home, prey to feelings of vulnerability and a growing sense that he might be unequal to coping with an ordinary, independent life. Always deeply introspective, he began to withdraw into himself.
In 1902, when an acquaintance, George Spratt, voiced similar doubts about his own ability and capacity, Wilbur responded with some sage advice:
I see from your remark about the “blues” that you still retain the habit of letting the opinions and doings of others influence you too much…. It is well for a man to be able to see the merits of others and the weaknesses of himself, but if carried too far it is as bad, or even worse, than seeing only his own merits and others’ weaknesses … there was no occasion for your “blueness” except in your own imagination. Such is usually the case. 20
When Spratt refused to snap out of his depression, Wilbur renewed the attack: “I am sorry to find you back at your old habit of introspection, leading to a fit of the blues. Quit it! It does you no good, and it does do harm.” 21 Wilbur understood what damage a severe case of the “blues” could do, and advised Spratt to pull himself out of his depression by sheer force of will and strength of character. That was what he had done, though it had taken some time to accomplish.
Unable to formulate new goals and unwilling to continue brooding, Wilbur simply chose to ignore his own problems and devote himself to nursing his mother. Susan Wright now required constant care. Her tuberculosis, which had first appeared in 1883, was already much worse. By 1886 she had become a helpless invalid.
For Milton, the loving husband and dedicated churchman, the illness created an impossible dilemma. In order to remain at home and care for his wife he would have to resign his duties as bishop of the West Coast and abandon the fight against the Liberals. The older boys could be no help—Reuchlin was overwhelmed with family problems of his own, while Lorin was off in Kansas seeking his fortune. The younger children, Orville and Katharine, aged fifteen and twelve, required taking care of themselves.
Wilbur, whose own plans had been forestalled by ill health, was happy to step into the breach. He did not feel that he was being particularly self-sacrificing. It was a son’s duty to care for his parents. In addition, a period of rest and quiet at home would benefit his health, and give him an opportunity to pursue his own interests. Most of the world would come to regard the invention of the airplane as Wilbur’s finest moment. Milton thought otherwise:
His mother being a declining, rather than a suffering invalid, he devoted himself to taking all care of her, and watching and serving her with a faithfulness and tenderness that cannot but shed happiness on him in life, and comfort him in his last moments. Such devotion of a son has rarely been equaled, and the mother and son were fully able to appreciate each other. Her life was probably lengthened, at least two years, by his skill and assiduity. 22
Milton’s large and varied library became Wilbur’s preserve during the years 1886–89. “He … used his spare time to read and study, and his knowledge of ancient and modern history, of current events and literature, of ethics and science was only limited by the capacity of his mind and his extraordinary memory.”
The Encyclopaedia Britannica and Chamber’s Cyclopedia were at his fingertips, as were those classics of history and biography which the bishop cherished—Plutarch’s Lives , Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire , Guizot on the history of France, Greene on the history of England, and Boswell’s Life of Samuel Johnson . There were sets of Hawthorne and Sir Walter Scott, and popular science alongside theological works. Milton, never a man of narrow religious temperament, had even purchased the works of the “demon atheist,” Robert Ingersoll.
Wilbur was clearly emerging from his shell by the spring of 1888, three years after
In 1902, when an acquaintance, George Spratt, voiced similar doubts about his own ability and capacity, Wilbur responded with some sage advice:
I see from your remark about the “blues” that you still retain the habit of letting the opinions and doings of others influence you too much…. It is well for a man to be able to see the merits of others and the weaknesses of himself, but if carried too far it is as bad, or even worse, than seeing only his own merits and others’ weaknesses … there was no occasion for your “blueness” except in your own imagination. Such is usually the case. 20
When Spratt refused to snap out of his depression, Wilbur renewed the attack: “I am sorry to find you back at your old habit of introspection, leading to a fit of the blues. Quit it! It does you no good, and it does do harm.” 21 Wilbur understood what damage a severe case of the “blues” could do, and advised Spratt to pull himself out of his depression by sheer force of will and strength of character. That was what he had done, though it had taken some time to accomplish.
Unable to formulate new goals and unwilling to continue brooding, Wilbur simply chose to ignore his own problems and devote himself to nursing his mother. Susan Wright now required constant care. Her tuberculosis, which had first appeared in 1883, was already much worse. By 1886 she had become a helpless invalid.
For Milton, the loving husband and dedicated churchman, the illness created an impossible dilemma. In order to remain at home and care for his wife he would have to resign his duties as bishop of the West Coast and abandon the fight against the Liberals. The older boys could be no help—Reuchlin was overwhelmed with family problems of his own, while Lorin was off in Kansas seeking his fortune. The younger children, Orville and Katharine, aged fifteen and twelve, required taking care of themselves.
Wilbur, whose own plans had been forestalled by ill health, was happy to step into the breach. He did not feel that he was being particularly self-sacrificing. It was a son’s duty to care for his parents. In addition, a period of rest and quiet at home would benefit his health, and give him an opportunity to pursue his own interests. Most of the world would come to regard the invention of the airplane as Wilbur’s finest moment. Milton thought otherwise:
His mother being a declining, rather than a suffering invalid, he devoted himself to taking all care of her, and watching and serving her with a faithfulness and tenderness that cannot but shed happiness on him in life, and comfort him in his last moments. Such devotion of a son has rarely been equaled, and the mother and son were fully able to appreciate each other. Her life was probably lengthened, at least two years, by his skill and assiduity. 22
Milton’s large and varied library became Wilbur’s preserve during the years 1886–89. “He … used his spare time to read and study, and his knowledge of ancient and modern history, of current events and literature, of ethics and science was only limited by the capacity of his mind and his extraordinary memory.”
The Encyclopaedia Britannica and Chamber’s Cyclopedia were at his fingertips, as were those classics of history and biography which the bishop cherished—Plutarch’s Lives , Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire , Guizot on the history of France, Greene on the history of England, and Boswell’s Life of Samuel Johnson . There were sets of Hawthorne and Sir Walter Scott, and popular science alongside theological works. Milton, never a man of narrow religious temperament, had even purchased the works of the “demon atheist,” Robert Ingersoll.
Wilbur was clearly emerging from his shell by the spring of 1888, three years after
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