 
the Image, or a priori esthetic synthesis of feeling and 
fancy (intuition), It is a new synthesis, of representation and 
category, of subject and predicate, the a priori logical syn- 
thesis, of which it would be fitting to repeat all that has been 
said of the other, and, above all, that In It content and form, 
representation and category, subject and predicate, do not 
appear as two elements united by a third, but the representa- 
tion appears as category, the category as representation, 
in indivisible unity: the subject is subject only in the predi- 
cate, and the predicate Is predicate only in the subject. Nor 
is perception a logical act among other logical acts, or the 
most rudimentary and imperfect of them; for he who is able 
to extract from It all the treasures It contains would have no 
need to seek beyond it for other determinations of loglcity, 
because consciousness of what has really happened, which in 
Its eminently literary forms takes the name of history, and 
consciousness of the universal, which in Its eminent forms 
takes the name of system or philosophy, spring from per- 
ception, which Is itself this synthetic gemination: and philos- 
ophy and history constitute the superior unity, which phi- 
losophers have discovered, for no other reason than the syn- 
thetic connection of the perceptive judgment, whence they 
are born and In which they live, identifying philosophy 
and history, and which men of good sense discover In their 
own way, though they always observe that ideas suspended 



In air are phantoms, are facts which occur— real facts— what 
alone is true, and alone worthy of being known. Finally, 
perception (the variety of perceptions) explains why the 
human intellect strives to emerge from them and to Impose 
upon them a world of types and of laws, governed by mathe- 
matical measures and relations; which is the reason of the 
formation of the natural sciences and mathematics, in addi- 
tion to philosophy and history. 

It is not here my task to give a sketch of Logic, as I have 
been or am giving a sketch of Esthetic; and therefore, re- 
fraining from determining and developing the theory of 
Logic, and Intellectual, perceptive, and historical knowledge, 
I shall resume the thread of the argument, not proceeding 
on this occasion from the artistic and Intuitive spirit, but 
from the logical and historical, which has surpassed the 
intuitive and has elaborated the image in perception. Does 
the spirit find satisfaction in this form? Certainly: all 
know the very lively satisfactions of knowledge and sci- 
ence; all know, from experience, the desire which takes 
possession of one to discover the countenance of reality, 
concealed by our Illusions; and even though that counte- 
nance be terrible, the discovery is never unaccompanied with 
profound pleasure, due to the satisfaction of possessing the 
truth. But does such satisfaction differ In being complete and 
final from that afforded by art? Does not dissatisfaction 
perhaps appear side by side with the satisfaction of know- 
ing reality? This, too, is most certain; and the dissatisfac- 
tion of having known manifests Itself (as indeed all know by 
experience) In the desire for action: it Is well to know the 
real state of affairs, but we must know it in order to act; by 
all means let us know the world, but in order that we may 
change it: tenipus cognoscendi, tempus destruendi, tempus 
renovandi. No man remains stationary in knowledge, not 



even sceptics or pessimists who, in consequence of that 
knowledge, assume this or that attitude, adopt this or that 
form of life. And that very fixing of acquired knowledge, 
that "retaining " after "understanding,'' without which (still 
quoting Dante) "there can be no science," the formation of 
types and laws and criteria of measurement, the natural sci- 
ences and mathematics, to which I have just referred, were a 
surpassing of the act of theory by proceeding to the act of 
action. And not only does everyone know from experience, 
and can always verify by comparison with facts, that this is 
indeed so; but on consideration, it is evident that things 
could not proceed otherwise. There was a time (which still 
exists for not a few unconscious Platonicians, mystics, and 
ascetics) when it was believed that to know was to elevate 
the soul to a god, to an Idea, to a world of ideas, to an 
Absolute placed above the phenomenal human world; and 
it was natural that when the soul, becoming estranged from 
itself by an effort against nature, had attained to that 
superior sphere, it returned confounded to earth, where 
it could remain perpetually happy and inactive. That 
thought, which was no longer thought, had for counterpoise 
a reality that was not reality. But since (with VIco, Kant, 
Hegel, and other hereslarchs) knowledge has descended 
to earth, and is no longer conceived as a more or less 
pallid copy of an immobile reality, but remains always 
human, and produces, not abstract ideas, but concrete con- 
cepts which are syllogisms and historical judgments, percep- 
tions of the real, the practical is no longer something that 
represents a degeneration of knowledge, a second fall from 
heaven to earth, or from paradise to hell, nor something 
that can be resolved upon or abstained from, but is implied 
in theory Itself, as a demand of theory; and as the theory, 
so the practice. Our thought is historical thought of a hls- 



torical world, a process of development of a development; 
and hardly has a qualification of reality been pronounced, 
when the qualification is already of no value, because It has 
itself produced a new reality, which awaits a new qualifica- 
tion. A new reality, which Is economic and moral life, 
turns the Intellectual Into the practical man, the politician, 
the saint, the man of business, the hero, and elaborates the 
a priori logical synthesis into the practical a priori synthesis; 
but this is nevertheless always a new feeling, a new desiring, 
a new willing, a new passlonality. In which the spirit can 
never rest, and solicits above all as new material a new in- 
tuition, a new lyricism, a new art. 

And thus the last term of the series reunites Itself (as I 
stated at the beginning) with the first term, the circle Is 
closed, and the passage begins again: a passage which Is a 
return of that already made, whence the VIchian concept 
expressed in the word "return," now become classic. But 
the development which I have described explains the Inde- 
pendence of art, and also the reasons for its apparent de- 
pendence, in the eyes of those who have conceived erroneous 
doctrines (hedonistic, moralistic, conceptuallstic, etc.), which 
I have criticised above, though noting, In the course of criti- 
cism, that In each one of them could be found some reference 
to truth. If It be asked, which of the various activities of the 
spirit Is real, or If they be all real, we must reply that none of 
them is real; because the only reality Is the activity of all 
these activities, which does not reside in any one of them in 
particular: of the various syntheses that we have one after 
the other distinguished, — aesthetic synthesis, logical synthe- 
sis, practical synthesis,— the only real one Is the synthesis of 
syntheses, the Spirit, which Is the true Absolute, the actus 
puriis. But from another point of view, and for the same 
reason, all are real. In the unity of the spirit. In the eternal 



going and coming, which is their eternal constancy and 
reality. Those who see in art the concept, history, mathe- 
matics, the type, morahty, pleasure, and everything else, 
are right, because these and all other things are contained 
within it, owing to the unity of the spirit; indeed, the pres- 
ence in it of them all, and the energetic unilaterality alike 
of art as of any other particular form, tending to reduce all 
activities to one, explains the passage from one form to an- 
other, the completing of one form in the other, and it ex- 
plains development. But those same people are wrong 
(owing to the distinction, which is the inseparable mo- 
ment of unity) in the way that they find them all equally 
abstract or equally confused. Because concept, type, num- 
ber, measure, morality, utility, pleasure and pain are in art 
as art, either antecedent or consequent; and therefore 
are there presupposed (sunk and forgotten there, to adopt 
a favourite expression of De Sanctis) or as presentiments. 
Without that presumption, without that presentiment, art 
would not be art; but it would not be art either (and 
all the other forms of the spirit would be disturbed by it), 
if it were desired to impose those values upon art as art, 
which is and never can be other than pure intuition. The ar- 
tist will always be morally blameless and philosophically un- 
censurable, even though his art should indicate a low moral- 
ity and philosophy : in so far as he is an artist, he does not act 
and does not reason, but poetises, paints, sings and, in short, 
expresses himself: were we to adopt a different criterion, we 
should return to the condemnation of Homeric poetry, in the 
manner of the Italian critics of the Seicento and the French 
critics of the time of the fourteenth Louis, who turned up 
their noses at what they termed "the manners*' of those in- 
ebriated, vociferating, violent, cruel and ill-educated heroes. 
The criticism of the philosophy underlying Dante's poem 



is certainly possible, but that criticism will enter the sub- 
terranean parts of the art of Dante as though by under- 
mining, and will leave intact the soil on the surface, which 
is the art; Nicholas Macchiavelli will be able to destroy the 
Dantesque political ideal, recommending neither an emperor 
nor an international pope as greyhound of liberation, but a 
tyrant or a national prince; but he will not have eradicated 
that aspiration from Dante's poem. In like manner, it 
may be advisable not to show and not to permit to boys 
and young men the reading of certain pictures, romances, 
and plays; but this recommendation and act of forbidding 
will be limited to the practical sphere and will affect, not 
the works of art, but the books and canvases which serve as 
instruments for the reproduction of the art, which, as prac- 
tical works, paid for in the market at a price equivalent 
to so much corn or gold, can also themselves be shut 
up in a cabinet or cupboard, and even be burnt in a "pyre 
of vanities," a la Savonarola. To confound the various 
phases of development in an ill-understood impulse for 
unity, to make morality dominate art, when and so far as 
art surpasses morality, or art dominate science, when and 
so far as science dominates or surpasses art, or has already 
been itself dominated and surpassed by life: this Is what 
unity well understood, which is also rigorous distinction, 
should prevent and reject. 

And It should prevent and reject it also, because the estab- 
lished order of the various stages of the circle makes it 
possible to understand not only the independence and the 
dependence of the various forms of the spirit, but also 
the preservation of this order of the one in the other. It 
Is well to mention one of the problems which present them- 
selves in this place, or rather to return to it, for I have 
already referred to It fugltlvely: the relation between fancy 



and logic, art and science. This problem is substantially 
the same as that which reappears as the search for the 
distinction between poetry and prose; at any rate, since 
(and the discovery was soon made, for it is already found 
in the "Poetic" of Aristotle) it was recognised that the 
distinction cannot be drawn as between the metrical and 
the unmetrical, since there can be poetry in prose (for 
example, romances and plays) and prose in metre (for ex- 
ample, didascalic and philosophic poems) . We shall there- 
fore conduct it with the more profound criterion, which is 
that of image and perception, of intuition and judgment, 
which has already been explained; poetry will be the ex- 
pression of the image, prose that of the judgment or concept. 
But the two expressions, in so far as expressions, are of 
the same nature, and both possess the same aesthetic value; 
therefore, if the poet be the lyrist of his feelings, the prosaist 
is also the lyrist of his feelings,— that is, poet,— though it be 
of the feelings which arise in him from or in his search for 
the concept. And there is no reason whatever for recog- 
nising the quality of poet to the composer of a sonnet and of 
refusing it to him who has composed the "Metaphysic," the 
"Somma Teologia," the ''Scienza Nuova," the 'Thenome- 
nology of the Spirit," or told the story of the Pelopon- 
nesian wars, of the politics of Augustus and Tiberius, or 
the "universal history": in all of those works there is as 
much passion and as much lyrical and representative force 
as in any sonnet or poem. For all the distinctions with 
which it has been attempted to reserve the poetic quality for 
the poet and to deny it to the prosaist, are like those stones, 
carried with great effortto the top of a steep mountain, which 
fall back again into the valley with ruinous results. Yet 
there is a just apparent difference, but in order to determine 
it, poetry and prose must not be separated in the manner of 



naturalistic logic, like two co-ordinated concepts simply op- 
posed the one to the other: we must conceive them in devel- 
opment as a passage from poetry to prose. And since the 
poet, in this passage, not only presupposes a passionate ma- 
terial, owing to the unity of the spirit, but preserves the 
passionality and elevates it to the passionality of a poet 
(passion for art), so the thinker or prosaist not only pre- 
serves that passionality and elevates it to a passionality for 
science, but also preserves the intuitive force, owing to which 
his judgments come forth expressed together with the pas- 
sionality that surrounds them, and therefore they retain their 
artistic as well as their scientific character. We can always 
contemplate this artistic character, assuming its scientific 
character, or separating It therefrom and from the criticism 
of science, In order to enjoy the aesthetic form which it has 
assumed; and this is also the reason why science belongs, 
though In different aspects, to the history of science and to 
the history of literature, and why, among the many different 
kinds of poetry enumerated by the rhetoricians, it would at 
the least be capricious to refuse to number the "poetry of 
prose," which is sometimes far purer poetry than much pre- 
tentious poetry of poetry. And It will be well that I should 
mention again a new problem of the same sort, to which I 
have already alluded In passing: namely, the connection be- 
tween art and morality, which has been denied to be imme- 
diate Identification of the one with the other, but which must 
now be reasserted, and to note that, since the poet preserves 
the passion for his art when free from every other passion- 
ality, so he preserves In his art the consciousness of duty 
(duty toward art), and every poet. In the act of creation, 
Is moral, because he accomplishes a sacred function. 

And finally, the order and logic of the various forms 
of the spirit, making the one necessary for the other and 

1:493 n 


therefore all necessary, reveal the folly of negating the 
one in the name of the other: the error of the philoso- 
pher (Plato), or of the moralist (Savonarola or Proud- 
hon), or of the naturalist and practical man (there are 
so many of these that I do not quote names I), who refute 
art and poetry; and, on the other hand, the error of the 
artist who rebels against thought, science, practice, and 
morality, as did so many "romantics" in tragedy, and as do 
so many "decadents" in comedy in our day. These are er- 
rors and follies to which also we can afford a caress in pass- 
ing (always keeping in view our plan of not leaving anyone 
quite disconsolate), for it is evident that they have a posi- 
tive content of their own in their very negativity, as rebellion 
against certain false concepts or certain false manifestations 
of art and of science, of practice and of morality (Plato, for 
example, combating the idea of poetry as "wisdom"; Savo- 
narola, the not austere and therefore corrupt civilisation of 
the Italian Renaissance so soon to be dissolved), etc. But 
it is madness to attempt to prove that were philosophy 
without art, it would exist for itself, because it would be 
without what conditions its problems, and air to breathe 
would be taken from it, in order to make it prevail alone 
against art; and that practice is not practice, when it is not 
set in motion and revived by aspirations, and, as they say, 
by "ideals," by "dear imagining," which is art; and, on the 
other hand, that art without morality, art that usurps with 
the decadents the title of "pure beauty," and before which 
is burnt incense, as though it were a diabolic idol worshipped 
by a company of devils, owing to the lack of morality in the 
life from which it springs and which surrounds it, is decom- 
posed as art, and become caprice, luxury, and charlatanry; 
the artist no longer serves it, but it serves the private and 
futile interests of the artist as the vilest of slaves. 



Nevertheless, objection has been taken to the idea of the 
circle in general, which affords so much aid in making clear 
the connection of dependence and independence of art and 
of the other spiritual forms, on the ground that it thinks the 
work of the spirit as a tiresome and melancholy doing and 
undoing, a monotonous turning upon itself, not worth the 
trouble of effecting. Certainly there is no metaphor but 
leaves some side open to parody and caricature; but these, 
when they have gladdened us for the moment, oblige us to 
return seriously to the thought expressed in the metaphor. 
And the thought is not that of a sterile repetition of going 
and coming, but a continuous enrichment in the going of the 
going and the coming of the coming. The last term, which 
again becomes the first, is not the old first, but presents itself 
with a multiplicity and precision of concepts, with an experi- 
ence of life lived, and even of works contemplated, which 
was wanting to the old first term; and it affords material for 
a more lofty, more refined, more complex and more mature 
art. Thus, instead of being a perpetually even revolution, 
the idea of the circle is nothing but the true philosophical 
idea of progress, of the perpetual growth of the spirit and 
of reality in itself, where nothing is repeated, save the form 
of the growth; unless it should be objected to a man walk- 
ing, that his walking is a standing still, because he always 
moves his legs in the same time ! 

Another objection, or rather another movement of rebel- 
lion against the same idea, is frequently to be observed, 
though not clearly self-conscious: the restlessness, existing 
in some or several, the endeavour to break and to surpass 
the circularity that is a law of life, and to attain to a region 
of repose from movement, so full of anxiety; withdrawn 
henceforward from the ocean and standing upon the shore, 
to turn back and contemplate the tossing billows. But I have 

11495 3 



already had occasion to state of what this repose consists: 
an effectual negation of reality, beneath the appearance of 
elevation and sublimation; and it is certainly attained, but is 
called death; the death of the individual, not of reality, 
which does not die, and is not afflicted by its own motion, but 
enjoys it. Others dream of a spiritual form, in which the 
circle is dissolved, a form which should be Thought of 
thought, unity of the Theoretical and of the Practical, Love, 
God, or whatever other name it may bear; they fail to per- 
ceive that this thought, this unity, this Love, this God, al- 
ready exists in and for the circle, and that they are uselessly 
repeating a search already completed, or are repeating 
metaphorically what has already been discovered, in the 
myth of another world, where the very drama of the only 
world should be repeated. 

I have hitherto outlined this drama, as it truly is, ideal 
and extratemporal, employing such terms as first and second, 
solely with a view to verbal convenience and in order to 
indicate logical order:— ideal and extratemporal, because 
there is not a moment and there is not an individual in whom 
it is not all performed, as there is no particle of the uni- 
verse unbreathed upon by the Spirit of God. But the ideal, 
indivisible moments of the ideal drama can be seen as if 
divided In empirical reality, like an impure and embodied 
symbol of the ideal distinction. Not that they are really 
divided (ideality is the true reality), but they appear to be 
so empirically to him who looks upon them with a view to 
classification, for he possesses no other way of determining 
in the types the individuality of the facts that have attracted 
his attention, save that of enlarging and of exaggerating 
ideal distinctions. Thus the artist, the philosopher, the his- 
torian, the naturalist, the mathematician, the man of busi- 
ness, the good man, seem to live separated from one 



another; and the spheres of artistic, philosophical, his- 
torical, naturalistic, mathematical culture, and those of eco- 
nomic and ethic and of the many institutions connected with 
them, to be distinct from one another; and finally, the life 
of humanity is divided into epochs in the ages, in which 
one or the other or only some of the ideal forms are repre- 
sented: epochs of fancy, of religion, of speculation, of natu- 
ral sciences, of industrialism, of political passions, of moral 
enthusiasms, of pleasure seeking, and so on; and these 
epochs have their more or less perfect goings and comings. 
But the eye of the historian discovers the perpetual differ- 
ence in the uniformity of individuals, of classes, and of 
epochs; and the philosophical consciousness, unity in differ- 
ence; and the philosopher-historian sees ideal progress and 
unity, as also historical progress, in that difference. 

But let us, too, speak as empiricists for a moment (so 
that since empiricism exists it may be of some use), and let 
us ask ourselves to which of the specimens belongs our epoch, 
or that from which we have just emerged; what is its pre- 
vailing characteristic? To this there will be an immediate 
and universal reply that it is and has been naturalistic in 
culture, industrial in practice; and philosophical greatness 
and artistic greatness will at the same time both be denied to 
It. But since (and here empiricism is already in danger) no 
epoch can live without philosophy and without art, our 
epoch, too, has possessed both, so far as it was capable of 
possessing them. And its philosophy and its art— the for- 
mer mediately, the latter immediately— find their places in 
thought, as documents of what our epoch has truly been in 
its complexity and interests; by interpreting these, we shall 
be able to clear the ground upon which must arise our duty. 
Contemporary art, sensual, insatiable in its desire for en- 
joyments, furrowed with turbid attempts at an ill-un- 




derstood aristocracy, which reveals itself as a voluptuous 
ideal or an ideal of arrogance and of cruelty, sometimes 
sighing for a mysticism which is also egoistic and volup- 
tuous, without faith in God and without faith in thought, 
incredulous and pessimistic, — and often very powerful In its 
rendering of such states of the soul: this art,— vainly con- 
demned by moralists,— when understood In its profound 
motives and in its genesis, asks for action, which will cer- 
tainly not be directed toward condemning, repressing, or 
rearranging art, but toward directing life more energetically 
toward a more healthy and more profound morality, which 
will be mother of a nobler art, and, I would also say, of a 
nobler philosophy. A more noble philosophy than that of 
our epoch, incapable of accounting not only for religion, for 
science, and for Itself, but for art itself, which has again 
become a profound mystery, or rather a theme for hor- 
rible blunders by positlvists, neocriticists, psychologists, and 
pragmatists, who have hitherto represented contemporary 
philosophy, and have relapsed (perhaps in order to acquire 
new strength and to mature new problems!) into the most 
childish and most crude conceptions of art. 





ARTISTIC and literary criticism Is often looked upon by 
^ artists as a morose and tyrannical pedagogue who 
gives capricious orders, imposes prohibitions, and grants per- 
missions, thus aiding or injuring their works by wilfully de- 
ciding upon their fate. And so the artists either shew them- 
selves submissive, humble, flattering, adulatory, toward it, 
while hating It in their hearts; or, when they do not obtain 
what they want, or their loftiness of soul forbids that they 
should descend to those arts of the courtier, they revolt 
against it, proclaiming Its uselessness, with imprecations and 
mockery, comparing (the remembrance Is personal) the 
critic to an ass that enters the potter's shop and breaks in 
pieces with quadriipedante ungula sonitu the delicate prod- 
ucts of his art set out to dry in the sun. This time, to tell the 
truth, it is the artists' fault, for they do not know what criti- 
cism is, expecting from it favours which It Is not In a position 
to grant, and injuries which it is not in a position to Inflict: y 
since It Is clear that since no critic can make an artist of ond^ 
who Is not an artist, so no critic can ever undo, overthrow, 
or even slightly injure an artist who is really an artist, owing 
to the metaphysical impossibility of such an act : these things 
have never happened In the course of history, they do not 
happen In our day, and we can be sure that they will never 
happen in the future. But sometimes it Is the critics them- 
selves, or the self-styled critics, who do actually present 
themselves as pedagogues, as oracles, as guides of art, as 
legislators, seers, and prophets; they command artists to 



do this or that, they assign themes to them and declare that 
certain subjects are poetical, and certain others not; they are 
discontented with the art at present produced, and would 
prefer one similar to that prevailing at this or that epoch of 
the past, or at another of which they declare they catch a 
glimpse in the near or remote future; they will reprove 
Tasso for not being Ariosto, Leopardi for not being Me- 
tastasio, Manzoni for not being Alfieri, D'Annunzio because 
he is not Berchet or Fra Jacopone; and they describe the 
great artist of the future, supplying him with ethic, philos- 
ophy, history, language, metric, with architectonic and col- 
ouristic processes, and with whatever it may seem to them 
that he stands in need. And this time it is clear that the 
blame lies with the critic; and the artists are right in behav- 
ing toward such brutality in the way that we behave toward 
beasts, which we try to tame, to illude and to delude, in 
order that they may serve us; or w^e drive them away and 
send them to the slaughter-house when they are no longer 
good for any service. But for the honour of criticism we 
must add that those capricious critics are not so much critics 
as artists : artists who have failed and who aspire to a certain 
form of art, which they are unable to attain, either because 
their aspiration was contradictory, or because their power 
was not sufficient and failed them; and thus, preserving in 
their soul the bitterness of the unrealised ideal, they can 
speak of nothing else, lamenting everywhere its absence, and 
everywhere invoking its presence. And sometimes, too, 
they are artists who are anything but failures, — indeed, most 
felicitous artists, — but, owing to the very energy of their 
artistic individuality, incapable of emerging from themselves 
in order to understand forms of art different from their 
own, and disposed to reject them with violence; they are 
aided in this negation by the odium jigiiUnum, the jealousy 



of the artist for the artist, which is without doubt a defect, 
but one with which too many excellent artists appear to be 
stained for us to refuse to it some indulgence similar to that 
accorded to the defects of women, so difficult, as we know, 
to separate from their good qualities. Other artists should 
calmly reply to these artist-critics: ''Continue doing in your 
art what you do so well, and let us do what we can do" ; and 
to the artists who have failed and improvised themselves 
critics: "Do not claim that we should do what you have 
failed in doing, or what is work of the future, of which 
neither you nor we know anything." As a fact, this is not 
the usual reply, because passion forms half of it; but this is 
indeed the logical reply, which logically terminates the ques- 
tion, though we must foresee that the altercation will not 
terminate, but will indeed last as long as there are intolerant 
artists and failures— that is to say, for ever. 

And there is another conception of criticism, which is ex- 
pressed in the magistrate and in the judge, as the foregoing 
is expressed in the pedagogue or in the tyrant; it attributes 
to criticism the duty, not of promoting and guiding the life 
of art,~whlch is promoted and guided, if you like to call it 
so, only by history; that is, by the complex movement of the 
spirit in its historical course,— but simply to separate, in the 
art which has already been produced, the beautiful from the 
ugly, and to approve the beautiful and reprove the ugly 
with the solemnity of a properly austere and conscientious 
sentence. But I fear that the blame of uselessness will not 
be removed from criticism, even with this other definition, 
although perhaps the motive of this blame may to some 
extent be changed. Is there really need of criticism in order 
to distinguish the beautiful from the ugly? The production 
itself of art is never anything but this distinguishing, because 
the artist arrives at purity of expression precisely by elimi- 



nating the ugly which menaces to invade it; and this ugliness 
is his tumultuous human passions striving against the pure 
passion of art: his weaknesses, his prejudices, his conve- 
nience, his laissez faire, his haste, his having one eye on art 
and another on the spectator, on the editor, on the impre- 
sario—all of them things that impede the artist in the phy- 
siological bearing and normal birth of his image-expression, 
the poet of the verse that rings and creates, the painter of 
sure drawing and harmonious colour, the composer of mel- 
ody, and introduces into their work, if care be not taken to 
defend themselves against it, sonorous and empty verses, 
incorrections, lack of harmony, discordances. And since the 
artist, at the moment of producing, is a very severe judge of 
himself from whom nothing escapes,— not even that which 
escapes others, — others also discern, immediately and very 
clearly, in the spontaneity of contemplation, where the artist 
has been an artist and where he has been a man, a poor man; 
in what works, or in what parts of works, lyrical enthusiasm 
and creative fancy reign supreme, and in what they have 
become chilled and have yielded their place to other things, 
which pretend to be art, and therefore (considered from 
the aspect of this pretence) are called "ugly.'* What is the 
use of the sentence of criticism, when the sentence has al- 
ready been given by genius and by taste? Genius and taste 
are legion, they are people, they are general and secular con- 
sensus of opinion. So true is this, that the sentences of criti- 
cism are always given too late; they consecrate forms that 
have already been solemnly consecrated with universal ap- 
plause (pure applause must not, however, be confounded 
with the clapping of hands and with social notoriety, the 
constancy of glory with the caducity of fortune), they con- 
demn ugliness already condemned, grown wearisome and 
forgotten, or still praised in words, but with a bad conscience, 



through prejudice and obstinate pride. Criticism, conceived 
as a magistrate, kills the dead or blows air upon the face of 
the living, who is quite lively, in the belief that its breath is 
that of the God who brings life; that is, it performs a useless 
task, because this has previously been performed. I ask 
myself what critics have established the greatness of Dante, 
of Shakespeare, or of Michelangelo: if, among the legions 
who have acclaimed and do acclaim these great men, 
there are or have been men of letters and professional crit- 
ics, their acclamation does not differ in this case from that 
of youth and of the people, who are all equally ready to 
open their hearts to the beautiful, which speaks to all, save 
sometimes, when it is silent, on discovering the surly coun- 
tenance of a critic-judge. 

And so there arises a third conception of criticism: the 
criticism of interpretation or comment, which makes itself 
small before works of art and limits itself to the duty of 
dusting, placing in a good light, furnishing information as 
to the period at which a picture was painted and what it 
represents, explaining linguistic forms, historical allusions, 
the presumptions of fact and of idea in a poem; and In both 
cases, its duty performed, permits the art to act sponta- 
neously within the soul of the onlooker and of the reader, 
who will then judge of it according as his Intimate taste tells 
him to judge. In this case the critic appears as a culti- 
vated cicerone or as a patient and discreet schoolmaster: 
"Criticism Is the art of teaching to read," Is the definition of 
a famous critic; and the definition has not been without Its 
echo. Now no one contests the utility of guides to museums 
or exhibitions, or of teachers of reading, still less of erudite 
guides and masters who know so many things hidden from 
the majority and are able to throw so much light on subjects. 
Not only has the art that is most remote from us need of 




this assistance, but also that of the nearest past, called con- 
temporary, which, although it treats of subjects and presents 
forms that seem to be obvious, is yet not always sufficiently 
obvious; and sometimes a great effort is requisite in order to 
prepare people to feel the beauty of a little poem or of some 
work of art, though born but yesterday. Prejudices, habits 
and forgetfulness form hedges barring the approach to that 
work: the expert hand of the interpreter and of the com- 
mentator is required to remove them. Criticism in this sense 
is certainly most useful, but we do not see why it should be 
called criticism when that sort of work already possesses its 
own name of interpretation, comment, or exegesis. To call 
this criticism is at best useless, for it is equivocal. 

It is equivocal because criticism demands to be, wishes to 
be and is something different: it does not wish to invade art, 
nor to rediscover the beauty of the beautiful, or the ugliness 
of the ugly, nor to make itself small before art, but rather 
to make itself great before art which is great and, in a cer- 
tain sense, above it. What, then, is legitimate and true 
(/ First of all, it is at once all three of the things that I have 
hitherto explained; that is to say, all these three things are 
Its necessary conditions, without which it would not arise. 
Without the moment of art (and, as we have seen, that criti- 
cism which affirms Itself to be productive or an aid to 
production, or as repressing certain forms of production to 
the advantage of certain other forms, is, in a certain sense, 
art against art), the experience of art would *be wanting to 
the critic, art created within his spirit, severed from non- 
art, and enjoyed in preference to that. And finally, this 
experience would be wanting without exegesis, without the 
removal of the obstacles to reproductive fancy, which supply 
the spirit with those presumptions of historical knowledge 



of which it has need, and which are the wood to burn in 
the fire of fancy. 

But here, before going further, it will be well to resolve a 
grave doubt which has been agitated and is still agitated, 
both In philosophical literature and In ordinary thought, and 
which certainly, where justified, would not only compromise 
the possiblhty of criticism, of which I am discoursing, but 
also of reproductive fancy itself, or taste. Is it truly pos- 
sible to collect, as does exegesis, the materials required for 
reproducing the work of art of others (or our own past 
work of art, when we search our memory and consult our 
papers in order to remember what we were when we pro- 
duced it), and to reproduce that work of art in our fancy in 
its genuine features? Can the collection of the material 
required be ever complete? And however complete it be, 
will the fancy ever permit itself to be chained by it in its 
labour of reproduction? Will it not act as a new fancy, in- 
troducing new material? Will It not be obliged to do' so, 
owing to its Impotence truly to reproduce the other and the 
past? Is the reproduction of the Individual, of the indi- 
vidiium ineffabile, conceivable, when every sane philosophy 
teaches that the universal alone is eternally reproducible? 
Will not the reproduction of the works of art of others or 
of the past be cons-equently a simple impossibility; and will 
not what is usually alleged as an undisputed fact In ordinary 
conversation, and Is the expressed or implied presupposition 
in every dispute upon art, be perhaps (as was said of history 
m general) iine fable convenuef 

7>uly, when we consider the problem rather from with- 
out, it will seem most improbable that the firm belief which 
all possess In the comprehension and intelligence of art is 
without foundation,-all the more, if we observe that these 
very people who deny the possibility of reproductions in 



abstract theory— or, as they call it, the absoluteness of taste 
— are yet most tenacious in maintaining their own judgments 
of taste, and very clearly realise the difference there is be- 
tween the affirmation that wine pleases or displeases me 
because it agrees or disagrees with my physiological organ- 
ism, and the affirmation that a poem is beautiful, and another 
a pastiche: the second order of judgments (as Kant shows 
in a classical analysis) carries with it the uncoercible preten- 
sion to universal validity; souls become passionate about 
it; and in days of chivalry there were even those who main- 
tained the beauty of the "Gerusalemme," sword in hand, 
whereas no one that we know has ever been killed main- 
taining, sword in hand, that wine was pleasant or unpleas- 
ant. To object that works artistically base have yet pleased 
many or someone, and if not others, their author, is not 
valid, because their having pleased is not set in doubt (since 
nothing can be horn in the soul without the consent of the 
soul, and consequently without a correlative pleasure) ; but 
it is doubted whether that pleasure were aesthetic, and 
were founded upon a judgment of taste and beauty. And 
passing from extrinsic scepticism to intrinsic consideration, 
it should be said that the objection to the conceivability of 
the aesthetic reproduction Is founded upon a reality conceived 
in its turn as a shock of atoms, or as abstractly monadistic, 
composed of monads without communication among them- 
selves and harmonised only from without. But that is not 
reality: reality is spiritual unity, and in spiritual unity noth- 
ing is lost, everything is an eternal possession. Not only the 
reproduction of art, but, in general, the memory of any fact 
(which is indeed always reproduction of intuitions), would 
be inconceivable without the unity of the real ; and if we had 
not been ourselves Caesar and Pompey, — that is, that univer- 
sal which was once determined as Caesar and Pompey and is 



now determined as ourselves, they living in us,— we should 
be unable to form any idea of Caesar and Pompey. And 
further, the doctrine that indlviduahty is irreproducible and 
the universal only reproducible is certainly a doctrine of 
"sound" philosophy, but of sound scholastic philosophy, 
which separated universal and individual, making the latter 
an accident of the former (dust carried along by time), and 
did not know that the true universal is the universal indi- 
viduated, and that the only true effable is the so-called 
Ineffable, the concrete and Individual. And finally, what 
does it matter If we have not always ready the material for 
reproducing with full exactitude all works of art or any 
work of art of the past? Fully exact reproduction is, like 
every human work, an Ideal which is realised in infinity, and 
therefore Is always realised in such a manner that It Is ad- 
mitted at every Instant of time by the conformation of real- 
ity. Is there a suggestion in a poem of which the full 
signification escapes us ? No one will wish to affirm that that 
suggestion, of which we now have a crepuscular vision that 
fails to satisfy, will not be better determined In the future 
by means of research and meditation and by the formation 
of favourable conditions and sympathetic currents. 

Therefore, Inasmuch as taste Is most sure of the legiti- 
macy of its discussions, by just so much Is historical research 
and Interpretation Indefatigable In restoring and preserving 
and widening the knowledge of the past; not mentioning 
that relativists and sceptics, both In taste and In history, utter 
their desperate cries from time to time, which do not reduce 
anyone, not even themselves, as we have seen, to the effec- 
tual desperation of not judging. 

Closing here this long but Indispensable parenthesis and 
taking up the thread of the discourse, art, historical exegesis, 
and taste, if they be conditions of criticism, are not yet crltl- 





cism. Indeed, nothing Is obtained by means of that triple 
presupposition, save the reproduction and enjoyment of 
the Image— expression; that Is to say, we return and place 
ourselves neither more nor less than in the place of the 
artist-producer In the act of producing his Image. Nor can 
we escape from those conditions, as some boast of doing, by 
proposing to ourselves to reproduce In a new form the work 
of the poet and the artist by providing Its equivalent; hence 
they define the critic: artifex additiis artifici. Because that 
reproduction In a new garment would be a translation, or a 
variation, another work of art, to some extent inspired by 
the first; and If It were the same, it would be a reproduction 
pure and simple, a material reproduction, with the same 
words, the same colours, and the same tones — that is, useless. 
The critic Is not artifex additus artifici, but philosophus ad- 
ditus artifici: his work is not achieved, save when the image 
received is both preserved and surpassed; it belongs to 
thought, which we have seen surpass and Illumine fancy with 
new light, make the intuition perception, qualify reality, and 
therefore distinguish reality from unreality. In this percep- 
tion, this distinction, which is always and altogether criti-' 
cism or judgment, the criticism of art, of which we are now 
especially treating, originates with the question: whether 
and In what measure the fact, which we have before us as a 
problem, is intuition— that Is to say. Is real as such; and 
whether and In what measure, it is not such— that Is to say, 
is unreal : reality and unreality, which in art are called beauty 
and ugliness, as in logic they are called truth and error, in 
economy gain and loss. In ethic good and evil. Thus the '^^ 
whole criticism of art can be reduced to this briefest proposi- 
tion, which further serves to differentiate Its work from that 
of art and taste (which, considered In themselves, are logi- 
cally mute), and from exegetlcal erudition (which lacks logi- 




cal synthesis, and is therefore also logically mute) : "There 
Is a work of art a/^ with the corresponding negative : "There 
is not a work of art a/* 

It seems to be a trifle, for the definition of art as intuition 
seemed to be neither more nor less than a trifle, but it has 
on the contrary been since seen how many things it included 
In itself, how many affirmations and how many negations: 
so many that, although I have proceeded and proceed In a 
condensed manner, I have not been able and will not be 
able to afford more than brief mention of them. That 
proposition or judgment of the criticism of art, "The work of 
art a is," implies, above all, like every judgment, a subject 
(the intuition of the work of art ^) to conquer which is 
needed the labour of exegesis and of fantastic reproduction, 
together with the discernment of taste : we have already seen 
how difficult and complicated this is, and how many go astray 
in it, through lack of fancy, or owing to slightness and super- 
ficiality of culture. And it further Implies, like every judg- 
ment, a predicate, a category, and in this case the category 
of art, which must be conceived In the judgment, and which 
therefore becomes the concept of art. And we have also 
seen, as regards the concept of art, to what difficulties and 
complications it gives rise, and how it is a possession always 
unstable, continually attacked and ambushed, and continu- 
ally to be defended against assaults and ambushes. Criti- 
cism of art, therefore, develops and grows, declines and 
reappears, with the development, the decadence, and the 
reappearance of the philosophy of art; and each can com- 
pare what it was In the Middle Ages (when it may almost 
be said that it was not) with what it became In the first half 
of the nineteenth century with Herder, with Hegel, and with 
the Romantics, In Italy with De Sanctis; and In a narrower 
field, what It was with De Sanctis, and what it became In the 




following period of naturalism, in which the concept of art 
became clouded and finally confused with physic and with 
physiology, and even with pathology. And if disagreements 
as to judgments depend for one half, or less than half, upon 
lack of clearness as to what the artist has done, lack of sym- 
pathy and taste for another half, or more than half, this 
arises from the small clearness of ideas upon art; whence 
it often happens that two individuals are substantially at one 
as to the value of a work of art, save that the one approves 
what the other blames, because each refers to a different 
definition of art. 

And owing to this dependence of criticism upon the con- 
cept of art, as many forms of false criticism are to be 
distinguished as there are false philosophies of art; and, 
limiting ourselves to the principal forms of which we have 
already discoursed, there is a kind of criticism which, instead 
of reproducing and characterising art, breaks in pieces and 
classifies it; there is another, moralistic, which treats works 
of art like actions in respect of ends which the artist pro- 
poses or should have proposed to himself; there Is hedonistic 
criticism, which presents art as having attained or failed to 
attain to pleasure and amusement; there is also the Intel- 
lectuallstlc form, which measures progress according to the 
progress of philosophy, knows the philosophy but not the 
passion of Dante, judges Ariosto feeble because he has a 
feeble philosophy, Tasso more serious because his philos- 
ophy is more serious, Leopardi contradictory in his pessi- 
mism. There Is that criticism usually called psychological, 
which separates content from form, and instead of attending 
to works of art, attends to the psychology of the artists as 
men; and there is the other form, which separates form 
from content and is pleased with abstract forms because, 
according to cases and to individual sympathies, they recall 


antiquity or the Middle Ages; and there is yet another, 
which finds beauty where it finds rhetorical ornaments; and 
finally there is that which, having fixed the laws of the kinds 
and of the arts, receives or rejects works of art according 
as they approach or retreat from the models which they 
have formed. I have not enumerated them all, nor had 
I the intention of so doing, nor do I wish to expound the 
criticism of criticism, which could be nothing but a repetition 
of the already traced criticism and dialectic of ^Esthetic; and 
already here and there will have been observed the begin- 
nings of Inevitable repetition. It would be more profitable 
to summarise (If even a rapid summary did not demand too 
much space) the history of criticism, to place the historical 
names in the ideal positions that I have Indicated, and to 
shew how criticism of models raged above all during the 
Italian and French classical periods, conceptuallstic criticism 
in German philosophy of the nineteenth century, that of 
moralistic description at the period of religious reform or 
of the Italian national revival, psychology In France with 
Salnte-Beuve and many others; how the hedonistic form 
had its widest diffusion among people In society, among 
boudoir and journalistic critics; that of classifications. In 
schools, where the duty of criticism is believed to have been 
successfully fulfilled when the so-called origin of metres and 
literary and artistic kinds and their representatives has been 

But the forms which I have briefly described are forms of 
criticism, however erroneous; though this cannot, in truth, 
be said of other forms which raise their banners and combat 
among themselves, under the names of "aesthetic criticism" 
and ''historical criticism." These I beg leave to baptise, on 
the contrary, as they deserve, pseudo-asthetic criticism (or 
aesthetlstic), and pseudo-historical criticism (or historlsti- 



cal). These two forms, though very much opposed, have / 
a common hatred of philosophy in general, and of the con- 
cept of art in particular: against any intervention of thought 
in the criticism of art, which in the opinion of the former 
is the affair of artistic souls; in the opinion of the latter, of 
the erudite. In other words, they debase criticism below 
criticism, the former limiting it to pure taste and enjoyment 
of art, the latter to pure exegetical research or preparation 
of materials for reproduction by the fancy. What ^Esthetic, 
which implies thought and concept of art, can have to do 
with pure taste without concept is difficult to say; and what 
history can have to do with disconnected erudition relative 
to art, which is not organisable as history because without a 
concept of art and ignorant of what art is (whereas history 
demands always that we should know that of which we nar- 
rate the history). Is yet more difficult to establish; at the 
most we could note the reasons for the strange "fortune" 
which those two words have experienced. But there would 
be no harm in those names or in the refusal to exercise criti- 
cism, provided that the upholders of both should remain 
within the boundaries assigned by themselves, these enjoying 
works of art, those collecting material for exegesis; and they 
might leave criticism to him who should wish to criticise, or 
satisfy themselves with speaking ill of It without touching 
problems which properly belong to criticism. In order to 
attain to such an attitude of reserve It would be necessary 
neither more nor less than that the aesthetes should never 
open their mouths in ecstasy about art, that they should si- 
lently degustate their joys, and, at the most, that when they 
met their like they should understand one another, as animals 
are said to do (who knows, though, If It be true!) without 
speaking: their countenance unconsciously bearing an expres- 
sion of ravishment, their arms outstretched in an attitude of 



wonder, or their hands joined In a prayer of thanksgiving 
for the joy experienced, should suffice for everything. His- 
torians, for their part, might certainly speak: speak of 
codices, of corrections, of chronical and of topical dates, of 
political facts, of biographical occurrences, of sources of 
works, of language, of syntaxes, of metres, but never of art, 
which they serve, but to whose countenance, as simple eru- 
dites, they cannot raise their eyes, as the maid-servant does 
not raise them to look upon her mistress, whose clothes she 
nevertheless brushes and whose food she prepares : sic vos, 
non vohis. But go and ask of men such abstentions, sacri- 
fices, and heroisms, however extravagant In their Ideas and 
fanatic in their extravagances! In particular, go and ask 
those who, for one or another reason, are occupied with art 
all their lives, not to talk of or to judge art! But the mute 
ssthetisticians talk of, judge, and argue about art, and the 
Inconclusive historlcians do the same; and since In thus talk- 
ing they are without the guide of philosophy and of the 
concept of art, which they despise and abhor, and yet have 
need of a concept,— when good sense does not fortunately 
happen to suggest the right one to them, without their being 
aware of it,— they wander among all the various preconcep- 
tions, moralistic and hedonistic, Intellectuallstic and content- 
Istlc, formalistic and rhetorical, physiological and academi- 
cal, which I have recorded, now relying upon this one, now 
upon that, now confounding them all and contaminating one 
with the other. And the most curious spectacle (though to 
be foreseen by the philosopher) Is that the sesthetlsticlans 
and historiclans, those Irreconcilable adversaries, although 
they start from opposite points, yet agree so well that they 
end by uttering the same fatuities; and nothing is more 
amusing than to meet again the most musty Intellectuallstic 
and moralistic Ideas In the pages of deeply moved lovers of 





art (so deeply moved as to hate thought), and in the most 
positive historians (so positive as to fear compromising 
their positivity by attempting to understand the object of 
theif researches, which chances this time to be called art). 
/ True criticism of art is certainly asthetic criticism, but not 
because it disdains philosophy, like pseudo-assthetic, but be- 
cause it acts as philosophy and as conception of art; it is 
historical criticism, not because, like pseudo-history, it deals 
with the extrinsic of art, but because, after having availed 
itself of historical data for fantastic reproduction (and till 
then it is not yet history), when fantastic reproduction has 
been obtained, it becomes history, by determining what is 
that fact which has been reproduced in the fancy, and so 
characterising the fact by means of the concept, and estab- 
lishing what exactly is the fact that has occurred. Thus, the 
two things at variance in spheres inferior to criticism co- 
incide in criticism; and ''historical criticism of art'' and 
"esthetic criticism'' are the same: it is indifferent which word 
we use, for each may have its special use solely for reasons 
of convenience, as when, for instance, it is desired to call 
special attention, with the first, to the necessity of the under- 
standing of art; with the second, to the historical objectivity 
of its consideration. Thus the problem discussed by certain 
methodologists is solved, namely, whether history enter into 
the criticism of art as means or as end: since it is henceforth 
clear that history adopted as a means is not history, pre- 
cisely because it is a means, but is exegetic material; and that 
which enters it as end is certainly history, though it does not 
enter it as a particular element, but as its constituent whole: 
which precisely describes the word ''end." 

But if criticism of art be historical criticism, it follows 
that it will not be possible to limit the duty of discerning the 
beautiful and the ugly to simple approval and refusal in 



the immediate consciousness of the artist when he produces, 
or of the man of taste when he contemplates; it must 
widen and elevate itself to what is called explanation. And 
since in the world of history (which is, indeed, the only 
world) negative or privative facts do not exist, what seems 
to taste to be ugly and repugnant, because not artistic, will 
be neither ugly nor repugnant to historical consideration, 
because it knows that what is not artistic yet is something 
else, and has its right to existence as truly as it has existed. 
The virtuous Catholic allegory composed by Tasso for his 
"Gerusalemme" is not artistic, nor the patriotic declamation 
of NIccolini and Guerrazzi, nor the subtleties and conceits 
which Petrarch introduced into his poems; but Tasso's 
allegory is one of the manifestations of the work of the 
Catholic counter-reform in the Latin countries; the declama- 
tions of Niccolini and of Guerrazzi were violent attempts 
to rouse the souls of Italians against the priest and the 
stranger, representing adhesion to the manner of that arous- 
ing; the subtleties and conceits of Petrarch, the cult of tradi- 
tional troubadour elegance, revived and enriched in the new 
Italian civilisation; that is to say, they are all practical facts, 
very significant historically and worthy of respect. We can 
well continue to talk of the beautiful and of the ugly, in the 
field of historical criticism, through vivacity of language, or 
in order to chime with current parlance ; provided that we 
shew at the same time, or hint, or let be understood, or at 
least do not exclude, the positive content, both of that beauti- 
ful and of that ugly, which will never be so radically con- 
demned in its ugliness as when it is fully justified and under- 
stood, because in this case it will be removed in the most 
radical manner from the sphere proper to art. 

For this reason, criticism of art, when truly aesthetic or 
historical, becomes at the same time amplified into a criti- 



cism of life, since it is not possible to judge — that is, to char- 
acterise — works of art without at the same time judging and 
characterising the works of the whole life: as we observe 
with the truly great critics, and above all with De Sanctis, 
In his "History of Italian Literature" and in his "Critical 
Essays," who Is as profound a critic of art as of philosophy, 
morality, and politics; he is profound in the one because pro- 
found in the other, and inversely: the strength of his pure 
aesthetic consideration of art Is the strength of his pure 
moral consideration of morality. Because the forms of the 
spirit, of which criticism avails itself as categories of judg- 
ment, although ideally distinguishable In unity, are not ma- 
terially separable from one another and from unity, under 
penalty of seeing them vanish before us. We cannot, there- 
fore, speak of a distinction of art from other criticism, save 
in an empirical manner, to indicate that the attention of the 
speaker or writer Is directed to one rather than to another 
part of his indivisible argument. And the distinction is also 
empirical (I have hitherto preserved this here, in order to 
proceed with didactic clearness) between criticism and his- 
tory of art: a distinction which has been specially deter- 
mined by the fact that a polemical element prevails In the 
study of contemporary art and literature, which causes it to 
be more readily called "criticism," while in that of the art 
and literature of a more remote period prevails the narra- 
tive tone, and therefore it is more readily termed "history." 
In reality, true and complete criticism is the serene historical 
narration of what has happened; and history is the only true 
criticism that can be exercised upon the doings of humanity, 
which cannot be not-facts, since they have happened, and are 
not to be dominated by the spirit otherwise than by tinder- 
standing them. And since the criticism of art has shewn 
Itself Inseparable from other criticism, so the history of art 



can be separated from the complete history of human civili- 
sation only for reasons of a literary nature, among which It 
certainly follows its own law, which is art, but from which It 
receives the historical movement, which belongs to the spirit 
as a whole, never to one form of the spirit separated from 
the others. 

Benedetto Croce. 








First Lecture 

SINCE the publication of the two volumes of my *'Muta- 
tion Theory" ten years have elapsed. At that time the 
prevailing opinion was that very small and often even in- 
visible changes could gradually be increased and accumu- 
lated, and that this process could lead to specific differences, 
and even to the production of the characters of genera and 
larger groups. This conception was the principle of the 
theory of selection as proposed by Darwin, as well as the 
starting-point for the hypothesis of orthogenesis, of the di- 
rect influence of environment, and of many others. It was 
generally accepted in the teachings of plant improvement in 
agriculture, and, as a matter of fact, the origin of new va- 
rieties by leaps and bounds was a fact wxll known only to 

In opposition to this conception, I tried to show that the 
origin of new forms complies, in nature as well as in agri- 
culture, to the mode which was observed to be followed in 
horticulture, and that the whole evolution of the plant king- 
dom has been brought about by a long series of successive 
small leaps. The extraordinarily slow evolution which was 

1 Four lectures presented at the inauguration of the Rice Institute, by Pro- 
fessor Hugo de Vries, Director of the Hortus Botanicus and Professor of 
Botany in the University of Amsterdam. 




a necessary consequence of the then prevailing opinion re- 
quired an almost unlimited duration of time; but the new 
principle of mutations reduced the biological time to the 
limits which had been determined by physicists and geologists 
for the duration of life on this earth. The starting-point for 
the new ideas was the distinction between two main types of 
variability: fluctuation and mutation. I had deduced this 
principle from my interpretation of Darwin's well known 
provisional hypothesis of pangenesis, and convinced myself 
of Its truth by means of a series of experiments. On the 
basis of these theoretical considerations I proposed the muta- 
tion theory, which means that the characters of all organisms 
are built up of sharply distinguished units. These qualities 
may be combined into groups, and in allied species the same 
units and groups may be met with. They do not pass gradu- 
ally into one another; transitions fail between them, al- 
though they may often be observed b