EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

VICTOR HUGO.

The greatest of the French writers of this century has passed away from earth, after eighty-three years of a life which was, like Carlyle’s, full of work to the very end. Victor Hugo’s greatness is difficult to measure at this hour; we are too near to know whether this is an Alp or only a hill. That it has attracted the attention, the admiration, the homage of mankind for half a century would seem to mean that this was one of the three or four great lives of the nineteenth century. Victor Hugo came of a union of aristocratic and plebeian blood. His father’s tribe had been of the nobles since 1531; his mother was the daughter of a seafaring race. The current sketches of his father omit the most dramatic incident of Colonel Hugo’s career. We refer to his long chase and final capture of Fra Diavalo—the brigand hero of the opera which bears his name. In the whole history of brigandage in South Italy, there is no more exciting and romantic story than that of his hunt and capture of the “Friar-Devil” by the father of Victor Hugo. In the blood of the poet the plebeian mother triumphed at length over the Monarchist father, and Victor Hugo’s pen has rendered the Republicanism of France more valuable service than his father’s sword gave to the Napoleonic crown.

His genius was fortunate in the poverty which compelled him to work for bread, and the banishment which in 1853 threw him into exile, and again forced him to take up the severe literary labor which brought forth “Les Miserables” in 1862. This son of the aristocracy might have lived a life with out fruit if he had not abandoned the ideals of his father for those popular sympathies which made him the most dangerous enemy of Napoleon III. The change in his views came slowly. He was a Royalist under Louis Phillippe, and that king created him a peer of France in 1845. It was not until 1849 that he changed his political attitude, and he was then forty-seven years of age—so that he divided his life pretty evenly between the aristocratic and popular causes. His works show the influence of his political thoughts, and the differences between the earlier and later are very marked. The earlier works gave him the ears of the great world; the later won him the hearts of the people. Whether in prose or in verse, all that he ever wrote was poetry. His later prose is a collection of poems of human aspirations. It is idle to seek in them any system, they are emotion rather than thought; but the emotion is the throbbing of the universal human heart. He believed in God and in man. He rejected the religion of his people less under the stress of conviction than through the force of his hostility to the organized human world in which he saw men suffering. It was not his office to resolve the riddles of human pain; it was his to gather men’s tears into God’s bottle. It may be called a one-sided life; but it was on that side where great lives are too seldom found. It may be said that emotion is blind, passionate, dangerous, as Frenchmen have abundantly proved; but it is still true that the emotion which rouses men from lethargy is necessary to beneficent change, and that even though the wail of human misery must go up forever, we must honor the great souls who seek solutions of the mystery of evil in a happier ordering of human society. We need not become socialists to reverence Victor Hugo’s socialistic philanthropy. Its aim was high, and it has its great uses. Though only God’s bottle be large enough to hold the tears of his children, it is a noble poetry which considers the sorrows of the earth and seeks to pour the sunshine or hope into the low valleys of humanity. Hugo’s way may be the wrong way—probably it is—but it is good for men to hold fast the hope that there is some way through the sea to the promised land. There is a desert beyond the sea; but somehow we shall cross the desert into the Canaan of humanity.

It is, therefore, as a poet of the sorrows and aspirations of our race that we shall most profitably think of Victor Hugo. He was somewhat too French in spirit to be a poet of mankind; he was too egotistic to be on the heights of his human song; he would have been greater if his knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth had been deeper, and his imitation of him perfect in the measure of his great capacity; he would have left something unsaid which wounded men whose purpose was as high as his own, if he had been more Christian and less Hugoist. But why do we ask all things of all men? Victor Hugo did a great work in his own great way. A dangerous socialism has temporarily profited by his denunciations of society, but in the end of the account it will probably appear that he has advanced Christian socialism by the uplift he has given to human aspirations. Men are not so willing to go back to the fleshpots of Egypt, not so much in danger of leaving the bones of the whole race in the desert, more anxious to move on to their promised land.

THE REVISED OLD TESTAMENT.

It required fifty years of the Elizabethan age to introduce that revision of the English Bible which has so long been the standard edition of the Holy Scriptures in our tongue. It would be strange if the revision of that standard Bible which has just been completed were to come into immediate and general use. The New Testament revision met with a harsh reception from the critics of conservative temper; and it certainly has some defects, though the sense of the original is more obvious, to use the mildest term, in the new than in the older revision. The revised Old Testament has consumed fourteen years of the labor of the English and American committees, and the most obvious fact is that it is a more conservative piece of work than the revised New Testament. The committees probably profited by the buffetings of their New Testament revision brethren; but they had a simpler task, since they had not to settle the text of the original Hebrew, whereas the Greek text of the New Testament is still a battle ground of criticism. After all, however, the two revisions constitute one “revised Bible,” and must stand or fall together. The general judgment may probably run to the effect that the New Testament is revised too much and the Old too little. There is a special defect, however, in the New Testament English—it is not idiomatic, and it is not always intelligible. There is a rumor that it will be re-revised into harmony with the conservatism which characterizes the new Old Testament. It is not to be overlooked that there are various demands made upon a revision. Those who most earnestly desire one have in view a more plain and understandable text for popular use. Wycliffe’s great thought, “a Bible understonden of the people,” is their desire. But the literary demands upon the revisers exclude intelligibility by the people as a governing rule. This group of demands defies the skill of any revision committee. They ask for improvements; but they object to any changes. The Bible as an Elizabethan classic is their admiration and they seem not to be willing that the people should have any other Bible. There would seem to be ample room for both revisions; let the literary people have their English of 1611, while the people have English of this century. We are not yet, however, sufficiently advanced in the thinking which revision requires to qualify even the critics among us to distinguish between a classic text for scholars and a plain text for the millions. A modern English Bible will come by and by; we can afford to wait, and meanwhile to study the fruits of the labors of a Revision Committee loaded down with a great weight of conservative environments. For it is not the classicist alone who stands guard over the old English text; conservative theologians regard that old text as too sacred to be modernized, and distrust modernizing as involving changes in the moral and religious influence of the Bible upon mankind. The intelligibility of the Bible is not, to such thinkers, a leading requisite; reverence for its mysteries ranks all other considerations. We are probably outgrowing this view of Holy Scripture; but it is an opinion strong enough yet to keep utterly dead English locutions in the revised Old Testament of 1885. This conservatism is much stronger in England than in this country; the American Committee desired to substitute modern for obsolete words.

That any changes have been made under such respectable and imposing auspices is a great gain to Christian knowledge. The thing is done; the grand old text has been subjected to a revision. It is quite possible that we are entering an age of biblical revision; and it should be remembered that the Bible of 1611 closed an age of revision. It was the last in a series of revisions, each of which contributed to the perfection of the English text. We can not be content with an English Bible which employs which for who, wist for knew, earing for plowing and ouches for settings. The American Committee was thoroughly right in desiring to use modern words in these and other cases. If any revision is to stand, it must contain such modifications of the old text. A satisfactory English text can not be attained so long as the English Christians insist upon retaining archaic forms of such insignificance as the foregoing; there must be an agreement to make an English text on Wycliffe’s principle of popular intelligibleness, before a revision can be of very high utility. The present revision breaks the ice; we have begun; some time or other we shall go on to the logical conclusion of the movement—a modern English Bible for all who use our mighty speech. The assent of the conservative to a single change concedes the principle of revision; his assent to many changes prepares the way for all that are necessary to the modernizing of the Book of Books.

SUMMER HEALTH AND PLEASURE.

The summer is looked forward to with eager desire and it is dismissed without regret by the residents of the temperate zone. The explanation lies partly, if not mainly, in our defective adaptation of ourselves to the hot season. Charles Lamb once wrote, “The summer has set in with its usual severity.” The wit covers a truth; we adjust ourselves so imperfectly to the heated term that we suffer from the high temperature. The art of living must include devices and cautions through which we get the good and shun the evil of each season. Men are slowly learning that to “enjoy life” on this planet one must pay the same price as for liberty—“eternal vigilance.” The summer of the North ought to be our golden time of health and enjoyment. We have the whole of the atmosphere to breathe from—not bits of it let into artificially heated spaces. There is shade for the noonday heats, and the evenings and mornings for exercise and refreshment of muscular energy. But the hot hours are often dangerous and the atmosphere may be poisoned by our own neglect of decaying vegetables or animal matter. We must aim to keep clean and keep all things about us clean; food should be lighter than in winter (less heat-producing); exercise should avoid the hours of fervent heat; the occupations should take a more leisurely pace; the scene of life should, if possible, be shifted for some week or weeks so as to diversify our mental interests and break the dreary monotony of long days spent in one environment of body and soul. The word which describes the art of summer life is moderation; but moderation is not indolence, though there is a natural tendency to drop into the laziness which characterizes barbarian humanity in hot lands. To be healthy and happy one should resist the disposition to be idle. Neither health nor happiness come to lazy people in any desirable measure. The best forms of both depend on activity; but in summer it must be moderate and regular. If, then, one has constant occupation, he should cultivate moderation of interest and exertion, shun the blazing noontide, and take his food as well as his exercise in reduced doses. Too much food, care, exercitation, these are our northern summer dangers. Our civilization is yet very imperfect in this region of art. We have attained to food, clothing, shelter. We do not quite understand how to use them all wisely; but beyond these lie the adjustment of exertion, rest, air, water, electrical and chemical instruments of vitality, and the inner forces of our own being. Happiness is the result of a complex mass of conditions and instruments of life acting upon the spirit and reacted against by the spirit. Our knowledge grows; but while it is growing we have to take for our text moderation, and elaborate the sermon each man for himself.

The great opportunities of the year come to us in summer. Nature is all alive to please and instruct us—to give us the delights of the eye and the inspiration of study. The world has been dressed with infinite art, to afford us a holiday which shall be full of instruction. We need travel to widen our vision of God’s modern Edens dressed by human art. We need an active intelligence, to see and understand the Eden world of summer. But all depends upon our care of our bodies. Health is the condition of all summer pleasures. Is it not strange that we will spend months and years learning how to use lifeless tools, and yet will not spend needed time to learn the management of this vital tool by use of which all happiness comes to us? Let us all try this time to keep the instrument of life in tune for the music of the summer; to make of the season of highest opportunity all there is in it for ourselves. Starting with that selfish purpose, we shall soon find that we need social food, and that here also, “it is more blessed to give than to receive.” Helping others to enjoyment is the healthiest of “health movements;” for no tonic is so spiritually exhilarating as the sight of other people’s happiness which we have made. The man who sends a child out of the city suffocation of summer time has a poor imagination if he can not enjoy the gambols of that child in the country meadows and groves as he never enjoyed a banquet in his own house. Doing as many generous actions as possible is one way to get both health and pleasure out of the summer.

SCIENCE AND PRACTICAL LIFE.

It is somewhat remarkable that at a time when science is indubitably failing to justify the exalted hopes of those who looked to it for a solution of the deepest questions of being, it is enlarging our sense of its value to practical every-day life. The mystery of the molecule is insoluble, but the usefulness of chemistry is rapidly increasing. Professor W. Mattieu Williams proposes to use maltose as a cooking agent to produce foods which are both more palatable and more easily digested. Those who attend the cooking school at Chautauqua this summer will probably learn how this work is to be done, and what results will follow. The theory sprang out of attempts to feed cattle on malted grain. It was found to be too expensive for cattle, and also hardly necessary, because cows have good digestive apparatus. Human beings have impaired digestion, and can afford more expensive food than the beasts have need of. The maltose cooking carries graniverous foods up into an advanced stage of nutritive condition, lessens the labor of weak stomachs, and tickles dull palates with new flavors. There is no near limit to the possible fruits of this thought. The chemist may render us incalculable services along this line. We have suffered something from the chemistry of men who adulterate our food; it is a comfort to know that the good uses of chemistry are coming forward to render us most valuable compensations.

It is a matter of course that in this field we shall often be disappointed; but so many solid gains are secured that we shall readily excuse some fanciful experiments. In lighting public streets and buildings, electricity has made it possible to turn night into day; chemical studies have perfected the grinding of flour; a hundred more of small and great practical advances in scientific living are secure. We shall go on. It is very noticeable that the conveniences of modern life have triumphed in unexpected ways over natural difficulties. The zone of comfort for human life has been widened toward the pole and toward the equator. The gains are more slowly harvested southward; any reader who feels the languor of this season will know why we do not march so triumphantly toward the equator as we do toward the north pole. Moral energy is in larger demand, as we go south, to resist the tendency to idleness. The north wind puts spurs into us and whips us into action. We shall therefore find the northward limit of vigorous life before we find the south boundary of it. And naturally our science, invention and discovery bear upon cold rather than heat. We have the means now of living in higher latitudes, in full moral and mental activity, than were good for body or brain a hundred years ago. We know how to build for warmth in zero weather, and we have cheap fuel and cheap light for the frosts and the dark of the North.

An enthusiastic writer says that natural gas is to be the fuel of the immediate future—the next fuel. We have as yet found it only here and there on the earth; but we are not done searching for it. Imagine, then, that we have found this gas all round the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and calculate the consequences. A new Mediterranean is opened in a region which has always been reckoned uninhabitable. Poets and philosophers flourish far up toward Doctor Warren’s original Eden! For what but a cheap and abundant fuel and light is needed to make possible a large and flourishing empire around Hudson’s Bay? Migration, which is said to move on parallel lines, has been trending northward for twenty-five years. The wheat fields of America are a hundred and fifty miles nearer the pole than they were fifty years ago. The Dakota and British Northwest which we were willing to leave to the Indians fifty years ago, are eagerly coveted for the plow of the wheat farmer. We are undeniably moving north; the limit of that movement will be fixed for us by devices, discoveries, sciences, which will enlarge our fields toward the eternal ice—on principles similar to those which have already extended our domain in that direction. For several generations the silk grown in Lombardy has been packed on the backs of horses or in carts and transported across the Alps to be spun and woven in Switzerland. Why should not our cotton travel by sea to the shores of Hudson’s Bay to be spun and woven? Give them power, heat and light in one natural agent, and the people of the American Mediterranean might excel in any industry. And in default of natural gas, who will now dare to say that the chemist may not solve the problem in a more intellectual way than by the use of the drill? We write here only of a possible expansion of the human domain by the services of science.

A more practicable matter is that the age of steam, out of which, into something better, we are probably to pass at a day not distant, has been a very prodigal one. Waste is its great fault. It wastes three fourths of the coal it consumes; it therefore wastes infinite sums of human energy. It wastes everything, nature and man, the streams, the forests, the vitality and the hopes of men. Its motto is concentration. It herds human beings in towns; it makes transit laborious and long. The age of economies has begun, and new agents, such as electricity and gas, have for their mottoes disperse and distribute. It is probably not extravagant to say that mankind are wasting every week enough of natural bounties to sustain them for a month, perhaps for a year. If science, then, shall only barely help us to the economic use of all natural bounties, it will have enriched human life (for the mass of mankind) at least four-fold. It will probably be well for us if this enrichment comes gradually and is preceded by a moral preparation for the use of abundance. We have never, as a race, been good enough to be safely rich. We have no poets from the equatorial regions. It may be many generations before we are good enough to grow philosophy and high bred cattle in the torrid zone. Perhaps we do not any where keep up in moral training with the march of science.

THE COURSE OF READING FOR 1885-86.

The student about to enter college has scarcely a pleasanter task than that of examining the course he is about to begin. The prospect of future achievements, how fascinating it is! That Livy which he has heard discussed by learned seniors and professors will soon be his property, too. The problems that are historical among his big brothers and cousins, and sisters as well, sometimes, he will soon grapple with. Whole fields of unknown literature and science and art open to him in his brief glance. He enjoys familiarizing himself with the names of the authors of the text-books, in marking among the elective studies his choice, in looking up the old text-books in the library, in preparing note-books for the next year, in picking up random bits of information. Getting ready for his college course often becomes quite as engrossing as the actual work. The C. L. S. C. student will experience this same interest in looking over what he is going to do another year. The course is now ready, and he will have the entire summer for contemplating his coming conquests. Enjoy the prospect to the full; it is certainly a goodly one. The bone and sinew of next year’s course is to be Roman History and Literature. The place Greece and its men filled in the course of 1884-85 will be taken by Rome. While the subject is equally interesting, the course of the coming year has one great advantage. Greece has no modern history of particular importance, its heroes died with Corinth’s destruction, its literature and art and philosophy faded with its loss of patriotism. Where Rome stood, now Italy stands. The history of the decadence of Roman rule and the growth of Italian freedom is one of the most thrilling chapters in the world’s history. A literature, an art, and a science belong to this new growth. In studying Rome’s life we have a modern chapter that keeps up our interest. The course happily provides for us papers on “Modern Italy” and “Italian Biography,” in addition to the works on the History of Rome, the “Preparatory Latin Course in English,” the “College Latin Course in English,” and “A Day in Ancient Rome.” A practical turn is given to the work by a study of the relations of Rome to modern history.

The more general work of the course is selected from the wide fields of philosophy, science, art and religion. Dr. Geo. M. Steele has prepared a work on “Political Economy,” which will furnish some of the liveliest reading for the year. This subject will be supplemented by two series of papers on “Parliamentary Practice” and “International Law,” to be published in The Chautauquan.

Robert Browning in “Pomegranates from an English Garden” will be the representative of English poetry. It will be seen that, as in the case of Robert Browning’s poems, several studies are introduced to brighten the more solid work; for this purpose we have “In His Name,” by Edward Everett Hale, read in connection with a book by Dr. Townsend on “The Bible and the XIXth Century,” and a series of studies, to appear in The Chautauquan, on “God in History.”

One work which will be a real treat to everybody is “Studies in Human Nature,” by Dr. Lyman Abbott. The additional readings in The Chautauquan are: “Wars and Rumors of Wars To-day,” “The Age we Live In,” “Religion in Art,” “Art Outlines,” “Studies in Mathematics,” “Moral Philosophy,” studies on “How to Live,” by Edward Everett Hale, papers on the past, present and future of electricity, and “Home Studies in Physical Geography.” A better course has never been presented to the members of the C. L. S. C.