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would return to their ancient status, they overwhelmingly voted themselves
back into financial subordination to the city. That was a surrender to the an-
cient habits of mind; there was in this whole situation no ultimately irreducible
economic factor which the rural areas had to obey. To be sure, the ancient habit
of mind could easily be made to appear as an "economic law,"
" which anyone
would violate at his own peril. But the fundamental fact was that the people
of the rural areas felt sure that the city could save them more comfortably than
they could save themselves.

Mostly, today, our great cities are precariously established economic institutions which maintain their permanence only by maintaining a certain habit of mind in their citizens. In other words, our cities are now predominantly psychological entities—platonic ideas existing mainly on the blue prints of real estate promoters, and having only the most shadowy "realizations" in the forms of skyscrapers, apartment houses, industrial buildings, and transportation systems. How unreal these "economic" factors are can be seen on any street any day, but these temporalities are substantiated by means of orthodox, and therefore most likely fallacious, economic arguments. The thing that actually holds them together is the habit of mind of the people. We want social life, in intense forms. We want to be amused. We do not want to amuse ourselves; we have lost most of our ability to amuse ourselves; we want to sit in at the spectacle. We want to be educated; we do not want to educate ourselves; we have lost most of our power to educate ourselves; we want scholars to study for us, give us credits, and a degree, which, if it guarantees in us no intellectual power, does afford us a social position of a sort. We are ready to put up with whatever happens to us on the streets, in the subways, and in most of our industrial relationships-if only we can spend our leisure in the city. We have been compelled― in spite of the earnest antisocialist teachings of our conservative groups-to believe that we must take things as they come; we must take the goods the shops offer us, the amusements the movies bring us, the books the publishers print for us, the knowledge the schools provide for us, the clothes the syndicate cuts for us, the music the radio broadcasts to us, the funeral the undertakers' trust dictates for us. The city can tolerate little in the way of departures from set standards, for the city mind must never get out of bounds, lest it should begin to question the ultimateness of the city itself, and should escape.

Now, all these things are: but these things do not need to be: The mechanisms of escape from these congestions exist. Power, in the form of electric energies, can be decentralized to any desired extent. Why should workers work in the smoke and grime of the steam engine when they could just as well work in the silence and cleanliness of the electric power-driven industrial plant? There is only one reason: we lack the will, at present, and the critical social and industrial intelligence to break through this present economic disorder of the modern city and build for ourselves the structure of a new order-in smaller cities, in garden cities, in regional communities, in states and a nation ordered by social

intelligence and made real in the industrial mechanisms of the new day. If we should all talk and think electric power in place of steam power, we should presently find sunshine and pure air in our city streets.

Why should children be educated to depend upon others for all their amusements and pleasures, when normally the thing they most want is self-expression? Why should we permit ourselves to feel that the professional actor alone can provide us amusement, when the materials of all our culture come from the most unexpected sources? What the city needs today more than any other one thing is to escape from the set molds of its own petty thinking-its fear of alienating the affections of its industrial tyrants, its owners of vested rights in city-made excitements, cultures, amusements, and propaganda. What the city needs is a realistic cultivation of critical intelligence. What the city needs is less instruction and more mind; less schooling and more creative thinking; less imitation and more imagination; less reposing on existent goods and more search for the conditions under which humanity can live a good life. These things wait upon the development in our cities of civic statesmanship that can see life, and not the mere forms of life; men, and not the mere prestige of the city; children, and not profits that come from piling up real estate prices; humanity, and not the mere shell out of which the human spirit has been more or less completely driven.

The great task, then, of social statesmanship today in city or community or nation is that of discovering and releasing the intelligence that is in us, but that, under modern conditions of life and schools, is not being released or used. Professor Stuart Paton, of Princeton, recently declared that even the college student of today is using not to exceed 25 per cent of his available mental energy. The other 75 per cent is undeveloped. We have built, he says, our present civilization by the use of this 25 per cent or less of our brain power. If we could get the other 75 per cent released and disciplined to critical and realistic uses we could solve these problems that now confront us. How shall we get that extra increment of intelligence that we all need?

Here is the hope of the city of the future. We pass laws for endless improvements, and cannot get the laws into operation. We pass resolutions, and later find them written in the minutes-and nowhere else. We need minds that can understand, that can be interested, and that can act, not sporadically and momentarily, as if a city could be made overnight, nor violently, as if the Kingdom of Heaven could be brought in by force, but intelligently, critically, persistently, good humoredly, as the forces of nature work, as if they understood that a city is an organic function of human living, to be produced or modified by organized effort working intelligently through the years. Such possible minds are all about us in our young people. The great task of the American city is to find means of locating and releasing these incipient minds and helping them to find the realistic, freeing discipline they need in order to make them tools of city building, or unbuilding, or rebuilding, as the needs of the times may re

quire. And when such minds have been released and developed in numbers more nearly proportionate to the resources nature has undoubtedly provided, and in numbers more nearly adequate to the needs of our complex world, a real program for the American city will be forthcoming.

For such release of minds we need expect little help from schools of any sort. Our own adult ignorance does not become wisdom when it has been transmitted to children. We adults do not understand the city. We were educated in villages, and our minds still deal with world-problems in village fashion, with the village intelligence that was inevitable from our training.

We must find teachers who can understand this modern world, whose minds have become great as the city, and who feel that the city in its present form, sucking the life blood out of the countryside and destroying it in the needless smoke and grime of city industry, is not the end of man.

And we must let such teachers in free centers of intelligence, such as our social settlements might be, do their work with the hopeful young. There is small use in trying to make over the men and women who are above thirty years of age and whose souls have been seduced away by the lithographed promises of a fortune in real estate by the time they are fifty. Nor is there much use in trying to develop wisdom in the younger children of such parents, who must go home from school evenings and report upon what they have learned during the day.

But in our youth, who are still young enough to learn and yet old enough to fight for what they have learned, we might, if we were wise, be building the realistic ideal of a city decentralized enough to let in light and air and a bit of grassy lawn; a city quite as effective industrially, or perhaps more effectivebut without so much noise and dirt. The state housing and regional planning commission of New York has recently shown that big cities are too expensive and that villages are too expensive; the most economical sort of city is one of from 75,000 to 100,000 inhabitants. If we could get that fact generally known, then our cities of moderate size could take heart and begin to make themselves economically secure; culturally self-respecting; beautiful in their natural settings; and independent in their community purposes, so that each of them would stand for its own specific identity, and not for a mere imitation of some other city.

From the standpoint of real mechanism all these things so briefly indicated are possible, today. But our minds are steam engine minds; hence our cities are still steam engine cities. I plead for an education of our youth that will quite realistically place before their plastic and choosing minds the two pictures: the city of the engines, the city that now is, and the city of electric power that might be the cultural conditions of the present city honestly contrasted with the cultural possibilities of that future city in all details, so that the youth of today may have a share in the making of the future and the share that comes of choosing between alternatives; the share that comes of understanding; the

share that comes of developing minds that are the products of choosing and understanding.

To such youths I am quite willing to transmit the problems that we have unwittingly piled up and, because we are unwitting, are unable to solve. This is not a counsel of defeat or despair. It is the recognition of the two great unused resources of our age, electric power as the basis of industry and of life, and the youthful mind as the future master and director of that power. The steam engine, the steam city, and the steam engine mind have all done their work. The future belongs to clean electricity and the mind that can think as cleanly. We shall make little progress with programs until we learn to include electricity and the mind of youth in those programs.

THE FAMILY AS AN INSTITUTION IN SOCIETY

Rev. William J. Kerby, Acting Director, National Catholic
Service School, Washington

We might take it as a hopeful sign that we are deeply concerned about the status of the family in present-day civilization. The high sanctities of your lives and of mine are assembled around the home. Reverence, gratitude, and outlook on life as we have all three keep it as a sacred and enduring factor in our development, central and supreme in our social and spiritual experience. The beginning of our thought about the family should be in our own homes, in our own lives, in the cultural services that have given us refinement and strength. Any other approach to the study of the family would lead the social worker into the way of missing the most intimate meaning of the home in our cultural development.

Broad approaches, impersonal reviews of social evolution, comparative studies of wide social surfaces give us much valuable information and helpful insight. But no evaluation of the family as a social institution possesses practical authority in relation to present-day policies until we have sounded the depths of personal experience and observation of contemporary life. We must understand what the ideal of the family means today, how we have failed to safeguard it, how we may make the effective protection of it an overhead charge upon civilization. Our present concern is to find a way to so constitute and protect family life as to assure its expected benedictions to parents and children throughout the world.

The site of this city of Cleveland was in remote geological times under marine waters. It may be that in a geological future the waters will again assert their jurisdiction and return to wipe out the city and make its wealth and grandeur a geological memory. But no investor, no corporation, and no architect will permit any thought of this to interfere with the erection of imposing build

ings and the ordinary course of business in normal life today. Years ago I was told that a New York daily paper published a startling headline, "New York City sinking into ocean." The speed indicated, as memory now serves me, was something like an inch in a thousand years. No one was worried. No habits of life or business were changed. No policies were affected. No new philosophy was formulated as of any importance now.

And so when we meet thinkers coming in from the broad spaces of ethnological, sociological, and cultural history with an impression that the family is a transitory institution, we are respectful and interested, but we can scarcely afford to shape the policies of today in social work upon such generalizations. In fact, ethnologists tell us that the evidences of broad cultural interpretations indicate as a fact that there is something enduring and stable in the family, back of every modification that we know. I know that purely social institutions are not final. But while they operate contemporaneously, they assume finality and operate for the time on that assumption. No form of the state is final, but the form we now have acts as a finality today, and that finality must be asserted with sovereign power until orderly methods of gradual change are provided or revolutionary change overturns the established order. We must have stable methods of thinking, social categories that are stable and authoritative, if we are to have orderly life at all and if we are to serve the practical ideals of life with good effect now.

What is the present duty of social workers, then, in respect of the family as a social institution, primary in the tradition of culture, primary in morality, primary in the training of children, primary in our thinking and our policies, primary in ennobling parents through sacrifices, forethought, and kindly service to the race? In attempting to suggest or to interpret the present-day duty of social workers toward the family I am not unmindful of many distressing facts. Our civilization has thought that it loved and cherished the family as a fundamental Christian institution of life. Yet it has very badly prepared parents for parenthood. This most sacred of all human obligations has been entered upon most frequently without understanding and information, without reverent insight upon which the effective performance of its human, divine, and cultural functions depend.

We have builded our cities with little forethought for children, with little foresight as to housing, protection, and play. We have allowed economic pressure to crush countless homes and to blight the lives of fathers and mothers and children with relentless compulsion. We have allowed ignorance to have undisputed sway-ignorance of health, training, morality, and parental responsibility. We have reserved the best room in the house for visitors-the impossible spare room-and we have sent children to play upon the streets. We have seen a lamentable social philosophy of individualism pervert the wholesome understanding of home life, leading to easy divorce, with little thought of the Christian sanctities, of impulses toward self-discipline, race service, and high Christian feeling

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