expansive emotions enlarge the heart more than do the depressive emotions. Golden moments, when one escapes from confining walls and comes in sight of large horizons, when one has a delicious and unwonted sense of free and onward life, dilate the we feeling. Religious conversion is such an experience, and it ought to show itself in a greater force and range of sympathy and love.

During the early days of the first Russian revolution people were exalted out of themselves. Absolute strangers met each other and suddenly talked like old friends. In a milkshop people would help themselves and leave the right pay. The worst-looking specimen of a man would step off the path into the wet snow to make room for a woman or child. "A boundless bright good-will flowed like waves from all the streets up into every room in the town. It was one of those vast miracles that come to a nation only at moments." "It was a dazzling revelation of the deep powers for brotherhood and friendliness that lie buried in mankind." It passed soon, not because such social feeling is transient, but because differences of aim and ideas made themselves felt.

Common hardships, perils, and maltreatment, as well as common deliverance, success, and triumph, socialize those who react to them in the same way; but unlike reaction to strain sunders men, as we see in the antipathy of martyrs to apostates, of fighters to skulkers, of rebels to cringers. Not those in the same situation but those who feel and act alike in the same situation are drawn together.

A master-experience is likely to segregate those who have had it. The converted come into fellowship, for the unregenerate cannot understand them. Russian revolutionaries with antithetical principles are brothers while they are hounded and persecuted but not afterward. To war veterans the civilian is forever an outsider. Simple seafaring men are never quite themselves with "landlubbers." Motherhood may inspire a sisterly feeling among women. A kind of freemasonry invites lovers of outdoors or wilderness hunters. Those who have been "up against it" or "down to the bottom dollar" are of a fraternity to which the darlings of fortune can never belong.

THE COMMON MEAL

From savage life to our own, eating and drinking together has been the favorite reviver of good feeling and the seal of amity. Nor have intoxicants and narcotics been without a social rôle. They have been, in the words of Giddings, "the crude excitants of social feelings in crude natures." Feasting together makes for a genial and expansive frame of mind. The ancient village community set such store by it that every available opportunity, such as the commemoration of the ancestors, the religious solemnities, the beginning and the end of field work, the births, the marriages, and the funerals, were seized upon to bring the community to a common meal. In the mediaeval guild

the common meal, like the festival at the old tribal folkmote-the mahl or malum or the Buryate aba, the parish feast, and the harvest supper, was simply an affirmation of brotherhood. It symbolized the times when everything was kept in common by the clan. This day, at least, all belonged to all; all sate at the same table and partook of the same meal. Even at a much later time the inmate of the almshouse of a London guild sat this day by the side of the rich alderman.'

Even now, when we wish to weave a bond of fellowship or to persuade men to join in a generous undertaking we gather them about the banquet board. Indeed, to "break bread together" has a symbolic, even a mystic, significance, and we will not sit at meat with those against whom we intend to draw a color line or a social line.

RÔLE OF THE FESTIVAL

In olden time the larger societies provided for periodical assemblage in order not to disintegrate into bickering local groups or social classes. The socializing value of such assemblage lies in this, that in one another's presence people are deeply moved in the same way at the same time and are conscious of their community of emotion. In the words of Tarde a festival is

that sovereign process by which the social logic of the sentiments resolves all partial discords, private enmities, envies, contempts, jealousies, moral oppositions of all sorts, into an immense union formed by the periodic convergence

I Kropotkin, Mutual Aid, p. 175.

of all the secondary sentiments into a greater and stronger feeling, into a collective hatred or love for some great object, which gives the tone to all hearts and transfigures their dissonances into a higher harmony. Hence, the more a society in becoming complicated multiplies these dissonances, the more it has need of magnificent and frequent festivals. This major feeling, this tonic note of the public heart, is sometimes a national hatred which is magnified and intensified by expressing itself in mimic combats, by the slaughter of captives, by all those bloody and ferocious criminal festivals in which primitive civilizations delight. Sometimes it is a great national love for a god or for a man, a national worship or admiration, religious, patriotic, or political in tinge.

In the multifarious Hellenic festivals, Olympian games, Isthmian games, Panathenian processions, the triumphal return of the victorious athlete, etc., was expressed intense admiration for strength, agility and beauty, and for the heroes in which these qualities were embodied, also respect and love of the god or the goddess of the city-piety and patriotism blent in a unique combination. Rome had its triumphal marches of generals to the Capitol, its apotheoses of emperors which, like its gladiatorial games, glorified its love of glory, its appetite for dominion and conquest. The Middle Ages had its canonization of saints, its coronations, its jousts, its exposure of reliquaries in procession, all of them expressions of chivalric, feudal, or monarchic mysticism.

We have our patriotic, political, or humanitarian festivals, such as military reviews, the funeral of Victor Hugo, the bringing back of the ashes of Napoleon, the unveiling of statues in honor of great writers, great artists, greater or lesser statesmen. There are no festivals ... which have not the virtue of binding for the moment all souls into one bundle, united by a dominant feeling.

Public worship is but a variety of periodical assemblage, and originally its social or national motive was obvious. "The most important functions of ancient worship," says W. Robertson Smith, "were reserved for public occasions, when the whole community was stirred by a common emotion." "Universal hilarity prevailed; men ate, drank, and were merry, together, rejoicing before their god. Feasting, dancing, song, and music were present." We read of "orgiastic gladness," "intoxication of the senses," "physical excitement of religion," and "hilarious revelry" as characterizing the later Semitic religious gatherings, in contrast with the natural exhilaration of the primitive feasts. A people without letters, arts, or trade, living in scattered rural settlements has little to keep alive mutual interest. Wanting are the ties created by education, travel, news, common literature, and central authority.

But at the periodical religious feast a common emotion lifts the people to a consciousness of their oneness.

-GROUP LIFE AS A SOCIALIZER

The members of a large, well-ordered family are trained out of their raw native egoism by constant practice in adjustment to others. Hence, among those apt in winning and leading men— politicians, labor organizers, evangelists, and promotors-are found an unusual number who grew up with several brothers and sisters and so had no chance to form the solo habit.

Membership in an enduring and exclusive organization cannot but take one "out of himself." The common name, war cry, or flag, symbolizing the identity of the group, becomes in time an independent center of emotion, a charged Leyden jar. With its distinctive banner, colors, slogans, songs, festival, and commemoration day, the group takes on personality and attracts a love which is by no means a love for its present members. Not only state and church gather such stimuli to feeling but, as well, colleges, guilds, political parties, and religious and fraternal orders.

To be hated and set upon by a common enemy generates the we feeling. This is the case with the boys' gang, which can survive the persecution of other gangs only if the members are loyal to one another. In the gang, therefore, is born that spirit of loyalty which lies at the foundation of most social relations.

This gang loyalty, however, is by no means a loyalty to individuals only; it is a loyalty also to ideals. The boy refuses to "squeal" under pressure, partly to shield his fellows, but still more because squealing is contrary to the boys' moral code. He joins the tribal wars, partly because, like the good barbarian he is, he loves his neighbor and hates his enemy, but quite as much because certain fightings are demanded by the gang's standard of honor.'

Disloyalty is the one unforgivable offense in boyish eyes, the one crime which inevitably leads to expulsion from the gang . . . . among twenty-one boys who had been expelled from their gangs eleven were put out for disloyalty, three for fighting in bad causes, and but one each for all other reasons. There is no other institution on earth that can take its place beside the boys' gang for the cultivation of unswerving loyalty to the group.

Close beside loyalty and fidelity come the related virtues of obedience, self-sacrifice, and co-operation. The boy who will not obey the captain cannot

play with the group. Baseball and football are impossible without co-operation, and they demand constant self-sacrifice of the individual to the team. The gang fight, brutal and useless as it commonly is, also calls for the highest devotion. It is fought not for personal ends but for the honor of the gang.1

The boys' club, under the supervision of a wise and good adult, may have a magical effect in socializing even the little Ishmaelites of the street-the newsboys and bootblacks. With growing interest in the club comes an ambition for its success, that is, the corporate spirit. The joint ownership and management of the club and its common property is a most effective check upon the thievish propensities of its members.

When a boy has so far conquered the covetousness his hard lot of deprivation has bred into him so that he can, night after night, use tools and games which all boys desire to possess, and at the closing hour put them in their places and leave them behind him, he has taken his first lesson, probably, in that social conduct which makes of the individual a good citizen of his community."

Nearly ninety years ago a very considerable and successful experiment in self-government was tried in the Boston House of Refuge, the second reformatory for children established in this country. A quarter of a century ago the George Junior Republic began to demonstrate that even in children the endeavor to find and apply rational rules of conduct creates a willingness to obey such rules. Then came the inmates of the Ione reformatory in California, with proof that they could make and enforce reasonable laws. More arresting, however, was the launching by Warden Osborne of the Mutual Welfare League in Auburn Prison, New York. Of late self-government has been extended even to the inmates of military and naval prisons, so that the delinquent soldier actually has more to do with shaping the rules he lives under than does his exemplary comrade!

The point for us is not that lawbreakers have sufficient intelligence and fair play to make and administer good laws relating to their common life, but that in so doing they are socialized. As a challenging communal enterprise self-government identifies each inmate with all his fellow-inmates. The traditional fealty of the

2

Puffer, The Boy and His Gang, pp. 151, 152.

* M. W. Law, "Our Ishmael,” Amer. Jour. of Soc., VIII, 844.