Alumni Oration

"The Alumni Oration: Rev. L. Ralph Sherman, LL.B., M.A." University Monthly 34, 7 (May 1915): 19-22. (UA Case 67a, Box 1)

"The keynote of the last century was analysis: the keynote of the present century seems to be synthesis."

One wonders if that is true, and if so, what is the fundamental principle underlying the truth of it. Because, on the face of it, it seems to be rather the rhapsody of an idealist, who, having almost closed both eyes, and seeing everything in a blurred and misty light, has convinced himself that conditions bear out his idealism. Yet surely that were a summary dismissal of words which, passing on from the general to the particular, may lead us very far indeed, and unworthy of us, who, as products and advocates of education, are bound to be seekers after truth.

The present age is asking questions. We are very conscious of ourselves. We are very cognizant of the fact that we are living in the twentieth century; we are very mindful of the promise (I forget who promised it) that "the twentieth century is ours," and we are very willing to accept the gift. Renan said that "one task which lay before the twentieth century was to fish out of the waste-paper basket the various valuable articles which the nineteenth had thrown into it; but we've moved into a new house and have discarded waste-paper baskets for automatically destroying despositories...The old anchorages simply don't hold us; not only because feeling the lure of the sky-line we are straining to get away; but also because the stakes themselves no longer hold; they are forced out from their former solid foundations. What our fathers assumed, we criticise; what they accepted we question. But more than that, where they were content to stop, we consider we have just begun.

Nietzsche's maxim, "To live dangerously," has won many an ardent follower these days, on the principal that it is only the impossible that is worth attempting; and perhaps the most modern thing in all departments is the common sense of freedom which these words presuppose and represent.

In the realm of thought a prominent writer not long ago was bold enough to style the situation "Armageddon on the Intellectual Chaos," and the title still holds good.

The Athenians were not unique either in their assembling in the market place or in their search after "some newer thing." Many a "school" has waxed and waned since the days when the Alexandrian coteri claimed Clement as its celebrated head. There have been "isms" in abundance, each reaping where the other sowed, each partly vanquishing until itself partly vanquished; until of late, though in another special branch of knowledge, their numerical strength would seem to be equalled and their popularity challenged by the fertile member of the "itis" group. But now there has swept across the sky a new philosopher, the prophet of the new mysticism, Henri Bergson, to whom Henry James, at the height of his own fame, gave the title of "Master," and not only swept but came to stay. "His appearance in the field of philosophy," writes a critic of high standing, "promises to be a turning point in the history of human thought;" or as another phrases it, "In future we may be pro-Bergsonians or anti-Bergsonians." His works, which have all been translated into English and many other languages during the past few years, number but four, of which his last, "Creative Evolution," is probably best known. In this he stands forth as the new and greater Darwin—of which more later. One of his books of outstanding eminence on which he spent nearly twenty years of thought and study, has for its title "Laughter." He deals with laughter as a social function and says that function "is to punish and repress certain actions that appear as defects to the social consciousness."

Or take the department of Literature. Maeterlinck is the poet of that same new mysticism of which Bergson is the philosopher. There is the same audacious spirit of adventure, the same fearless quest. And there are many others. To come within the confines of our own race, whether it be Mr. H. G. Wells, Mr. Bernard Shaw, or Mr. G. K. Chesterton, their books will leave you in no doubt as to the eager emancipated spirit they represent. Or in the closely related sphere of the modern drama, it is Mr. Galsworthy vs. Shakespeare, Mr. Arnold Bennett vs. Oliver Goldsmith, the Problem Play vs. the Melodrama, Peter Pan vs. Charlie's Aunt.

Nor is the new spirit lacking in the department of the Arts. "Post Impressionist School" is becoming a household word, and its products household ornaments. We are training ourselves to expect to find a painting as much as is possible unlike the name our catalogue gives it; to accept the fact that our ideas have always been bizarre; and to go through the necessary mental process of readjustment, unless we would remain "outside the pale." Or we listen to a "futurist" symphony, and we come away wondering in our old-fashioned ignorance whether by any chance the musicians have not read their scores upside down.

Then, again, for no survey with any claim to comprehensiveness could leave it out, there is the department of religious belief and practice; if indeed it is not too much a narrowing down even to call it a department. Here it would be both idle and futile to say that the modern spirit has not penetrated to a very large extent. The voices of Loisy and Tyrell are still echoing too loudly for that. "Modernism" says a prominent writer, "though it is a name for a movement only in the Roman communion, is part of a wide tendency among all thinking men in the Church of God."

But look one place more for proof. Look at the fabric of social and industrial life as we know it today. The problem then becomes universal at once. And you will scarcely need me to conjure up the picture before your eyes. The same spirit has caused a great upheaval here, this time in terms of flesh and blood. To borrow a phrase, there is a "cosmic nervousness" abroad. There has been the same great revolt against authority, the same quest for freedom. Modern industry both counts heads and cuts throats. Socialism—so often and so sadly caricatured—is preached as the panacea for all ills, yet competition waxes unabated. Social unrest is too real to be scoffed at. The "submerged tenth" is in process of emerging into the light of day, encouraged and helped by those whose tardy consciences have at last convinced them that every man should have his chance. Oh, yes, the poor man whom we have been willing to let knock at our gates for so long, has at last dared to step inside and with lifted head and steadfast gaze to ask questions as well as we. The modern spirit has reached him, too, and he has risen in his might.

A chafing at all conventional restrictions, the desire for untrammelled freedom in thought and action, and the courage that does not hesitate to act upon its beliefs—these things I think we see in full measure today. They are the spirits of the age.

We are asking questions undoubtedly. So much our survey has proved. But questions need not of necessity be analytic; they may be very truly synthetic. They may be constructive not destructive; and it is this that I believe a closer examination will show the present day questions to be. Why do I say that? Because in every department the seeming upheaval is in reality a search for an ultimate basis, for a final standard. The spirit that is abroad will not build on tottering foundations; it will have nothing to do with compromise; it brooks no destructions. It is a fearless search for the real. That is its constructive basis; that is its synthetic ideal.

And here is its commendation, its justification, the proof of its sincerity, and the guarantee within limits of its ultimate success—it seeks to find the real in the immaterial. It is from the vantage ground of that firm belief that the modern spirit starts. Therefore the clear vision, the strong faith, the open mind.