Universal Eminence

THERE is a curious, unconscious inconsistency which may be noted in some travelers in the United States, who enjoy an aristocratic or monarchical form of government at home. They complain of the monotony and lack of distinction and variety in democratic institutions, where, as they say, all are reduced to a dull level of uniformity, and with the same breath they jeer at the fact that every other man here has a title of distinction. The fact is that they are so blinded by preconceptions as not to see that we are really on an Alpine level of universal distinction, instead of a low level of uniformity. For though “distinction” and “ eminence ” are only relative, and all cannot be equally eminent at the same time and in the same way, because the idea implies that one stands out from the rest, each one may be distinguished in his own line and time. For instance, to be the chief justice of a supreme court is one of the most distinguished positions that man can conceive. In accordance with American principles, in Michigan, instead of one man being chief justice for life, each member of the supreme bench becomes such in turn, so that in the course of time, if he lives long enough, each justice becomes a chief justice.

It is true, of course, that monarchic institutions may be picturesque. I remember seeing at one time the Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary going to mass upon Corpus Christi. Before him, under a baldachin richly embroidered, the most exalted Roman Catholic dignitary of the realm, the Cardinal Archbishop and Primate of Hungary, carried the viaticum. Then came the Emperor, bareheaded, in full uniform, surrounded by his Hungarian bodyguard of nobles, mounted on superb chargers, and dressed in full uniforms of white and gold, with leopard-skin capes and drawn sabres. The streets were strewn with freshly cut grass and completely lined with close-set files of soldiers, who, as the imperial procession passed, headed by the emblems of God on earth, saluted and fell on their knees. It was indeed a picturesque spectacle. However, the figures in such a spectacle, in a monarchy or an aristocracy, remain much the same. Thus there is less variety than in this country, where each procession brings forth into conspicuous place a different aggregation of distinguished men.

I recall that once I marched in the great annual parade of the Boston school regiment, practically a brigade. I was on the colonel’s staff, and I remember thinking no small pumpkins of myself, as we followed, well spaced, just behind him, and close behind the band. But certainly the most conspicuous figure that day was the colonel himself, at the head of the procession, or as he gave orders to the long-drawn-out line at the closing dress parade. He was distinguished that day, —almost enough so to last a lifetime, — and in fact, so far as I know, has not been so markedly honored since. Thus it goes in turn. One day it is a procession of militia; another day it is the Knights Templars, made knights, not by royal appointment, but by coöptation. Another day it may be the Knights of Khorassin ; another day the Knights of Pythias, the Maccabees, the Woodmen or the Foresters, or the world-renowned and illustrious equestrian artists of Barnum and Forepaugh’s mammoth aggregation. I recall seeing, in one special procession, a man who struck me as a fit emblem of our American idea of rotation in glory. It was on St. Patrick’s Day, and one of the aides, or possibly the marshal himself, galloped by in very gorgeous, picturesque, and martial dress, a magnificent picture of green and gold. One inch of blue overalls peered below his trousers. That day he was raised to distinction. The next day he was carrying brick.¹

Then, again, each one may be eminent in his special line. It is an age of specialists. Once in a while, indeed, we find a man who is a Reverend Honorable Colonel Doctor, and seems to be a big toad in every puddle, but he is not a type of Americanism. Ordinarily, one crowd leads in military processions, another in political processions, and still another in academic processions, which are becomingas picturesque as the others. In the daily papers I have seen halftones of them, down in Chicago, where they proceed in state, arrayed in silken gowns,brilliant hoods, and mortar boards. I believe I myself am entitled to a brilliant hood, though I have never looked up to see what it is like.

I have said that every man can be distinguished in America, those not otherwise distinguished being twice distinguished by preëminent modesty. You can have yourself enrolled among the American Academy of Immortals, and your name emblazoned in colors on their roster, for only $10. You can get a doctorate for $25, and a slightly better article for $50 and a thesis. It does not cost more than $1500, I am told, to be a thirty-second degree Mason, and to enter arcana after arcana of mystery ; or if that does not suit your fancy or your purse, there are other societies, of Knights and Lords and Nobles and Patriarchs and Prudent Patricians of Pompeii, where a moderate fee and regular attendance at lodge meetings will in time immortalize you as the Most Worthy, Right Honorable, and Worshipful Grand Master or Outside Sentinel. Imagine the glory, subdued yet effulgent, which the modest but eminent Supreme Potentate of the Pillars of Posterity sees stream from him as he moves along, a bipedal arc light!

Down in Georgia, I am told, every governor appoints one colonel upon his staff, from each county, each year. I do not know the ratio of births per annum per county, but it is clear that the Georgia colonels must be numerous.

By these means our American desire for democratic equality is gratified, — an equality in which no other one is as good as you are in your line and time, but because of that fact you are as good as any one. Thus our government remains on stable foundations; for as long as a vast majority consider themselves distinguished, they will not go into any revolution which might reduce them to the ranks of high privates.

In this our society is only fulfilling Spencer’s all-embracing law of evolution, that progress is from the homogeneous undifferentiated to the heterogeneous differentiated ; that is to say, from the uniform, undistinguished man — one who is simply a hand, and remains all his life simply a hand, except to his wife — to those, each of whom is different, has a peculiar role to play, and is in some way and at some time uniquely distinguished.

The lowly myriapod which scuttles off from beneath the overturned board is composed of a series of joints so like that one can hardly tell head from tail, until one sees him go. The more highly organized lobster has some segments which are quite different, while others are very much alike. Finally, in the highest animals each part has its own individuality, its own use and function, so that we cannot even use our right hands interchangeably with our left. Similarly, in a low grade of society, as among the American Indians, no man had any special training, but all could hunt and fish and fight more or less well. Halfway up the ladder of development some men have special training, while there is yet a great mass of unskilled, unspecialized, and undistinguished labor. In the perfect society each peg will stand proudly forth from the one peculiar and unique hole whose curves it, and it alone, will fit. When that time comes, no one can be above another, for each will be equally essential. The captain is the greatest man on the ship, and the conductor on board the train, though the President himself be a passenger.

There is only one dark spot in the outlook. We find, in studying the history of the life in rocks, that a great degree of specialization is often the forerunner of extinction. When an animal is perfectly and thoroughly adapted to one set of conditions, he is very likely to find a change in conditions too much for him, and to be overwhelmed by them. We see something of this in society. The frontiersman and the typical American were handy men and jacksat-all-trades, ready to do a little repairing, farming, or what not. Such men it is hard to throw out of employment. But with the growth of specialization, unless care is taken, a class of men is formed who do, and can do, only one thing, so that the least change of adjustment, like the introduction of new machinery, sets them adrift. It is the problem of conscious social evolution so to keep up the intelligence and flexibility of the individual by early training and by avocations, and so to plan the industrial machine, that the whole organism of society may not perish from the rheumatic stiffening and lack of adaptability characteristic of old age.

Alfred C. Lane.