THE LAUNCHING OF TWO ROOSEVELT POLICIES
Although somebody has already said something like it, I would say there
is a tide in the thoughts of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to
action. We make the general claim for our Western civilisation, that,
whatever the form of government, once public opinion is thoroughly
stirred upon a great and vital issue, it is but a question of time for
the will to find the way. But in the life of the United States, the
passage from thought to action is more rapid than in any country that I
know. Nowhere do we find such a combination of emotionalism with sanity.
No better illustration of these national qualities could be desired than
that afforded by the inception and early growth of the Conservation
policy.
I have already shown how my inquiries at Washington gave me access to
the most accessible of the world's statesmen. At the same time there
came into my life another remarkable personality. To the United States
Forester of that day I owe my earliest interest in the Conservation
policy. In counsel with him I came to regard the Conservation and Rural
Life policies as one organic whole. So I must say here a word about the
man who, more than any other, has inspired whatever in these pages may
be worth printing.
I first met Gifford Pinchot in his office in Washington in 1905. I was
not especially interested in forestry, but the Forester was so
interesting that I listened with increasing delight to the story of his
work. I noticed that as an administrator he had a grasp of detail and a
mastery of method which are not usually found in men who have had no
training in large business affairs. I thought the secret of his success
lay between love of work and sympathy with workers, which gained him
the devotion and enthusiastic coöperation of his staff. It is, however,
as a statesman rather than as an administrator that his achievement is
and will be known.
When I first knew the Forester, I found that already the conservation of
timber was but a small part of his material aims: every national
resource must be husbanded. But over the whole scheme of Conservation a
great moral issue reigned supreme. He clung affectionately to his task,
but it was not to him mere forestry administration. In his far vision he
seemed to see men as trees walking. The saving of one great asset was
broadening out into insistence upon a new test of national efficiency:
the people of the United States were to be judged by the manner in which
they applied their physical and mental energies to the conservation and
development of their country's natural resources. The acceptance of this
test would mean the success of a great policy for the initiation of
which President Roosevelt gave almost the whole credit to Gifford
Pinchot.
There is one other name which will be ever honorably associated with the
dawn of the Conservation idea which Mr. Roosevelt elevated to the status
and dignity of a national policy. In September, 1906, Mr. James J. Hill
delivered (under the title of "The Future of the United States") what I
think was an epoch-making address. It is significant that this great
railway president opened his campaign for the economic salvation of the
United States by addressing himself, not to politicians or professors,
but to a representative body of Minnesota farmers. This address
presented for the first time in popular form a remarkable collection of
economic facts, which formed the basis of conclusions as startling as
they were new. Let me attempt a brief summary of its contents.
The natural resources, to which the Conservation policy relates, may be
divided into two classes: the minerals, which when used cannot be
replaced, and things that grow from the soil, which admit of
indefinitely augmented reproduction. At the head of the former category
stands the supply of coal and iron. This factor in the nation's industry
and commerce was being exhausted at a rate which made it certain that,
long before the end of the century, the most important manufactures
would be handicapped by a higher cost of production. The supply of
merchantable timber was disappearing even more rapidly. But far more
serious than all other forms of wastage was the reckless destruction of
the natural fertility of the soil. The final result, according to Mr.
Hill, must be that within a comparatively brief period--a period for
which the present generation was bound to take thought--this veritable
Land of Promise would be hard pressed to feed its own people, while the
manufactured exports to pay for imported food would not be forthcoming.
It should be added that this sensational forecast was no purposeless
jeremiad. Mr. Hill told his hearers that the danger which threatened the
future of the Nation would be averted only by the intelligence and
industry of those who cultivated the farm lands, and that they had it in
their power to provide a perfectly practicable and adequate remedy. This
was to be found--if such a condensation be permissible--in the
application of the physical sciences to the practice, and of economic
science to the business, of farming.
In spite of the immense burden of great undertakings which he carried,
Mr. Hill repeated the substance of this address on many occasions. Lord
Rosebery once said that speeches were the most ephemeral of all
ephemeral things, and for some time it looked as if one of the most
important speeches ever delivered by a public man on a great public
issue was going to illustrate the truth of this saying. It seems
strange that his facts and arguments should have remained unchallenged,
and yet unsupported, by other public men. Perhaps the best explanation
is to be found in a recent dictum of Mr. James Bryce. Speaking at the
University of California, the British Ambassador said: "We can all think
of the present, and are only too apt to think chiefly about the present.
The average man, be he educated or uneducated, seldom thinks of anything
else." There are, however, special circumstances in the history of the
United States which account for the extraordinary unconcern about what
is going to happen to the race in a period which may seem long to those
whose personal interest fixes a limit to their gaze, but which is indeed
short in the life of a nation. After the religious, political, and
military struggles through which the American nation was brought to
birth, there followed a century of no less strenuous wrestling with the
forces of nature. That century stands divided by the greatest civil
conflict in the world's history; but this only served to strengthen in a
united people those indomitable qualities to which the nation owes its
leadership in the advancement of civilisation. The abundance (until now
considered as virtual inexhaustibility) of natural resources, the call
for capital and men for their development, the rich reward of conquest
in the field of industry, may explain, but can hardly excuse, a National
attitude which seems to go against the strongest human instinct--one not
altogether wanting in lower animal life--that of the preservation of the
race. It is an attitude which recalls the question said to have been
asked by an Irishman: "What has posterity done for me?" But this was
before Conservation was in the air.
I have now told what I came by chance to know about the origin of the
Conservation idea. The story of its early growth was no less remarkable
than the suddenness of its appearance. In the spring of 1908 matters
had advanced so far that the governors of all the States and Territories
met to discuss it. Before the Conference broke up they were moved to
"declare the conviction that the great prosperity of our country rests
upon the abundant resources of the land chosen by our forefathers for
their homes," that these resources are "a heritage to be made use of in
establishing and promoting the comfort, prosperity, and happiness of the
American people, but not to be wasted, deteriorated, or needlessly
destroyed; that this material basis is threatened with exhaustion"; that
"conservation of our natural resources is a subject of transcendent
importance which should engage unremittingly the attention of the
Nation, the States, and the people in earnest coöperation"; and that
"this coöperation should find expression in suitable action by the
Congress and by the legislatures of the several States."
It is, of course, not with Conservation, but with Rural Life, that we
are here directly concerned; but it should be borne in mind that the
chief of all the nation's resources is the fertility of the soil. More
than one competent authority declared at the Conference of Governors
that this national asset was the subject of the greatest actual waste,
and was at the same time capable of the greatest development and
conservation. This interdependence of the two Roosevelt policies--the
fact that neither of them can come to fruition without the success of
the other--makes those of us who work for rural progress rest our chief
hopes upon the newly aroused public opinion in the American Republic.
To my knowledge this view is shared by President Roosevelt, who always
regarded his Conservation and Rural Life policies as complementary to
each other. The last time I saw him--it was on Christmas Eve, 1908--he
dwelt on this aspect of his public work and aims. I remember how he
expressed the hope that, when the more striking incidents of his
Administration were forgotten, public opinion would look kindly upon his
Conservation and Rural Life policies. I ventured upon the confident
prediction that he would not be disappointed in this anticipation.
Already the authors of the Conservation policy have been rewarded by a
general acceptance of the principle for which they stand. The national
conscience now demands that the present generation, while enjoying the
material blessings with which not only nature but also the labour and
sacrifices of their forefathers have so bounteously endowed them, shall
have due regard for the welfare of those who are to come after them.
Americans, who are accustomed to rapid developments in public opinion,
will hardly appreciate the impression made by the story I have just told
upon the mind of an observer from old countries, where action does not
tread upon the heels of thought. But surely an amazing thing has
happened. In the life of one Administration a great idea seizes the mind
of the American people. This leads to a stock-taking of natural
resources and a searching of the national conscience. Then, suddenly,
there emerges a quite new national policy. Conceived during the last
Administration, when it brought Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. Bryan on to the
same platform, Conservation at once rose above party, and will be the
accepted policy of all future Administrations. It has already secured
almost Pan-American endorsement at its birthplace in Washington. The
fathers of Conservation are now looking forward to a still larger sphere
of influence for their offspring at an International Conference which it
is hoped to assemble at the Hague.
But it must be admitted that no such reception was accorded to Mr.
Roosevelt's other policy, to which our attention must now be turned. The
reasons for the comparative lack of interest in the problem of Rural
Life are many and complex, but two of them may be noted in passing.
Conservation calls for legislative and administrative action, and this
always sets up a ferment in the political mind. The Rural Life idea, on
the other hand, though it will demand some governmental assistance, must
rely mainly upon voluntary effort. The methods necessary for its
development, and their probable results, are also less obvious, and thus
less easily appreciated by the public. Whatever the reason, while
Conservation has rushed into the forefront of public interest and has
won the status and dignity of a policy, the sister idea is still
struggling for a platform, and its advocates must be content to see
their efforts towards a higher and a better country life regarded as a
movement.
This estimate of the relative positions of these two ideas in the public
mind will, I think, be borne out when we contrast the quiet initiation
of the movement with the dramatic début of the policy. For all the
officialism with which it was launched, President Roosevelt's Country
Life Commission might as well have been appointed by some wealthy
philanthropist who would, at least, have paid its members' travelling
expenses,[1] and private initiation might also have spared us the
ridicule which greeted the alleged proposal to "uplift" a body of
citizens who were told that they were already adorning the heights of
American civilisation. The names of the men who volunteered for this
unpaid service should have been a sufficient guarantee that theirs was
no fool's errand.[2]
How real was the problem the commissioners were investigating was
abundantly proved to those who were present when they got into touch
with working farmers and their wives, and discussed freely and
informally the conditions, human and material, to which the problem of
Rural Life relates. I shall refer again to their report. But I may here
say I am firmly convinced that a complete change in the whole attitude
of public opinion towards the old question of town and country must
precede any large practical outcome to the labours of the Commission. It
has to be brought home to those who lead public opinion that for many
decades we, the English-speaking peoples, have been unconsciously guilty
of having gravely neglected one side, and that perhaps the most
important side, of Western civilisation.
To sustain this judgment I must now view the sequence of events which
led to the subordination of rural to urban interests, and try to
estimate its probable consequences. It will be seen that the neglect is
comparatively recent, and of English origin. I believe that the New
World offers just now a rare opportunity for launching a movement which
will be directed to a reconstruction of rural life. It is this belief
which has prompted an Irish advocate of rural reform to turn his
thoughts away for a brief space from the poorer peasantry of his own
country and to take counsel with his fellow-workers in the United States
and Canada on a problem which affects them all.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] These, as a matter of fact, were defrayed by the trustees of the
Russell Sage Foundation.
[2] The Commission consisted of L. H. Bailey, of the New York State
College of Agriculture at Cornell University (chairman); Henry Wallace,
editor of _Wallace's Farmer_, Des Moines, Iowa; Kenyon L. Butterfield,
President of the Massachusetts Agricultural College, Amherst,
Massachusetts; Walter H. Page, editor of _The World's Work_, New York
City; Gifford Pinchot, United States Forester, and Chairman of the
National Conservation Commission; C. S. Barrett, President of the
Farmers' Co-operative and Educational Union of America, Union City,
Georgia; W. A. Beard, of the _Great West Magazine_, Sacramento,
California.