Verily our national advancement waits on militarism. Inland waterways should be improved; forests must be safeguarded; other natural resources of untold value should be conserved; millions of acres of desert lands should be improved; millions in swamps should be redeemed. The problem of the nation's food supply is becoming urgent; for its solution we must look more and more to scientific methods in agriculture. Yet contrast the support our government gives these vital interests with war's mighty drain on our treasury. Congress appropriated $648,000,000 for all expenditures in 1910. Of this amount $407,000,000 were appropriated for war expenditures and the glories of militarism. For this same year agriculture received for all its needs the comparatively paltry sum of $12,000,000. In spite of the fact that our nation is devoting two thirds of its enormous national expenditures to war, our militarists point to our vast national wealth and sneer at the niggardly mortals who object to spending it for guns.

It is evident that no nation is yet beyond the infatuation for display of the splendors of war, yet in every one there are signs of a new power that is coming upon us. All are thinking less of the glories of war—of the beat of the drum, of the rhythmic tread of regiments, of glittering sabers and of monster battleships—and are thinking more and more of the glories of peace, of thriving industries, of magnificent libraries, of comfortable homes, and of more efficient schools. Obviously, though we still possess a war spirit, we are seeing with a clearer vision that the waste of war is depriving us of the fullest measure of the wealth of peace. Our frame of mind is much the same as that of the ragged street urchin who, having lost his day's earnings, thinks of a hundred things which he might have spent it for. The same spirit is permeating every nation. The American manufacturer, the Russian peasant, the English mechanic, the German scientist, the French scholar, are all asking themselves, "Why need the world continue to carry this Atlantean burden of war?"

Already this sentiment has accomplished practically all that can be done in humanizing war. It has outlawed the dumdum bullet, it has enforced radical sanitary measures, it has neutralized the Red Cross and brought its ministrations to the relief of the sufferings of war. But humanized war is not the goal of this sentiment. As long as there is an increase of armaments there will be war; as long as the battle rages there will be waste and suffering. The same sentiment which has humanized war now demands war's abolition. It has already accomplished something toward this end in making the settlement of international disputes through arbitration more probable than war. What it has not accomplished is the discrediting of militarism. It has failed to stop the growth of armaments. Can we expect our regiments to find contentment in the irksome routine of training camp with never a thought of charging the enemy? Can we expect to man the seas with fleets of war just for gay parade and cruises around the world? Can we expect that our skilled gunners will be satisfied to practice, practice always, and never long for human targets? It is against arming nations for battle and tempting them to fight that the peace sentiment is rousing itself and is being organized. It is in this labor that peace societies the world over are performing valiant service. Their great mission is the creation of an intelligent public opinion, a force more potent than government itself.

What, for instance, was the purpose of the founder of this Intercollegiate Peace Association? Not, I take it, to give men a chance to win petty oratorical triumphs; not, I suppose, to bring together speakers to entertain such audiences as this—or to weary them. But their object must have been to set the men of our colleges to thinking on the great question of peace. In such ways are peace societies using the platform and the press to establish a firm basis for unity and peace throughout the world.

Yesterday the advocate of world peace was called a dreamer; to-day rapidly organizing public opinion demands the abolition of war and recognizes the wealth and culture of peace. Yesterday we erected statues to those who died for their country; to-day we cheer the Gladstones, the McKinleys, the Roosevelts, who live for humanity. Yesterday we bowed the knee to Mars; to-day we join in peans to the Prince of Peace. Yes, the new spirit of the day is fraternal; it is undaunted; it is for mankind. Even now the world's geniuses are mustering the soldier citizens of every nation for a peaceful conflict. The great battles of to-morrow are to be fought in quiet laboratories, in legislative halls, in courts of justice, and on the broad battlefields of productive labor.

The final outcome is, indeed, irresistible. Racial movements have mixed all peoples; the oceans have become the world's common highways; the air is filled with voices speaking from city to city and from continent to continent; an international postal system makes the world's ideas one; there is quick participation of mankind in the fruits of invention and research. We behold financial and economic enterprises world-wide in their outreach; we feel the force of social projects and social ideals that concern not one but every nation; and we are participating in missionary movements that affect not one but every race, and are changing the very face of nature itself. Our world is a world unified beyond all possible conception a century ago, and the world unity is a certain stepping stone to world peace.

The world never offered grander opportunity to the nations for leadership—not for leadership in military splendor, but for leadership in the sublime paths of peace. For the United States this call means not only opportunity but even obligation. Already this country has performed well her duty in fostering international arbitration. She has been a party to half of the cases where disputes between nations have been referred to the Hague Tribunal. Arbitration is performing its mission with more and more efficiency, yet each year the war budgets of the nations are increasing. The peace sentiment now demands a decrease of armaments, a conversion of the waste of war into the wealth of peace. To demonstrate that this is practicable is the immediate opportunity before us, our present obligation. What is our waste of war expressed in terms of the wealth of peace? Notice! Two thirds of the cost of one dreadnought, like the mammoth Florida launched but yesterday, would erect and furnish a veritable palace for every foreign ambassador and minister of the United States, thus solving a perplexing problem of our diplomatic service. One twenty-second of the cost of one dreadnought would support for one year the entire force of the American Board of Foreign Missions in their work of proclaiming our gospel of peace. One half the cost of one dreadnought would erect and equip twenty-five manual-training schools, teaching the rudiments of a trade to forty thousand young people each year. The cost of two dreadnoughts would provide every state in the Union with a half-million dollars with which to save the juvenile delinquents from criminal courts and schools of vice behind prison bars. The cost of one dreadnought, wisely spent each year in the fight against tuberculosis, would make the white plague in a single generation a disease as rare as smallpox is to-day.

Where now we are erecting battleships and forts, it is for us to build libraries and schools. Where now we drain our treasuries in equipping men to fight their fellow men, it is for us to arm against the common enemy, disease. Where now we pour out our wealth before the pagan Mars, it is for us to devote our treasure to supporting the works of the Prince of Peace.

Such a victory for peace would make America not simply a world power: it would make her the world leader. Will we stop tagging at the heels of Great Britain and Germany and travel this broadening road in which we can be first? How humiliating to struggle along, a trailer in the military procession! How noble to set the daring example of living up to the belief in peace! Will we say: "See our hands; we bear no bludgeons. Search us; we carry no concealed weapons. Militarism we have thrown to the scrap heap of practices discredited and vicious. We have stopped war's wanton waste of men and treasure; we rejoice in the growing wealth of peace ideals realized"? Thus shall we speed the steadily growing public opinion of the world, to the bar of which must finally come every nation which does aught to break or hinder the world's peace.



THE HOPE OF PEACE

By STANLEY H. HOWE, Albion College, Albion, Michigan

First Prize Oration in the National Contest held at Johns Hopkins University, May 5, 1911



THE HOPE OF PEACE

The history of civilization is a record of changing ideals, and ideals are best reared in the hearts of the world's young men. Inevitably, nations look toward the cradle for their future and intrust the care of their destiny to the hands of youth. "Tell me what are the prevailing sentiments that occupy the minds of your young men," declared Edmund Burke, "and I will tell you what is to be the character of the next generation." When the blood of youth is sluggish and impure; when the young hold wealth more dear than worth, remove the check of virtue from their selfish aims, establish Mammon as their god, and, ambitious to govern the world, forget how to govern themselves,—then nations choke and die. But when the blood of youth is rich and pure, pulsating through the veins of the universe with strong, resistless surge; when fathers teach anew the angel's message of good will and peace, and sons build high their goal upon a pedestal of service and of truth,—then nations breathe and live. What hope, then, asks the world, finds the doctrine of peace in the ideals and aspirations of America's youth to-day?

The nation faces a charge of militarism. It is the indictment of her critics that never before in American history has the government entertained an attitude so hostile toward her neighbors and so dangerous to the interests of peace. They point to the attempt to fortify the Canal and cry out that America would drain her treasury to build a monument of reproach to international integrity. They criticize the vast appropriations for the navy and declare that America is starving her poor that she may more pompously parade the seas. They protest against the "war-game" on the Rio Grande[1] and even charge that in the interest of a Wall Street king America invites the world to arms. And these are not illusions. The lure of gold has turned the nation from her mission. The spirit of commercialism has eclipsed the sentiment of brotherhood and tempted the Republic to barter her honor for the price of imperial supremacy. Wherein, then, again asks the world, finds America hope for the future? And to the charges of her critics, with their dismal prophecy of a "wrong forever on the throne," this is the nation's answer and defense—that an eclipse is never permanent, that the world stays not in the valley of the shadow forever, and that the solution of the problem, the fulfillment of a national mission, and the hope of world peace find their common assurance in the changing ideals of America's aspiring young men.

[1] Part of the United States army was mobilized on the frontier for maneuvers, in 1911, owing to the Mexican revolutionary disturbances.—Editor.

The young American is essentially ambitious. He is wont to seek the shortest path to leadership, and, when blocked at one highway, to turn with undiminished ardor to another. And his ideal is a mirror of the age in which he lives. In revolutionary days he covets the glory of a minuteman, and in the deeds of Warren and Putnam finds the consummation of his hopes. Again, in the hour of civil war his eyes turn toward the battlefield—and from her boys under twenty-one the Union draws eighty-five per cent of her defenders. But fortunately for America this drama of the youth's ideal has one more act. The lure of fife and drum has become a thing of the past. The glamour of military life has become a dream of yesterday. The young man is learning that the prize of battle is never equal to the price. And with the growing conviction of the folly and futility of international strife must disappear the last apology for war. Nations will cease to struggle, not when they have learned that war is a tragedy but when they have discovered that it is a farce.

And the youth of to-day is learning it. In the same deplorable conditions which the nation's critics have regarded as an alarming tendency toward militarism, he reads a message of the absurdity of war. Militarism itself is revealing a mission. Based as it is on the spirit of aggrandizement, it is teaching to youth the economic value of a human life. It is uncovering its own selfish motives and betraying its own senseless ends. It is impressing the world with the truth that battles are fought for purse string and not for principle. It is teaching to youth a new ideal; it is itself the answer to complaints of friends and calumnies of foes. It is the cloud before the dawn. It heralds the coming of the brightest epoch yet chronicled in American history. It is the realization of that glorious prophecy of John Hay that the time is coming when "the clangor of arms shall cease, and we can fancy that at last our ears, no longer stunned by the din of armies, may hear the morning stars singing together and all the sons of God shouting for joy."

And is this but the dream of a visionary? Is it merely the fancied perception of an inexistent star? Is it nothing more than a groundless hope and an alluring vagary? The answer is visible everywhere. And the hope of peace finds its safest assurance among the institutions of learning in America. James Bryce has referred to the United States as the nation having the largest proportion of its young men in college. In the last month of June more than fifty thousand collegians wore the cap and gown of graduation. It is to the trust of the college-bred man that the peace movement confides its future, and modern education assumes no greater responsibility than the training of the new world-citizen. Already the school has become the most potent factor in the new uplift. The youth is no longer dependent upon the newspaper for his knowledge of world-politics. An intelligent study of foreign affairs is at last regarded as of as much importance as a study of the past. To broaden the young man's vision of the world, prominent educators are even advocating traveling fellowships. In twenty-five of the larger universities of America an association of Cosmopolitan Clubs is establishing the groundworks for a wider international fraternity. Plans are already under way to have an organized delegation of more than a hundred students of all nationalities present at the third Hague Conference. Day by day the problem of world-unity is becoming more and more deeply embedded in the mind and thought of the rising generation. More and more is youthful patriotism becoming a realization of the truth that "Above all nations is humanity." The lure of war is losing its magnetic power and the brotherhood of man becoming more and more an international reality. A sentiment for universal peace is sweeping the world, and behind the defenses of advancing civilization, armed with the strength of a lofty and unselfish purpose, stands an army of America's young men, mustered from the nation's colleges, enlisted to serve for an eternity, and invulnerable in the protection of a new and a conquering ideal.

Therefore the significance of the young man in the world's affairs to-day is something more than a fancy. Again and again the plea for world-harmony hears a response in the changing ideals of a new generation. The growing sentiment of the educated youth of Japan finds its crystallization in the efforts of Count Okuma toward the consummation of world-disarmament. The spirit of the youth of England finds expression in the ambitious dream of George V, whose hope it is to tie the bond of Anglo-Saxon unity, long since dissevered by George III. Among the young men of Russia the life of the great philosopher of world-citizenship has left a lasting conviction of the senselessness of war. Even in imperialistic Germany the reckless building of dreadnoughts brings out a vigorous and uncompromising protest from the thinking youth of the land. In America a vision of the international parliament of man, growing large in the minds of her leading statesmen, finds expression in the continued philanthropy of a great industrial king. And, most significant of all, these are the world-wide examples that the college man enthrones in the empire of his thoughts. Sixty thousand European students, bound together by the cosmopolitan ties of a peace fraternity, have ceased to glorify the triumphs of the battlefield. The commentaries of the hero-worshiper to-day do not record the names of a Marlborough or a Bonaparte. Rather does the young man find his idols in the more humble annals of a Tolstoy or a Hay. And the new ideal of international peace is not merely the religion of a few enthusiasts. In an individual way these apostles of peace voice to the world the spirit of the unnumbered thousands of obscurer men whose lives and talents are directed, not to the construction of material kingdoms but to the building of a better and more world-wide brotherhood.

Such is the Hope of Peace. The nation's critics may continue their indictment, and, pointing out the crises of the hour, paint in dismal hues a picture of the problems never to be solved except by shot and shell. Her skeptics, blinded by thought of the errors of the past, may prophesy the desecration of her honor and the disappointing failure of her hopes. The press may pen a graphic story of the military spirit of the age, and frowning patriarchs relate the deeds of golden days gone by. But underneath this cloud that overhangs, and almost hidden in the gloom of history's disparagement, the new world-citizen discerns the birth-light of a brighter and more steadfast star,—perceives the coming triumph of good will and peace,—and the awakened eyes of expectant America look forward with promise to the dawn of that new day when a nation shall be judged by the weight of its cross and not by the wealth of its crown.



THE ROOSEVELT THEORY OF WAR

By PERCIVAL V. BLANSHARD, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

First Prize Oration in the Western Group Contest, 1912, and in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 16, 1912



THE ROOSEVELT THEORY OF WAR

Ex-President Roosevelt has made this astounding statement, "By war alone can we acquire those virile qualities necessary to win in the stern strife of actual life." These words, coming from the lips of a nation's idol, have fallen like a bomb shell in the camp of the pacifists. Not that Mr. Roosevelt's opinion was of overwhelming weight, but that he was voicing the opinion of some of the most influential thinkers of the modern world. Not long before the German philosopher Nietzsche had taken a like position, and he was indorsed by Von Moltke, the statesman; Ernest Renan, the historian; Hegel, the philosopher; Charles Kingsley and Canon Farrar, the divines. We must have a care, we peace advocates, how we treat such men's opinions. If they are right; if, as they maintain, war develops a nation, then we are fighting against the instrument of our own salvation and smothering the only hope of the nation itself.

But are they right? Does war make for national greatness? Before we can give a rational verdict we must answer certain other questions. What is our nation, anyway? What are the factors that make for its greatness? And how does war affect these factors?

Plainly our nation is not some abstraction that haunts the marble halls at Washington. Nor is it our vast dominion on which, like England's, the sun never sets. You will find it rather in workshop and store and factory; it is no more nor less than our men. If the capital at Washington is founded on pygmy manhood, it will be blown away like thistledown before some passing wind of revolution. Russia, Turkey, Spain, will tell you that. If our men are giants, the nation will be lasting as adamant. England and Germany and America are monumental testimonies.

Now what are the qualities in our men that make the nation great?

Here a problem in analysis confronts us. Let us go about it as does the student in the laboratory. He dissects a plant or mineral to find the mysteries of its nature. We are to dissect a civilization to find the factors of its strength. One little specimen will reveal the secrets of the whole species. So one sample of civilization will show the hidden springs of all. Go with me to the public square of any modern city and there you will behold the qualities that build all civilization. From the hum and rattle and roar that rises from the sea of humanity come a thousand various voices, but all speak of one theme—industry. There in the center of the throng and press a slender monument rises, crowned perhaps with a figure of Liberty or Justice. It tells you a simple story of Idealism. Yonder stands a silent, vine-clad church, crowned by a mighty finger pointing heavenward and beckoning always to the higher life. What need of going farther? Industry, Idealism, Morality—already we have found the secret of human success, the triple key to all advance, of man or group or nation. Here is Carlyle, with his gospel of labor, the labor that conquers all things; here is Ruskin, with his exalting idealism, that gives an aim and purpose to all human toil; here is the great apostle Paul himself, who transfigures that toil and exalts that purpose with his everlasting gospel of moral sublimity. Here is our threefold criterion, by which every nation must stand or fall. The Anglo-Saxon is what he is through unceasing industry, perpetual aspiration, and moral strength. The Central African is what he is through inbred sluggishness, total lack of purpose, and almost total absence of morality.

These are the basic elements of national greatness. But the great question still remains, How does war affect them?

Concerning the effect of war on labor, we declare unhesitatingly that the two are everlasting foes, and that whenever War lays hands on Labor's throat, it strangles her. This is part of the inevitable program of war, for note that it is on the laboring men that the dreadful claims of war must fall. Mark its course. A bugle sounds the call to arms. From workshop, mill, and factory the laborers pour forth; out go the men into a trade where plunder and robbery are a means of livelihood; when pillage and slaughter wane, indolence becomes the order of the day; commerce degenerates into blockade-running by sea and marauding by land. How tame the life of peace to this wild life of war! And all the time the love of toil is fading from men's minds; at home the factory wheels are turning more and more feebly, and when at last the sword is laid aside, there is only "confusion worse confounded," for the channels of labor are choked with men reared in habits of indolence or trained in the school of vice. Before the scar on that nation's industry can finally be healed, decades and perhaps centuries of peace must pass away.

But if war is a scar on the nation's industry, it is likewise a blot on her ideals. Though this element of idealism at first seems visionary and impractical, it is one of the foundation stones of progress. The fixed gulf between what man is and what he knows he might be is the decisive factor in his advance. Ideals are the pulleys of the unseen, round which man throws his hopes and aims, by which he pulls himself across the chasm and into the larger life. To advance at all, man must have ideals—for himself, for his family, for his nation. But mark the effect of war on these ideals. In place of the ideal of peace—to serve men and uplift them—one is taught the ideal of war—to make himself the most widely feared of professional murderers. Instead of the ideal of peace—to make his family comfortable, happy, and prosperous—comes in the war ideal, by whose terms the family head deserts his own flock to kill other family heads for the eternal glory of the Stars and Stripes. As for his ideal of the nation's greatness, we have ample testimony that when bullets and cannon balls cone crashing through the splendid structure of his purpose, it speedily crumbles into an ignominious desire to hide himself behind the nearest tree. No; do not say that war builds up ideals; it tears them down and tramples them in the dust; aye more, it sets back crime itself where they should rightly stand.

But if war so dethrones a nation's ideals, what may it not do to a nation's morality? Imagine if you can a million men, the core of the national power, turning themselves into machines to carry out blindly the schemes of leaders who may be right or wrong; schooled in the belief that manslaughter is manliness, that the rash courage of the brute is above the moral courage of a man; forgetful of the meaning of human life; thoughtless of a thing so common as death; heedless of its eternal consequences. No wonder Channing cried so bitterly: "War is the concentration of all human crimes. Under its standard gather violence, malignity, rage, fraud, rapacity, and lust. If it only slew men, it would do little. But it turns man into a beast of prey. Here is the evil of war, that man, made to be the brother, becomes the deadly foe of his kind; that man, whose duty is to mitigate suffering, makes the infliction of suffering his study and end."

No, Mr. Roosevelt, for once at least you are wrong! We cannot believe that war builds up a nation. Rather will we believe those words of Herbert Spencer, more sweeping but far more true, "Advance to the highest forms of man and society depends on the decline of militancy and the growth of industrialism."

"But wait," you say; "all this is theory and abstraction. We want matters of fact. Your case may be true as philosophy, but you have failed to ground it in example." So it is to history that our last appeal must be made, for, says Bolingbroke, "History is philosophy, teaching by example." Every decree of her stern tribunal is impartial and irrevocable. War the tonic or war the poison? She is the final judge. She will take you back, if you will, to her childhood days and point you out vast empires, owning the known world, Babylonians, Assyrians, Egyptians, Medes, and Persians, fearful fighters all of them. But no, not quite all either. On a sandy stretch of seashore, half hidden by the unwieldy empires around it, we see a timid, peaceful little people called the Hebrews; they alone, from all that mighty company, have stood the "wreckful siege" of thirty centuries. Watch its sinister movement down the ages and you will see the war cloud hover over Greece, and her republics melt to nothing in disunion and decay. It hovers over the Huns, and they suddenly sink from sight; over Islam, and its civilization crumbles faster than it grew; over Spain, and all the New World treasures cannot save her from decay. Finally, like the cloud no bigger than a hand, it rises from the island of Corsica and moves toward Central Europe. All too well does Europe know its meaning. From north and south, from east and west, she pours into the field the finest armies that the Old World ever saw. Then she pauses. Europe grows tense with a nameless dread. The storm cloud blackens, hovers lower, then bursts with all its fury through the continent. For ten long years, at the command of an imperial butcher, the soil is drenched with blood, the sky grows lurid from burning Paris to burning Moscow, three million homes are draped in black. Grand, indeed, and glorious! But Europe lost more than her gorgeous standards, more than her ruined cities; she left her manhood on those bloody fields.

We might extend the awful picture, but the story is the same, dread tale of death for nations as for men. Is not this enough? Is it not clear that this traitor to labor, this despoiler of ideals, this foe to morality, is not the benefactor but the destroyer of nations? And shall we not "here highly resolve" no longer to walk in this "valley of the shadow of death," but to hasten toward the dawning of a brighter, purer day? For in spite of pessimism, in spite of scholarship, in spite of history, the day is

"coming yet, for a' that— When man to man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that."



NATIONAL HONOR AND VITAL INTERESTS

By RUSSELL WEISMAN, Western Reserve University Cleveland, Ohio

First Prize Oration in the Eastern Group Contest, 1912, and Second Prize in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 16, 1912



NATIONAL HONOR AND VITAL INTERESTS

The day for deprecating in general terms the evils of war and of extolling the glories of peace is past. Such argument is little needed. International trade requires peace. International finance dictates peace. Even armies and navies are now justified primarily as agents of peace. Yet so wantonly are these agents looting the world's treasuries that they are themselves forcing their own displacement by courts of arbitration. The two hundred and fifty disputes successfully arbitrated in the past century challenge with trumpet-tongued eloquence the support of all men for reason's peaceful rule. To-day no discussion is needed to show that if war is to be abolished, if navies are to dwindle and armies diminish, if there is to be a federation of the world, it must come through treaties of arbitration. In this way alone lies peace; yet in this way lies the present great barrier to further progress—the conception which many nations, especially the United States, hold of "national honor and vital interests." The reservation from arbitration of so-called matters of national honor and vital interests constitutes the weak link in every existing arbitration treaty between the great powers of the world. This reservation furnishes the big-navy men all the argument they need. It destroys the binding power of the treaties by allowing either party to any dispute to refuse arbitration. It was by this reservation that the United States Senate so lately killed the British and the French treaties. And I contend here to-night that the one subject which imperatively demands discussion is national honor and vital interests. That the next important step must be the exposure of the reactionary influence of the United States in excepting these matters from arbitration.

Only fifteen months ago President Taft made his memorable declaration that this barrier ought to be removed from the pathway of peace. He proposed that the United States negotiate new treaties to abide by the adjudication of courts in every international issue which could not be settled by negotiation, whether involving honor or territory or money. The next morning the proposal was heralded by the press throughout the world. A few days later the halls of Parliament resounded with applause when Great Britain's secretary of state for foreign affairs announced that his government would welcome such a treaty with the United States. France soon followed. Then, to the surprise of all, hesitating Germany and cautious Japan showed a like willingness to enter into such agreements. Universal peace seemed all but realized.

The cause was at once borne up on a mighty wave of public opinion. The peace societies were in a frenzy of activity. Mass meetings of indorsement were held in England and America. Editorials of approval appeared in all parts of the world. The movement was now irresistible. Within eight months the British and the French treaties were drafted. Three of the greatest nations of the world were at last to commit themselves unreservedly to the cause of international peace. Even disputes involving national honor should not halt the beneficent work of high courts of law and of reason. The day when the treaties were signed, August 3, 1911, was hailed as a red-letter day in the annals of the civilized world. It was proclaimed the dawn of a new and auspicious era in the affairs of men and of nations.

During all the months preceding the action of the Senate on these treaties the only statesman of any prominence to raise his voice in opposition was ex-President Theodore Roosevelt. The gist of his successive and violent attacks on the treaties is contained in this utterance, which I quote, "It would be not merely foolish but wicked for us as a nation to agree to arbitrate any dispute that affects our vital interests or our independence or our honor." In this spirit, to the surprise and disappointment of the whole nation, the Senate amended the treaties out of their original intent, and placed upon them limitations that defeated their purpose. By the Senate's action the United States is still committed to the pretense that there may be occasion for a just and solemn war, that vital interests and national honor may force us to fight.

What, then, are the vital interests that can be conserved only by saber and bullet? Nothing more, nothing less, according to various acknowledged authorities, than a state's independence and its territorial integrity. Did the keen mind of our former president really foresee the seizure of some of our territory by England or France? Yet he protests it that it would be "not merely foolish but wicked for us as a nation to agree to arbitrate any dispute that affects our vital interests." Did Senator Lodge and his threescore colleagues who amended the treaties actually fear an attempt to overthrow our form of government, to destroy our political institutions, or to take away those individual rights and sacred privileges upon which our government was founded? Yet to save us from such fate they refused unlimited arbitration.

For the United States to except from arbitration her vital interests is obvious pretense. To add thereto her national honor is extreme hypocrisy. What is national honor? No man knows. It is one thing to-day; another, to-morrow. It may involve an indemnity claim, a boundary line, a fisheries dispute. In fact, any controversy may be declared by either party, at will, to be a question of national honor. Thus in the hands of an unskilled or malicious diplomacy, any question which was originally a judicial one may become a question of national honor. What, then, will we arbitrate? Every case in which a favorable award is assured us. If we want Texas, we send an army after it. Every case that does not rouse our anger. Let the Maine blow up and we fight. A treaty with an elastic exception like this is a farcical sham and a delusion.

It is high time the true and humiliating significance of these fearsome phrases should be as familiar to every taxpayer as is the burden of bristling camps and restless navies. Read the record of Great Britain's first offer of unlimited arbitration in the Olney-Pauncefote treaty of 1897. There, too, you will find national honor and vital interests clogging the machinery of universal peace. By these same exceptions the Senate emasculated that treaty and defeated the spirit of the agreement. Is it conceivable that the Senate actually feared that our interests would be imperiled by that treaty? Did it delve out some hidden dangers which escaped the careful scrutiny of both the English and American embassies, some peril unforeseen by the keen judicial mind of President Cleveland, who characterized the defeat of the treaty as "the greatest grief" of his administration.

But this is not all. The American representatives at both Hague Conferences were the first to place these same limitations on all arbitration proposals.

Look at it from what point of view you will, our government's conduct must appear humiliating. Considering the fact that universal arbitration treaties have proved practical, it is well-nigh incredible. Behold our bellicose sister American republics. Argentina and Chile, Brazil and Argentina, Bolivia and Peru, all have agreements for the arbitration of all questions whatsoever. All the Central American republics are bound by treaty to decide every difference of whatever nature in the Central American Court of Justice. Denmark's three treaties with Italy, Portugal, and the Netherlands withhold no cause, however vital, from reason's peaceful sway. Norway and Sweden likewise have an agreement to abide by the decision of the Hague Court in whatever disputes may occur. The very existence of all these treaties is significant, yet even more significant is the fact that they have been triumphantly tested. Norway and Sweden at one extremity of the globe and Argentina and Chile at the other have thus quietly settled disputes in which their honor and interests were seriously involved.

Do you ask further evidence of the hypocrisy with which our Senate parades our national honor and our vital interests to the undoing of a grand work? Search our history and you will find it in abundance. In the great case of the Alabama claims, Charles Francis Adams pronounced the construction of Confederate ships in English ports to be a violation of the international law of neutrality. This certainly was a question of national honor and vital interests, yet he pleaded for arbitration. In reply Lord John Russell said, "That is a question of honor which we will never arbitrate, for England's honor cannot be made the subject of arbitration." The case was debated for six years. Then came England's "Grand Old Man," the mighty Gladstone, with a different view. "It is to the interest," he said, "not only of England and the United States, but of the world, peaceably to settle those claims." He submitted them to a joint high commission. England lost and paid. Thus the honor of both nations was successfully arbitrated. Likewise the Newfoundland fisheries case had been a bone of contention between Great Britain and America from the day our independence was recognized. As late as 1887 it threatened to become the cause of war. No question ever arose which more vitally affected the interests of America, yet the Senate recently accepted a settlement by arbitration. Similarly, the Alaska fur seal dispute, the Alaskan and the Venezuelan boundary disputes, and the northeast boundary controversy all involved both the vital interests and the national honor of England and America, yet all were satisfactorily and permanently arbitrated. So excited were we over our northwest boundary that the principal issue of a political campaign was "The whole of Oregon or none! Fifty-four forty or fight!" Yet we peaceably acquiesced in a treaty that gave us neither.

Yes, our honor may be arbitrated. If we are ill-prepared for war, we arbitrate. If we are sure of a favorable award, we arbitrate. But we must have a loophole, an ever-ready escape from obligation. Posing as the most enlightened nation on the face of the globe, we refuse entirely to displace those medieval notions according to which personal honor found its best protection in the dueling pistol, and national honor its only vindication in slaughter and devastation. To unlimited arbitration we refuse to submit.

Fifteen years ago England, the mighty England, gave us her pledge that no cause should ever justify war. This pledge our Senate in the name of honor refused. Unlimited arbitration agreements were suggested at both Hague Conferences. Americans promptly placed restrictions upon them in the name of honor. Again has England with enthusiasm just offered us unrestricted arbitration. Again she is repulsed by our Senate in the name of honor. France, too, bears to our doors an unqualified pledge of arbitration. France, too, is repulsed by our Senate in the name of honor. Germany and Japan express a desire to settle every question at the bar of justice. Impelled by honor we pass their desire unheeded. Our Clevelands, our Olneys, our Edward Everett Hales, our Carl Schurzes, our John Hays, have all urged unlimited arbitration. Our Davises and Clarks and Platts and Quays in Senate seats have undone their work in the name of honor. Our Charles Eliots and Nicholas Butlers, our Albert Shaws and Hamilton Holts, now plead for universal peace through unlimited arbitration. Senators Bacon and Lodge and Heyburn and Hitchcock, apparently impelled by constitutional prerogative, party prejudice, or personal animosity, now cast their votes for limitations in the name of honor. From the platform of peace conferences, from the halls of colleges, from the pulpit and the bench, from the offices of bankers and merchants and manufacturers, from the press, with scarcely a column's exception, there arises a swelling plea for treaties of arbitration that know no exceptions. In the name of honor that plea is defied.

Honor? No, an ocean of exception large enough to float any number of battleships for which pride and ambition may be willing to pay! Honor? No, a finical and foolish reservation that at any moment may become a maelstrom of suspicion and rage and hatred and destruction and death! Honor? No, a mountainous barrier to peace that must be leveled before there can be progress! Honor? No, the incarnation of selfishness, the cloak of shrewd politics, the mask of false patriotism! National honor? No, national dishonor!

Before the nations of the world the United States stands to-day in an unenviable light. It is a false light. Since the days of William Penn and Benjamin Franklin our people have led in much of the march upward from the slough of weltering strife. Many a stumbling block to progress we have removed from the rugged pathway, but for fifteen years our government has refused to touch the barrier of national honor and vital interests. England and France have now laid this duty squarely at our door. "It is a social obligation as imperative as the law of Moses, as full of hope as the Great Physician's healing touch." Let us here highly resolve that there shall be uttered a new official interpretation of national honor and vital interests, an interpretation synonymous with dignity and fidelity, sincerity, and integrity, and confidence in the vows both of men and of nations. "If we have 'faith in the right as God gives us to see the right,' we shall catch a vision of opportunity that shall fire the soul with a spirit of service which the darkness of night shall not arrest, which the course of the day shall not weary."



THE EVOLUTION OF PATRIOTISM

By PAUL B. BLANSHARD, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

First Prize Oration in the Central Group Contest, 1913, and in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 15, 1913



THE EVOLUTION OF PATRIOTISM

Robert Southey has asked through the lips of a little child the greatest peace question that the world has known. He pictures a summer evening on the old battlefield of Blenheim. On a chair before his vine-clad cottage sat old Kaspar while his grandchildren, Wilhelmine and Peterkin, played on the lawn. Suddenly Peterkin from a nearby brook unearthed a skull and, running, brought it to Kaspar's knee. The old man took the gruesome thing from the boy, and told him that this had been the head of a man killed in the great battle of Blenheim. Then little Wilhelmine looked up into her grandfather's face and said:

"Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for."

Here we have the central question in the problem of war. Why do men fight? Through the answer to that question lies the path to world-peace.

Few men fight to-day for glory. Modern militarism has no place for Lancelots and Galahads. The glory of the regiment has absorbed the glory of the individual. Few men fight to-day to gain great wealth. The treasures that glittered before Pizarro do not tempt our soldiers. Material wealth is more easily won in factory or farm or mill. Few men fight to-day for religion. The conquest of religion has become a conquest of peace; the very ideal of peace is an end of religion itself. Glory, wealth, religion—these are no longer the causes of war. Then why do men fight? The answer is obvious. Men fight to-day for patriotism. Patriotism is the cause of war.

The next step in our reasoning is more difficult. If patriotism is the cause of war, how shall we treat the cause to destroy the result? Shall we attempt to abolish patriotism as Tolstoy would have us do, or shall we try to change its nature so that war as a natural result will be impossible? To answer these questions we must study patriotism from its very beginnings. We must ask: What is patriotism? Where did it come from? What place has it in our life?

Observe first the simplest cell of life, the amoeba. We can watch it through the microscope. It is so tiny that it keeps house in a drop of water. It has neither emotion nor consciousness, in the human sense. It lives a while, and then splits in two to form other cells that have no connection with each other. Yet this infinitesimal bit of life has an instinct, the instinct to save itself. Watch an amoeba as fire is brought near. It immediately moves away. Its every act is regulated by this one instinct, self-preservation.

Now let us leave the microscope and go outdoors. Over there is a bird in a tree top, feeding its young in a nest. Suppose that a fire should suddenly consume the tree. Would the mother bird fly away in safety? No, it would die on its nest in the effort to save its young. There is more than self-preservation here. The scientist will tell you that the instinct has expanded to include the preservation of the offspring.

And now turn to primitive man. The recent excavations in Sussex will give us a picture of him. He is a wild, gorilla-like figure that creeps beneath the trees. He can leap with lightning force on his prey. He drapes his body with bearskins, and eats meat from fingers that end in claws. And yet with all his savage ferocity, this is more than an animal. This is a man. In his breast there stir the instincts of a man. In his life we see the vital element of patriotism, love. His little savage family is more precious to him than all the world. He will fight and die, not only for self-preservation but for those who to him are "brother and sister and mother." This is the stamp of the human. This is the potentially divine.

But as the storms of war beat about these little savage families, the sense of common danger welded them into one. Out of grim necessity friendship came, and friendship gave birth to patriotism. Loyalty and sacrifice were not limited to the family; men fought and died for their tribe.

And now let us turn the microscope upon ourselves. We would fight for our country. We say because we love our country. We call that feeling patriotism. It is more extended than the savage love of tribe; it gives loyalty to a great government and democratic principles. We speak of that feeling as divine, but it is terribly human. Its expression is the same harsh ferocity that inspired the life of the savage.

To-morrow America goes to war. In great black type we read the call for men, and a sense of common danger thrills us. In the evening by a street lamp's glare we watch a passionate agitator who points to a flag that we have learned to love. The tramp, tramp of passing regiments and the sound of martial music thrill us. We lay down our tool or pen and march to the front. And then comes the first engagement. The air is blackened with rifle smoke; the roar of cannonry deafens us. Dazed, we crouch behind an earthwork while the enemy creeps through the smoke. Suddenly they charge. We fire, but they surge on through the smoke. They mount the earthwork. We leap together! Men scream hoarsely! Musket butts crash! Daggers plunge into quivering flesh! Divine feeling! Glorious patriotism!

The passing of this savage patriotism is inevitable. The whole course of nature is against it. The very history of development will tell you that. Loyalty has never been an immutable thing. It has been a ceaseless and irresistible growth from the individual to the family, to the tribe, to the nation. The time for a world-patriotism has come. Why should men limit their loyalty by a row of stones and trees that we call a boundary? Why are men patriots, anyway, except to save their privileges and their government? The primitive patriot had no choice but to fight. He was put down in a little plot of cleared ground hemmed in by mighty forests, and made to hew out a home in a vast world of enemies. But how far we have come from him! The twentieth-century world is a little world. Our earth is like an open book. We have cut through the jungle wastes of Africa; we have photographed the poles. We sell and buy things from Greenland and Java. In such a civilization war-patriotism has no place. It is no longer the only guide to self-preservation; it has become the most terrible instrument of self-destruction. And for just this reason war-patriotism must go. It runs counter to the whole trend of nature itself. It is diametrically opposed to the mission of patriotism in the world. Just as those little savage families joined hands in tribal loyalty, just as the scattered clans and tribes united under national government, so nations must clasp hands around the globe in a new spirit of "worldism" that shall make war impossible.

But we cannot gain a world-spirit by a sudden destruction of our patriotism. We will never usher in tranquillity with a crash. The nihilism of Tolstoy would plunge us into lawlessness and anarchy, for the chief element of patriotism we must keep. "What is that element?" you ask. It is the willingness of the individual to sacrifice his welfare for the welfare of the group. There we have the stem of the world-spirit of to-morrow. But the blossom will not burst forth in a night. It must come by an unfolding and a growth. We cannot climb to universal peace upon a golden ladder and cut the rungs beneath us. Evolution builds on the past. The final spirit of "worldism" will be a broadening and a deepening and a humanizing of the spirit of sacrifice which is the noblest element in our patriotism.

"But," you ask, "if the evolution of patriotism is inevitable, what have we to do with it? Why should we meddle with the course of nature?" We reply that the evolution must come through you. We are not "puppets jerked by unseen wires." "Consciousness," says Bergson, "is essentially free." Man the savage or man the philosopher—he alone can decide. Let him purify patriotism with Christianity and he has brotherhood; adulterate it with avarice and he has war. The evolution of patriotism is not a physical thing. Listen to Huxley, "Social progress means a checking of the cosmic process at every step and the substitution for it of the ethical process." The evolution of patriotism, then, is a moral thing, and morality is man-made. We are men, but we can be supermen. We are patriots of a nation. We can be patriots of the world.

The evolution of patriotism is no theorist's dream. It is a palpable fact. The patriot of one age may be the scoundrel of the next. A turn of the kaleidoscope and Paul the convict trades places with Nero the Emperor. Who was the ideal ancient patriot? The statesman, Pericles? The thinker, Plato? No. The most efficient murderer, a Macedonian boy. "I must civilize," he says. So he starts into his neighbor's country with forty thousand fighters at his back. Does Persia yield its banner? No. Then crush it. Does Thebes resist? Then burn it to the ground. Do the women prate of freedom? Load them with slave chains. What? Do they still hold out? Then slaughter the swine. And as men watch him wading through seas of blood, riding roughshod over prostrate lives and dead hopes and shattered empires, the blind age cries out, "O godlike Alexander!"

"Godlike!" Oh, but there's new meaning in that word to-day. How much nobler a picture our modern patriot presents! Not waving the brand of destruction, not a king of murder will you find the great patriot of to-day. His thunderbolt of conquest was a host of righteousness. His empire was built in the hearts of men. In the teeming slums of the world's greatest city he lifted the standard of the Christ. Haggard children stretched out hands for bread. He fed them with his last crust. Thousands were dying in the city's filth. He pointed them to a more Beautiful City where pain should be no more. And when the body of William Booth was borne through the silent throngs of London streets, a million heads were bowed in reverence to this patriot of a purer day. In every hamlet of civilization some heart called him godlike.

Is not the trend of patriotism clear? Are not the seeds of a new world-loyalty already in our soil? The trumpet call to war can never rouse this newer patriotism. The summons "peace on earth and good will to men"—that is the future bugle call. And for us the task is clear. To take our destiny into our own hands, to throw off the prejudices of nationalism, to turn our faces resolutely to the future and strive for that summit of brotherhood and universal peace, that

"One far-off divine event To which the whole creation moves."



CERTAIN PHASES OF THE PEACE MOVEMENT

By CALVERT MAGRUDER, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland

First Prize Oration in the Eastern Group Contest, 1913, and Second Prize in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 15, 1913



CERTAIN PHASES OF THE PEACE MOVEMENT

Ladies and Gentlemen:

We are gathered here this evening in the confident expectation that a rule of reason will soon be established among the nations. It has been a hard, at times almost a discouraging, fight—for it is difficult to convince the world of its own insanity, and lovers of peace have often been tempted to cry in their despair, "How long, O Lord, how long?"

But there have always been men, with vision unaffected by martial glamour, who have foreseen in the logic of the world's history the inevitable end of war, and we have progressed now to a point where peace is the normal condition in international relationships. But it is an armed peace, founded on the false principle of suspicion and distrust, and we come now to consider the practical question of what the third Hague Conference can do to establish peace upon a firm and enduring foundation.

You will remember that the First Hague Conference established a so-called Permanent Court of Arbitration. It is not a definite, tangible tribunal, but merely a panel of a hundred or more men from whom the arbiters in each specific case may be selected; and therefore, though it is a great step in the right direction and though it has accomplished some good work, it has not commanded full confidence and recognition. To supplement this court the Conference of 1907 proposed a new organization—a Judicial Court of Arbitration, to be composed of seventeen judges of recognized legal authority, to sit for terms of twelve years, and to be competent to decide all cases. Here, then, is the nucleus of an easily accessible supreme court of the world, whose decisions would soon build up a new system of international law. Its composition, jurisdiction, and procedure are agreed upon. The vital problem, a mode of selecting the judges, remains unsettled. Evidently, then, the first great duty of the next Hague Conference is to put into operation this court, of which all the nations recognize the need and desirability.

Following logically the establishment of competent machinery for arbitration comes the second great duty of that conference—the passage of a convention binding the nations to resort to this court in all cases that fail of ordinary diplomatic settlement. The Judicial Court of Arbitration, if the nations are not bound to use it, would certainly fail of its purpose. A general treaty making arbitration obligatory is not too much to demand, for the Conference of 1907 declared itself unanimous "in recognizing the principle of compulsory arbitration." Separate arbitration treaties mounting into the hundreds have been negotiated between individual nations, but almost all contain that fatal reservation of questions of "honor and vital interests." Honor and vital interests—could any words be more vague and indefinite? Are these not the very cases which interested nations are least competent to decide? A complete answer to that silly reservation is found in our hundred years' peace with Great Britain. As John W. Foster, that keen student of our diplomatic history, has said, "The United States can have no future dispute with England more seriously involving the territorial integrity, the honor of the nation, its vital interests, or its independence, than those questions which have already been submitted to arbitration." Denmark has agreed with Italy and the Netherlands to arbitrate all questions that fail of diplomatic settlement, thus insuring perpetual peace between those nations. Here indeed is the pathway of true national honor.

Coincident with the establishment of the legal machinery for arbitration and the growth thereof, we would naturally have expected a cessation in the mad race for armament-supremacy. But the very reverse has happened, and to deal firmly with this contradictory situation is the third great duty of the next Hague Conference. Of what avail are our Courts of Arbitral Justice when this intolerable economic waste is permitted! To limit armaments was the avowed purpose of the First Hague Conference, but nothing was accomplished save the adoption of a neatly worded resolution that the limitation aforesaid is "highly desirable for the enlargement of the material and moral well-being of humanity." In 1907 the subject was again under discussion, the nations exhorted to a serious examination of the question—and there the matter rested. We have reached now an insufferable stage where effective action must be taken. Let us hear no more that deceptive catch phrase, "If you want peace prepare for war." When bad blood is likely to arise between individuals the very worst policy to pursue is to furnish them with weapons. And so it is with nations. Consider, if you will, the neck-and-neck race between Great Britain and the German Empire in the construction of battleships. What fool will call that preparation for war a guaranty of peace? We might be disposed to admit the sincerity of those who say we must arm and ever arm to maintain peace, except that they are too often men with professional and business interests at stake. In England there have been amazing revelations of this sinister condition—armament companies with peers, members of Parliament, newspaper owners, officers of the army and navy, as stockholders; enormous appropriations forced through Parliament by interested parties; periodic war scares in newspapers inspired by armament syndicates. Only recently we read how the great Krupp firm of Germany had been exposed in its practice of bribing officials to obtain valuable military information and furnishing French newspapers with war-scare articles calculated to induce Germany to increase her armament orders. In Russia and France they face a similar state of affairs. Here in the United States we are undoubtedly not free therefrom. And then there are the navy leagues in every country, playing upon the fears of the nations by startling tales of what the others are doing, and so on through an endless chain, manufacturing a demand for battleships in the name and under the guise of patriotism. We shrink from the contemplation of such greed and selfishness, and appeal for relief to the third Hague Conference.

We come now to a consideration of the fourth prime duty devolving upon that conference. Ocean commerce in war should be rendered inviolable. In effecting this we not only abolish a barbarous custom, but at the same time remove one of the chief causes of great navies. As long as the safety of the merchant marine is not guaranteed by international agreement, just so long will nations with commercial aspirations build enormous navies for their protection. It is true England has hitherto opposed this reform,—confident in her naval supremacy,—but she cannot again fly in the face of a general demand without too great a sacrifice of prestige.

Here, then, are four important problems of the peace movement, all difficult, but not impossible of solution when we remember that the Conference of 1907, in good faith, I believe, adopted the following declaration, "That, by working together during the past four months, the collected powers not only have learnt to understand one another and to draw close together, but have succeeded ... in evolving a very lofty conception of the common welfare of humanity." Whether these fine words breathe sincerity or hypocrisy the next Hague Conference has ample opportunity to prove.

And now, what shall we say of the position of America in this war against war? Her boundless resources; her amalgamation of men from all parts of the world into one people; her impregnable geographical situation; her embodiment of the three cardinal principles of world-union (federation, interstate free trade, interstate courts); the genius and ideals of our government—all give America a logical leadership. She can boast of the first peace society in the world, of a glorious record of arbitration, of a long list of the wisest international statesmen, of a most advanced position at The Hague upon the questions of ocean commerce, courts of justice, arbitration, limitation of armaments. But there is the darker view. The treaties negotiated by Secretary Knox with France and with England, agreeing to arbitrate every question that fails of diplomatic settlement—those treaties were rejected by the United States Senate. There was a transcendent opportunity to lay the foundation for a speedy realization of peace universal, with France and England willing, yes, even anxious to cooperate—and America failed! Mr. Taft has shown that if the position of the Senate is accepted as international law, then we may as well bid farewell to any hopes of leadership in the peace movement, for our nation could then enter upon no general arbitration agreements because of the prerogative of the Senate in each specific case to accept or refuse arbitration.

It is at this point, Ladies and Gentlemen, that there is work for the humblest of us to do. In the intellectual field we can aid in the creation of an intelligent, forceful public opinion that will induce the Senate to recede from its fatal attitude, and that will resist a false, cheap patriotism which is relentlessly endeavoring to crush America 'neath the burden of militarism. Then in the moral field we can stimulate and foster a peaceful attitude, a sentiment for peace, in the hearts of our countrymen; and until this is accomplished there can be no peace universal, for, as Senator Root has said, "The questions at issue between disputing nations are nothing, the spirit that deals with them is everything." And finally, in the educational field, let us take heed that the men and women of our rising generation are taught the glorious pages of our arbitration history as well as they know the battles of our country. Let us take care that it is grounded into their minds and habits of thought from earliest years, that "peace hath her victories no less renowned than war."

In conclusion, let us not be deceived by that vain apology for war, that it is necessary to keep alive the heroic spirit and to stimulate manly courage. Despite the noble side in war, its bestial side predominates; its larger effect upon men is demoralizing. And if it be glorious to die for a cause, how much nobler to live and strive for an ideal, utilizing the talents that God gave us for its realization! The movement for peace is not one of weaklings and mollycoddles. It is championed by red-blooded men, daring to bear the ridicule of the thoughtless and to fight for the preconceptions of humanity. Peace has her heroes in daily life—miners, mariners, policemen, firemen, men of every station, displaying the nobility of their souls often unheralded and unsung. The venerable William T. Stead, bearing across the ocean his message of international good will, sacrificed his life on the Titanic that others might live. He was a hero, yes, but a hero of peace.

It would be an insult to your intelligence to prove the self-evident proposition that war is uneconomic, unscientific, unchristian. The movement for its elimination, above all, is logical and practical, and should appeal to every man. Is it nothing to you? Yes, it is a great deal to you. Merely let your imaginations picture the day when the seventy per cent of our national revenue now sacrificed on the altar of folly is diverted to the arts of peace, to the amelioration of social conditions, to advancing the happiness of our people—at peace with all other peoples in the assurance of international law and love. Ladies and Gentlemen, if we but do our duty, the dawn of that great day will come in our generation!



THE ASSURANCE OF PEACE

By VERNON M. WELSH, Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois

First Prize Oration in the Western Group Contest, 1913, and Third Prize in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 15, 1913



THE ASSURANCE OF PEACE

The birth and rapid rise of the present movement for international peace are events of recent years. The nineteenth century found its welcome in the smoking cannon and crimsoned fields of Hohenlinden. At its close the first great peace conference of The Hague was in session. One hundred years ago Napoleon was sweeping across Europe in his terrible attempt to create an empire. To-day France, England, and America have agreed on treaties that declare for unbroken peace. Touched by the wand of progress, the Utopian ideal of yesterday has become the dominant political issue of to-day. It is pertinent, then, that we seek the true nature of this revolution. Is it borne on the crest of a popular impulse that will recede as rapidly as it has risen, or is it a permanent movement, the product of natural forces working through ordinary channels?

The nineteenth century represents a break with the past. Swept into the mighty current of transition, the habits and customs of a thousand years have disappeared. With the development of natural resources, the establishment and growth of the factory system, the use of means of rapid communication, nations have entered upon a new era. Commerce and industry have come to dominate thought and action and are transforming the very life of the world. Defying the rigorous climate of both the poles, trade has penetrated the frozen recesses of Hudson Bay and made of the Falkland Islands a relay station in the progress of victorious industry. Nor is the equatorial heat more discouraging. The thick jungles of Africa have yielded their secrets, and the muddy waters of the Amazon are churned by propellers a thousand miles from the sea. International trade routes traverse the seas, connecting continent with continent. In forty years this commerce has increased from two billions to thirty billions. Giant corporations have ignored political boundaries, carried trade wherever profitable, and are supplying the varied demands of entire communities. Tariff walls, but lately effective barriers, are crumbling before the onslaught of trade. Nations are no longer independent. The wheat from Canada and the Dakotas feeds the mill workers of Sheffield and the nobility of Berlin. The failure of the Georgia cotton crop halts the looms of England and raises the cost of living throughout Europe. Nations can no longer exist as self-sufficient economic units. Never before were they so mutually interdependent. Never before has the welfare and security of one state depended upon the enterprise and diligence of another. And the movement for international peace is the chance offspring of these new social forces, at once a protest and a warning against the wrecking of modern economic structures by the ruthless hand of war.

Commerce, the most important of these new forces, flourishes unprejudiced by armaments and military prestige. In the open competition of the world's markets stronger powers meet and suffer from the rivalry of states that have no military standing. Relative to population, Norway has a carrying trade three times as great as England's. With her million trained warriors Germany is beaten by the merchants of Holland. The flag of little Denmark flies at more mastheads than does the Stars and Stripes. Where then is the commercial advantage supposed to attend superior military strength?

But it is to prevent the seizure of its commerce by others that nations must empty their treasuries to keep ironclads afloat. Yet what could be gained by attempted confiscation? If Germany annihilated England's navy to-morrow, how would she profit? Commerce is a process of exchange, the continuance and promotion of which is dependent upon the degree of mutual profit. Commercial gain is not a consequent of military success. It is since England seized the gold fields, diamond mines, and fertile plateaus of lower Africa that British securities have dropped twenty points. In 1871 Germany humbled and humiliated France almost beyond toleration, yet her share of the world's commerce has not been augmented thereby. So would it be with England. True, Germany might commit some depredations and hinder the passage of trade, but what would be her motive? How could she gain? Even if the British Isles were depopulated, it is doubtful whether Germany would benefit. For by what miracle would Germany be able to develop the facilities, the shipyards, mills, factories, foundries, mines and machinery, to supply the trade which the foremost of commercial nations has been generations in building up? Germany's banner might wave over the Bank of England, her excise boats police the Thames and the Clyde, yet she would behold the trade of a conquered province going to foreign nations. Trade does not follow the flag. Undisturbed by political changes or military reverses, it flows in constantly widening channels wherever productive fields are found.

And in the waging of war, do we reckon the direct cost to commerce? The commercial relations of the entire world are disturbed. Prolonged conflict is accompanied by the closing of the bank and the factory, the dismantling of the shop and mill, and the lengthening of the bread line in every city and town. In what state of prosperity and happiness might not France have been had Napoleon never lived? With half a century gone, our own country is still suffering from the devastation of the Civil War. Our commerce with South America is scarcely beyond the point it had reached before our week-end tiff with Spain. Yet there are those who prate of national honor and of war as insuring prosperity. From the leader of a newborn national party we hear that without a periodic war America would become effeminate and weak, her aggressive commercial life timid and corrupt, and within a few brief years the great Republic would sink to a fourth-rate power. Up, brave Americans, and man the guns! Awake, sons of freedom, and sweep the seas! Fourteen years without a war; our beloved land is ruined. You men of the factory and mill, you men of property and business, you producers of the nation's wealth, forward into the carnage; burn the homes of thrift and industry, for commerce will be enriched thereby; ravage the fields and despoil the cities, for this will insure vigorous national life; impoverish happy peoples, spread famine and pestilence through fertile valleys, mark the sites of contented villages with smoldering ruins, defy your Christian God, and kindle the fires of hell in human breasts; commit violence, treachery, rapine, ay, murder,—for the eternal glory of the Stars and Stripes. Yet commerce and industry—the glittering prizes which every nation covets when it builds a dreadnought or enlarges its army—demand that the creative forces of peace supplant the destructive wastes of war.

To-day the financial relationships of nations are inextricably entangled. The big banks in the capitals of the world are in communication with each other every second of the day. During the American crisis in 1907 the bank rate in England went up to seven per cent, forcing many British concerns to suspend operations. Because of the Balkan War the bank rate in Berlin, Paris, and Vienna is the highest in twenty years, and European securities have depreciated over six billion dollars. Foreign investments are raising insuperable barriers to war. Should the French bombard Hamburg to-day they would destroy the property of Frenchmen. Let Emperor William capture London, loot the Bank of England, and he will return to find German industry paralyzed, the banks closed, and a panic sweeping the land. Let English regiments again move to invade the United States, English warships draw up in battle line to attack our seaports, and four billions of the earnings of the English people would bar the way. To the victor of the present the spoils of war are valueless. Japan, victor over the great Russian Empire, staggers under a colossal debt. The Italian government hears rumbles of discontent, because the cost of winning a victory has been too great. What better proof do we need that war is profitless, that it means financial suicide? It has been transformed from a gainful occupation into economic folly, and war will cease because the price is becoming prohibitive.

In this movement for peace, capital's strongest ally is her most active enemy. Raised to a position of independence and power by the Industrial Revolution, labor is wielding an effective influence. The complexity of modern business has aroused workingmen in every country to a common interest and sympathy. The International Congress of Trade Unions, representing twenty countries and over ten million men, has declared for universal disarmament. Just last month eighty-five thousand coal miners in Illinois resolved that if the United States declared war on a foreign power, they would call a general strike.

And why not? Why should the workingmen of one country offer themselves as targets for those of another? Why should the workers of Germany be taxed to support a war against England, Germany's best market? Can the rice growers of Japan profit by killing Americans to whom they sell their produce? War means suffering and want, and the laborer has come to know it. He is cold to the sight of its flaunting flags and the sound of its grand, wild music, for he sees the larder bare, funds exhausted, and hunger at the door. He refuses to sacrifice his body and the welfare of his family upon the altar of Mars. No longer can kings and emperors satisfy their grasping ambitions. Armed by the ballot, the masses are to-day supreme. Never again will the cruel hand of tyranny press to their lips the poisoned cup of death. Their sway is absolute. The destinies of nations are in their keeping. The decree has gone forth that war must cease.

Born of these greater movements, a host of influences bring nearer the dawn of peace. The express and the wireless have supplanted the oxcart and the courier. Chicago and Boston are closer to-day than New York and Albany a century ago. Within the hour of their occurrence events that happen in Paris are published in Chicago and St. Louis. Political boundaries are fading before larger interests. Every railroad train crossing the frontier, every ship plying the seas, every article of commerce, every exchange of business, every cable conveying news from distant lands—all these are potent factors in the cause of international peace. Add to these the conciliating influence of foreign investments, the telephone and telegraph, travel, education, democracy, religion, and you have marshaled a host for peace whose clarion trumpets shall never sound retreat. Casting aside the prejudice of ages, modern industrialism flings around the world the economic bonds against which the forces of militarism are powerless.

Here, then, in the world-wide operations of commerce and industry is the assurance of peace. The skeptic may scoff and the cynic point to Mexico and the Balkans, but the Industrial Revolution has produced a multitude of influences that are knitting the nations into an indissoluble unity. Men are beginning to realize the integrity of mankind, and a world-consciousness is arising. Kindness and justice—yesterday but community ideals—are extending their sway throughout the earth. Even while bayonets are bared in conflict and cannon thunder against hostile camps, the magic of our civilization is weaving bonds of union that cannot be broken. Peace, not war, is the true grandeur of nations; love, not hate, is the immutable law of God; and so surely as governments and kings are powerless to divide when home and factory would bind, some not too distant day will find the battle flags all furled, the sword's arbitrament abandoned, and the world at peace.



EDUCATION FOR PEACE

By FRANCIS J. LYONS, University of Texas, Austin, Texas, representing the Southern Group

First Prize Oration in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 28, 1914



EDUCATION FOR PEACE

Time was when war was beneficial. Historians have justified the spread of knowledge by the sword. At the world's awakening, it was well that the new thought should be diffused even at the sacrifice of human blood. It was justified because there was no other means. We have to cast our imagination back through the centuries and realize that then there were no railroads, no telegraph, no newspapers; that man was bound by narrow limits; and the elemental processes of the world were undiscovered. We do not criticize Alexander for conquering the eastern perils, for he carried in his phalanxes the spirit of new-discovered thought. We do not denounce Rome for piercing the unknown realms with her legions, for she was the mother of a new belief. But this was at the dawn of history, when erudition was in its struggling embryo, and the physical was the better part of man. Man went forth to battle as a religion.

The world grew partly wise, and man preached the gospel of brotherhood. But it did not last. The changing of the peoples smoldered the fires of rising intelligence, and the world rolled back again in darkness—a darkness long and black. Centuries passed, and a new light came, slowly but courageously. Man blinkingly came forth, dazed and unsteady. The light grew, and man grew with it; but rooted deep in his heart was the love of war of his ancestors. In a different spirit, it is true; but it was there, and he went forth to battle not because it was religion, but because it was brave.

The world rolled on; war grew; it developed with the state; it became an art; was studied—and now our cycle turns. It faces us as a custom backed up by the centuries—deep-rooted, a consumer that yields no returns and, what with our modern appliances, a terror to the hearts of all the world. Men fought in the early ages because they thought it was just; men fought in the Middle Ages because they considered it brave; men of our modern age will banish war because it is a fallacy.

Do you know that to maintain our so-called prestige we spend seventy per cent of our national income? Think of it! Seventy per cent to maintain our present status and to prepare for the future! Think of that awful drain; think, if applied in other channels, what good could be done! We are proud of our battleship Texas. She is a noble war dog; yet do you realize that if we had applied the money spent on her in our own state we could have had one gigantic paved highway twice the distance from El Paso to Galveston? We could have had two hundred high schools, representing $75,000 each. We could have raised our institutions of higher learning to a level with any of the East or North. Fifteen millions gone for a floating war machine which in twenty years will be a piece of rusted, useless iron; fifteen millions for a sailing dragon who, each time one of her big guns speaks, wastes the equivalent of a four-year college education for some youth—$1700—for a single shot. Our war dogs sail the seas; our soldiers parade our forts; and we look on and raise a joyous hubbub as the nations of the world rush madly on, wasting themselves in the race for military supremacy.

Have you ever considered yourself transported to some celestial height, and there, from the regions of the infinite, allowed to view a battle on earth? How foolish it must seem, these pygmies coming forth to make war. See them as they charge and wound and kill! See brother slay brother! See the wounded left to die! Hear the cries of distress, and picture the grief that follows all! Men battling to conquer; men assuming the prerogative of a god—how foolish, yet how serious! And these artificial lines that men call boundaries, how punctiliously they are guarded! "Take but a hundred feet, and we shall war with thee." How foolish this too must seem when viewed from above—that we should carry on war over even a slight infraction on any imaginary, mathematical line.

We cherish the thought that the youth of our land are being taught self-restraint. It is ever impressed upon them that there are courts of justice for the settlement of controversies. Law and order have become stock phrases, dinned into their ears at every turn. The man who would settle his difficulty by trying the physical metal of his adversary is of the past. By the new order he is taboo as a savage. Individual self-restraint rings out in our vocabulary as nationally descriptive. The babe at the mother's knee learns first the virtue of it; the child at school is tutored to it soundly; the man in life is lectured with it regularly. Brotherhood! Love! Self-restraint!

But what of the self-restraint of the nation? In the teaching of the individual, is it not odd and inconsistent that we forget the teaching of the unit? We paint the inner rooms of our national character with colors bright and pleasing, but the exterior, though weathering the heavier storms, is forgotten. If the child be taught that individuals should arbitrate their differences, can he not learn that the individual nations are subject to the same rule? If arbitration is best for each man, surely it must be best for all. If the child be taught that self-restraint is the boasted characteristic of the model American, should he not learn that the model American nation should be self-restraining? Let us learn this lesson, and surely we will never war. Herein shall we find the solution of this great problem. We can preach about peace and write pretty orations, but if we are to impress it upon the hearts of the world, we must teach it, and in a systematic manner. It is not to be learned in a day. It is the labor of a generation and more. It must be a fully developed characteristic. Man is learning self-development; now we must turn to the bigger ideals—national restraint, national development, international brotherhood.

Do you say this is idealism—visionary? On the contrary, it is thoroughly practicable. The only way to attain world-peace is for the individual citizen to think peace, to teach peace, and to act in accordance with such thoughts and teachings. Just as public opinion causes war, so only through cultivated public opinion can we hope for peace. I do not say to sink our battleships and turn free our army. I do not argue that we should quit guarding ourselves and throw ourselves open to the world; but what I seek is that we should turn our faces with bright hope to the future, eager to assist in the abolition of all that tends to war, eager to assist in the only proper way—the enlightenment of the world-nations.

The call comes naturally to America, the land of new belief; America, the New World of Opportunity, as Emerson calls it; the land cut off from the conventional past; a land that has taken world-leadership in the march of a single century. To America, where problems are studied and fallacies dethroned, the birthplace and the abiding home of democracy; to America, the Christian, the civilized! What will the answer be? Already we can hear the faint responses, as yet vague and indistinct, the drowned murmurings of the wiser tongues. These must grow into a national anthem whose echo will challenge the powers of the world and startle them into the consciousness of the new brotherhood. We will answer:

"Yes, we have learned the lessons of the centuries—that war is a fallacy, and armed peace its ill-sprung child; that man is no longer savage; that with enlightened mind he has controlled his warring instinct; that human love is a mightier power than war; and that we are one in the brotherhood of the Master.

"Let us stand before the nations, clad in simple honesty, panoplied in elemental justice; let us appeal to the common conscience of the world; let us say to the war-made powers, there is a way out, and we will lead. We will help you police the sea; we will give our constabulary to a quota of peace, but we are through. No great standing army, no more leviathan battleships. We trust to what we boast of as the highest attainment of the age, the innate justice of civilized humanity."

To such a national summons, how will Texas respond? Facing the Mexican boundary for eight hundred miles, Texas is to-day peculiarly the guardian of our nation. The situation calls not for agitation and jingoism, bit for rare patience, sanity, and self-control. Through troubled waters our chosen captain is guiding the Ship of State. It is no time for mutiny, but rather a time for obedience.

In this critical hour let every loyal citizen say with a contemporary poet:

In this grave hour—God help keep the President! To him all Lincoln's tenderness be lent, The grave, sweet nature of the man that saw Most power in peace and let no claptrap awe His high-poised duty from its primal plan Of rule supreme for the whole good of man.

In this grave hour—Lord, give him all the light, And us the faith that peace is more than might, That settled nations have high uses still To curb the hasty, regulate the ill, And without bloodshed from the darkest hour Make manifest high reason's nobler power.



NATIONAL HONOR AND PEACE

By LOUIS BROIDO, University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, representing the North Atlantic Group

Second Prize Oration in the National Contest held at Mohonk Lake, May 28, 1914



NATIONAL HONOR AND PEACE

Since the dawn of history the teachers, thinkers, and prophets of mankind have prayed and labored for the abolition of war. In the process of the centuries, their hope has become the aspiration of the mass of men. Growing slowly, as do all movements for righteousness, the cause of peace first claimed the attention of the world in the year 1899, when Nicholas of Russia called the nations together to discuss ways and means for the arbitration of international differences and for the abolition of war. From that day on, the movement for peace has progressed by leaps and bounds, and to-day it has reached the highest point of its development.

Already nations have signed treaties to arbitrate many of their differences. Holland, Denmark, Argentina, and Chile have agreed to arbitrate every dispute. But these nations are not potent enough in world affairs for their action to have an international influence. It remains for the great powers like England, France, Germany, and the United States to agree to submit every difficulty to arbitration, and thus take the step that will result in the practical abolition of war.

If one would find the reasons that thus far have kept the great powers from agreeing to submit all differences to arbitration, his search need not be long nor difficult. The Peace Conference of 1907 reports that the objections to international arbitration have dwindled to four. Of these objections the one commonly considered of most weight is this: "We will not submit to arbitration questions involving our national honor." Even so recently as the spring of 1912, our own Senate refused to give its assent to President Taft's proposed treaties with France and England to arbitrate all differences, and refused on the ground that "we cannot agree to arbitrate questions involving our national honor." This is the statement that you and I as workers for peace are constantly called upon to refute.

Let us, therefore, consider what honor is. For centuries honor was maintained and justice determined among men by a strong arm and a skillfully used weapon. It mattered not that often the guilty won and the dishonorable succeeded. Death was the arbiter, honor was appeased, and men were satisfied. But with the growth of civilization there slowly came to man the consciousness that honor can be maintained only by use of reason and justice administered only in the light of truth. Then private settlement of quarrels practically ceased; trial by combat was abolished; and men learned that real honor lies in the graceful and manly acceptance of decisions rendered by impartial judges.

As men have risen to higher ideals of honor in their relations with one another, so nations have risen to a higher standard in international affairs. Centuries ago tyrants ruled and waged war on any pretext; now before rulers rush to arms, they stop to count the cost. Nations once thought it honorable to use poisoned bullets and similar means of destruction; a growing humanitarianism has compelled them to abandon such practices. At one time captives were killed outright; there was a higher conception of honor when they were forced into slavery; now the quickening sense of universal sympathy compels belligerent nations to treat prisoners of war humanely and to exchange them at the close of the conflict. At one time neutrals were not protected; now their rights are generally recognized. A few hundred years ago arbitration was almost unknown; in the last century more than six hundred cases were settled by peaceful means.

During the last quarter of a century we have caught a glimpse of a new national honor. It is the belief that battle and bloodshed, except for the immediate defense of hearth and home, is a blot on the 'scutcheon of any nation. It is the creed of modern men who rise in their majesty and say: "We will not stain our country's honor with the bloodshed of war. God-given life is too dear. The forces of vice, evil, and disease are challenging us to marshal our strength and give them battle. There is too much good waiting to be done, too much suffering waiting to be appeased, for us to waste the life-blood of our fathers and sons on the field of useless battle. Here do we stand. We believe we are right. With faith in our belief we throw ourselves upon the altar of truth. Let heaven-born justice decide." Here is honor unsmirched, untainted! Here is pride unhumbled! Here is patriotism that is all-embracing, that makes us so zealous for real honor that we turn from the horrors of war to combat the evils that lie at our very doors.

We know that faith in such national honor will abolish war. We know, too, that men will have war only so long as they want war. If this be true, then, just as soon as you and I, in whose hands the final decision for or against war must ever rest, express through the force of an irresistible public opinion the doctrine that our conception of national honor demands the arbitration of every dispute, just so soon will our legislators free themselves from financial dictators and liberate the country from the dominance of a false conception of national honor.

Do you say this ideal is impractical? History proves that questions of the utmost importance can be peacefully settled without the loss of honor. The Casa Blanca dispute between France and Germany, the Venezuela question, the North Atlantic Fisheries case, the Alabama claims—these are proof indisputable that questions of honor may be successfully arbitrated. "Does not this magnificent achievement," says Carl Schurz of the Alabama settlement, "form one of the most glorious pages of the common history of England and America? Truly, the two great nations that accomplished this need not be afraid of unadjustable questions of honor in the future."

In the face of such splendid examples, how meaningless is the doctrine of the enemies of peace, "We will not arbitrate questions of national honor. We will decide for ourselves what is right and for that right we will stand, even if this course plunges us into the maelstrom of war. We will not allow our country to be dishonored by any other." Well has Andrew Carnegie expressed the modern view: "Our country cannot be dishonored by any other country, or by all the powers combined. It is impossible. All honor wounds are self-inflicted. We alone can dishonor ourselves or our country. One sure way of doing so is to insist upon the unlawful and unjust demand that we sit as judges in our own case, instead of agreeing to abide by the decision of a court or a tribunal. We are told that this is the stand of a weakling, that progress demands the fighting spirit. We, too, demand the fighting spirit; but we condemn the military spirit. We are told that strong men fight for honor. We answer with Mrs. Mead: 'Justice and honor are larger words than peace, and if fighting would enable us to get justice and maintain honor, I would fight! But it is not that way!'" For it is impossible to maintain honor by recourse to arms; right may fall before might, and, viewed in the light of its awful cost, even victory is defeat. In the words of Nicholas Murray Butler: "To argue that a nation's honor must be defended by the blood of its citizens, if need be, is quite meaningless, for any nation, though profoundly right in its contention, might be defeated at the hands of a superior force exerted in behalf of an unjust and unrighteous cause. What becomes of national honor then?"

Too long have we been fighting windmills; we must struggle with ourselves; we must conquer the passions that have blinded our reason. We have been enrolled in the army of thoughtlessness; the time has come to enroll in the army of God. We have followed a false ideal of honor; we must disillusion ourselves and the world. If men declare that the preservation of courage and manliness demand that we fight, let us lead them to the fight, not against each other, but against all that is unrighteous and undesirable in our national life. Men still cling to an ancient conception of national honor; let us convince them that there is a newer and higher conception. Men still declare that peace is the dream of the poet and prophet; let us prove by historical example that questions, even of national honor, can be happily settled by arbitration. If men despair, let us remind them that to-day, as never before, the mass of men are slowly and surely working out God's plan for this great cause.