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is this anyone's business. Human motives are too mixed to admit of such absolute criteria. Surely it is no violation of amateurism to play under a doctor's orders, or for the sake of keeping one's boastful children in their places, or to keep the Davis Cup from wandering abroad, or for any other reason unconnected with money reward that seems good and sufficient to the player himself.

The English rule wisely avoids strewing the path of amateurism with such silly obstacles. It deals solely with the receiving of money or its equivalent, directly or indirectly, for playing or teaching tennis. That is a first principle to which we should return.

Of four Acts of Disbarment in the U. S. L. T. A. roster, only one relates even indirectly to the writing of articles on lawn tennis, the source of the present controversy. A player is disbarred for permitting the use of his name in connection with articles which he did not write. The plain inference is that if he does write the articles appearing under his name he is safe. Since none of the men whose amateur status has been thrust into danger lately could be proceeded against under this or any other existing rule, those opposed to 'player-writers' passed last February what is called an 'interpretation' of the amateur rule. This purports to link with another act of disbarment the writing of articles on tennis for substantial compensation. This 'interpretation' is really no part of the amateur rule, albeit the present controversy rages around it.

As is nearly always the case where principles and personalities are equally affected, the personal element has crowded to the front. The direct issue was raised between the U.S.L.T.A. and Champion William T. Tilden, 2nd. It became evident that he would be barred from competition after January 1,

1925. Subsequently attacked as a 'bad influence' in the game in the report of the Amateur Rule Committee, Tilden resigned as a member of the Olympic and Davis Cup squads. The resulting protest by both players and public forced the U. S. L. T. A. to withdraw the interpretation, invite Tilden to play for the Davis Cup, and appoint a Committee of Seven to review the entire case on its merits. Four members of that Committee have been appointed by President Wightman of the U. S. L. T. A., two favoring the 'interpretation' and two opposed. The latter are Tilden himself and the writer.

I am convinced that this dispute, like many others, arises from confusing the definition of amateurism with regulations governing tournament competitions. The need for regulation is universally admitted; but there is likewise need for discrimination. If a player is employed by a sporting-goods house to exploit his skill and fame for its benefit and his own, he violates every tenet and tradition of amateurism; but if he enters that business just as he would go into the selling of hardware or any other commodity, I do not agree that he should be cast out of amateur circles.

The case for Tilden rests on the same basis. His receipts come from writing, not from play, and they are a measure not of his tennis skill but of his literary skill and industry. He could go on writing articles that would find a ready market long after he ceased to play. In fact his ability to write entertainingly and instructively on tennis will continue to hold his audience for many years. Sam Hardy, one-time Pacific Coast champion, is still earning a substantial income by writing on tennis. If Tilden were to be physically incapacitated to-morrow his income would be more likely to go up than down, because he would have more time in which

to produce copy. If the champion were interested only in money, he would quit match play at once and put all his energy into books and articles, as he has more than once been urged to do by publishers. Yet that would be a distinct loss to the game, as he is unquestionably the greatest match tennisplayer that ever lived. The point is that he loves the game for its own sake, and sacrifices his financial well-being every time he competes in a tournament.

Another element worth considering is that Tilden made more money selling insurance than he does writing tennisarticles. He quit the former pursuit for reasons honorable to his sporting instinct, because he disliked the work and because it was the baldest recognition of his tennis fame. The latter gave him entrée to offices when other solicitors cooled their heels in antechambers; big business men bought insurance from him and then settled back in their chairs to talk of tennis. On the other hand, he likes to write, and likes also to interpret the intricacies of a beloved sport to the countless thousands of devotees remote from the large centres who never see important matches. He relishes the thought that he is assisting in the development of countless young players and in broadening the democratic basis of a clean and zestful sport. Lack of unearned income is surely no fault of his and no obstacle to good repute in America. Why, then, should he not earn his way in the work which appeals most to his nature and for which he is singularly well fitted, especially when it is clear that he is paid for work and not for play?

That is the nub of the whole argument. Actually it is of small moment whether Tilden earns much or little by writing, or whether he puts in only a few hours or all his spare time at his desk.

As an editor I judge that he, as writer, gets what his articles are worth, neither more nor less; there are other qualified tennis-writers, and supply and demand fixes prices, in the long run, of tennis articles as well as of tennis balls. Tilden can safely rest his case on the right of an individual athlete to earn money in any calling he chooses, provided it is earned not by playing or teaching the game.

If need be, Tilden's amateurism might be favorably compared to that of other tennis-players actively interested in the manufacture of tennis equip

ment.

But why make odious comparisons on false reasoning? It is sheer fallacy to assume that all profits from the sport violate amateurism. Once we start upon that boggy road we invite inevitable breakdown. Is the financial head of a sporting-goods house, ipso facto, a professional player? Are his clerks and stenographers professionals even though they may not even physically touch tennis goods? Is he who makes the cloth covering of tennis balls less an amateur than he who builds ships? And what, in turn, is the status of these purveyors of tennis materials

wool growers and buyers, steel manufacturers, Amazon rubber gatherers, varnish makers, flax growers, and hosts of others who profit legitimately by meeting the wants of two million tennis-players? No; revenue from tennis, as such, is not enough to destroy amateur status.

Even the most excited advocates of drastic tennis-legislation admit that lawn tennis is overwhelmingly amateur. They fear that it may not remain so; therefore they have taken, tentatively, a step utterly without precedent. No other tennis governing body ever has seriously proposed to prohibit the writing of articles on tennis for money. Some have regulated

such writing, properly enough, as a matter of discipline. For instance, the Australian Davis Cup players, now in this country, have been forbidden to cable stories of matches butlet Tilden's critics note this well -they are specifically urged to send newspaper stories back to Australia by mail.

There might be an excuse for expelling the greatest match-player of all time from amateur ranks if his pay for writing articles on tennis depended on his playing in certain tournaments or on his being champion of the United States, just as the employee of a sporting-goods house might be barred if his chief contribution to the business consisted of goods sold through tennis play. But if the latter could hold his

job without playing in a single tournament, and if the former could sell his articles exactly as well if he broke his leg in June and could do no more than hobble till October, how could the amateur standing of either be successfully attacked?

The gist of the matter is: 'Are Tilden's writings on tennis worth what he receives for them, regardless of any playing he does?' As the editor of a tennis magazine I am both qualified and compelled to answer with a categorical, 'Yes.' And as long as truth rightfully compels me to make that answer, it also compels me to fight for Tilden's amateur status against all combinations of men, circumstances, and sophistries.

MAN'S SHARE IN CIVILIZATION

BY RAMSAY TRAQUAIR

IN an article on 'Woman and Civilization' in the Atlantic Monthly of September 1923, the suggestion was made that woman's genius lies in organization, administration, and social effort, while man's is rather individual, abstract, and imaginative. This view is not by any means new; many students, both of mind and of body, hold that some such distinction between the sexes can reasonably be made, bearing always in mind the degree to which men and women share in each other's characteristics. We may put it that there is a common stock of human nature from which individual men and women vary; the men on the whole

I

tend toward the abstract and individual virtues, the women toward the social and practical. We are then justified in speaking of a 'man's culture' or a 'woman's culture' according as the social organization of a country encourages one of these directions at the expense of the other. Whichever direction the culture may take will be shared in by both sexes to the disadvantage of one of them. The ideal culture would be one in which the two tendencies were evenly balanced, but we know that such a balance is rarely attained and then held only for a short time.

On this continent of North America

there can be little doubt which culture we possess at present. We pride ourselves upon the practical qualities of our civilization. We 'get things done,' often with good results, often without sufficient consideration of what the results will be.

Abstract science, the fine arts, and religion are indeed valued by thoughtful men, but they are on the whole valued for their practical and social worth, not as things in themselves. They are valued for their effect on the community, not for their effect on the individual. It is indeed rare to hear any theory of reform or of social amelioration put forward which is not based upon organized action by one part of the community upon another part. The individual tends to be ignored. Indeed the extensive schemes of reform which are from time to time forced, or threatened, upon us are all based upon the idea that men who live in a virtuous community will be virtuous. Action is therefore aimed at the entire community, both good and bad. Our habits are to be controlled or altered because they are supposed to have an ultimately bad effect upon the community, not because they are bad in themselves. We are to 'set a good example.' The opposite idea, that a virtuous community is one composed of virtuous individuals, is rarely heard. The reformer insists that the individual must suffer for the good of the community; the individual may well answer that reforms which make the individual suffer are themselves bad for the community.

Our purpose at present is to show that the abstract and individual life, the life of the man, has a value in itself, and that this value is largely ignored in the cultural life of North America.

It is convenient to consider this abstract life under the three divisions

of science, art, and religion, each of them a well-recognized activity with a bearing upon the other two.

Abstract science, pure research, is valued by farseeing men in America; it is even endowed by rich ones, but usually upon the assumption that the practical applications of science can be reached only through pure research. We are continually hearing that wireless telegraphy rose almost incidentally out of purely scientific investigations, and so scientific study is commended as a means to a practical end, as an instrument for some world-wide reform, not as a thing good in itself. Our Utopias of to-day are applied-science paradises.

In the same way the fine arts are to be encouraged for their elevating social qualities, or for their effect in adding to our reputation as a wealthy and cultured people. This was the old Roman idea, and we are very like the old Romans in many ways. To possess great museums and picture galleries is one of the marks of a great nation; every Rembrandt or Velasquez brought across the Atlantic gives a thrill of patriotic pride. It is true that the masterpiece may merely pass from one private collection to another. It may, as is rumored of certain Shakespeare folios, merely pass into a millionaire's cellar; but such purchases create an atmosphere of connoisseurship. We cannot say that our leading citizens are indifferent to art, or that art has no value. Some art evidently has a very large value. If that value accrues to the art-dealer rather than to the artist, we have long ago agreed that the distributor is more worthy than the producer.

It would be absurd to assert that the social value of art is not a very real thing; it would be absurd to ignore entirely its financial value. The point to be made is that the fine arts have

an inherent value which is neither social nor commercial, but rather individual. A great country produces great artists rather than great collections.

Religion is similarly valued because we consider that it tends to make people act rightly toward one another. So we find that the churches lay great stress upon philanthropy, upon social endeavor and organization, and upon reform. We would all agree that a religion which did not tend to make its people morally better was a very poor religion; we would agree, too, that our own religion does, in the main, have this effect. A very great number of church adherents frankly support the churches upon social grounds, holding that their main value is that they are a steadying influence for good in a society which is all too easily disrupted. This is all true, nor would one attempt to minimize its importance, but it is only one half of the truth. Religion has a value to the individual which is quite apart from its social, value.

II

Now let us turn from these abstract elements of life to the preeminent activity of the modern American world.

The conduct of commercial life is supposed to be the peculiar province of the man. America leads in 'big business'; the ambition of the American young man, if we are to judge by fiction, literature, and the advertisement column, is to become an employee in big business. The 'highly paid executive,' the trusted servant of a great corporation, at an equivalent salary these are the ideals of success. Yet there was a time when most men longed for a business of their own, even a small business. It was perhaps the better loved because it was small and private and struggling. We are told,

of course, that the day of small business is over, that economically the little man must give way to or be absorbed in the great organization. So long as size impersonal, unindividual size is our ideal this must be so. If our ideal gave more value to the individual and less to the organization, it would not be so. The question is not whether such business is more or less efficient, not whether it produces more goods at a less cost but: Would we as individuals be happier, would we have more scope for development if we paid less attention to efficiency and more to living, less attention to 'getting together' and more to individuality?

Professor Mavor, of Toronto, in his recently published memoirs, says, "To the Scot's mind not "getting together" but getting decisively separate on fundamental contradictions is the right plan.' We need occasionally to be reminded of the advantages of separation, and to realize that union is not always strength-it is often merely a symptom of weakness. Sheep flock together.

Man is not a solitary animal, but neither is he a flock animal. He needs both organizations. To me the social type appears essentially that of the woman, the individual that of the man; and I venture to think that the case for the man's culture has not been sufficiently brought forward. But whose fault is that? Certainly not the woman's.

We cannot blame active, publicspirited, and capable women if they do things their own way. They have captured our elementary education, our art, and our intellectual culture. Where they do not actually practise these things they influence them. Meanwhile our men play politics or poker or golf in the intervals of commerce, and submit their intellectual and emotional lives to the rule of their

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