of others' approval. It is the essence of provincialism to be ever avid of admiration. Cosmopolitanism takes itself for granted. The citizen of London, Paris, or Berlin does not think of asking the visitor what he thinks of this capital or that. Until very recently we have been provincial, and have not too deftly tried to keep the conversation centered upon our institutions, our resources, our virtues and even our climate. We Americans invented the gentle art of "boosting"-a process of mutual hypnosis by which we conceal from ourselves the realities of life, and by a kind of magic turn disaster into victory. Then, too, we are not lacking in that good opinion of ourselves which comes from not knowing too much about other nations. There still survives a measure of that earlier vanity which in a subtle way was transferred from the nation to the individual. This "sense of the state" turns out to be only in disguised form a sense of personal importance. But just as vanity-a mere desire for the good opinion of others— may in the individual yield to self-respecting pride, so there is reason to believe that American boastfulness and craving for admiration and approval are being transformed gradually into a worthy, national sense of responsibility and duty.

To millions of Americans, patriotism is a glorified geography. They rejoice in staggering statistics of areas and crops. Images of boundless prairies, yawning chasms, towering mountains, majestic rivers, mighty waterfalls and copious geysers give them a feeling of exaltation. The geysers at times seem singularly appropriate and symbolic. All these natural phenomena take on a proprietary character and contribute to the citizen's personal significance. There is a suggestion in this anecdote of Roscoe Conklin. He had given the chief address at the opening of the first suspension bridge at Niagara. While the crowds were waiting for the returning trains, Conklin walked to and fro majestically, in isolation from the throng. He obviously communed importantly with himself. Said one Pullman

porter to another: "Who is dat gen'lemun? Is he de man w'at built de bridge?" "No," was the answer, "I reckon he's de pusson w'at made de falls." The American cannot wholly escape a creative attitude toward the national habitat. Moreover the very stretch of territory expands his mind and stimulates his imagination. If this is not the whole of patriotism, it nevertheless plays an important part in making vivid to the American a certain "sense of the state." It is hard to conceive of a loyalty so abstract as to exclude the concrete imagery of "rocks and rills," "woods and templed hills."

There are magic words in the lexicon of every people. "Destiny" is talismanic in America. Early habits of living for the future and enduring the present, still persist. Things may be far from satisfactory just now, but a dazzling destiny is in store for us. Why concern ourselves with problems when an automatic millennium is assured? Unseen cosmic forces are conspiring for our prosperity and happiness. There is no doubt that this faith in the future, this auto-hypnotic confidence that the stars in their courses were plotting a glorious national career for the United States, played at one time a useful rôle. We lived, so far as plans and policies went, from hand to mouth; opportunitism and compromise took the place of a purpose; we could not see clearly the next steps, yet with our eyes fixed on the rainbow of destiny we stumbled perseveringly on. But this sense of destiny, whatever its value in giving heart to a hardpressed generation, has long been a hindrance to a people who need to formulate and pursue a national ideal. As we see in Europe the contrast between nations which have worked out farseeing policies and programmes and those that have been content to drift and "muddle through," we realize the danger inherent in any "destiny" which has not been defined and organized in terms of a collective purpose.

Like other nations, Americans have thought of themselves as having a monopoly of Providential oversight and

aid. To be the special instrument of Divine purpose is a rôle which we accept with as much humility as we can summon. This again contributes to our sense of personal importance, and like the destiny doctrine leads to a feeling of irresponsibility. How unworthy after all is this parochial conception of Providence! We can understand how the warring nations revert to the earlier idea of a tribal God, but we surely can take a larger, nobler view. We are coming, happily, to this more inspiring conception. When we think of all nations as together working out a Divine plan of civilization, each making its own contribution, our 'sense of the state" is changed from an attitude of complaisant ease into one of earnest effort. An assurance of indulgent special favor changes into a call for loyalty and service.

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Until recently the average American-if there be a type -has thought of the community as a mine to be worked rather than a cause to be served. Individualism has been the underlying American philosophy. Let each man look out for himself and the common welfare will be automatically promoted. This theory was almost perfectly adapted to the frontier conditions which have been the real key to an understanding of American development. To her hardy, courageous and energetic citizens America said: "Go forth into the wilderness and help yourselves." How remarkable were the results! American initiative and resourcefulness which have become proverbial were tested and developed in a westward moving zone known as the frontier. In this life the "jack of all trades" was exalted and the expert derided. Personal independence and individual rights received an exaggerated recognition. A reaction has come. Congested, industrial, urban conditions have raised serious questions. A policy of conservation suddenly asserts collective rights. Social legislation runs athwart the individualistic current. The heroes of yesterday are denounced as the traitors of today. Yet this philosophy of individualism has played a vital part in the past and, controlled by

a new "sense of the state" seems destined to be the chief stimulus to progress for a long time to come.

The individualistic struggle has given rise to perhaps the most common view of the State, namely the police or umpire theory. Individuals and groups are engaged in constant rivalry and competition. The State sees that the rules of the game are enforced; that there is fair play. Thus it becomes a form of compulsion or control. The State seems set over against the citizen. It taxes him and spends his money; it thwarts him in many ways. It is an external force. It is hard to feel much enthusiasm for this idea of the State. It lacks positive and constructive force. It seems chiefly negative. "That government is best which governs least," Spencer's ghost haunts this conception. It is reminiscent of Bentham and of Manchester. If graduates carry into life only this "sense of the state" they will not spend themselves lavishly for the commonwealth. And yet this regulative function of the State is essential and fundamental. It may easily be widened and reinterpreted, as we shall see, into a very much broader, more constructive and inspiring conception. The negative policeman may become a positively ministering public servant.

Against the police view of the State, there has been a growing protest from those who see in the collectivistic idea an all-inclusive organization. There has been a growing revolt against the doctrines of individualism which were adapted to relatively simple industrial and social conditions. Over against the rights of the individual have been asserted the rights of the community. The public aspects of child and woman labor, housing, health, recreation, insurance, education, have been insisted upon. Governmental control has been extended. The changes are gladly greeted by the socialist who offers a "sense of the state" which merges the citizen into an encompassing whole. The State becomes the one agency of the life in common. To the ardent collectivist this is compatible with the spontaneity and self-direction of the individual. To most of us, however, this theory of the

State seems destructive of that feeling of independence and responsibility which is essential to the most vigorous type of personality and to an expanding, advancing society. Just as, on the one hand, an exaggerated individualism leads to arrogance and to aloofness from the community, so the socialistic "sense of the state" on the other hand submerges the individual in the mass. There is no denying, however, that the American mind is gradually recognizing the ideals of a socialized imagination.

But the socialist is not the only one to exalt the allpowerful State. He would rely upon democratic control. The tragedy in Europe shows us the State as a fighting unit under quite different guidance. Leadership and discipline, undisputed control by the competent few, docility and obedience on the part of the well-trained, regimented many-these are the lessons of war. All fighting nations must heed them. The laws of life are inexorable when once appeal has been made to force. Democracy and autocracy alike must obey or go to the wall. Such "sense of the state" has played little part in the American mind. We have relied on isolation; we have avoided "entangling alliances;" we have congratulated ourselves on our immunity; gone our easy way, prospered in material things, pampered ourselves, given a paltry percentage of our margins for the relief of suffering; we have avoided sacrifices and discipline. May we escape the horrors of bloodshed, but may we find a "moral equivalent for war!" May we awake from our dreams of self-indulgent ease and gain a "sense of the state" which will give us discipline and urge us to glad sacrifices for the common welfare!

Efficiency is a current shibboleth. Experts are invading factories and offices. Even universities, the last stronghold of traditional drift, are being investigated. Business methods are carried into community life. Municipalities are declared to be nothing more than big corporations which should be managed by experts and pay dividends to citizens in health, comfort, and happiness. We have, we are told, no