shining of that beauty close at hand and in the most familiar objects; if he would discern the significance of life, he must invest the commonest persons and the most obscure conditions with the dignity of divine purpose and love.

Is life, then, as some men have told us, an unintelligible paradox, a vast and fathomless irony? Is it true that, as Omar Khayyám has said,

We are no other than a moving row

Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go

Round with this Sun-illumin'd Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show? The paradoxes of life have their root in our ignorance; they are the result of our half knowledge dealing with half-truths. The moment a man comes to understand the order of the solar system, the sun no longer seems to revolve around the earth; and the moment a man discerns that this earthly experience is part of an endless life, that he is open to heavenly as well as earthly influences, that behind the apparent order there is another and a spiritual order, mystery remains, but confusion and contradiction vanish. There is no more irrationality in teaching a man a spiritual lesson through a sorrow, a loss, or a sacrifice, than in teaching a child a fact or truth which is still beyond the range of its full comprehension. All real education is in advance of the mind's power of entire appropriation at the moment. The mature man no less than the child is always learning things which he does not perfectly understand at the moment, but which he will understand when experience has widened or deepened or ripened his nature. If by self-surrender one can secure pure and lasting freedom, there is no paradox in the giving up of the lesser for the greater good; if by losing his life a man can save that which is of more value than life, there is no jugglery with his intelligence in the process. The moment one discerns the spiritual order behind the apparent disorder, there are no longer any paradoxes; the apparent contradictions resolve themselves into harmonious adjustment as soon as one overlooks the entire field. There is no real antagonism between the force which impels the earth towards the sun and that which impels it towards the abysses of space; they are different manifestations of the same force. In a shop one sees often two belts running in opposite directions, but he has only to climb a pair of stairs to discover that a single belt

is running over the drum! The earth is not solitary; it is part of a system, and can be understood only when it is so regarded. Man is not perishable, but immortal; the things which surround him are material means to spiritual ends, material symbols of spiritual truths; life is not identical with its forms and appearances and conditions; it is divine and it is eternal.

Relaxation

The ability to relax the tension of work is as important as the power of concentration; for the two processes combine in the doing of the highest kind of work. There are, it is true, great differences between men in capacity for sustained toil. Some men are able to put forth their energy at the highest point of efficiency for a short time only, while the endurance of others seems to be almost without limit. In manual or mechanical work it is mainly a question of physical or nervous resources; in creative work, however, relaxation is not a matter of choice; it is a matter of necessity, because it affects the quality of the product. In the alertness of attention, the full activity of every faculty, the glow of the imagination, which accompany the putting forth of the creative power, the whole force of the worker is concentrated and his whole nature is under the highest tension. Everything he holds of knowledge, skill, experience, emotion, flows to one point; as waters which have gathered from the surface of a great stretch of country sometimes run together and sweep, in deep, swift current, through a narrow pass. In such moments there is a concentration of thought, imagination, and spiritual energy which fuses all the forces of the worker into one force and directs that force to a single point.

In such a moment there is obviously a closing in of a man's nature from outward influences. The very momentum with which the absorbed worker is urged on in the accomplishment of his design shuts him from those approaches of truth and knowledge which are made only when the mind is at ease. One sees a hundred things in the woods as he saunters through their depths which are invisible as he rushes through on a flying train; and one is conscious of a vast world of sights, sounds, and odors, when he sits out-of-doors at ease, of which he is oblivious when he is absorbed in any kind of

task. Now, in order to give work the individuality and freshness of the creative spirit, one must be, at certain times, as open to these manifold influences from without as one must be, at other times, closed against them; the tension of the whole being which is necessary for the highest achievement must be intermitted. In the lower forms of work relaxation is necessary for health; in the higher forms of work it is essential for creativeness.

It is a very superficial view of the nature of man which limits growth to periods of self-conscious activity; a view so superficial that it not only betrays ignorance of the real nature of man's relation to his world, but also of the real nature of work. Activity is not necessarily work; it is often motion with out direction, progress, or productiveness mere waste of energy. In every field of life -religious, intellectual, material-there is an immense amount of activity which is a sheer waste of power. Work is energy intelligently put forth; and intelligence in work depends largely upon keeping the whole nature in close and constant relation with all the sources of power. To be always doing something is to be as useless for the higher purposes of growth and influence as to be always idle; one can do nothing with a great show of energy, and one can do much with very little apparent effort. In no field of work is the difference between barren and fruitful activity more evident than in teaching. Every one who has acquaintance with teachers knows the two types: the man who is never at rest, but who pushes through the school day, watch in hand, with gongs sounding, monitors marking, classes marching, recitations beginning and ending with military precision, sharply defined sections in each text-book arbitrarily covered in each perioda mechanic of tireless activity, who never by any chance touches the neart of the subject, opens the mind of the pupil, enriches his imagination, or liberates his personality; and the other type, the real teacher, who is concerned, not to sustain a mechanical industry, but to create a dynamic energy; who cares more for truth than for facts, for ability than for dexterity, for skill of the soul than for cunning of the brain; who aims to put his pupil in heart with nature as well as in touch with her phenomena; to disclose the formative spirit in history as well as to convey accurate information; to uncover the depths of human life in literature as well as to set periods of literary development in

external order. Such a man may use few methods, and attach small importance to them; the railroad atmosphere of the schedule may be hateful to him in the school-room; but he is the real worker, for he achieves that which his noisier and more bustling colleague misses—the education of his pupils. He is not content to impart knowledge; he must also impart culture; for without culture knowledge is the barren possession of the intellectual artisan.

Now, culture involves repose, openness of mind, that spiritual hospitality which is possible only when the nature is relaxed and lies fallow like the fields which are set aside in order that they may regain fertility. The higher the worker the deeper the need of relaxation in the large sense. A man must be nourished before he can feed others; must be enriched in his own nature before he can make others rich; must be inspired before he can reveal, prophesy, or create in any field. If he makes himself wholly a working power, he isolates himself from the refreshment and re-creative power of the living universe in which he toils; in that isolation he may do many things with feverish haste, but he can do nothing with commanding ability. He narrows his energy to a rivulet by cutting himself off from the hills on which the feeding springs rise and the clouds pour down their richness. The rivulet may be swift, but it can never have depth, volume, or force. The great streams in which the stars shine and on which the sails of commerce whiten and fade are fed by half a continent.

To the man who is bent upon the highest personal efficiency through the most complete self-development a large part of life must be set aside for that relaxation which, by relief from tension and from concentration, puts the worker into relation with the influences and forces that nourish and inspire the spirit. The more one can gain in his passive moods, the more will he have to give in his active moods; for the greater the range of one's thought, the truer one's insight, and the deeper one s force of imagination, the more will one's skill express and convey. A man's life ought to be immensely in excess of his expression, and a man's life has its springs far below the plane of his work. Emerson's work reveals the man, because it contains the man, but the man was fashioned before the work began. The work played no small part in the unfolding of the man's nature, but that which gave the work indi

viduality and authority antedated both poems and essays. These primal qualities had their source in the personality of the thinker and poet, and were developed and refined by long intimacy with nature, by that fruitful quietness and solitude which open the soul to the approach of the deepest truths and most liberating experiences. Emerson knew how to relax, to surrender to the hour and the place, to invite the higher powers by throwing all the doors open; and these receptive hours, when he gave himself into the keeping of the spirit, were the most fertile periods of his life; they enriched and inspired him for the hours of work.

The British Trades-Union

Congress

The British workingman has been asked by the Trades-Union Congress recently held at Bristol to adopt a radical change in the method of contending for his asserted rights. In point of attendance and discussion the Congress was the most remarkable of recent years, and the presence of delegates from the United States, Japan, and New Zealand gave something of an international interest to its proceedings. The address of the President, Mr. J. O'Grady, outlined a new and distinctively political attitude for the workingmen represented at the Congress, and, as his views were typical of the majority, it would seem that the present methods of tradesunionism are looked upon as obsolete. The most important position taken in the address, and afterwards affirmed by resolution, was: That trades-unions are no longer sufficient to meet the power of capital, and that a complete reorganization of all trades, skilled and unskilled, into a Federation of Labor should supersede the limited functions of the present organizations. Not only so, but the proposed Federation is to be an independent political party, adopting the principles of Socialism. It should be noted that the discussion of the socialistic resolution showed a large minority in opposition to it, and throughout the Congress there were proofs of strong dissent from some of the radical changes recommended.

Though the principle of this Federation as a new political party was adopted, no working plan was agreed upon, and the elaboration of one was postponed for consideration

at a special congress to be called next January. Among other resolutions passed were those demanding an extension of the Factory and Compensation Acts to meet new cases arising; favoring compulsory arbitration in trade disputes; demanding an eight-hour working day; advocating the taking over of railways by the Government; legalizing payment of Members of Parliament; and minor resolutions providing for the protection of the physical condition of workers in certain trades. The socialistic resolution recommended the trades-unions to give their support to the working-class Socialist parties on the ground that the labor problem will never be solved until the land and the means of production, distribution, and exchange are

held as common property.

Unquestionably the failure of the tradesunions to gain their point during the engineers' and Welsh coal strikes, emphasized by the hopelessness of further action on the old lines, largely caused the radical changes favored by the Congress. A compact Socialist party resembling the German propaganda, well equipped financially, and specially organized for electoral contests, was set forth as the only remedy for grievances which former efforts had failed to redress. While the Congress was willing to accept a Workmen's Compensation Act from a Conservative Administration, this was considered only the first in a series of legislative changes, one to be followed by complemental measures legalizing old-age pensions and the abolition of contracting out. After the organization of the new party is completed, its first legislative aims are to be an eight-hour day and a minimum wage; then there will be efforts in furtherance of taxation reform and the nationalization of industry.

This is the most ambitious attempt yet made to commit the working classes of Great Britain to a programme of collectivism. In the contests with the mine-owners and the employers of engineers, capital borrowed from the experience of the trades-unions and became more compactly organized; the latter now seek greater strength by a closer and more comprehensive organization than that of their opponents. In the proposed reconstruction provision is to be made for the largest possible support by the admission of unskilled trades, and each trade is to have all its workers enrolled as adherents of the new party. This will give some idea of the difficulties of organization to be grappled with,

It

for it will take a long time to make British workingmen politically of the same mind. In the attempt to form in Great Britain a new political party devoted to the interests of labor and animated by the collectivist principle, either of two courses may be chosen : independent or co-operative party action, the latter alternative finding its realization naturally in connection with the Liberals. cannot be denied that the history of British politics gives scant encouragement to the prospect of any political organization outside of the two great parties. The present Labor party has only an insignificant representation in the House of Commons, nor has it exercised a noteworthy influence in electoral contests, except where it was willing to merge its vote and be content with a partial advantage. The so-called parties outside of the Liberals and Conservatives are little more than phases of sectional opinion which have no solid place in the esteem of the nation. The settled habit of the electorate is not tolerant of them as separate organizations aiming at political control.

But the new party foreshadowed at the Bristol Congress would have, it seems to us, a still more remote chance of success, whether as an independent or as an allied organization. If a section of the Liberals should adopt some of the more radical tenets of collectivism, it would be read out of the party as alien to the traditions and the temperament of British party politics. The tenets would point ominously to an elaborate untried system—a concept repugnant to the British voter, who does not want a system, but a practical fighting issue. The intrusion of doctrinaire propositions as a medium of popular appeal would be bluntly resented as subversive of an established order. In this res ect the English Socialist differs widely from the German. The former, with that Anglo-Saxon inconsistency which illustrates the union of free theorizing with practical action utterly dissevered from it, may believe as firmly in collectivism as the latter, but he intuitively perceives its uselessness as a party weapon. He will at best hope that gradually, point by point and under the disguise of names which hide revolutionary meanings, isolated articles of his creed may find their way into the contentions of party politics. He may profess the most radical theories, but as a voter he is steadied by the conservatism which allots votes and theories to widely different uses.

The Best Books of the Year

The Outlook's annual Book Number-put forth as it is at the height of the book-publishing season and at the time when readers are beginning to select those best of holiday gifts, good new books-may lay claim to be called a well-established institution. It was, we believe, the first in the field of such illustrated book numbers, and the next issue (which, as usual, will form the December Magazine Number of The Outlook) will be the tenth to appear. In addition to the general survey of the freshly published literature of the autumn and the usual extensive announcements of publishers, our readers have always found in this number a group of timely articles relating to literary topics. This year a novel group of such articles with ample illustration will form the chief special feature. In another part of this week's issue of The Outlook will be found an announcement about this subject to which we call attention.

Briefly stated, it is proposed to ask our readers to hold immediately a sort of plébiscite as to the best ten books of the year just closed with the end of September. A blank is provided in each copy of this issue which each reader is requested to fill out and return to us at once. The ten books thus selected by vote, their authors, and the circumstances under which they were written, will form the general subject of a group of articles by writers and critics of standing, which can hardly fail to be distinctly and positively readable. The articles will be fully and originally illustrated. Apart from the interest in thus learning what the popular feeling is about the comparative merits of recent books, this method of choosing the particular subjects for treatment will give our readers a pleasant personal participation in this special number. Books voted for must have been published in the United States during the year ending September 30, but need not be by American authors. New editions and technical works are excluded. To the reader who first sends in the list which the tabulation shows to be that determined on by the general verdict, the works thus named will be presented by The Outlook; and when we consider the excellence of the notable publications of the year, it may fairly be said that the fortunate reader will have in the ten works chosen no contemptible nucleus for a home library.