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TEXTBOOK EDITION
THE YALE CHRONICLES
OF AMERICA SERIES
ALLEN JOHNSON
EDITOR
GERHARD R. LOMER
CHARLES W. JEFFERYS
ASSISTANT EDITORS
WOODROW WILSON
AND THE WORLD WAR
A CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES
BY CHARLES SEYMOUR
1921
[Illustration]
TORONTO: GLASGOW, BROOK & CO.
NEW YORK: UNITED STATES PUBLISHERS
ASSOCIATION, INC.
_Copyright, 1921, by Yale University Press_
Printed in the United States of America
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|Transcribers note: In this plain text the breve has been rendered as [)c]|
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CONTENTS
I. WILSON THE EXECUTIVE Page 1
II. NEUTRALITY " 27
III. THE SUBMARINE " 47
IV. PLOTS AND PREPAREDNESS " 71
V. AMERICA DECIDES " 94
VI. THE NATION IN ARMS " 116
VII. THE HOME FRONT " 150
VIII. THE FIGHTING FRONT " 192
IX. THE PATH TO PEACE " 228
X. WAYS OF THE PEACE CONFERENCE " 254
XI. BALANCE OF POWER OR LEAGUE OF NATIONS? " 281
XII. THE SETTLEMENT " 310
XIII. THE SENATE AND THE TREATY " 330
XIV. CONCLUSION " 352
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE " 361
INDEX " 367
WOODROW WILSON AND THE WORLD WAR
CHAPTER I
WILSON THE EXECUTIVE
When, on March 4, 1913, Woodrow Wilson entered the White House, the first
Democratic president elected in twenty years, no one could have guessed
the importance of the rôle which he was destined to play. While business
men and industrial leaders bewailed the mischance that had brought into
power a man whose attitude towards vested interests was reputed none too
friendly, they looked upon him as a temporary inconvenience. Nor did the
increasingly large body of independent voters, disgusted by the
"stand-pattism" of the Republican machine, regard Wilson much more
seriously; rather did they place their confidence in a reinvigoration of
the Grand Old Party through the progressive leadership of Roosevelt,
whose enthusiasm and practical vision had attracted the approval of more
than four million voters in the preceding election, despite his lack of
an adequate political organization. Even those who supported Wilson most
whole-heartedly believed that his work would lie entirely within the
field of domestic reform; little did they imagine that he would play a
part in world affairs larger than had fallen to any citizen of the United
States since the birth of the country.
The new President was fifty-six years old. His background was primarily
academic, a fact which, together with his Scotch-Irish ancestry, the
Presbyterian tradition of his family, and his early years spent in the
South, explains much in his character at the time when he entered upon
the general political stage. After graduating from Princeton in 1879,
where his career gave little indication of extraordinary promise, he
studied law, and for a time his shingle hung out in Atlanta. He seemed
unfitted by nature, however, for either pleasure or success in the
practice of the law. Reserved and cold, except with his intimates, he was
incapable of attracting clients in a profession and locality where
ability to "mix" was a prime qualification. A certain lack of tolerance
for the failings of his fellow mortals may have combined with his
Presbyterian conscience to disgust him with the hard give-and-take of the
struggling lawyer's life. He sought escape in graduate work in history
and politics at Johns Hopkins, where, in 1886, he received his Ph.D. for
a thesis entitled _Congressional Government_, a study remarkable for
clear thinking and felicitous expression. These qualities characterized
his work as a professor at Bryn Mawr and Wesleyan and paved his path to
an appointment on the Princeton faculty in 1890, as Professor of
Jurisprudence and Politics.
Despite his early distaste to the career of practicing lawyer, Wilson was
by no means the man to bury himself in academic research. He lacked the
scrupulous patience and the willingness to submerge his own personality
which are characteristic of the scientific scholar. His gift was for
generalization, and his writings were marked by clarity of thought and
wealth of phrase, rather than by profundity. But such qualities brought
him remarkable success as a lecturer and essayist, and constant practice
gave him a fluency, a vocal control, and a power of verbal expression
which assured distinction at the frequent public meetings and dinners
where he was called upon to speak. Professional interest in the science
of government furnished him with topics of far wider import than the
ordinary pedagogue cares to handle, and he became, even as professor,
well known outside of Princeton. His influence, already broad in the
educational and not without some recognition in the political world, was
extended in 1902, when he was chosen President of the University.
During the succeeding eight years Wilson enjoyed his first taste of
executive power, and certain traits which he then displayed deserve brief
notice. Although a "conservative" in his advocacy of the maintenance of
the old-time curriculum, based upon the ancient languages and mathematics,
and in his opposition to the free elective system, he proved an inflexible
reformer as regards methods of instruction, the efficiency of which he was
determined to establish. He showed a ruthless resolution to eliminate what
he looked upon as undemocratic social habits among the undergraduates, and
did not hesitate to cut loose from tradition, regardless of the prejudice
thereby aroused against him. As an executive he evoked intense admiration
and virulent dislike; the Board of Trustees and the alumni body were alike
divided between enthusiastic support and bitter anathematization of the
measures he proposed. What seems obvious is that many graduates
sympathized with his purposes but were alienated by his methods. His
strength lay chiefly in the force of his appeal to democratic sentiment;
his weakness in complete inability to conciliate opponents.
At the moment when the issue of the struggle at Princeton was still
undecided, opportunity was given Wilson to enter political life; an
ambition for such a career had evidently stirred him in early days and
was doubtless resuscitated by his success as a public speaker. While
President of Princeton he had frequently touched upon public issues, and
so early as 1906 Colonel George Harvey had mentioned him as a possible
President of the United States. From that time he was often considered as
available for political office, and in 1910, with New Jersey stirred by a
strong popular movement against boss-rule, he was tendered the nomination
for Governor of that State. He accepted and proved an ideal candidate.
Though supported by the Democratic machine, which planned to elect a
reformer and then control him, Wilson won the adherence of independents
and progressive Republicans by his promise to break the power of the boss
system, and by the clarity of his plans for reform. His appeals to the
spirit of democracy and morality, while they voiced nothing new in an
electoral campaign, rang with unusual strength and sincerity. The State,
which had gone Republican by eighty-two thousand two years before, now
elected Wilson its Governor by a plurality of forty-nine thousand.
He retained office in New Jersey for only two years. During that period he
achieved a high degree of success. Had he served longer it is impossible
to say what might have been his ultimate position, for as at Princeton,
elements of opposition had begun to coalesce against him and he had found
no means to disarm them. As Governor, he at once declared himself head of
the party and by a display of firm activity dominated the machine. The
Democratic boss, Senator James Smith, was sternly enjoined from seeking
reëlection to the Senate, and when, in defiance of promises and the wish
of the voters as expressed at the primaries, he attempted to run, Wilson
entered the lists and so influenced public opinion and the Legislature
that the head of the machine received only four votes. Attempts of the
Democratic machine to combine with the Republicans, in order to nullify
the reforms which Wilson had promised in his campaign, proved equally
futile. With strong popular support, constantly exercising his influence
both in party conferences and on the Legislature, the Governor was able to
translate into law the most important of the measures demanded by the
progressives. He himself summed up the essence of the situation when he
said: "The moment the forces in New Jersey that had resisted reform
realized that the people were backing new men who meant what they had
said, they realized that they dare not resist them. It was not the
personal force of the new officials; it was the moral strength of their
backing that accomplished the extraordinary result." Supreme confidence in
the force of public opinion exerted by the common man characterizes much
of Wilson's political philosophy, and the position in the world which he
was to enjoy for some months towards the end of the war rested upon the
same basis.
In 1912 came the presidential election. The split in the Republican
forces promised if it did not absolutely guarantee the election of a
Democrat, and when the party convention met at Baltimore in June,
excitement was more than ordinarily intense. The conservative elements in
the party were divided. The radicals looked to Bryan for leadership,
although his nomination seemed out of the question. Wilson had stamped
himself as an anti-machine progressive, and if the machine conservatives
threatened he might hope for support from the Nebraskan orator. From the
first the real contest appeared to be between Wilson and Champ Clark, who
although hardly a conservative, was backed for the moment by the machine
leaders. The deciding power was in Bryan's hand, and as the strife
between conservatives and radicals waxed hot, he turned to the support of
Wilson. On the forty-sixth ballot Wilson was nominated. With division in
the Republican ranks, with his record in New Jersey for legislative
accomplishment, and winning many independent votes through a succession
of effective campaign speeches, Wilson more than fulfilled the highest of
Democratic hopes. He received on election day only a minority of all the
votes cast, but his majority in the electoral college was overwhelming.
* * * * *
The personality of an American President has seldom undergone so much
analysis with such unsatisfactory results; almost every discussion of
Wilson's characteristics leads to the generation of heat rather than
light. Indeed the historian of the future may ask whether it is as
important, in this age of democracy, to know exactly what sort of man he
was as to know what the people thought he was. And yet in the case of a
statesman who was to play a rôle of supreme importance in the affairs of
the country and the world, it is perhaps more than a matter of merely
personal interest to underline his salient traits. Let it be premised
that a logical and satisfactory analysis is well-nigh impossible, for his
nature is self-contradictory, subject to gusts of temperament, and he
himself has pictured the struggle that has gone on between the impulsive
Irish and the cautious Scotch elements in him. Thus it is that he has
handled similar problems in different ways at different times, and has
produced upon different persons diametrically opposed impressions.
As an executive, perhaps his most notable characteristic is the will to
dominate. This does not mean that he is the egocentric autocrat pictured
by his opponents, for in conference he is apt to be tolerant of the
opinions of others, by no means dictatorial in manner, and apparently
anxious to obtain facts on both sides of the argument. An unfriendly
critic, Mr. E. J. Dillon, has said of him at Paris that "he was a very
good listener, an intelligent questioner, and amenable to argument
whenever he felt free to give practical effect to his conclusions."
Similar evidence has been offered by members of his Cabinet. But
unquestionably, in reaching a conclusion he resents pressure and he
permits no one to make up his mind for him; he is, said the German
Ambassador, "a recluse and lonely worker." One of his enthusiastic
admirers has written: "Once in possession of every fact in the case, the
President withdraws, commences the business of consideration, comparison,
and assessment, and then emerges with a decision." From such a decision
it is difficult to shake him and continued opposition serves merely to
stiffen his resolution. Wherever the responsibility is his, he insists
upon the finality of his judgment. Those who have worked with him have
remarked upon his eagerness, once he has decided a course of action, to
carry it into practical effect. The President of the Czecho-Slovak
Republic, Thomas G. Masaryk, said that of all the men he had met, "your
visionary, idealistic President is by far and away the most intensely
practical." One of the Big Four at Paris remarked: "Wilson works. The
rest of us play, comparatively speaking. We Europeans can't keep up with
a man who travels a straight path with such a swift stride, never looking
to right or left." But with all his eagerness for practical effect he is
notably less efficient in the execution than in the formation of
policies.
Wilson lacks, furthermore, the power of quick decision which is apt to
characterize the masterful executive. He is slow to make up his mind, a
trait that results partly, perhaps, from his Scotch blood and partly from
his academic training. Except for his steadfast adherence to what he
regards as basic principles, he might rightly be termed an opportunist.
For he is prone to temporize, anxious to prevent an issue from approaching
a crisis, evidently in the hope that something may "turn up" to improve
the situation and obviate the necessity of conflict. "Watchful waiting" in
the Mexican crises and his attitude towards the belligerents during the
first two years of the European war are cases in point. There are
instances of impulsive action on his part, when he has not waited for
advice or troubled to acquire exact knowledge of the facts underlying a
situation, but such occasions have been infrequent.
Wilson's dislike of advice has been widely advertized. It is probably
closer to the truth to say that he is naturally suspicious of advisers
unless he is certain that their basic point of view is the same as his
own. This is quite different from saying that he wants only opinions that
coincide with his own and that he immediately dispenses with advisers who
disagree with him. Colonel House, for example, who for five years exerted
constant influence on his policy, frequently advanced opinions quite at
variance from those of the President, but such differences did not weaken
House's influence inasmuch as Wilson felt that they were both starting
from the same angle towards the same point. Prejudiced though he seemed
to be against "financiers," Wilson took the opinions of Thomas W. Lamont
at Paris, because the underlying object of both, the acquisition of a
secure peace, was identical. It is true, however, that with the exception
of Colonel House, Wilson's advisers have been in the main purveyors of
facts rather than colleagues in the formation of policies. Wilson has
generally been anxious to receive facts which might help him to build his
policy, as will be attested by those who worked with him at Paris.[1] But
he was less interested in the opinions of his advisers, especially when
it came to principles and not details, for he decides principles for
himself. In this sense his Cabinet was composed of subordinates rather
than counselors. Such an attitude is, of course, characteristic of most
modern executives and has been intensified by war conditions. The summary
disregard of Lansing, shown by Wilson at Paris, was less striking than
the snubbing of Balfour by Lloyd George, or the cold brutality with which
Clemenceau treated the other French delegates.
[Footnote 1: Mr. Lamont says of the President at Paris: "I never saw a
man more ready and anxious to consult than he.... President Wilson did
not have a well-organized secretarial staff. He did far too much of the
work himself, studying until late at night papers and documents that he
should have largely delegated to some discreet aides. He was by all odds,
the hardest worked man at the Conference; but the failure to delegate
more of his work was not due to any inherent distrust that he had of
men--and certainly not to any desire to 'run the whole show' himself--but
simply to the lack of facility in knowing how to delegate work on a large
scale. In execution we all have a blind spot in some part of our eye.
President Wilson's was in his inability to use men; an inability, mind
you, not a refusal. On the contrary, when any of us volunteered or
insisted upon taking responsibility off his shoulders he was delighted."]
General conviction of Wilson's autocratic nature has been intensified by
his choice of assistants, who have not as a rule enjoyed public
confidence. He debarred himself from success in the matter of
appointments, in the first place, by limiting his range of choice through
unwillingness to have about him those who did not share his point of
view. It is more epigrammatic than exact to say that he was the sole unit
in the Government giving value to a row of ciphers, for his Cabinet, as
a whole, was not composed of weak men. But the fact that the members of
his Cabinet accepted implicitly his firm creed that the Cabinet ought to
be an executive and not a political council, that it depended upon the
President's policy, and that its main function should be merely to carry
that policy into effect, gave to the public some justification for its
belief that Wilson's was a "one-man" Government. This belief was further
intensified by the President's extreme sensitiveness to hostile
criticism, which more than anything else hindered frank interchange of
opinion between himself and strong personalities. On more than one
occasion he seemed to regard opposition as tantamount to personal
hostility, an attitude which at times was not entirely unjustified. In
the matter of minor appointments Wilson failed generally of success
because he consistently refused to take a personal interest, leaving them
to subordinates and admitting that political necessities must go far to
determine the choice. Even in such an important problem as the
appointment of the Peace Commission the President seems to have made his
selection almost at haphazard. Many of his war appointments proved
ultimately to be wise. But it is noteworthy that such men as Garfield,
Baruch, and McCormick, who amply justified their choice, were appointed
because Wilson knew personally their capacity and not because of previous
success along special lines which would entitle them to public
confidence.
The obstinacy of the President has become proverbial. The square chin,
unconsciously protruded in argument, indicates definitely his capacity,
as a British critic has put it, "to dig his toes in and hold on." On
matters of method, however, where a basic principle is not involved, he
is flexible. According as you approve or disapprove of him, he is
"capable of development" or "inconsistent." Thus he completely changed
front on the question of preparedness from 1914 to 1916. When the
question of the initiative and referendum arose in Oregon, his attitude
was the reverse of what it had been as professor of politics. When
matters of detail are under discussion, he has displayed much willingness
for and some skill in compromise, as was abundantly illustrated at Paris.
But when he thinks that a principle is at stake, he prefers to accept any
consequences, no matter how disastrous to his policy; witness his refusal
to accept the Lodge reservation on Article X of the League Covenant.
All those included within the small circle of Wilson's intimates attest
the charm and magnetism of his personality. The breadth of his reading is
reflected in his conversation, which is enlivened by anecdotes that
illustrate his points effectively and illumined by a sense of humor which
some of his friends regard as his most salient trait. His manner is
marked by extreme courtesy and, in view of the fixity of his opinions, a
surprising lack of abruptness or dogmatism. But he has never been able to
capitalize such personal advantages in his political relations. Apart
from his intimates he is shy and reserved. The antithesis of Roosevelt,
who loved to meet new individualities, Wilson has the college professor's
shrinking from social contacts, and is not at ease in the presence of
those with whom he is not familiar. Naturally, therefore, he lacks
completely Roosevelt's capacity to make friends, and there is in him no
trace of his predecessor's power to find exactly the right compliment for
the right person. Under Roosevelt the White House opened its doors to
every one who could bring the President anything of interest, whether in
the field of science, literature, politics, or sport; and the Chief
Magistrate, no matter who his guest, instantly found a common ground for
discussion. That capacity Wilson did not possess. Furthermore his health
was precarious and he was physically incapable of carrying the burden of
the constant interviews that characterized the life of his immediate
predecessors in the presidential office. He lived the life of a recluse
and rarely received any one but friends of the family at the White House
dinner table.
While he thus saved himself from the social intercourse which for
Roosevelt was a relaxation but which for him would have proved a nervous
and physical drain, Wilson deprived himself of the political advantages
that might have been derived from more extensive hospitality. He was
unable to influence Congressmen except by reason of his authority as head
of the party or nation. He lost many a chance of removing political
opposition through the personal appeal which is so flattering and
effective. He seems to have thought that if his policy was right in
itself, Congressmen ought to vote for it, without the satisfaction of
personal arguments, a singular misappreciation of human nature. The same
was true of his relations with the Washington correspondents; he was never
able to establish a man to man basis of intercourse. This incapacity in
the vital matter of human contacts was, perhaps, his greatest political
weakness. If he had been able to arouse warm personal devotion in his
followers, if he could have inflamed them with enthusiasm such as that
inspired by Roosevelt, rather than mere admiration, Wilson would have
found his political task immeasurably lightened. It is not surprising that
his mistakes in tactics should have been so numerous. His isolation and
dependence upon tactical advisers, such as Tumulty and Burleson, lacking
broad vision, led him into serious errors, most of which--such as his
appeal for a Democratic Congress in 1918, his selection of the personnel
of the Peace Commission, his refusal to compromise with the "mild
reservationist Senators" in the summer of 1919--were committed,
significantly, when he was not in immediate contact with Colonel House.
The political strength of Wilson did not result primarily from
intellectual power. His mind is neither profound nor subtle. His serious
writings are sound but not characterized by originality, nor in his
policies is there anything to indicate creative genius. He thinks straight
and possesses the ability to concentrate on a single line of effort. He is
skillful in catching an idea and adapting it to his purposes. Combined
with his power of expression and his talent for making phrases, such
qualities were of great assistance to him. But the real strength of the
President lay rather in his gift of sensing what the common people wanted
and his ability to put it into words for them. Few of his speeches are
great; many of them are marred by tactless phrases, such as "too proud to
fight" and "peace without victory." But nearly all of them express
honestly the desires of the masses. His strength in New Jersey and the
extraordinary effect produced in Europe by his war speeches might be cited
as evidence of this peculiar power. He sought above everything to catch
the trend of inarticulate rather than vociferous opinion. If one objects
that his patience under German outrages was not truly representative, we
must remember that opinion was slow in crystallizing, that his policy was
endorsed by the election of 1916, and that when he finally advocated war
in April, 1917, the country entered the struggle practically a unit.
But it is obvious that, however much political strength was assured the
President by his instinctive appreciation of popular feeling, this was
largely offset by the _gaucherie_ of his political tactics. He had a genius
for alienating persons who should have supported him and who agreed in
general with the broad lines of his policies. Few men in public life have
so thoroughly aroused the dislike of "the man in the street." Admitting
that much of Wilson's unpopularity resulted from misunderstanding, from the
feeling that he was a different sort, perhaps a "highbrow," the degree of
dislike felt for him becomes almost inexplicable in the case of a President
who, from all the evidence, was willing to sacrifice everything for what he
considered to be the benefit of the common man. He might almost repeat
Robespierre's final bitter and puzzled phrase: "To die for the people and
to be abhorred by them." So keen was the irritation aroused by Wilson's
methods and personality that many a citizen stated frankly that he
preferred to see Wilsonian policies which he approved meet defeat, rather
than see them carried to success by Wilson. This executive failing of the
President was destined to jeopardize the greatest of his policies and to
result in the personal tragedy of Wilson himself.
Certain large political principles stand out in Wilson's writings and
career as Governor and President. Of these the most striking, perhaps, is
his conviction that the President of the United States must be something
more than a mere executive superintendent. The entire responsibility for
the administration of government, he believed, should rest upon the
President, and in order to meet that responsibility, he must keep the
reins of control in his own hands. In his first essays and in his later
writings Wilson expressed his disgust with the system of congressional
committees which threw enormous power into the hands of irresponsible
professional politicians, and called for a President who would break that
system and exercise greater directive authority. For a time he seemed,
under the influence of Bagehot, to have believed in the feasibility of
introducing something like the parliamentary system into the government
of the United States. To the last he regarded the President as a sort of
Prime Minister, at the head of his party in the Legislature and able to
count absolutely upon its loyalty. More than this, he believed that the
President should take a large share of responsibility for the legislative
programme and ought to push this programme through by all means at his
disposal. Such a creed appeared in his early writings and was largely
carried into operation during his administration. We find him bringing
all possible pressure upon the New Jersey Legislature in order to redeem
his campaign pledges. When elected President, he went directly to
Congress with his message, instead of sending it to be read. Time and
again he intervened to forward his special legislative interests by
direct influence.
Both in his writings and in his actions Wilson has always advocated
government by party. Theoretically and in practice he has been opposed to
coalition government, for, in his belief, it divides responsibility.
Although by no means an advocate of the old-type spoils system, rewards
for party service seem to him essential. Curiously enough, while
insisting that the President is the leader of his party like a Prime
Minister, he has also described him, with an apparent lack of logic, as
the leader of the country. Because Wilson has thus confused party and
people, it is easy to understand why he has at times claimed to represent
the nation when, in reality, he was merely representing partisan views.
Such an attitude is naturally irritating to the Opposition and explains
something of the virulence that characterized the attacks made upon him
in 1918 and later.
Wilson's political sentiments are tinged by a constant and intense
interest in the common man. More than once he has insisted that it was
more important to know what was said by the fireside than what was said
in the council chamber. His strongest political weapon, he believes, has
been the appeal over the heads of politicians to public opinion. His
dislike of cliques and his strong prejudice against anything that savors
of special privilege shone clear in his attack upon the Princeton club
system, and the same light has not infrequently dazzled his vision as
President. Thus, while by no means a radical, he instinctively turned to
the support of labor in its struggles with capital because of the abuse
of its privilege by capital in the past and regardless of more recent
abuse of its power by labor. Similarly at the Peace Conference his
sympathies were naturally with every weak state and every minority group.
Such tendencies may have been strengthened by the intensity of his
religious convictions. There have been few men holding high office in
recent times so deeply and constantly affected by Christian faith as
Woodrow Wilson. The son of a clergyman and subjected during his early
years to the most lively and devout sort of Presbyterianism, he preserved
in his own family circle, in later years, a similar atmosphere. Nor was
his conviction of the immanence and spiritual guidance of the Deity ever
divorced from his professional and public life. We can discover in his
presidential speeches many indications of his belief that the duties he
had undertaken were laid upon him by God and that he might not deviate
from what seemed to him the straight and appointed path. There is
something reminiscent of Calvin in the stern and unswerving determination
not to compromise for the sake of ephemeral advantage. This aspect of
Wilson has been caught by a British critic, J. M. Keynes, who describes
the President as a Nonconformist minister, whose thought and temperament
were essentially theological, not intellectual, "with all the strength
and weakness of that manner of thought, feeling, and expression." The
observation is exact, although it does not in itself completely explain
Wilson. Certainly nothing could be more characteristic of the President
than the text of a Baccalaureate sermon which he preached at Princeton in
1907: "And be ye not conformed to this world." He believed with intensity
that each individual must set up for himself a moral standard, which he
must rigidly maintain regardless of the opinions of the community.
Entirely natural, therefore, is the emphasis which he has placed, whether
as President of Princeton or of the United States, upon moral rather
than material virtues. This, indeed, has been the essence of his
political idealism. Such an emphasis has been for him at once a source of
political strength and of weakness. The moralist unquestionably secures
wide popular support; but he also wearies his audience, and many a voter
has turned from Wilson in the spirit that led the Athenian to vote for
the ostracism of Aristides, because he was tired of hearing him called
"the Just." Whatever the immediate political effects, the country owes to
Wilson a debt, which historians will doubtless acknowledge, for his
insistence that morality must go hand in hand with public policy, that as
with individuals, so with governments, true greatness is won by service
rather than by acquisition, by sacrifice rather than by aggression.
Wilson and Treitschke are at opposite poles.
During his academic career Wilson seems to have displayed little interest
in foreign affairs, and his knowledge of European politics, although
sufficient for him to produce an admirable handbook on governments,
including foreign as well as our own, was probably not profound. During
his first year in the White House, he was typical of the Democratic
party, which then approved the political isolation of the United States,
abhorred the kind of commercial imperialism summed up in the phrase
"dollar diplomacy," and apparently believed that the essence of foreign
policy was to keep one's own hands clean. The development of Wilson from
this parochial point of view to one which centers his whole being upon a
policy of unselfish international service, forms, to a large extent, the
main thread of the narrative which follows.