BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

Chautauqua is a place and an idea. The idea was before the place; although it must be confessed that the embodiment of the thought in a physical frame-work of soil and forest had a most wholesome effect on the idea itself, giving it a chance to draw strength from its external conditions; to “ultimate” its conceptions in action; to experiment with raw material; to command the attention and elicit the commendation on which good things thrive, and to adapt its aim and energy to the variety of people and conditions with which it proposed to deal.

The place is beautiful, and grows more beautiful with the passing years. Nature has not suspended her beneficent ministries since Art pitched her pavilion by the side of these waters. Trees still put forth branches and clothe them with foliage. The old trees stand like venerable giants, with as much of hope as of memory in their hearts, and in their annual robe of verdure forget that for so many years they have watched the coming and the going of the seasons. Young trees that have grown a dozen years older since the first Chautauqua song broke the silence are now stately and beautiful, ready to be witnesses for a hundred years, of the strange things to be done here, and of which we who are looking about for graves only dream of now. The lake—who shall tell of its moods, its smiles and frowns, its loud murmurings of unrest when the fierce winds come down in power upon it; its low sobbings after the storm, trying to forgive and forget; its sweet answers to the toying breeze; its splendor when the moon flings a robe of silver over it; and when the sun, making it a mirror, rejoices in it (as Christ in the true saints) because it faithfully reflects his own glorious image?

Art has not altogether been useless, although more than once unwise. Penuriousness has sometimes spoiled lines and angles, and mixed bad colors. Stupidity has blundered into sad combinations and contrasts; but on the whole Art has clasped hands with Nature, and made the place Chautauqua a lovely and fitting tabernacle for the Chautauqua Idea.

There is a Chautauqua within Chautauqua. To see this other Chautauqua, one must have eyes—eyes that look into the innermost things. He must see beyond groves and crowds, beyond lake and sky, beyond buildings and programs. He must be able to see necessities, intellectual and spiritual, in the individual and in society, tendencies of thought, forces of conviction, pressures of desire and ambition, the conflict of new and old civilizations in the personal life, as circumstances bring a man face to face with the new, while yet from habit and feeling he is held half-slave by the old.

He who sees Chautauqua must understand the relations (not generally understood) between gracious culture and the rough, unÆsthetic services which people must render each other and their own lives in this world, services of feeding and clothing and cleaning and housing—low, gross and humiliating, as judged from an artist’s studio or a “poet’s frenzied mood.” He must find out that high and low, noble and ignoble are relative terms; that a kitchen may for a time cage an angel whose hands dabble in dough, and whose tired feet in coarse shoes tread rough floors. She may serve her inferiors and treasure the pittance they give her to buy books for her brain life, at least that portion of the pittance she does not need to feed unfortunate people who depend upon her. When crowns are given out, a marvelous readjustment of relations will take place, and certain little neighborhoods will be shaken with surprise.

Chautauquans with eyes see the distinctions in advance, and recognize the crowns that hover in mid-air over the saints, and they pay honors to “Alfreds in neat herd’s huts” before the throne is ready.

Chautauquans who have eyes to see have discovered the strong and delicate cords of religious life which run through and unite all the diverse elements of life into a sacred harmony—a sacrament exceeding holy.

Chautauquans see God in everything and find in everything ways of coming near to him. They believe in nature and in science—true science—and abide by her final decisions, and take delight in her processes. But they believe also in a Father whose thought makes scientific thought possible, and of whose creative and controlling thought science is but an interpretation.

Chautauquans believe in the God of the Book—the Book of Books. They do not trouble themselves about the modus, the quantum and the qualitas of inspiration. They simply take the book in its entirety, as the book given to be studied, trusted, loved, and obeyed, as individual conscience and judgment respond to its contents after calm, devout and diligent study thereof; and not to be quarreled over or quibbled about, or forced to sustain preconceived or preaccepted notions by a string of separated texts on the cord of a curious fancy, or an antiquated dogma. They put BOOK and soul together, and trust both thoroughly for fair treatment.

Chautauquans “study the Word and the Works of God.” And so firm is their faith in the Spirit who wrought the works and inspired the Word, and in the spirit of man for whom the Word was inspired, that they feel it not strange that God the Father should “dwell in the midst of them,” folding his own children to his heart and breathing of his own spirit into their spirits, enlightening, regenerating, comforting, witnessing. And as trust grows and desire increases this access becomes less and less interrupted, and they hope one of these days in all wisdom, reason and sense to trust in God continually, and every day to feel his presence and rejoice in his grace.

Chautauquans, however, discriminate between this divine possession which captures and sways intellect and will week days and Sundays, in business and in church life steadily and effectively, and the mere spasms of resolution under pressure of occasion; the selfish efforts over fancied personal security; the studied outward conformity to religious duties according to the ebb and flow of religious emotion. They believe so firmly in the kingdom and patience of our Lord that obedience is worth more than comfort and faith, a firmer foundation than sight or feeling.

To Chautauquans, therefore, all things hold a measure of God’s infinite wisdom. All things are precious, for in all things one may find traces of his grace. All things are sublime, for all things are connected with a glorious unity, which fills heaven and earth, eternity past and eternity to come. Flowers, fossils, microscopic dust, foul soil, things that crawl and things that soar, ooze from the sea-depths, lofty heights that salute the stars—all are divine in origin and nature. A boot-black may be a king—boot-black and king—both at once. Human eyes see only the black hands, patched knees and crouching form that bespeak servility. There are eyes that can see deeper and further. Seeing so much they extend a hand of greeting. Then kings and saints converse.

Chautauquans believe in Wealth when honesty wins it, prudence protects it, and benevolence uses it. They believe in Position when worth secures it, work honors it, and humility attends it. They believe in Culture, when teachableness goes before it, and all the faculties in true harmony receive it and religion inspires and controls it. They believe in Labor, when true social relations distribute it, when no one family of faculties is abused by it, and when true, reverent and philanthropic motives direct it.

Chautauquans are believers in a common brotherhood—but are not “communists.” They are open to truth, and hold an inheritance in all truth, and are subject only to the truth. But they are not boastful free thinkers in

dogmatizing and denouncing. They believe in truth, God, and humanity. They seek the first, rejoice in the second, and serve the third.

These are some of the ideas which belong to the Chautauqua movement—the thoughts within the things—the theories of which phenomenal Chautauqua is a visible expression.