Woodrow Wilson to Richard Heath Dabney
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The receipt of your letter was a delightful surprise. I say 'surprise' because it cannot but be a matter of grateful surprise that any one—even you—away off there in Europe, surrounded by everything that is attractive in the old world, deep in the work of a great university, and looking forward to a Ph.D. in Berlin, should ever think of me, buried in hum-drum life down here in slow, ignorant, uninteresting Georgia. I read this letter of yours with as much envy as I felt when I read the one which preceded it: for who can help envying a man whose is taking, under the most favourable circumstances imaginable, the very course that one longs to take himself? It is not human nature to do otherwise. I am, however, (let me tell you with rejoicings) about to do what is the next best thing, for a fellow who is confined to the limits of this continent: for I have about made up my mind to study, at Johns Hopkins University, the very subjects which you are now studying in Germany under the great masters with unpronounceable names. In doing this I am, beyond all reasonable doubt, following the natural bent of my mind. I can never be happy unless I am enabled to lead an intellectual life; and who can lead an intellectual life in ignorant Georgia? I have come deliberately into the opinion that northern Georgia is altogether a very remarkable quarter of the globe. In southern Georgia, which was settled long before this portion of the State was reclaimed from the Indians, there is much culture and refinement. There civilization seems to feel somewhat at home, for it is not a new-comer. But hereabouts culture is very little esteemed; not, indeed, at all because it is a drug on the market, but because there is so little of it that its good qualities are not appreciated. Sometimes I am inclined to think that, for one who would succeed in North Georgia, anything more than a common school education is a positive drawback. Here the chief end of man is certainly to make money, and money cannot be made except by the most vulgar methods. The studious man is pronounced unpractical and is suspected as a visionary. All students of specialties—except such practical specialties as carpentering, for instance—are classed together as mere ornamental furniture in the intellectual world—curious, perhaps, and pretty enough, but of very little use and no mercantile value. If one had the means and leisure to be philosophical he could learn here enough of a certain side of human nature to stock two or three immortal comedies, and several conclusive essays on the characteristics of the middle classes. If you, or any other outsider would learn something about my neighbors in Atlanta, and their neighbors throughout northern Georgia, much can be easily learned in the perusal of any trustworthy account of the English people of Queen Anne's time: they were North Georgians. It goes, therefore, without the saying that, though I am by its ways being made wise in worldly craft, I suffer very much in such a community for lack of intellectual companionship.But the greater matter is that the practice of the law, when conducted for purposes of gain, is antagonistic to the best interests of the intellectual life. One can easily exchange one community for another: he can even live above the deteriorating influences of the community in which his lot is cast; but he cannot so emancipate himself from the necessary conditions of his profession. The philosophical study of the law—which must be a pleasure to any thoughtful man—is a very different matter from its scheming and haggling practice. Burke spoke with his usual clear-sighted wisdom when he spoke of the law as “one of the first and noblest of human sciences—a science which does more to quicken and invigorate the understanding than all the other kinds of learning put together; but it is not apt, except in persons very happily born, to open and to liberalize the mind in exactly the same proportion” With equal truth and perspicacity, Hamerton says: “The profession of the law provides ample opportunities for a critical intellect with a strong love of accuracy and a robust capacity for hard work, besides which it is the best of worldly educations. Some lawyers love their work as passionately as artists do theirs, others dislike it very heartily, most of them seem to take it as a simple business to be done for daily bread. Lawyers whose heart is in their work are invariably men of superior ability, which proves that there is something in it that affords gratification to the intellectual powers. However, in speaking of lawyers, I feel ignorant and on the outside, because their profession is one of which the interior feelings can be known to no one who has not practised. One thing seems clear, they get the habit of employing the whole strength and energy of their minds for especial and temporary ends, the purpose being the service of the client, certainly not the revelation of pure truth. Hence, although they become very acute, and keen judges of that side of human nature which they habitually see (not the best side) they are not more disinterested than clergymen. Sometimes they take up some study outside of their profession and follow it disinterestedly, but this is rare. A busy lawyer is much more likely than a clergyman to become entirely absorbed in his professional life, because it requires so much more intellectual exertion” (Hamerton is here speaking, of course, of the churchmen of the old world) “I remember,” he continues, “asking a very clever lawyer who lived in London, whether he ever visited an exhibition of pictures, and he answered me by the counter-inquiry whether I had ready Chitty on Contracts, Collier on Partnerships, Taylor on Evidence, Cruse's Digest, or Smith's Mercantile Law? This seemed to me at the time a good instance of the way a professional habit may narrow ones view of things, for these law-books were written for lawyers alone, whilst the picture exhbitions were intended for the public generally. My friend's answer would have been more to the point if I had inquired whether he had read Linton on Colours, or Burnet on Chiaroscuro.
"There is just one situation in which we all may feel for a short time as lawyers feel habitually. Suppose that two inexperienced players sit down to a game of chess, and that each is backed by a clever person who is constantly giving him hints. The two backers represent the lawyers, and the players represent their clients. There is not much disinterested thought in a situation of this kind, but there is a strong stimulus to acuteness.”
I came across this passage with not a little delight a few weeks since, for it embodies thoughts which had long been gathering in my mind, but for which I could never have found such felicitous expression. Now here it is that the whole secret of my new departure lies. You know my passion for original work, you know my love for composition, my keen desire to become a master of philosophical discourse, to become capable and apt in instructing as great a number of persons as possible. My plain necessity, then, is some profession which will afford me a moderate support, favourable conditions for study, and considerable leisure; what better can I be, therefore, than a professor, a lecturer upon subjects whose study most delights me? Therefore it is that I have prayed to be made a fellow of Johns Hopkins; and therefore it is that I am determined, if I fail of that appointment (as I probably shall, since it is not won but given) to go next winter anyhow to Baltimore to attend the University lectures and bury myself for a season in the grand libraries of that beautiful city.
Are you aware that we have a new governor in Georgia? We have just passed through the forms of a special election. We are much too economical in this thrifty State to think of indulging ourselves in a lieutenant governor; so the vacancy caused by the death of “little Alex.” Stephens had to be filled by a special election, and the vote counted in a extra session of the Legislature. True, to put all the machinery of nominating convention, a special election, and an extra session into operation probably cost the people of the State a sum of money in comparison with which a lieutenant-governorship would seem cheap enough; but so long as we think that we are economical our consciences are at peace—and, after all, that's the great matter.
Governor McDaniel was inaugurated yesterday. As I sat here at my desk I could see from my office windows, which look out upon the principal entrance of the big, ugly building which serves new Atlanta as a temporary capitol, the mixed crowds going in to secure seats in the galleries of the House of Representatives at the inauguration ceremonies. They were probably not much entertained, though they may have been considerably diverted, for our new governor cannot talk. He stutters most painfully, making quite astonishing struggles for utterance. A Tennesseean wag expressed great commiseration for Georgia in her poverty of sound candidate material, and offered to send some over from Tenn. for the relief of a State which was about to replace a governor who could not walk with a governor who could not talk. McDaniel is sound enough in other respects, however—not remarkable except for honesty—always remarkable in a latter-day politician—but steady and sensible, all the harder worker, perhaps, because he can't talk.If my letter were not already too long, I should like to discuss with you Riehl's provisional definition of the State. The definition given somewhere by Woolsey is: “A community of persons living within certain limits of territory, under a permanent organization, which aims to secure the prevalence of justice by self-imposed laws.” It is noticeable that the American found his idea of the State on the authority of the people, conceiving of laws as of course self-imposed, whilst the German does not put the origin of the laws upon the face of his definition. Woolsey's seems to me better in form. It is more accurate, at least, to speak of the State as a community of persons living under a common system of laws than as a “popular community founded upon a common system of laws.” Woolsey leaves out of his definition, however, the idea of defence against external foes, which Riehl includes—But more of this another time.
Try to write soon again. Your letters afford me the sincerest delight and the greatest entertainment. If you want an appreciative reader, you can't do better than to write to me.
With much love,
Woodrow Wilson
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