colony the proportion between people and land is totally different from that in the metropolis. Coming from an old, highly diversified and differentiated society, the colonists, owing to the abundance of their land, find themselves thrown back into the stage of extensive agriculture, or even of herdsmanship. Moreover, being more favorable to production than to consumption, the colony attracts the active, but contains few persons living on incomes derived exclusively from ownership. For these reasons the new society by no means reproduces all the characteristics of the mother-society. Labor is honored. Achievement rather than enjoyment is its ideal of life. Vigor and efficiency are more esteemed than graces and refinements. The lack of cities, of intercourse, and of leisure is unfavorable to the cultivation of the sciences or the fine arts. The scarcity of labor may lead to the enslavement of weaker races. The community being little differentiated economically or socially, manhood rather than property controls the commonwealth, the temper is individualistic and liberty-loving, and popular institutions take root. Equality before the law is insisted on. Primogeniture is renounced. The state has little power to withstand public opinion. The spell of tradition is broken and the hereditary principle is weak. The spirit of society is either humanitarian or plutocratic, but not aristocratic.

Owing to the growth of numbers, however, such a society will in time approximate the mother-society, unless its early spirit is so crystallized in ideals and institutions as to control its later development. If, on the other hand, migration takes place to an unlike environment-as when northerners occupy a tropical island, mountaineers descend to the seacoast, or a maritime people removes to an inland plateau—the new social development may be quite tangent to the old. Here the chief transforming factor is not Climate or Aspect of Nature working directly on people, but radical change of occupation, working first on habits and ideas, and then on social relationships and institutions. What the direction of variation will be it is, of course, impossible to predict, unless the nature of the new environment is specified.

EDWARD ALSWORTH Ross.

THE UNIVERSITY OF NEbraska.

[To be concluded.]

THE FOUNDERS OF SOCIOLOGY.1

IN speaking of "The Founders of Sociology" one runs the risk of being taken for a seeker after treasure that does not exist. Some people assure us that sociology is scientifically a mere chimera a toy for the dotage of the man of science. M. Block, a more than usually philosophical economist, compiled a Dictionary of Economic and Social Science. Under the rubric, "Sociology," he inserted an article which began thus: "Does there exist a social science? One must answer squarely, No." Others assert there is an indefinite number of sociologies—as many men, so many sociologists. It is certainly not an easy matter to conceive even the possibility of combining into one integral study all available knowledge of man and of society. It may help us to realize the difficulty of getting hold of a great abstract idea like that of a general scheme of sociology, if we recall an incident of one of Captain Cook's voyages. He had touched at the island which afterward became known as New Guinea (or was it New Caledonia ?). He tried to find out from the inhabitants what was the native name of the island. But in whatever part of the island he questioned the inhabitants he found that they could give him the name of their own district only. It had not occurred to any of them that a name was required for the whole island. They had not risen to this generality of conception. They were specialists in district geography. They had not been able to conceive a general geography of the island.

In respect of his dubious scientific status, the sociologist resembles his not remote kinsman, the theologian. And of theologians we have been told (the saying is attributed to Professor Flint) that there are two kinds: there are the theologians who have had religious experience, and there are the theologians who have read the works of other theologians. We cannot, however, apply this principle to the classification of sociologists. For we have all had social experience-even those who write 'Lecture to a sociological debating club in London, October 21, 1903.

books on sociology. To live at all is to have social experience. The child who can write his name has of necessity amassed an impressive quantity of social experience. The woman who spends a few shillings in a grocer's shop in doing so pronounces a whole series of sociological judgments.

The commonest of all sociological phenomena is that which our limited vocabulary opposes to society-the individual. The mind of the individual is built up of the débris of past social systems. Whoever studies the working of the human mind and its history is either studying sociology or preparing himself for its study. Psychology is a part of sociology in its widest sense. There may be implicit a theory of society, and therefore a system of sociology, in the briefest conversation, in a phrase, even in a word. You are not only talking sociology, you are even indicating the presence in your mind of far-reaching conceptions of social relationships, when you use ethical words like "duty,” “justice,” “honor," "vice;" or juristic and political words like "contract,' property,' 'taxes," crime; or economic words like "profits," "rent," " wages,' ," "interest," "capital;" or domestic and commonplace words like "manners," "home," "luck, or religious words like "oath," "sacred," "sin," "sacrament," "righteousness."

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What is a newspaper but a page of a sociological note-book, with its random observations and its lack of interpretative insight? A volume of the Illustrated London News is a museum of sociology, as miscellaneous in its arrangement as if it belonged to the palmy days of South Kensington. The journalists and the novelists are the field-naturalists of sociology; only they have not yet found their Linnæus.

A novel, when it is not a monument of æsthetic imbecility, is a dramatic presentation of chance observations in sociology and psychology. The most impressive contribution made to descriptive sociology in the nineteenth century was surely the RougonMacquart series of Zola, though doubtless there are many who in the name of scientific comprehensiveness would claim that distinction for the collected works of Balzac. The preface to Balzac's La Maison du chat qui pelote is a classic document in the

history of sociology, and it is no rere coincidence that it appeared in the same year as saw the completion of Comte's Positive Philosophy. In fact, was it not Walter Scott and Balzac who contributed the particular or descriptive parts of the sociology, to which Comte contributed the general part, or principles?

Does not society, asks Balzac, in the preface cited, make out of given surroundings as many different kinds of man as there are varieties in zoölogy? Are there not as many social species as zoological species? Are they not to be counted as social species, he says, the soldier, the workman, the administrator, the advocate, the idler, the politician, the savant, the merchant, the sailor, the poet, the pauper, the priest? What Buffon did for natural history, he says, has to be done for human society. But it is twice as difficult to describe a social as a zoological species, because in society woman is not always the female of the male. But, he adds, with the confidence of the realist: "French society is going to be the historian. I only need to be the secretary."

In a sense, then, we are all sociologists. But let us not confuse that with the utterance of the politician who said: "We are all socialists now." The latter saying is, or is meant to be, a witticism; the former professes to be a literal truth, obvious as soon as the meaning of the words is made clear. As long as we allow that there is one person of sound mind who is not a socialist in any of the accepted meanings of the term that alone suffices to put socialism in the class of controversial and partisan subjects. Consensus of agreement is the final test of scientific truth. In what sense, then, is the word used, when it is asserted that every one is a "sociologist"? Before giving the general and abstract answer to that question, let us consider one or two illustrations.

It is a common observation that when a sensitive child is accused of a wrongful act it will probably blush, whether guilty or innocent. Why is this? Mr. Spencer instances as an analogous case that of a well-dressed man who might be detected helping a lame costermonger to push a barrow. Though assured by his own conscience of the meritoriousness of the act, the welldressed gentleman would become possessed by a feeling of shame, as soon as he saw that he was observed. Why is this? An

eminent geologist has declared that, notwithstanding the lifelong efforts of a scientifically trained mind, he has never been able to free himself from a feeling of abject shame, when, returning to town from a geological excursion in muddy boots and dusty garments, he meets an acquaintance in the streets. It belongs perhaps to the same class of phenomena, the observation of Emerson, that the consciousness of being well dressed gives more satisfaction to a woman than all the comforts of religion.

Now, without laying any stress on the last illustration — lest it should turn out to apply only to American women we cannot fail to observe in all these cases an antagonism between the unconscious and the conscious life, between instinct and reason. The instinct dictates a form of feeling and conduct in apparent conformity to a different state of society and social usage from that envisaged by the reason. How far can we further define the conditions and circumstances of this antagonism? How far can we trace its origin and growth, how work toward its reconciliation? These are some of the questions which, more or less vaguely, the mere experience of the antagonism tends to evoke. The mere rising of the questions into consciousness, however dimly and indefinitely, marks the sociologist. It is unfortunately true that very few people give any precise formulation to these inquisitive promptings, and still fewer make any persistent effort to arrive at even approximately satisfactory answers. But how far is that due to the stupefying circumstances with which an ill-organized society dulls the natural and legitimate curiosity of the child? How far to the absence of adequate educational means for guiding and developing that curiosity, and awakening the growing mind to the great issues of life?

In accounting for the fact that so many people are sociologists spoiled in the making, we have to take account both of the forces that actively make for degeneration, and of the ineffectiveness of forces that are supposed to guide and stimulate development.

In innumerable ways, everyone is, in the daily routine of life, inevitably led up to the consideration of sociological problems. Who, for instance, is so busy as never to yield a passing thought to the causes and the consequences of the ways of spending