St Johnsbury Academy - Lamp Yearbook (St Johnsbury, VT)

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G THE ACADEMY STUDENT mantic adventure, but one of work, eat, sleep, work, until death brought merciful oblivion. To make the comparison between our modern American civilization and feudal civilizations more vivid, let us consider present-day China. Here, with the exception of the large port cities, prevails a feudal state which closely parallels that of medieval Europe. Here life is unhampered by the great industrial mechanism which supposedly limits and distorts our own. But let us take a peep into the life of a Chinese peasant. Bed for a Chinese isn’t a mass-production mattress and standardized sheets — he sleeps on the bare earth with no covering. His clothes and shoes, except for the unintentional variations which always accompany handwork, are like those of millions of other Chinese. Like them, instead of being carried to work in his automobile. a taxi, a bus, or in the subway, he must walk. Industrialized? Heaven forbid! But standardized. Twice a week he varies the monotony of his life by stopping at the village barber’s for a shave. The razor is a product of loving handwork. Could the maker help it if the edge was somewhat uneven and not of the keenest? However that may be, to escape it, a Chinese would willingly submit himself to a safety razor even at the risk of industrialization. By the same token he could escape standardization, because he would be the only person in China with a safety razor. But, you may say, there are things more precious than comforts and conveniences. What will these aids to material well-being avail us if our minds are held in shackles of regimentation and our spiritual life neglected? It has frequently been said that through the far-reaching mediums of newspapers and radio broadcasting a man or group of men can force their ideas upon the people and successfully regiment public opinion. It is true that the range of voice and pen has been vastly extended, but has its influence increased proportionately? Let us return for a moment to the Middle Ages. The Church before the Reformation achieved a regimentation of thought in matters of religion, philosophy, politics, economics, sociology and the fine arts that our newspapers and radios can’t approach. Thought was so held in thrall that science hardly advanced beyond the stage of curious experiment. This despotism formed a mental strait-jacket in comparison with which our modern freedom is like a sport coat. The external things of life, such as dress and manners, have always been and probably always will be somewhat uniform. Man imitates by instinct. But if standardization is carried beyond this point, it retards progress and destroys our perspective. The past century has revolutionized society. Even the humblest laborer enjoys comparative freedom. Machines have shortened his working hours and given him more time for rest and recreation. A good education is now available to everybody, and there are opportunities not only for teaching but for research work. For our modern civilization is the first to recognize the fact that on these two factors — the discovery of new knowledge and the passing on of the old — our whole scheme of progress

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VALEDICTORY ESSAY “—And the Truth Shall Make Us Free” In his discussion of “The Old Savage in the New Civilization Mr. Raymond Fosdick makes the following statement: “Life has become more and more a standardized process, in which there is little of serenity or leisure. We hurry from birth to death, goaded only to greater haste by our increasingly speedy conveyances, trying to catch up with the machinery which we have created.” Surface aspects would seem to justify this charge. The American people, probably more than any others, live according to a stereotyped routine. The popular songs and the slang of New York are familiar to the obscure towns in the South and the West. The movies have set the styles for clothing, hairdress; even for speech and manners. The rugged individualist has disappeared and in bis place has come the typical American who talks, dresses, and arranges his hair like everyone else; who sometimes appears to have become a slave to the machine which be has created, and whose opinions seem hopelessly regimented by small groups of men through the widespread agencies of press and radio. There are those who long for the golden days when knighthood was in flower, when everyone was free to follow his own cpiest and life was not marred and restricted by machines and standardized production. They forget that their golden age was golden only for those on the topmost level, that the greater part of the population consisted of unbelievably poor serfs who toiled that the gallant knights and gracious ladies might enjoy their idyllic life. Poverty-stricken and cruelly treated, held in physical bondage by the feudal lords and in mental bondage by the church, these serfs lived lives so cramped that their very souls died within them. Theirs was not a life of ro-

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THE ACADEMY STUDENT hinges. Far from being slaves of machines, we are through them masters of those giants of the lower world, called now by the unromantic names of Coal and Oil. There are practically no barriers to individual thinking; anyone can freely express his ideas on practically any subject under the sun. Modern medicine has freed us from many of the scourges that used to take such toll of life. The means for the spread of knowledge, for its preservation and transmission, the facilities for universal education and inspiration, the time for leisure, and the opportunity for unrestricted thought, all these have been vastly extended by modern science, and are capable of being extended much further. Bit by bit we are learning the truth, and the truth shall make us free. —Margaret Beattie SALUTATORY ESSAY Writing in the Dark i “Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. “It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.” These courageous verses were written by one who was ending an ordeal of twenty months in a hospital and who had lost a foot from a kind of tuberculosis. The man was William Ernest Henley. Like many others of our greatest literary men he was forced to “write in the dark;” his great loss covered him with a cloud “black as the Pit from pole to pole.” Others, too, have overcome this great barrier of darkness, others who have suffered not only from physical handicaps, but also from great sorrow; who have lost those dear to them; who have known few friends and little enjoyment; who have faced heartbreaking deprivations. As long as the English language is spoken, the essays of Charles Lamb will be read and his lovable character remembered. A lonely child, he was placed in a charity school until he was fifteen; then desirous of entering college, he was barred because of an impediment in his speech. Instead he entered an accountant’s office, and there spent thirty-three monotonous years of drudgery bending over a dingy desk. Thomas Carlyle said of him, “A more pitiful, ricketty, gasping, staggering Tom Fool I don’t know.” At twenty-two there had come a blow which changed his entire life. The Lambs were desperately poor. It was Charles’s sister, Mary, who had helped to keep the home together. Working day in and day out she had kept the house in