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thought, can catch the American spirit until he sees in Lincoln the embodiment of the spiritual forces which directed the destiny of this nation, and finds them expressed in the Gettysburg speech.

This was my knowledge of American history which I carried to college; it encouraged me to claim that I was just as good an American as any of my classmates. The claim was disputed, and I defended it by the same argument which Lincoln in his early youth applied to Jack Armstrong in that historic wrestling match at New Salem, and it prevailed. After that no fellow student dared deny that I was just as good an American as anybody on the Columbia College campus.

That was the first tangible reward for my knowledge of American history; other rewards followed in quick succession. But the greatest reward which this knowledge offers to an immigrant is the comforting belief that he is no longer a stranger in a strange land, but among friends whose ideals are his ideals. The ideals of my fellow students became my ideals; they were the ideals of the American college, the nursery of the spirit of the national household gods which I began to worship long before I had ever seen an American college. My worship, however, was based upon knowledge obtained from books, whereas college life demanded actual practice of the principles of conduct becoming an American who is loyal to the best traditions of his country. This training and the laying of a foundation for higher intellectual endeavor is, according to my experience, the mission of the American college.

What, then, is the mission of the American university? Comparing the American college with the American university one is reminded of Janus, the old Roman deity, the guardian of the entrance to the Roman home. In the early dawn of Roman history this deity had one face only, but as the Roman home grew bigger a second face appeared. The American college and the American university are the two faces of the same guardian angel; one face contemplating reverently the familiar past and the other anxiously explor

ing the unknown future of this nation. The college perpetuates the national idealism of the past, the university prepares its future expansion. This idealism is the bond between the two, and without this bond they lose their spiritual meaning.

Lincoln closed his Gettysburg speech with the following warning:

It is rather for us to be dedicated to the task remaining before us.... that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom,-and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

A dedication to so exalted a task demanded an expansion of our inherited national idealism. It is not surprising that the generation which heard this warning saw also the birth of the first real American university. The most comforting response to Lincoln's warning was a series of events which should be recorded in red letters in American history. The earliest among these events is the foundation, under a Congressional charter, of the National Academy of Sciences in the same year in which Lincoln delivered his immortal speech. Lincoln, our greatest idealist in political philosophy, and Joseph Henry, his personal friend, our greatest idealist in science in those days, were the sponsors of this national organization whose members were always devoted to the cultivation of idealism in American learning. Some of the most distinguished members of this organization, like Joseph Henry, John William Draper, Frederick Barnard, and Andrew White, started that great movement for higher endeavor which found its first visible expression in the foundation of Johns Hopkins University in 1876, the first real university in the United States. Every student of the history of American idealism should know the life of Daniel Coit Gilman, at one time president of the University of California, who became the first president of Johns Hopkins University and presided over a faculty of idealists of the highest order of magnitude.

The aim of these idealists was the cultivation of idealism in every department of American learning, in order to prepare this nation for the expansion of the early American idealism which Lincoln glorified in the very beginning of his Gettysburg ode. How did the nation respond? In less than a decade a score of American universities sprang into existence and followed the example of the idealists of Baltimore. This sudden upheaval in the higher intellectual activities of our young universities encourages the belief that the period inaugurated by the termination of the Civil War witnessed an Intellectual Renaissance in the United States. A catalogue of its achievements during the last fifty years is as long as Homer's catalogue of the ships which carried the Greek heroes to the plains of Troy. Neither time nor purpose permit its recital here. There is one achievement, however, which I must mention.

Nothing resists a change as obstinately as the mental attitude of man. The history of science from Archimedes to Newton offers many illustrations of this well-known fact. The change in the mental attitude of our age is one of the greatest achievements of our Intellectual Renaissance. Less than two generations ago educational training was expected by many to operate like a penny in the slot machine, that is, learn your lesson and convert your learning into cash without much delay. The so-called practical man who managed our American industries was at that time an ardent advocate of this utilitarian theory. He worshiped the art of making a living. Franklin and Lincoln, my patron saints, had no sympathy with this theory. The art of making a living was not the determining factor in their schooling, but the art of making life worth living was everything to them. They would find no fault with the American college because its diploma does not testify that college graduates are loaded with a knowledge of the art of making a living, provided, however, that they carry with them some definite ideas about the art of making life worth living, not only the life of the individual but also the life of our nation. The expan

sion of these ideas is the message of the gospel of the American university. The Philistines, the so-called practical men of two generations ago, could not resist the power of this gospel; they have been converted. It is a great triumph of the apostles of our American universities.

The idealism of the Christian gospel which St. Paul and St. Peter preached was not clearly understood until the world had seen it in operation in the lives of those who had embraced it. The idealism of the American university was not clearly understood by the so-called practical man until he had seen it in operation in his dearly beloved industries. Motive, mental attitude, and method of work form the tripod upon which this idealism rests, but a motive which means unselfish search of the truth; a mental attitude which demands open-minded communion with nature and freedom from prejudice; a method of work which in the hands of men like Archimedes, Galileo, Newton, Faraday, and their disciples conferred innumerable blessings upon mankind; all these things were too abstract for the so-called practical man. But presently problems arose the solution of which demanded the subtle touch of the university idealist; the stubby hand of the practical man had failed. The idealist showed the way, and from that time the American industries began to worship at the altar of idealism of the American university. Today it is their patron saint who guides them in their progress; it will soon perform a similar service in all the activities of our nation, and lead us to that ideal democracy which was the dream of Lincoln.

Your distinguished fellow citizen, Secretary Hoover, is a practical man, but he has nothing in common with our practical men of two generations ago. His gospel may be summed up as follows: Cultivate the fundamentals in the research laboratories as well as in the lecture rooms. This will lead us to the truth which will give this nation a new birth of freedom, and will raise our democracy to the lofty level of Lincoln's ideal. Hoover's gospel is the gospel of the American university. When Hoover preaches it he undoubtedly thinks of the achievements of the Lick Ob

servatory and of the Mount Wilson Observatory; he thinks of Campbell, Hale, Millikan, and of many other California idealists in science; he thinks of the University of California, of Leland Stanford, and of your other institutions of higher learning. The thrill of these thoughts gives a poetical touch to his messages, and whenever I listen to them I am reminded of a picture which was recorded in my mind when I first visited California six years ago. My trip took me through New Mexico, Arizona, and the San Joaquin valley. The pathetic appeal of the parched and feverish lips of the thirsty deserts made me exclaim: "Alas! this is a Paradise Lost!" But everything changed when I passed Bakersfield and continued my journey to Fresno and San Francisco. The smiling orchards and vineyards and the gay fruit trees on each side of the festive road, like rejoicing hosts in holiday attire, bade me welcome to California's golden atmosphere and honey-hearted hospitality. The blue-eyed heaven, such as only California sees, seemed to rejoice in watching the work of man which made my journey to Fresno and San Francisco a journey through paradise. I could not help thinking that the hand of man was writing a glorious epic upon the face of this state and when completed the world will call it California, the Paradise Regained. But remember that the idealism of your universities is guiding the hand which is writing this wonderful epic.

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