auspices. The ways of our fathers, the old time-tested
ways, these, we are told, must be our ways.

The psychological origins of this position have in part been
discussed. There is in some individuals a highly developed
sentiment and reverence for tradition as such, and an aesthetic
sensibility to the mellowness, ripeness, and charm that so often
accompany old things.[1] The new seems, as it often is, loud,
brassy, vulgar, and hard. But there are other and equally
important causes. Men trust and cherish the familiar in
ideas, customs, and social organization, just as they trust and
cherish old friends. They know what to expect from them;
they have their well-noted excellences, and, while they have
their defects, these also are definitely known and can be
definitely reckoned with. The old order may not be perfect, but
it is an order, and an order whose outlines and possibilities
are known and predictable. Change means change to the
unaccustomed and the unfamiliar. And the unaccustomed
and the unfamiliar, as already pointed out, normally arouse
fear. One of the conventional phrases (which has become
conventional because it is accurate) with which changes have
been greeted is the _cliche_, "we view with alarm." No small
part of genuine opposition to change comes from the cautious
and conscientious types of mind which will not sanction the
reckless taking of chances, especially where the interests of
large groups are concerned, which want to know precisely
where a change will lead. Such a mind holds off from committing
society to making changes that will put a situation
beyond control and lead to unforeseen and uncontrollable
dangers. Especially is this felt by the administrator, by the
man who has experience with the difficulties of putting ideas
in practice, who knows how vastly more difficult it is to
operate with people than with paper.[2] The man of affairs knows
how easy it is to check and change ideas in one's mind, but
knows also the uncontrollable momentum of ideas when they
are acted upon by vast numbers of men.

[Footnote 1: "Oxford," said a distinguished visitor to that
venerable institution, "looks just as it ought to look." And
one is reminded of the story of the American lady who, admiring
the smooth lawns at Oxford, asked a gardener how they managed
to give them that velvet gloss. "We roll them, madam," he said,
"for eight hundred years."]

[Footnote 2: Thus writes Catharine II, in a letter to Didero