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WOODROW WILSON

THE COURSE OF AMERICAN HISTORY

[Address by Woodrow Wilson, historian, essayist, professor of jurisprudence and politics in Princeton University since 1890, elected its president June 9, 1902, and inaugurated October 25, 1902 (born in Staunton, Va., December 28, 1856; ), delivered before the New Jersey Historical Society.]

GENTLEMEN:—In the field of history, learning should be deemed to stand among the people and in the midst of life. Its function there is not one of pride merely: to make complaisant record of deeds honorably done and plans nobly executed in the past. It has also a function of guidance: to build high places whereon to plant the clear and flaming lights of experience, that they may shine alike upon the roads already traveled and upon the paths not yet attempted. The historian is also a sort of prophet. Our memories direct us. They give us knowledge of our character, alike in its strength and in its weakness; and it is so we get our standards for endeavor, Lour warnings and our gleams of hope. It is thus we learn what manner of nation we are of, and divine what manner of people we should be.

And this is not in national records merely. Local history is the ultimate substance of national history. There could be no epics were pastorals not also true, no patriotism, were there no homes, no neighbors, no quiet round of civic duty; and I, for my part, do not wonder that scholarly men have been found not a few who, though they might have shone upon a larger field, where all eyes would have seen them win their fame, yet chose to pore all

Copyright, 1896, by Woodrow Wilson. By special permission of the author and his publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 11.99

their lives long upon the blurred and scattered records of a country-side, where there was nothing but an old church or an ancient village. The history of a nation is only the history of its villages written large. I only marvel that these local historians have not seen more in the stories they have sought to tell. Surely here, in these old hamlets that antedate the cities, in these little communities that stand apart and yet give their young life to the nation, is to be found the very authentic stuff of romance for the mere looking. There is love and courtship and eager life and high devotion up and down all the lines of every genealogy. What strength, too, and bold endeavor in the cutting down of forests to make the clearings; what breath of hope and discovery in scaling for the first time the nearest mountains; what longings ended or begun upon the coming in of ships into the harbor; what pride of earth in the rivalries of the village; what thoughts of heaven in the quiet of the rural church What forces of slow and steadfast endeavor there were in the building of a great city upon the foundations of a hamlet: and how the plot broadens and thickens and grows dramatic as communities widen into States! Here, surely, sunk deep in the very fibre of the stuff, are the colors of the great story of men, the lively touches of reality and the striking images of life. It must be admitted, I know, that local history can be made deadly dull in the telling. The men who reconstruct it seem usually to build with kiln-dried stuff, as if with a purpose it should last. But that is not the fault of the subject. National history may be written almost as ill, if due pains be taken to dry it out. It is a trifle more difficult: because merely to speak of national affairs is to give hint of great forces and of movements blown upon by all the airs of the wide continent. The mere largeness of the scale lends to the narrative a certain dignity and spirit. But some men will manage to be dull though they should speak of creation. In writing of local history the thing is fatally easy. For there is some neighborhood history that lacks any large significance, which is without horizon or outlook. There are details in the history of every community which it concerns no man to know again when once they are past and decently buried

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in the records: and these are the very details, no doubt,
which it is easiest to find upon a casual search. It is
easier to make out a list of county clerks than to extract
the social history of the county from the records they have
kept, though it is not so important: and it is easier to
make a catalogue of anything than to say what of life and
purpose the catalogue stands for. This is called collecting
facts “for the sake of the facts themselves'; but if I
wished to do aught for the sake of the facts themselves I
think I should serve them better by giving their true biog-
raphies than by merely displaying their faces.
The right and vital sort of local history is the sort which
may be written with lifted eyes, the sort which has a
horizon and an outlook upon the world. Sometimes it
may happen, indeed, that the annals of a neighborhood
disclose some singular adventure which had its beginning
and its ending there: some unwonted bit of fortune which
stands unique and lonely amidst the myriad transactions
of the world of affairs, and deserves to be told singly and
for its own sake. But usually the significance of local
history is, that it is part of a greater whole. A spot of
local history is like an inn upon a highway: it is a stage
upon a far journey: it is a place the national history has
passed through. There mankind has stopped and lodged
by the way. Local history is thus less than national
history only as the part is less than the whole. The whole
could not dispense with the part, would not exist without
it, could not be understood unless the part also were
understood. Local history is subordinate to national only
in the sense in which each leaf of a book is subordinate
to the volume itself. Upon no single page will the whole
theme of the book be found; but each page holds a part
of the theme. Even were the history of each locality
exactly like the history of every other (which it cannot
be), it would deserve to be written, if only to corrobo-
rate the history of the rest, and verify it as an authentic
part of the record of the race and nation. The common
elements of a nation's life are the great elements of its
life, the warp and woof of the fabric. They cannot be
too much or too substantially verified and explicated.
It is so that history is made solid and fit for use and wear.
Our national history, of course, has its own great and

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