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 all exercise, and very low-spirited. At the beginning of November the king urged him to return from Houghton to London, being desirous of consulting him on the state of affairs before the opening of parliament. But his complaint was so acute that he could not bear the motion of travelling. On 19 Nov. he was sufficiently recovered to leave Houghton, but the excruciating agonies which he suffered protracted the journey to four days. In December he began taking Dr. Jurin's [see ] medicine for the stone, in spite of his son Horace's common-sense expostulation with his physicians (Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, 24 Dec. 1744 and 14 Jan. 1745) [see ]. The consequence was a laceration of his bladder such as his son had predicted, and his torment became so acute that he was drenched with opium and for six weeks was in a state of stupefaction. When not under narcotics he would converse with full possession of his faculties and his natural vivacity and cheerfulness. He died of exhaustion on 18 March 1745 at the age of sixty-eight, and was buried on the 25th at Houghton.

The policy of Walpole may be summarised in two phrases—in domestic affairs, ‘quieta non movere’ (, Letters, viii. 336); abroad, ‘the French alliance.’ By the latter he revolutionised the whig tradition, and the dissentient whigs joined with the tories in denouncing it as ‘Sir Robert's new system of politics’ (Marchmont Papers, ii. 119–20; cf. the Lords' Protest of 13 Feb. 1741). Its justification was seen in 1745 when, with French assistance, the young pretender landed, fulfilling the prediction often made by Walpole that a breach with France would be followed by a struggle for the English crown upon English soil (, Memoirs, ii. 40). The limitations of the French alliance prescribed themselves. National traditions and the doctrine of the ‘balance of power,’ which was constantly invoked against it, concurred in forbidding it to be anything but a ‘connection to be formed upon the principle of preserving the peace,’ or, as he said, ‘preventive and defensive’ (Newcastle Letters, p. 114). It implied a practice of non-intervention, distasteful at once to the king and to the inheritors of the political traditions of William III and Anne. To this he made it his aim to educate his party. To this he sacrificed Carteret and Townshend, and its abandonment under pressure led to his fall. After his death his opponents confessed that he had been in the right. ‘He was the best minister,’ said Dr. Johnson, ‘this country ever had, as if we would have let him he would have kept the country in perpetual peace’ (G. B. HILL, Johnsonian Miscellanies, ii. 309). Behind the French alliance lay the security of the protestant succession. In face of the difficulty of maintaining this paramount object, Macaulay's criticism that his ministry was not an era of great reforms falls flat. The reforms which might have been undertaken would have yielded results small in importance compared with the reversal of the foreign policy of the country, and its reconciliation to the new dynasty, which Walpole actually accomplished. There was always present to his mind the peril of strengthening the prevalent disaffection, or of exciting it in fresh quarters. In 1739, when sounded by Lord Chesterfield as to a project for the taxation of America, he replied, ‘I have old England set against me, and do you think I will have new England likewise?’ But he vindicated his refusal also on the higher ground that the true policy was one of the development, not the exploitation, of colonial prosperity (Annual Register, 1765, p. [25]). It has been alleged against him that he overlooked the military resources to be found in the enrolment of the highland clans in the king's service. The proposal was made in 1738, recommended by Lord Islay, and a tentative experiment approved by Walpole (Culloden Papers, p. xxxi). His caution was justified. In 1743 a highland regiment mutinied against embarkation for foreign service, and a highland soldier was synonymous with rebel (Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, 19 May 1743, Letters, i. 246).

The classes disaffected to the Hanoverian dynasty were the country gentlemen, the clergy, and, from time to time, the mob. Of these the squires, who controlled the county representation, were the most influential. Walpole entered upon his political career in full sympathy with their grievances, and as one of the most considerable of their class. To gratify them he reduced the land-tax from 4s. in the pound, at which it stood after the revolution, to 1s. in 1731 and 1732. With the same object he renounced one of his favourite fiscal principles—the abolition of taxes upon the necessaries of life—and in 1732 reimposed the salt-tax. The support of the clergy he could never expect to win, unless by the sacrifice of the firmest friends of the Hanoverian family, the dissenters. But the clergy were the only class who were capable of finding arguments for disaffection, and the Sacheverell trial had warned him of the danger of offering them gratuitous provocation. All he could do was to place them under the control of an episcopal bench, carefully selected for the soundness of its whig


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Talk:Logic and Meaning in Conceptual Models: Implications for Information System Design

This is one of a number of Working Papers which formed the foundation of a number of papers published in "A" ranked academic journals. The copyright of the papers published in the journals now belongs to various institutions and publishers and can not, unfortunately, be released into the public domain.Logicalgregory (talk) 16:59, 15 October 2010 (UTC)

This paper was chosen because it was considered to be one of the most simple to place in Wikisource. Nevertheless, a considerable amount of work will be required before it is readable. The paper has been uploaded as text, and the special symbols from set theory have been lost. Diagrams also need to be included. These problems can be overcome but it will take time, given that the user is unfamiliar with the system. --Logicalgregory (talk) 07:23, 17 October 2010 (UTC)

This upload is now complete. The special symbols and diagrams have now been included. --Logicalgregory (talk) 09:16, 21 October 2010 (UTC)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 principles, and, ‘while leaving the flag of church privilege still flying,’ to secure to dissenters by the indirect method of indemnity acts a substantial emancipation. The city had been whig from the revolution, and when it came to a question of alienating his financial supporters by lowering the interest on government loans, or risking the allegiance of the whig country gentlemen by taxing them to find the higher rate, he preferred the general interests of his party to the immediate interest of his class. Twice he found himself confronted by a storm of popular fury, in the matter of the excise bill and the war with Spain. On both occasions he gave way, not from weakness, but in pursuance of a principle observed by him, even in his own cabinets, never to let his own opinion prevail against a majority (, Memoirs, i. 328).

In the time of Walpole parliament had become absolute. He maintained this supremacy, but he changed the centre of gravity from the House of Lords to the House of Commons; and this he effected by the force of his own personality, despite the fact that he did not belong to one of the great aristocratic families. It was impossible that power should continue to emanate from a house of which the sovereign's chief adviser, the minister who engrossed the direction of every department of domestic policy, was not a member. With this change came the development of parliamentary management, an art of which Chesterfield acknowledged Walpole to have been the greatest master that ever lived (Letters, iii. 1417). ‘He knew the strength and weakness of everybody he had to deal with’ (, Memoirs, i. 23). The saying attributed to him, ‘Every man has his price’ unfairly conveys an impression of general cynicism. ‘All those men,’ he said of ‘the patriots,’ ‘have their price’ (, i. 757;, Memoirs, i. 242; Walpoliana, i. 88). Their subsequent history and the judgment of their contemporaries proved the saying true. But this talent of shrewd insight had its associated defect. The arts of management may suit a House of Commons; they cannot touch the multitude. It was the perception of this weak point, the ‘delusion that the majority of the House of Commons is the majority of the nation’ (Marchmont Papers, ii. 123), that led the opposition, and Pitt among them, in George II's famous phrase, ‘to look for the sense of my subjects in another place than the House of Commons’ (, Memoirs, ii. 331). Before the force of public passion the minor arts of management broke down.

Upon the transfer of power to the House of Commons followed as a consequence that the ministry was no longer dependent upon the caprice of the sovereign. The change was not recognised at once. Sunderland, Townshend, and Carteret, all members of the House of Lords, conceived of ministers as the personal servants of the kings, and each in turn became a competitor with the rest of the cabinet for the largest share of the royal favour. This tendency explains and justifies the unreasonable jealousy of his colleagues generally attributed to Walpole. ‘He was unwilling,’ says Hervey, ‘to employ anybody under him, or let anybody approach the king and queen, who had any understanding, lest they should employ it against him’ (Memoirs, i. 340). In place of the traditional system, or want of system, he insisted that a ministry should be jointly and severally responsible, and that in its communications with the sovereign it should be represented by its head (ib. i. 187, 200). Of this collective responsibility the guarantee was party connection. The change involved, as the opposition truly alleged, the appearance in the constitution of a prime minister (see Lords' Protests of 13 Feb. 1741;, ii. 10), and the extinction of composite administrations of intriguing courtiers. It was not the outcome of any preconceived view of the right principles of government on Walpole's part. The principle of the ministry's collective responsibility was formulated by him, probably not for the first time, in 1733, when his excise scheme was thwarted by his own subordinates (, Memoirs, i. 187, 200). Politics with him lay not in the application of theories, but in the ‘providing against the present difficulty that presses’ (Walpole to Hervey in 1737, Memoirs, iii. 56), always with an eye to the paramount interest, the maintenance of the protestant succession. He declared, if we may credit Chesterfield, that he was ‘no saint, no Spartan, no reformer.’ Political life was the transaction of state's business; not, as with Sunderland or Carteret, one of the distractions of an elegant leisure. He himself spoke of his position as being ‘in business’ (, Life, i. 37). He was the first minister since the Restoration who made a special study of finance and commerce. He laid the foundations of free-trade and of modern colonial policy. His capacity of lucid exposition of finance was such that ‘whilst he was speaking the most ignorant thought that they understood what they really did not’ (, Letters, iii. 1417). ‘He never had his equal in business,’ said George I. His transaction of it was marked by the method, tranquillity,


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 and despatch of a counting-house (ib. ii. 607;, Memoirs, i. 23). His speeches were of the same character. ‘An artful rather than an eloquent speaker,’ says Chesterfield (Letters, iii. 1417). His speech on the Sacheverell trial has been quoted by Burke for its exposition of constitutional principle. He rarely attempted the higher flights of oratory, in this approaching the parliamentary speakers of our own day more nearly than did the debaters of that and the next generation. The speeches attributed to him in the parliamentary history have, unfortunately, been transmuted into the turgid rhetoric of Johnson (, Life, ed. G. B. Hill, iv. 314). This indisposition to eloquence in part arose from indifference to literature. ‘I totally neglected reading when I was in business,’ he said to Henry Fox at Houghton, ‘and to such a degree that I cannot now read a page’ (Life of Shelburne, i. 37). He declined to read Butler's ‘Analogy’ to please the queen. The only book he read in his retirement was Sydenham [] (, Life of E. Malone, p. 387). His house was no rendezvous of literary men, though he entertained Pope, to whose ‘Odyssey’ he subscribed ten guineas. He also himself introduced the ‘Dunciad’ to the notice of the king and queen (, Works, iv. 5). He was on friendly terms with Addison, to whom he presented a Latin translation by Dr. Bland, provost of Eton. Steele was a political ally. Congreve he made a commissioner of customs; to Gay he gave a commissionership in the lottery for 1722; to Young a pension. He patronised Ephraim Chambers [q. v.] and Joseph Mitchell [q. v.], known as ‘Sir Robert Walpole's poet.’ There is some truth in Swift's sarcasm that he had ‘none but beasts and blockheads for his penmen’ (Works, xvi. 107). His memory was ‘prodigious’ (, Memoirs, i. 23). He quoted Virgil and Horace (ib. ii. 356, iii. 273), and, as his son says, ‘governed George I in Latin, the king not speaking English and his minister no German, nor even French’ (, Reminiscences, i. xcv). If a story told by Horace Walpole (Letters, iii. 226) is to be relied upon, he must have had some slight knowledge of Italian. He himself never attempted any literary composition beyond political pamphlets (see, ‘Royal and Noble Authors’ in Works, i. 447, ed. 1798). In religion, if we may judge from the anecdote related by Lord Hervey respecting the attendance of Archbishop Potter at the queen's death, Walpole was a sceptic, though in the previous year he had spoken of himself in the House of Commons as ‘a sincere member of the Church of England’ (debate on the motion for repeal of the Test Act, 12 March 1736, Parl. Hist. ix. 1052).

His recreation was in field sports. He is said always to have opened first the letters from his huntsman (, Walpoliana, 1783, p. 10). He kept a pack of harriers at Houghton (Carlisle MSS. p. 85), and a pack of beagles at his house in the New Park, Richmond, where he used to hunt one day in the middle of the week, and also on a Saturday (, Reminiscences, p. xcvi), the origin of the modern weekly parliamentary holiday. He attributed his strength to this exercise (Pope to Fortescue, 31 July 1738; Works, ix. 142). Every November he held at Houghton a ‘hunting congress’ of the neighbouring gentry (, Memoirs, ii. 211), of which Horace Walpole has left an entertaining description (Letters, i. 284). A detailed and appreciative account of his magnificent mansion at Houghton, the construction of which occupied from 1722 to 1735 (Notes and Queries, 7th ser. ii. 144), is to be found in a letter from Sir T. Robinson to Lord Carlisle, dated 9 Dec. 1731 (Carlisle MSS. pp. 85, 86). His profusion not only furnished the opposition with a constant theme for declamation against the alleged malversation of public money; it also provoked the jealousy of his neighbour, Lord Townshend. It was said that he had spent 100,000l. upon his collection of pictures, but a more sober estimate, taking note of the fact that many of them were presents to him, puts their cost at less than 30,000l. (see, Lit. Anecd. viii. 643). He also spent 14,000l. on his hunting lodge in Richmond New Park (, Reminiscences, vol. i. p. xcvii). Besides these he maintained establishments in Chelsea and London. He was, in fact, reckless of expenditure, while ‘deceiving himself with the thoughts of his economy’ (, Letters, iii. 390). His means were derived from three sources: first, his landed estate, the rent-roll of which is computed to have risen from 2,000l. a year when he succeeded to it, to 5,000l.—8,000l. a year in 1740; secondly, the large fortune he made by the sale of South Sea stock at a thousand per cent. profit; thirdly, from official sources, estimated at about 9,000l. a year (see, pp. 135–8). He had also realised considerable profits while paymaster (, Letters, viii. 423). In conformity with the practice of that and later times, he provided for his family by placing them in profitable offices (ib. vol. i. pp. lxxviii–lxxxv). He


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Raumer, Rudolph von

RAUMER, Rudolph von, German philologist, son of Karl Georg von Raumer: b. Breslau, Germany, 14 April 1815; d. Erlangen, Germany, August 1876. He was privat docent at Erlangen in 1840-46; professor there in 1846-76, and published ‘Untersuchungen über die Urverwandtschaft der semitischen und indo-europäischen Sprachen’ (1868 et seq.).


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Raumer, Karl Georg von

RAUMER, Karl Georg von, German geologist and educator, brother of the preceding: b. Wörlitz, Germany, 9 April 1783; d. Erlangen, Germany, 2 June 1865. He was educated in Göttingen, Halle and Freiberg, and in 1811 became professor of mineralogy at Breslau, was called to Halle in 1819 and in 1827 settled permanently as professor of natural history at Erlangen. He published ‘Geognostische Fragmente’ (1811); ‘A B C Buch der Krystallkunde’ (1817, 1821); ‘Lehrbuch der allgemeinen Geographie’ (1832); ‘Geschichte der Pädagogik’ (1843-51); ‘Beschreibrung der Erdoberfläc u h e’ (6th ed., 1866), etc. Consult his autobiography (1866).


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364 arms of an apothecary who has paid a license of £100 for the privilege of putting him to death … and he is gathered to his fathers to be taxed no more."

The abolition of the Corn Laws in 1846 was the first step towards Free Trade, as it was the first step towards the decline of agriculture. It was followed by the abolition of duties upon hundreds of other articles. Prosperity reigned in every department. The rush for gold to California in 1848 and to Australia two years later helped to enrich Englishmen, who spent their fortunes for the most part in the Mother Country. The increase of wealth told on rich and poor alike. Luxuries were indulged in by all classes of society. People ate more meat, they smoked more tobacco, they travelled, they read. One recalls Pendennis and his mother (1850): "Besides the ancient poets, you may be sure Pen read the English with great gusto. … He read Shakspere to his mother (which she said she liked, but didn't), and Byron and Pope and his favourite 'Lalla Rookh,' which pleased her indifferently. But as for Bishop Heber and Mrs. Hemans, above all, this lady used to melt away and be absorbed in her


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Raumer, Friedrich Ludwig Georg von

RAUMER, row'mĕr, Friedrich Ludwig Georg von, German historian: b. Wörlitz, near Dessau, Anhalt, 14 May 1781; d. Berlin, Germany, 14 June 1873. He studied law at Halle and Göttingen, and entered the Prussian state service in 1801. In 1811 he accepted the chair of political economy at Breslau, and in 1819 was called to Berlin. He was for some time secretary of the Berlin Academy, and at different times between 1816-55 traveled extensively through Europe and the United States. In 1848 he was elected to the Parliament of Frankfort, and was sent to Paris as Ambassador. He was a member of the House of Lords of Prussia from 1851 until his death. He founded and edited in 1830-67 ‘Historisches Taschenbuch.’ The first scientific historian to popularize history in German, Von Raumer wrote ‘Geschichte der Hohenstaufen und ihrer Zeit’ (1823-25); ‘Briefe aus Paris zur Erläuterung der Geschichte des 16 und 17 Jahrh’ (1831); ‘Ueber die geschichtlich Entwickelung der Begriffe von Recht, Staat und Politik’ (1832); ‘Geschichte Europas seit dem Ende des 15. Jahrhunderts’ (1832-50); ‘Beiträge zur Neuern Geschichte aus dem Brit. Museum, etc.’ (1836-39); ‘Die Vereinigten Staaten von Nordamerika’ (1845); ‘Handbuch zur Geschichte der Litteratur’ (1864-66), besides special works on ‘Prussian Municipal Law’ (1828); ‘England, 1835’ (1836); ‘England, 1841’ (1842), and ‘Italy’ (1840).


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Rh when Pen read those authors to her in his kind, boyish voice. The 'Christian Year' was a book which appeared about that time. The son and mother whispered it to each other with awe."

The abolition of the stamp duties had reduced the price of daily papers. Even at the Queen's accession there already existed the Times, Morning Chronicle, Standard (an evening paper till 1857), Globe, and Morning Post. The Times, printed by steam, had reached a circulation of 10,000 copies a day in 1834, while twenty years later it had increased to 52,000, and was exercising some influence on public opinion.

But on the subject of dress public opinion was strangely blind. The "crinoline," introduced from Paris in 1854, had become popular, and remained in fashion for some fourteen years later. All the unsightliness and inconvenience of the Elizabethan hoop was revived, only the Victorian crinoline was yet more elaborate, with its Vandyke and scolloped flounces, its basques and bows, its frills and double skirts, its fringes, jet, gimp, beads and ruchings. So inconvenient were crinolines at a ball, that in order to create the same effect young ladies would


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366 wear as many as fourteen starched petticoats! In these they were driven to their ball "standing up in their carriages." Silk dresses were very much the fashion of this period, "Every lady felt that a silk dress was necessary to her self-respect" In it she attended church on Sunday, paid her afternoon calls, or sat at home to receive her visitors. It was an age of shawls too—shawls with large patterns, shawls with light grounds and gay flowers. There is Mrs. Bungay (1850) dressed in her "gorgeous shot-silk dress, which flamed with red and purple," wearing a yellow shawl with red flowers inside her bonnet, and carrying a brilliant, light blue parasol. Caps were no longer worn under the bonnet, but a quilling of lace filled the gap, and a bunch of bright-coloured flowers was tucked under the brim. Muslin, cambric and piqué were used as dress materials for young people, but at a comparatively early age all women retired into dresses of sombre colours, as befitted their advancing years. The black silk jackets, the wide flounced sleeves, the small round hats and the smoothly parted hair gathered behind into chenille nets—all these are familiar to us in the early photographs. The


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Rh process, which received the image produced by the lens on a silver plate, visible by means of mercury, was discovered by Daguerre about 1839. Eight years later, glass negatives coated with albumen were introduced, and collodion in 1851 helped the wet-plate process, though the real revolution in photography did not take place till 1871. So passed the early Victorian period with its new activities, its increased possibilities, its fusion of classes and enormous wealth; but at the same time one cannot but note the decadence of taste and art, the amazing decorations of houses, the heavy adornment of rooms, the inelegance of dust-preserving draperies, the chandeliers and elaborate patterns everywhere—throughout everything there was a want of simplicity and refinement in this age, which has been not inaptly called "twenty years of triumphant vulgarity."


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 all day, for weeks—or months—and that's about all.

To me, the first, the most ghastly thing in London, was broad daylight after nine o'clock at night. When I am hurried round, and things are pointed out to me, I lose my bearings and see through cockney eyes. I like to go alone. So, on Monday morning, I slipped out and took a walk down to the City. It was another hot day, and there was plenty of dust. I was already used to the absence of verandahs, and felt just as much at home as if I were walking down George Street from Redfern. I had decided that the best way to learn the City was to blunder round and ask as little as possible. I called to mind certain instructions given me, but decided to make back for the Bank whenever I got hopelessly mixed, and make a fresh start from there.

But the trouble was to find the Bank. It is the most modest building I ever met; most unobtrusive, as it should be, if only on account of its dirt. On more than one occasion I asked to be directed to the Bank, and was told that I was at it. It had a shut-up and deserted appearance, as if it went bung about fifty years ago, and closed for reconstruction (as most of our banks did in '92), and had never opened since. I have a faint recollection of having seen a door in the front wall, and, if there really is one, I'll go in next time I'm down in the City, and see what it's like inside.

We have in Australia an exaggerated idea of the volume and rush and roar of London traffic. I'd rather cross at the Bank (and not use the subways) than at the corner of King and George Streets, Sydney,


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Rh smoking and thinking. Presently Billy lifted his head, and his eyes went wide and wild, like a grief-stricken woman's, round the room, and his hands rested loosely on the arms of the chair. "To think I'm sittin' here in mother's chair like this t'night, Tom!—like this t'night——"

Tom puffed once or twice. "Poor mother," he muttered, "she didn't last long arter you went, Billy—she didn't lay long, she warn't one of that sort. An' we didn't keep her long, not more'n two days. Work slack, wages low, an' Rose down with little Tommy. Poor mother! all her thoughts were o' you, Billy."

Billy's hopeless eyes went round the room again. Sideboard, china shepherd and shepherdess, crochet-work, shells, coral, model of Dover under glass (very like the real Dover, with toy houses and white and vivid green), chairs with antimacassars, and holland covers, and father on the wall to the left of fireplace, and mother on the wall to right. Billy as a baby, Billy as a boy. Tom as a boy, Billy and Tom together as boys. Jane as a baby, Jane as a girl, Jane and Willie and Tom as children. Aunt Caroline, Uncle Will, and the rest about. Billy's head went slowly down. Tom stood by the chair, laid his hand on his head and ruffled it, as he'd done in his best moods when a boy. The head went right down on the hollow of the arm, as it had done in grief when a boy—the hand stuck up in mute appeal. Tom laid his pipe on the table, hurriedly for him, and took that hand in his own great hard one.


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 Billy was quiet in the morning. Tom stood over him at breakfast and made him eat—much the same as he'd made him do most things when they were boys. Then he said, "Now fill your pipe and get your hat, Billy, an' come along."

Tom had been out early, or had got what we call a bush telegraphy or mulga wire, for when they reached the Four Lanes he said—

"Now, Billy, she's gone, and taken her things. You go and make the best you can with Leonard about the rent and the furniture, and come back to my place to-night. Rose will take care of yer. And look here, Billy, if you want to go away, I'll help you, and one or two others. To Australia again, if you like. Say the word."

"No," says Billy, "I run away once in a family mess, an' left it all to you an' mother—to the other end of the world. An' God forgive Billy! I'll see it out this time, Tom."

"Gi' me y'hand, Billy," said Tom. "That's the way to talk. I ain't felt so proud of you since you stood up to young Scroggins at school. Now I must git to work." And he turned Billy towards Chawlton, and started him off with a slap on the back.

Leonard took the furniture from Billy, in return for the loss of rent and a tenant.

"Well, Billy, as the sayin' is, all I've got to say, as the sayin' is, is that I told you so, as the sayin' is. I knew it all along, as the sayin' is, and saw it comin', as the sayin' is. But you wouldn't take my advice, as the sayin' is, and—and you've only


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 was granted on his retirement a pension of 4,000l. a year, but he did not apply for it until June 1744, compelled no doubt by his embarrassments (Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, 18 June 1744, Letters, i. 307). He died 40,000l. in debt (ib. viii. 423), and as late as 1778 his creditors still remained unpaid (ib. vii. 132). Whatever else they show, the facts at least clear his character from the suspicion of peculation. So little grasping was his disposition that he never received any presents of money from George II (ib. viii. 449), and in 1738 he refused the king's offer as a gift of the house afterwards occupied by him in Downing Street (, i. 759).

Walpole was, even Chesterfield admits, ‘good-natured, cheerful, social’ (Letters, iii. 1417). He was chairman of a small club of six members who met in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden (, London, ii. 208), and he also belonged to the Kit-Cat Club. Pope has left some fine lines testifying to the charm of his hospitality (Works, iii. 459). His friends loved him. He was coarse in his conversation, even for that age (, Letters, iii. 226). ‘His prevailing weakness was to be thought to have a polite and happy turn to gallantry’ (, Letters, i. 66), which made him, according to the same authority, ‘at once both a wagg and a boaster’ (, Memoirs, p. 246). This kind of conversation was to the taste of the queen, whence Swift satirised him as ‘a prater at court in the style of the stews’ (Suffolk Corr. ii. 32). He laughed loudly, ‘the heart's laugh,’ said his admirers (, Works, i. 206); ‘the horse-laugh,’ according to Pope (Works, iii. 460). He was ‘certainly a very ill-bred man,’ said the courtier, Lord Hervey (ii. 350; cf. Duchess of Marlborough's Corr. ii. 157), to whom ‘the queen once complained that he had tapped her on the shoulder in chapel’ (iii. 265). He was ridiculed by Gay as Bluff Bob in the ‘Beggar's Opera’ (, Pope, vii. 117). But this ‘hearty kind of frankness’ had its political value, for it ‘seemed to attest his sincerity’ (, Letters, iii. 1417). It is said by Coxe that ‘he never entirely lost the provincial accent’ (i. 749).

Walpole's first wife died at Chelsea on 20 Aug. 1737 (Gent. Mag. 1737, p. 514), and was buried in King Henry VII's chapel, Westminster. By her he had three sons and two daughters. The sons were Robert, who succeeded as second Earl of Orford, and died on 1 April 1751, leaving an only son, George, third earl, who died unmarried on 5 Dec. 1791; Sir Edward Walpole, K.B., who also died unmarried on 12 Jan. 1784, leaving, by Maria Clements, three illegitimate daughters, of whom the eldest, Laura, married Bishop Frederick Keppel [q. v.], and the second, Maria (d. 1807), married, firstly, James, second earl Waldegrave [q. v.], and secondly, William Henry, duke of Gloucester, while the youngest, Charlotte, was wife of Lionel Tollemache, fourth earl of Dysart; and Horatio or Horace Walpole [q. v.], who succeeded his nephew George as fourth Earl of Orford. Of the daughters, Mary married (14 Sept. 1723) George, third earl of Cholmondeley. She died at Aix in Provence in 1731, and was buried at Malpas (, Peerage, ed. Brydges, iv. 34). The other, Katherine, died young (Gent. Mag. 1745, p. 164).

During his first wife's lifetime Sir Robert maintained an irregular connection with a Miss Maria Skerrett or Skerritt. She was Irish by birth, the daughter of Thomas Skerrett, a merchant living in Dover Street (d. 1734; ib. 1734, p. 50;, Memoirs, i. 115; , Works, iii. 141 n. 1; Gent. Mag. 1738, p. 324). She was a woman of wit and beauty, with a fortune of 30,000l. (Bishop Hare to F. Naylor, 9 March 1738, Hare MSS. p. 238). She moved in fashionable society. Under the name of Phryne she was scandalously associated by Pope with Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu (Works, iii. 141), who writes of her as ‘dear Molly Skerritt’ (Letters, i. 480). Her connection with Walpole began some time before 1728 (, Memoirs, i. 115), and his suppression of ‘Polly’ is said to have been due to resentment at her identification by the public with Polly, the heroine of the ‘Beggar's Opera’ produced in that year [see ]. She lived at his house in Richmond Park, where he spent Saturdays and Sundays (ib. ii. 267), and occasionally at Houghton (ib. i. 339). As early as November 1737 there were rumours that he had married her (, Works, xix. 104; Carlisle MSS. p. 190). The marriage was privately celebrated by Walpole's confidential friend, the Rev. H. Etough, early in March 1738 (, Lit. Anecd. viii. 262; Sir T. Robinson to Lord Carlisle, 16 March 1738, Carlisle MSS. p. 194; Horatio Walpole to Robert Trevor, 18 March 1738, Buckinghamshire MSS. p. 13). She was at once welcomed by society (ib.), and was introduced at court (Hare MSS. p. 238). She died on the following 4 June of a miscarriage (Gent. Mag. 1738, p. 323). She was, Walpole had declared, ‘indispensable to his happiness’ (Life of Shelburne, i. 36), and her loss plunged him into a ‘


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 and comfortless condition’ (Horatio Walpole to R. Trevor, 17 June 1738, Buckinghamshire MSS. p. 17), which ended in a severe illness. By her he had two illegitimate daughters, one of whom died before 1738 (see Notes and Queries, 2nd ser. i. 327). Of the other (Catherine), Horace Walpole narrates that her father had intended to marry her to Edmund Keene [q. v.], then rector of Stanhope (Letters, ii. 318). On his retirement he obtained from the king a patent of precedence for her as an earl's daughter, which ‘raised a torrent of wrath against him’ (Culloden Papers, p. 175). She married Colonel Charles Churchill, illegitimate son of General Charles Churchill [q. v.] by Anne Oldfield [q. v.] She became housekeeper at Windsor Castle, and died about the beginning of the present century (, Peerage, ed. Brydges, v. 662).

Walpole successively occupied several houses in London. In 1716 he lived on the west side of Arlington Street, on the site of the present No. 17 (, Round about Piccadilly, &c., 1870, p. 172), and also occupied a house at Chelsea. In 1722 he bought another house at Chelsea ‘next the college’ for 1,100l. (, London, i. 379). Here he and Lady Walpole lived much during the summer months, and he retained it till his death (, Memorials of Old Chelsea, 1892, p. 288). In 1727 his son, Lord Walpole, was appointed ranger of Richmond Park. Sir Robert, for the convenience of hunting, then hired a house on Richmond Hill, pending the construction of the house built by him in the park called ‘The Old Lodge,’ on the site now known as Spanker's Hill Enclosure (, Reminiscences, vol. i. p. xcvii;, Hist. of Richmond, 1894, pp. 217–18). The official house in Downing Street was offered him by George II in 1731, but it needed reconstruction, and he did not move into it till 22 Sept. 1735 (, London, i. 519), occupying in the interval a house in St. James's Square (see, Hist. of St. James's Square, 1895, pp. 82–3). In 1742 he left Downing Street for a small house in Arlington Street (No. 5), where he died (, Letters, i. 181, 324).

There are numerous portraits and engravings of Walpole. Of these, the most pleasing is that by Jervas, engraved by Lodge, evidently taken in 1725–6, since he wears the order of the Bath. He there appears as a tall and handsome young man. Later in life he became corpulent and his legs swelled. Another portrait, engraved from an enamel painting by Zincke, forms the frontispiece to Coxe's ‘Memoirs’ (vol. i.). It is taken in his robes as chancellor of the exchequer. An engraving of a seated portrait by Eckardt, in his robes as K.G., together with his first wife in a standing position, is given in P. Cunningham's edition of ‘ Horace Walpole's Letters’ (ix. 482). Two portraits, by Hayman and Van Loo respectively, are in the National Portrait Gallery, London. An engraving from a portrait by Richardson, taken in advanced life, is in T. Park's edition of ‘Royal and Noble Authors’ (1806, iv. 196), and another, taken after 1742, in Collins's ‘Peerage’ (ed. Brydges, v. 653; cf., Catalogue of Engraved Portraits). A statue of him is in Houghton church. [Eton College Register (manuscript) penes the Provost; Journals of the House of Commons; Boyer's Political State of Great Britain 1710–40, 60 vols.; Ralph's Use and Abuse of Parliaments, 1744, 2 vols.; Tindal's Continuation of Rapin's History of England, 1745, 4 vols.; Original Papers, ed. Macpherson, 1775, 2 vols.; Diary of Mary, Countess Cowper (1714–20), 1864; Letters and Despatches of John Churchill, first Duke of Marlborough, ed. Murray, 1845, 5 vols.; Private Corresp. of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, 1838, 2 vols.; Epistolary Corresp. of Sir R. Steele, ed. Nichols, 1809, 2 vols.; Swift's Works, ed. Scott, 1814, 19 vols.; Pope's Works, ed. Elwin and Courthope, 1881, 10 vols.; Primate Boulter's Letters, 1769, 2 vols.; Walpole's Memoirs of the Reign of King George II, ed. Holland, 1846, 3 vols.; Memoirs of the Reign of King George III, ed. Barker, 1894, 4 vols.; Reminiscences of the Courts of George I and George II, ed. Cunningham, 1857; Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu, 3rd ed. 1861, 2 vols.; The Craftsman, 1726–36; Letters to and from Henrietta, Countess of Suffolk, 1824, 2 vols.; Hervey's Memoirs of the Reign of George II, ed. Croker, 1884, 3 vols.; Ranby's Narrative of the last Illness of the Rt. Hon. the Earl of Orford, 1745; Letters of Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, ed. Bradshaw, 1892, 3 vols.; Anecdotes and Speeches of the Earl of Chatham, 7th edit. 1810, 3 vols.; A Selection from the Papers of the Earls of Marchmont, 1831, 3 vols.; Culloden Papers, 1815; Diary of George Bubb Dodington, ed. Wyndham, 1809; Newcastle Letters, ed. Bateson, 1898; Edmund Burke's Works, 1852, 8 vols.; Memoirs of a Celebrated Literary and Political Character (Richard Glover), 1813; King's Political and Literary Anecdotes of his Own Times, 1818; Walpoliana, Anecdotes collected by H. Walpole (n.d.), 2 vols.; Lives of Z. Pearce, bishop of Rochester, and Dr. Thos. Newton, bishop of Bristol, 1816, 2 vols.; Works of Sir C. Hanbury Williams, 1822, 3 vols.; Coxe's Memoirs of the Life and Administration of Sir R. Walpole, Earl of Orford, 1798, 3 vols.; Memoirs of Horatio, Lord Walpole, 1820, 2 vols.; Memoirs of the Administration


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HE Democratic tendency of our times, the upward movement of the popular classes, who desire to have their share in political life … is henceforth no Utopian dream, no doubtful anticipation. It is a fact … which occupies every mind, influences the proceedings of Governments, defies all opposition." These words, spoken in 1847, never rang more true than in 1867, when the working men of England demanded a new Reform Act Crowded meetings with enthusiastic speakers had taken place in the thickly populated northern towns, while in London, the Hyde Park Riot emphatically compelled attention in the House of


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370 Commons. "Your attention will again be called to the state of the representation of the people in Parliament." So ran the Speech from the Throne on February 5th. The Second Reform Bill was passed the following summer, and the working men in the towns of England for the first time had a vote in managing the affairs of the nation. It was yet another and important advance in the life of the people, who were pressing onwards as never before in human history. But another step became necessary to the social progress of the country. If the working man was to have a voice in the affairs of the land, he must, of necessity, be educated to fit him for this new capacity. After the first Reform Act, Parliament had assisted the general education of the people by an annual grant of money, on condition that an equal sum was raised by school fees and local subscriptions, and a Committee on Education was appointed to control the expenditure of public money. Notwithstanding this, education in England still owed much to private enterprise and philanthropy. In 1865 there were still some 2,000 charity schools where children were only taught reading, writing, and the Church catechism. These schools were, as yet, untouched by the new


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Walpole, Robert (1676-1745)


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 1866 it was reorganised with Cowen as chairman.

He wrote much for the public press, being a contributor from boyhood to the 'Newcastle Chronicle,' of which, in later life, he became proprietor and editor. He also established a monthly, the 'Northern Tribune.'

On his father's death in 1873 he succeeded him as member for Newcastle, having a majority of 1,003. He was chosen again at the general election in 1874. His maiden speech was delivered in 1876 on the Royal Titles Bill, and it produced a strong impression on the House of Commons, Disraeli sending his compliments. Cowen did not conceal his satisfaction that a political opponent should have done so, nor his chagrin that Gladstone, whom he supported, had disparagingly referred to one of his speeches as smelling of the lamp. Indeed, all his speeches were carefully prepared and very rhetorical in form, as were his writings. It was obvious that he had adopted too many of the mannerisms of Macaulay. In the House of Commons his delivery was marred by a strong Northumbrian accent; but this was no defect when he addressed his constituents.

His popularity was somewhat lessened by what was considered to be his erratic conduct, such as the support he gave to the tory government in the case of the Russo-Turkish war; but he always cherished his right to independence in judgment and action. A home ruler before Gladstone took up the question, Cowen remained so to the end of his life, but he also remained an imperialist of a pronounced type. He cultivated independence in all relations of life. His customary dress was that of a Northumbrian miner on a Sunday, which was then a novelty in the House of Commons. He had an aversion to society, yet, being very rich, open-handed, and well read, he was a welcome guest everywhere.

When entering a public meeting of the electors of Newcastle on 18 March 1880 he was crushed and injured internally, never wholly recovering from the effects. Re-elected in 1880, he retired at the general election in 18851886 [sic], refusing to be a candidate again. He continued to conduct the 'Newcastle Chronicle' till his sudden death on 18 Feb. 1900. In 1854 he married Jane, the daughter of John Thompson of Fatfield, Durham, and he left behind him a son and daughter. A portrait of Cowen is prefixed to his 'Life and Speeches,' by (Major) Evan Rowland Jones, 1885.

 COWIE, BENJAMIN MORGAN (1816–1900), dean of Exeter, born in Bermondsey, Surrey, on 8 June 1816, was the youngest son of Robert Cowie, a merchant and insurance agent, descended from a Cornish family long settled in London. When about eight years old he was placed at a pensionnat at Passy under an instructor named Savary, and was taught mathematics for four years by two Savoyards named Peix and Sardou. He was admitted to St. John's College, Cambridge, as a sizar in July 1833, and as a pensioner on 12 Oct. He graduated B.A. as senior wrangler in 1839, M.A. in 1842, B.D. in 1855, and D.D. in 1880. In 1839 he was chosen second Smith's prize-man, being placed below [q. v. Suppl.], who was second wrangler.

Cowie was admitted a fellow of St. John's College on 19 March. He was admitted a student of Lincoln's Inn on 8 Nov. 1837, but relinquished the study of the law and was ordained deacon in 1841 and priest in 1842 by Joseph Allen, bishop of Ely. He resided for some years in college, and during this period prepared his 'Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts and scarce Books in the Library of St. John's College, Cambridge' (Cambridge, 4to), which was issued by the Cambridge Antiquarian Society in 1843. In that year he vacated his fellowship by marriage, and became curate at St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, under [q. v. Suppl.], with whose high-church views he was in sympathy. In 1844 he was appointed principal and senior mathematical lecturer of the recently founded college for civil engineers at Putney, and during his residence there he acted as honorary secretary to the committee of management of St. Mark's College at Chelsea for training parochial schoolmasters, then under the principalship of [q. v.]

Upon the dissolution of the college for civil engineers in 1851 he took up his residence for four or five years at the Manor House, Stoke D'Abernon, Cobham, Surrey. In 1852 and again in 1856 he was chosen select preacher at Cambridge. His sermons, preached at Great St. Mary's, Cambridge, in 1856, were published under the title 'On Sacrifice; the Atonement, Vicarious Oblation, and Example of Christ, and the Punishment of Sin' (Cambridge, 8vo). In 1853 and 1854 he was Hulsean lecturer, and his lectures, entitled 'Scripture Difficulties,' were published in two volumes, the first in 1853 and the second in 1854. In 1855 he was appointed professor of geometry at Gresham College. On 28 Nov. 1856 he was appointed fifth minor canon and succentor


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Rh influences of the century. The children were dressed in uniform so as to show that they were objects of benevolence, and they were frequently reminded of their low estate, their moral ideal being summed up in the couplet:

All State-aided schools have been inspected since the early forties, but the small band of early Government Inspectors had their hands full. In 1849 they had 681 certified teachers and 3,580 pupil-teachers to inspect, but these very teachers, whose duty it was to train and teach the children of the poor, were but "the refuse of other callings." Their ranks were swelled by discarded servants and ruined tradesmen, "who do not know whether the earth is a cube or a sphere, whom no gentleman would trust with the key of his cellar and no tradesman would entrust with a message"—men and women who, from some defect of body or health, were driven from the rougher struggles of muscular toil—consumptives in the last stages of disease, out-door paupers, or persons of over seventy years of age. None were too old, too sickly, too feeble, or too ignorant to regard themselves as fit for


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372 teaching the unhappy young of these days—so unlike the honoured band of teachers who are doing some of the finest work in our land to-day. Look at a boys' school in 1869, the year before the great Education Act, which followed the Reform Act and formed a turning-point in the educational system of our country. In a small, low room, in a back court, there were forty-four boys of ages varying from four to fourteen. In the middle sat the master, a kindly man, but a hopeless cripple, whose lower limbs appeared to be paralysed and who was unable to stand up. The boys formed a dense mass round him, swaying irregularly backwards and forwards, while he was feebly protesting against the noise. In a corner the wife was sitting "minding" the six or eight youngest children. The reading, entirely from the Bible, was bad and inarticulate; no boy could explain the simplest words, and the master said he was not accustomed to ask questions. Only two boys could do an addition sum. The object of the schoolmaster was not to get the boys on too quickly, for as soon as the children knew a little, they were removed and the school pence stopped. Hitherto the State had aided existing schools, but no new schools had been provided; the initiative taken by voluntary


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Rh bodies had been, so far, chiefly in connection with the Churches. But with the rapid growth of the population the Church organisation had become totally inadequate. So the famous Act of 1870 passed, providing for School Boards to be created, with power to establish new State schools in addition to the voluntary ones already existing. For the first time in her social history, England realised that her children were her "dearest possession," and undertook a system of National Education. The storms that were brewing at this time over religious instruction in the first Board schools are vexing our souls to-day. Finally, a system of so-called undenominational Christian teaching was adopted. New schools were now erected all over the country. In the year 1870 England had provided for 1,152,389 children. By 1885 there was an average attendance of 3,371,325. There is a further point connected with the spread of education in 1870 that calls for attention. In the new bodies elected by the ratepayers, women were members. They voted, proposed amendments, sat on committees, and took their share in the new national scheme of education. For their part as citizens of a great country they had been fitting themselves of late years, and their progress


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374 in matters of education was remarkable. Up to 1865, the general level of girls' education was for the most part deplorable. They were sent to boarding schools, where they learnt ladylike manners and deportment, and such accomplishments as their parents thought fit, in order that they might be admired in society, for this was the chief raison d!être of a woman's education throughout the past "Everything," says Miss Cobbe, "was taught in the inverse ratio of its true importance. At the bottom of the scale were morals and religion, and at the top were music and dancing." One of the best known girls' schools was kept by Miss Mangnall, the famous author of "Mangnall's Questions," a school-book much used in those days together with Keith's "Use of the Globes," Mrs. Trimmer's English History, and Pinnock's Catechisms. Here the girls learnt some literature, which consisted of Scott's longer poems and "The Vicar of Wakefield," read aloud by Miss Mangnall herself, geography, spelling, the catechism, and a little pencil drawing. For bad spelling the young ladies were invariably sent to bed. Deportment was strictly attended to: tortures innumerable were invented to improve the figure


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Rh —there were steel backboards covered with red morocco, strapped to the waist by a belt; steel collars, stocks for the fingers, pulleys for the neck, and weights for the head. In morals the young ladies were sadly wanting, and their sense of honour was woefully uncultivated. They were greedy and untruthful; they stole each other's cake, they fought and spread evil reports, and their punishments were both childish and insulting. They were made to wear dunce's caps, they had papers pinned to them describing their faults, they were whipped and sent to bed or rewarded by having good things to eat. The position of their teachers and governesses was unenviable, and the teaching profession for women was too often the refuge for the destitute. Their ignorance was deplorable. At one school we hear of a two-hour search through various lesson-books for the name of the Emperor of Russia, till finally teachers and pupils decided it must be Mahomet! It was, indeed, time that the subject of girls' education should be discussed by a Royal Commission appointed in 1864, though already Cheltenham had led the way by opening a "Ladies' College," where a more sound education had been established than any heretofore attainable. Step by


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Raum, Green Berry

RAUM, rowm, Green Berry, American lawyer: b. Golconda, Ill., 3 Dec. 1829; d. Chicago, Ill., 18 Dec. 1909. He was admitted to the bar in 1853; removed to Kansas and served in the Union army in the Civil War, rising to the rank of brigadier-general of volunteers. He sat in Congress 1866-69; was commissioner of internal revenue 1876-83, and United States commissioner of pensions 1889-93. He published ‘The Existing Conflict between Republican Government and Southern Oligarchy’ (1884); ‘History of Illinois Republicanism’ (1900).


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Rauhes Haus

RAUHES HAUS, (corrupted from “Ruges Haus”), an educational and benevolent institution at Horn, near Hamburg, founded in 1833 by Johanie Heinrich Wichern (1808-81), who long remained at its head. It is connected with the German Home Mission, and besides forming a refuge for neglected children receives boarding pupils from the higher classes, and serves as a training school for those wishing to become teachers, superintendents or assistants in hospitals, reformatories, houses of correction and the like. It is supported by voluntary contributions, the profits arising from the productive enterprises carried on in connection with it and the fees of the richer pupils. In recent years there has been an average of 100 poor and neglected children, about one-third girls, receiving instruction within its walls. They live in “families” of from 12 to 15, each “family” being under the care of one of the adult members of the mission training school. The educational department is in the hands of assistants, who also take part in the instruction of the institution, in order to prepare themselves for the work of the Home Mission in other localities. This indeed has became one of the most important features of the work carried on by the Rauhes Haus, and its graduates are found in every field of charitable work in Germany. The whole staff of assistants, consisting of young men of 20 to 29 years of age, are formed into a kind of society (Brüderschaft). Since 1844 the institution has carried on a printing and book-binding business. Its organ is the Fliegende Blätter.


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376 step the movement grew, demand created supply, local examination tested the efficiency of the new teaching. Strenuous efforts were made to obviate the criticisms of women's education in a report which declared that "want of thoroughness and foundation, want of system, slovenliness, and showy superficiality, inattention to rudiments, undue time given to accomplishments and want of organisation," were responsible for female incompetence. The Council of the Girls' Public Day School Company was founded in 1872, whereby a sound education for girls of all classes and creeds was established on a footing similar to that long enjoyed by boys. Other developments followed. In 1867 women were admitted to the University of London examinations: in 1872 Girton College was opened at Cambridge, followed by Newnham in 1875, and at Oxford, Somerville College and Lady Margaret Hall were founded in 1879; thus women were no longer forced

Meanwhile other professions were opening their doors to women. Florence Nightingale, in the dark Crimean days, had shown that the nursing


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Cowen, Joseph (1829-1900)


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Rh profession was one eminently suited to women, who entered upon their new vocation with boundless enthusiasm and dauntless energy. The substitution of trained ladies for such rough specimens as Mrs. Sarah Gamp and Mrs. Betsy Prig was in itself an inestimable blessing to mankind; in addition to this, the movement created one of the greatest social changes of the century. No longer now was matrimony the only possible opening for any self-respecting woman, but henceforth she could justify her existence, fill her life with interest, and fulfil her destiny, by ministering to the relief of human suffering.

How eagerly women grasped at this new outlet for their energies is best illustrated by figures. A training school for nurses was founded in 1860, and started with fifteen probationers; eleven years later there were thirty-two, and in 1889 as many as five hundred nurses had been sent out to work in the world. Women, too, for the first time now were allowed to take their places in the ranks of


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378 medical practitioners. The first Englishwoman took the M.D. degree of the University of Paris in 1870. Four years later further obstacles were overcome, and the School of Medicine for Women was opened.

Indeed, on all sides medicine and surgery had made gigantic strides since the early days of Queen Victoria, and in no department has progress told more on the social life of the people. From 1838 to 1847 the death-rate had been twenty-two persons out of every thousand. In 1885 it was only nineteen per thousand. The discovery of anæsthetics in 1848 at once robbed surgical operations of half their terrors, while the establishment of a Board of Health, to enforce better sanitation and a higher degree of human cleanliness, had a decided effect on the health of the community.

Mercy and pity, with a higher value on human life, were marked characteristics of the period, and though we are here only concerned with the material view of life in England, yet it is impossible to separate matters spiritual from matters material, and a few words about the renewed activity in the religious life of English men and women seems necessary to explain many social


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1912 supplement/Eastlake, Charles Locke


text: The American Journal of Sociology/Volume 11/Number 4/The Sociology of Secrecy and of Secret Societies


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Rh changes. Amid the "clash of new ideas," the inrush of mechanical invention, the progress in every branch of industry and science, the Church alone had remained "inert and lethargic." Bishops in the early nineteenth century were still "amiable scholars," living in dignified ease apart from their clergy, Church patronage was in the hands of the large landowners, "faculty pews and rented sittings absorbed the best parts of the churches, and the poor were edged out into the corners of the aisles and the backs of the galleries." The beautiful cathedrals of past ages were looked on as "interesting museums," "picturesque survivals of a barbarous past." But the restless activity of the age swept over the Church at the last The repeal of the Test Act in 1828, allowing Dissenters to occupy official posts in the State, forbidden heretofore, was followed by Catholic Emancipation the following year. The Reform Bill of 1832, placing power in the hands of the middle classes, who formed the backbone of Dissent in England, aroused Churchmen to a sense of danger. At the same time a general awakening in Literature and Art was taking place, men were everywhere yearning after more


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 THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF SOCIOLOGY

Volume XIJANUARY, 1906Number 4

THE SOCIOLOGY OF SECRECY AND OF SECRET SOCIETIES

PROFESSOR DR. GEORG SIMMEL Berlin

All relationships of people to each other rest, as a matter of course, upon the precondition that they know something about each other. The merchant knows that his correspondent wants to buy at the lowest price and to sell at the highest price. The teacher knows that he may credit to the pupil a certain quality and quantity of information. Within each social stratum the individual knows approximately what measure of culture he has to presuppose in each other individual. In all relationships of a personally differentiated sort there develop, as we may affirm with obvious reservations, intensity and shading in the degree in which each unit reveals himself to the other through word and deed. How much error and sheer prejudice may lurk in all this knowing is immaterial. Just as our apprehension of external nature, along with its elusions and its inaccuracies, still attains that degree of truth which is essential for the life and progress of our species, so each knows the other with whom he has to do, in a rough and ready way, to the degree necessary in order that the needed kinds of intercourse may proceed. That we shall know with whom we have to do, is the first precondition of having anything to do with another. The customary reciprocal


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, in the case of any somewhat protracted conversation, or in the case of contact upon the same social plane, although at first sight an empty form, is an excellent symbol of that reciprocal apprehension which is the presumption of every social relationship. The fact is variously concealed from consciousness, because, in the case of a very large number of relationships, only the quite typical tendencies and qualities need to be reciprocally recognized. Their necessity is usually observed only when they happen to be wanted. It would be a profitable scientific labor to investigate the sort and degree of reciprocal apprehension which is needed for the various relationships between human beings. It would be worth while to know how the general psychological presumptions with which each approaches each are interwoven with the special experiences with reference to the individual who is in juxtaposition with us; how in many ranges of association the reciprocal apprehension does or does not need to be equal, or may or may not be permitted to be equal; how conventional relationships are determined in their development only through that reciprocal or unilateral knowledge developing with reference to the other party. The investigation should finally proceed in the opposite direction; that is, it should inquire how our objectively psychological picture of others is influenced by the real relationships of practice and of sentiment between us. This latter problem by no means has reference to falsification. On the contrary, in a quite legitimate fashion, the theoretical conception of a given individual varies with the standpoint from which it is formed, which standpoint is given by the total relationship of the knower to the known. Since one never can absolutely know another, as this would mean knowledge of every particular thought and feeling; since we must rather form a conception of a personal unity out of the fragments of another person in which alone he is accessible to us, the unity so formed necessarily depends upon that portion of the other which our standpoint toward him permits us to see. These differences, however, by no means spring merely from differences in the quantity of the apprehension. No psychological knowledge is a mere mechanical echo of its object. It is


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 rather, like knowledge of external nature, dependent upon the forms that the knowing mind brings to it, and in which it takes up the data. When we are concerned with apprehension of individual by individual, these forms are individually differentiated in a very high degree. They do not arrive at the scientific generality and supersubjective conclusiveness which are attainable in our knowledge of external nature, and of the typically individual psychic processes. If A has a different conception of M from that of B, this does not necessarily mean incompleteness or deception. On the contrary, the personality of A and the total circumstances of his relation to M being what they are, his picture of M is for him true, while for B a picture differing somewhat in its content may likewise be true. It is by no means correct to say that, over and above these two pictures, there is the objectively correct apprehension of M, by which the two are to be corrected according to the measure of their agreement with it. Rather is the ideal truth which, to be sure, the actual picture of M in the conception of A approaches only asymptotically, that is as ideal, something different from that of B. It contains, as integrating organizing precondition, the psychical peculiarity of A and the special relationship into which A and M are brought, by virtue of their characteristics and their fortunes. Every relationship between persons causes a picture of each to take form in the mind of the other, and this picture evidently is in reciprocal relationship with that personal relationship. While this latter constitutes the presupposition, on the basis of which the conceptions each of the other take shape so and so, and with reference to which these conceptions possess actual truth for the given case, on the other hand the actual reciprocity of the individuals is based upon the picture which they derive of each other. Here we have one of the deep circuits of the intellectual life, inasmuch as one element presupposes a second, but the second presupposes the first. While this is a fallacy within narrow ranges, and thus makes the whole involved intellectual process unreliable, in more general and fundamental application it is the unavoidable expression of the unity in which these two elements coalesce, and which cannot be expressed in our forms of thought except as a building


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 of the first upon the second, and at the same time of the second upon the first. Accordingly, our situations develop themselves upon the basis of a reciprocal knowledge of each other, and this knowledge upon the basis of actual situations, both inextricably interwoven, and, through their alternations within the reciprocal sociological process, designating the latter as one of the points at which reality and idea make their mysterious unity empirically perceptible.

In the presence of the total reality upon which our conduct is founded, our knowledge is characterized by peculiar limitations and aberrations. We cannot say in principle that “error is life and knowledge is death,” because a being involved in persistent errors would continually act wide of the purpose, and would thus inevitably perish. At the same time, in view of our accidental and defective adaptations to our life-conditions, there is no doubt that we cherish not only so much truth, but also so much nescience, and attain to so much error as is useful for our practical purposes. We may call to mind in this connection the vast sums of human knowledge that modify human life, which, however, are overlooked or disregarded if the total cultural situation does not make these modifications possible and useful. At the other extreme, we may refer to the Lebenslüge of the individual, so often in need of illusion as to his powers and even as to his feelings, of superstition with reference to God as well as men, in order to sustain himself in his being and in his potentialities. In this psycho-biological respect error is co-ordinated with truth. The utilities of the external, as of the subjective, life provide that we get from the one as well as from the other precisely that which constitutes the basis of the conduct which is essential for us. Of course, this proposition holds only in the large, and with a wide latitude for variations and defective adaptations.

But there is within the sphere of objective knowledge, where there is room for truth and illusion, a definite segment in which both truth and illusion may take on a character nowhere else observed. The subjective, internal facts of the person with whom we are in contact present this area of knowledge. Our fellowman either may voluntarily reveal to us the truth about himself,


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 or by dissimulation he may deceive us as to the truth. No other object of knowledge can thus of its own initiative, either enlighten us with reference to itself or conceal itself, as a human being can. No other knowable object modifies its conduct from consideration of its being understood or misunderstood. This modification does not, of course, take place throughout the whole range of human relations. In many ways our fellow-man is also in principle only like a fragment of nature, which our apprehension, so to speak, holds fast in its grasp. In many respects, however, the situation is different, and our fellow-man of his own motion gives forth truth or error with reference to himself. Every lie, whatever its content, is in its essential nature a promotion of error with reference to the mendacious subject; for the lie consists in the fact that the liar conceals from the person to whom the idea is conveyed the true conception which he possesses. The specific nature of the lie is not exhausted in the fact that the person to whom the lie is told has a false conception of the fact. This is a detail in common with simple error. The additional trait is that the person deceived is held in misconception about the true intention of the person who tells the lie. Veracity and mendacity are thus of the most far-reaching significance for the relations of persons with each other. Sociological structures are most characteristically differentiated by the measure of mendacity that is operative in them. To begin with, in very simple relationships a lie is much more harmless for the persistence of the group than in complex associations. Primitive man, living in communities of restricted extent, providing for his needs by his own production or by direct co-operation, limiting his spiritual interests to personal experience or to simple tradition, surveys and controls the material of his existence more easily and completely than the man of higher culture. In the latter case life rests upon a thousand presuppositions which the individual can never trace back to their origins, and verify; but which he must accept upon faith and belief. In a much wider degree than people are accustomed to realize, modern civilized life—from the economic system which is constantly becoming more and more a credit-economy,


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 to the pursuit of science, in which the majority of investigators must use countless results obtained by others, and not directly subject to verification—depends upon faith in the honor of others. We rest our most serious decisions upon a complicated system of conceptions, the majority of which presuppose confidence that we have not been deceived. Hence prevarication in modern circumstances becomes something much more devastating, something placing the foundations of life much more in jeopardy, than was earlier the case. If lying appeared today among us as a sin as permissible as among the Greek divinities, the Hebrew patriarchs, or the South Sea Islanders; if the extreme severity of the moral law did not veto it, the progressive upbuilding of modern life would be simply impossible, since modern life is, in a much wider than the economic sense, a “credit-economy.” This relationship of the times recurs in the case of differences of other dimensions. The farther third persons are located from the center of our personality, the easier can we adjust ourselves practically, but also subjectively, to their lack of integrity. On the other hand, if the few persons in our immediate environment lie to us, life becomes intolerable. This banality must, nevertheless, be brought out to view, because it shows that the ratios of truthfulness and mendacity, which are reconcilable with the continuance of situations, form a scale that registers the ratios of the intensity of these relationships.

In addition to this relative sociological permissibility of lying in primitive conditions, we must observe a positive utility of the same. In cases where the first organization, stratification, and centralization of the group are in question, the process is accomplished by means of subjection of the weaker to the physically and mentally superior. The lie that succeeds—that is, which is not seen through—is without doubt a means of bringing mental superiority to expression, and of enabling it to guide and subordinate less crafty minds. It is a spiritual fist-law, equally brutal, but occasionally quite as much in place, as the physical species; for instance, as a selective agency for the breeding of intelligence; as a means of enabling a certain few, for whom others must labor, to secure leisure for production of the higher


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 cultural good; or in order to furnish a means of leadership for the group forces. The more these purposes are accomplished by means which have fewer disagreeable consequences, the less is lying necessary, and the more room is made for consciousness of its ethical unworthiness. This process is by no means completed. The small trader still thinks that he cannot dispense with a certain amount of mendacious recommendations of his wares, and he acts accordingly without compunctions of conscience. Wholesale and retail trade on a large scale have passed this stadium, and they are accordingly able to act in accordance with complete integrity in marketing their goods. So soon as the methods of doing business among small traders, and those of the middle class, have reached a similar degree of perfection, the exaggerations and actual falsifications, in advertising and recommending goods, which are today in general not resented in those kinds of business, will fall under the same ethical condemnation which is now passed in the business circles just referred to. Commerce built upon integrity will be in general the more advantageous within a group, in the degree in which the welfare of the many rather than that of the few sets the group standard. For those who are deceived—that is, those placed at a disadvantage by the lie—will always be in the majority as compared with the liar who gets his advantage from the lie. Consequently that enlightenment which aims at elimination of the element of deception from social life is always of a democratic character.

Human intercourse rests normally upon the condition that the mode of thought among the persons associated has certain common characteristics; in other words, that objective spiritual contents constitute the common material, which is developed in its individual phases in the course of social contacts. The type and the most essential vehicle of this community of spiritual content is common language. If we look a little closer, however, the common basis here referred to consists by no means exclusively of that which all equally know, or, in a particular case, of that which the one accepts as the spiritual content of the other; but this factor is shot through by another, viz., knowledge which the one associate possesses, while the other does not. If there were


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380 sincerity and truth, and searching in past history to supply present needs. The activity in the Church took the form of the Oxford Movement, led by the saintly Keble, whose "Christian Year" had been published in 1827, Newman, Pusey, and others, who made their voices heard in a famous series known as "Tracts for the Times." A "Broad Church" party, led by Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, increased the newly aroused religious difficulty, which was not simplified by the immense advances now being made in the wakening world of science. Nor was this activity confined to the Church of England. Nonconformity was growing apace, though still entirely confined to the middle class. Round chapel as round church clustered benevolent societies, penny banks, Sunday-schools, mothers' meetings, and missionary societies. It has been observed that as commercial activity worked through companies, so religious organisations worked through societies; certainly they increased with extraordinary rapidity during this period. For all philanthropic causes money was forthcoming, but if it was an age of wealth, so also was it an age of luxury. Our fathers drank more tea than their parents had ever thought of drinking, they


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 such a thing as complete reciprocal transparency, the relationships of human beings to each other would be modified in a quite unimaginable fashion. The dualism of human nature, by reason of which every manifestation of it has its sources in numerous origins that may be far distant from each other, and every quantity is estimated at the same time as great or small, according as it is contemplated in connection with littleness or greatness, makes it necessary to think of sociological relationships in general dualistically; that is, concord, harmony, mutuality, which count as the socializing forces proper, must be interrupted by distance, competition, repulsion, in order to produce the actual configuration of society. The strenuous organizing forms which appear to be the real constructors of society, or to construct society as such, must be continually disturbed, unbalanced, and detached by individualistic and irregular forces, in order that their reaction and development may gain vitality by alternate concession and resistance. Relationships of an intimate character, the formal vehicle of which is psycho-physical proximity, lose the charm, and even the content, of their intimacy, unless the proximity includes, at the same time and alternately, distance and intermission. Finally—and this is the matter with which we are now concerned—the reciprocal knowledge, which is the positive condition of social relationships, is not the sole condition. On the contrary, such as those relationships are, they actually presuppose also a certain nescience, a ratio, that is immeasurably variable to be sure, of reciprocal concealment. The lie is only a very rude form, in the last analysis often quite self-contradictory, in which this necessity comes to the surface. However frequently lying breaks up a social situation, yet, so long as it existed, a lie may have been an integrating element of its constitution. We must take care not to be misled, by the ethically negative value of lying, into error about the direct positive sociological significance of untruthfulness, as it appears in shaping certain concrete situations. Moreover, lying in connection with the elementary sociological fact here in question—viz., the limitation of the knowledge of one associate by another—is only one of the possible means, the positive and aggressive technique, so to speak, the purpose of which in general


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 is obtained through sheer secrecy and concealment. The following discussion has to do with these more general and negative forms. Before we come to the question of secrecy as consciously willed concealment, we should notice in what various degrees different circumstances involve disregard of reciprocal knowledge by the members of associations. Among those combinations which involve some degree of direct reciprocity on the part of their members, those which are organized for a special purpose are first in eliminating this element of reciprocal knowledge. Among these purposeful organizations, which in principle still involve direct reciprocity, the extreme in the present particular is represented by those in which utterly objective performances of the members are in view. This situation is best typified by the cases in which the contribution of so much cash represents the participation of the individuals in the activities of the group. In such instances reciprocity, coherence, and common pursuit of the purpose by no means rest upon psychological knowledge of the one member by the others. As member of the group the individual is exclusively the agent of a definite performance; and whatever individual motive may impel him to this activity, or whatever may be the total characteristics of his conduct as a whole, is in this connection a matter of complete indifference. The organization for a special purpose (Zweckverband) is the peculiarly discreet sociological formation; its members are in psychological respects anonymous; and, in order to form the combination, they need to know of each other only that they form it. Modern culture is constantly growing more objective. Its tissues grow more and more out of impersonal energies, and absorb less and less the subjective entirety of the individual. In this respect the hand laborer and the factory laborer furnish the antithesis which illustrates the difference between past and present social structure. This objective character impresses itself also upon sociological structure, so that combinations into which formerly the entire and individual person entered, and which consequently demanded reciprocal knowledge beyond the immediate content of the relationship, are now founded exclusively on this content in its pure objectivity.


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 By virtue of the situation just noticed, that antecedent or consequent form of knowledge with reference to an individual—viz., confidence in him, evidently one of the most important synthetic forces within society—gains a peculiar evolution. Confidence, as the hypothesis of future conduct, which is sure enough to become the basis of practical action, is, as hypothesis, a mediate condition between knowing and not knowing another person. The possession of full knowledge does away with the need of trusting, while complete absence of knowledge makes trust evidently impossible. Whatever quantities of knowing and not knowing must commingle, in order to make possible the detailed practical decision based upon confidence, will be determined by the historic epoch, the ranges of interests, and the individuals. The objectification of culture referred to above has sharply differentiated the amounts of knowing and not knowing essential as the condition of confidence. The modern merchant who enters into a transaction with another, the scholar who undertakes an investigation with another, the leader of a political party who makes an agreement with the leader of another party with reference to an election, or the handling of a proposed bill—all these,


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 with exceptions and modifications that need not be further indicated, know, with reference to their associates, precisely what it is necessary to know for the purposes of the relationship in question. The traditions and institutions, the force of public opinion, and the circumscription of the situation, which unavoidably prejudice the individual, are so fixed and reliable that one only needs to know certain externalities with reference to the other in order to have the confidence necessary for the associated action. The basis of personal qualities, from which in principle a modification of attitude within the relationship could spring, is eliminated from consideration. The motivation and the regulation of this conduct has become so much a matter of an impersonal program that it is no longer influenced by that basis, and confidence no longer depends upon knowledge of that individual element. In more primitive, less differentiated relationships, knowledge of one’s associates was much more necessary in personal respects, and much less in respect to their purely objective reliability. Both factors belong together. In order that, in case of lack in the latter respect, the necessary confidence may be produced, there is need of a much higher degree of knowledge of the former sort.

That purely general objective knowledge of a person, beyond which everything that is strictly individual in his personality may remain a secret to his associates, must be considerably reinforced in the knowledge of the latter, whenever the organization for a specific purpose to which they belong possesses an essential significance for the total existence of its members. The merchant who sells grain or oil to another needs to know only whether the latter is good for the price. The moment, however, that he associates another with himself as a partner, he must not merely know his standing as to financial assets, and certain quite general qualities of his make-up, but he must see through him very thoroughly as a personality; he must know his moral standards, his degree of companionability, his daring or prudent temperament; and upon reciprocal knowledge of that sort must depend not merely the formation of the relationship, but its entire continuance, the daily associated actions, the division of functions between the partners,


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 etc. The secret of personality is in such a case sociologically more restricted. On account of the extent to which the common interest is dependent upon the personal quality of the associates. no extensive self-existence is in these circumstances permitted to the personality of the individual.

Beyond the organizations for distinct purposes, but in like manner beyond the relationships rooted in the total personality, stands the relationship, highly significant sociologically, which is called, in the higher strata of culture, “acquaintance.” That persons are “acquainted” with each other signifies in this sense by no means that they know each other reciprocally; that is, that they have insight into that which is peculiarly personal in the individuality. It means only that each has, so to speak, taken notice of the existence of the other. As a rule, the notion of acquaintanceship in this sense is associated only with mere mentioning of the name, the “presentation.” Knowledge of the that, not of the what, of the personality distinguishes the “acquaintanceship.” In the very assertion that one is acquainted with a given person, or even well acquainted with him, one indicates very distinctly the absence of really intimate relationships. In such case one knows of the other only his external characteristics. These may be only those that are on exhibit in social functions, or they may be merely those that the other chooses to exhibit to us. The grade of acquaintanceship denoted by the phrase “well acquainted with another” refers at the same time not to the essential characteristics of the other, not to that which is most important in his inmost nature, but only to that which is characteristic in the aspect presented to the world. On that account, acquaintanceship in this polite sense is the peculiar seat of “discretion.” This attitude consists by no means merely in respect for the secret of the other—that is, for his direct volition to conceal from us this or that. It consists rather in restraining ourselves from acquaintance with all of those facts in the conditions of another which he does not positively reveal. In this instance the particulars in question are not in principle distinctly defined as forbidden territory. The reference is rather to that quite general reserve due to the total personality of another, and


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 to a special form of the typical antithesis of the imperatives; viz.: what is not forbidden is permitted, and, what is not permitted is forbidden. Accordingly, the relationships of men are differentiated by the question of knowledge with reference to each other: what is not concealed may be known, and what is not revealed may yet not be known. The last determination corresponds to the otherwise effective consciousness that an ideal sphere surrounds every human being, different in various directions and toward different persons; a sphere varying in extent, into which one may not venture to penetrate without disturbing the personal value of the individual. Honor locates such an area. Language indicates very nicely an invasion of this sort by such phrases as “coming too near” (zu nahe treten). The radius of that sphere, so to speak, marks the distance which a stranger may not cross without infringing upon another’s honor. Another sphere of like form corresponds to that which we designate as the “significance” (Bedeutung) of another personality. Towards the “significant” man there exists an inner compulsion to keep one’s distance. Even in somewhat intimate relationships with him this constraint does not disappear without some special occasion; and it is absent only in the case of those who are unable to appreciate the “significance.” Accordingly, that zone of separation does not exist for the valet, because for him there is no “hero.” This, however, is the fault, not of the hero, but of the valet. Furthermore, all intrusiveness is bound up with evident lack of sensitiveness for the scale of significance among people. Whoever is intrusive toward a significant personality does not, as it might superficially appear, rate that person high or too high; but on the contrary, he gives evidence of lacking capacity for appropriate respect. As the painter often emphasizes the significance of one figure in a picture that includes many persons, by grouping the rest at a considerable distance from the important figure, so there is a sociological parallel in the significance of distance, which holds another outside of a definite sphere filled by the personality with its power, its will, and its greatness. A similar circuit, although quite different in value, surrounds the man in the setting of his affairs and


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 his qualities. To penetrate this circuit by curiosity is a violation of his personality. As material property is at the same time an extension of the ego—property is precisely that which obeys the will of the possessor, as, in merely graduated difference, the body is our first “property” (Besitz)—and as on that account every invasion of this possession is resented as a violation of the personality; so there is a spiritual private property, to invade which signifies violation of the ego at its center. Discretion is nothing other than the sense of justice with respect to the sphere of the intimate contents of life. Of course, this sense is various in its extension in connection with different personalities, just as the sense of honor and of personal property has a quite different radius with reference to the persons in one’s immediate circle from that which it has toward strangers and indifferent persons. In the case of the above-mentioned social relationships in the narrower sense, as most simply expressed in the term “acquaintanceship,” we have to do immediately with a quite typical boundary, beyond which perhaps no guarded secrets lie; with reference to which, however, the outside party, in the observance of conventional discretion, does not obtrude by questions or otherwise.

The question where this boundary lies is, even in principle, by no means easy to answer. It leads rather into the finest meshes of social forms. The right of that spiritual private property just referred to can no more be affirmed in the absolute sense than that of material property. We know that in higher societies the latter, with reference to the three essential sides, creation, security, and productiveness, never rests merely upon the personal agency of the individual. It depends also upon the conditions and powers of the social environment; and consequently its limitations, whether through the prohibitions that affect the mode of acquiring property, or through taxation, are from the beginning the right of the whole. This right, however, has a still deeper basis than the principle of service and counter-service between society and the individual. That basis is the much more elementary one, that the part must subject itself to so much limitation of its self-sufficiency as is demanded by the existence and purposes of the whole. The same principle applies to the


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 subjective sphere of personality. In the interest of association, and of social coherence, each must know certain things with reference to the other; and this other has not the right to resist this knowledge from the moral standpoint, and to demand the discretion of the other; that is, the undisturbed possession of his being and consciousness, in cases in which discretion would prejudice social interests. The business man who enters into a contractual obligation with another, covering a long future; the master who engages a servant; and, on the other hand, this latter, before he agrees to the servile relationship; the superintendent who is responsible for the promotion of a subordinate; the head of a household who admits a new personality into her social circle—all these must have the right to trace out or to combine everything with reference to the past or the present of the other parties in question, with reference to their temperament, and their moral make-up, that would have any relation to the conclusion or the rejection of the proposed relationship. These are quite rough cases in which the beauty of discretion—that is, of refraining from knowledge of everything which the other party does not voluntarily reveal to us—must yield to the demands of practical necessity. But in finer and less simple form, in fragmentary passages of association and in unuttered revelations, all commerce of men with each other rests upon the condition that each knows something more of the other than the latter voluntarily reveals to him; and in many respects this is of a sort the knowledge of which, if possible, would have been prevented by the party so revealed. While this, judged as an individual affair, may count as indiscretion, although in the social sense it is necessary as a condition for the existing closeness and vitality of the interchange, yet the legal boundary of this invasion upon the spiritual private property of another is extremely difficult to draw. In general, men credit themselves with the right to know everything which, without application of external illegal means, through purely psychological observation and reflection, it is possible to ascertain. In point of fact, however, indiscretion exercised in this way may be quite as violent, and morally quite as unjustifiable, as listening at keyholes and prying into the letters of


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 strangers. To anyone with fine psychological perceptions, men betray themselves and their inmost thoughts and characteristics in countless fashions, not only in spite of efforts not to do so, but often for the very reason that they anxiously attempt to guard themselves. The greedy spying upon every unguarded word; the boring persistence of inquiry as to the meaning of every slight action, or tone of voice; what may be inferred from such and such expressions; what the blush at the mention of a given name may betray—all this does not overstep the boundary of external discretion; it is entirely the labor of one’s own mind, and therefore apparently within the unquestionable rights of the agent. This is all the more the case, since such misuse of psychological superiority often occurs as a purely involuntary procedure. Very often it is impossible for us to restrain our interpretation of another, our theory of his subjective characteristics and intentions. However positively an honorable person may forbid himself to practice such cogitation with reference to the unrevealed traits of another, and such exploiting of his lack of foresight and defenselessness, a knowing process often goes on with reference to another so automatically, its result often presents itself so suddenly and unavoidably, that the best intention can do nothing to prevent it. Where the unquestionably forbidden may thus be so unavoidable, the division line between the permitted and the non-permitted is the more indefinite. To what extent discretion must restrain itself from mental handling “of all that which is its own,” to what extent the interests of intercourse, the reciprocal interdependence of the members of the same group, limits this duty of discretion—this is a question for the answer to which neither moral tact, nor survey of the objective relationships and their demands, can alone be sufficient, since both factors must rather always work together. The nicety and complexity of this question throw it back in a much higher degree upon the responsibility of the individual for decision, without final recourse to any authoritative general norm, than is the case in connection with a question of private property in the material sense.

In contrast with this preliminary form, or this attachment of secrecy, in which not the attitude of the person keeping the secret,


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 but that of a third party, is in question, in which, in view of the mixture of reciprocal knowledge or lack of knowledge, the emphasis is on the amount of the former rather than on that of the latter—in contrast with this, we come to an entirely new variation; that is, in those relationships which do not, like those already referred to, center around definitely circumscribed interests; but in relationships which, at least in their essential idea, rest upon the whole extension of the personalities concerned. The principal types in this category are friendship and marriage. The ideal of friendship that has come down from antique tradition, and singularly enough has been developed directly in the romantic sense, aims at absolute spiritual confidence, with the attachment that material possession also shall be a resource common to the friends. This entrance of the entire undivided ego into the relationship may be the more plausible in friendship than in love, for the reason that, in the case of friendship, the one-sided concentration upon a single element is lacking, which is present in the other case on account of the sensuous factor in love. To be sure, through the circumstance that in the totality of possible grounds of attachment one assumes the headship, a certain organization of the relationship occurs, as is the case in a group with recognized leadership. A single strong factor of coherence often blazes out the path along which the others, otherwise likely to have remained latent, follow; and undeniably in the case of most men, sexual love opens the doors of the total personality widest; indeed, in the case of not a few, sexuality is the sole form in which they can give their whole ego; just as, in the case of the artist, the form of his art, whatever it may be, furnishes the only possibility of presenting his entire nature. This is to be observed with special frequency among women—to be sure, the same thing is to be asserted in the case of the quite different “Christian love”—namely, that they not only, because they love, devote their life and fortune without reserve; but that this at the same time is chemically dissolved in love, and only and entirely in its coloring, form, and temperature flows over upon the other. On the other hand, however, where the feeling of love is not expansive enough,