XIV

And what of ourselves in this well-nigh world-wide cloud-burst?

Every man has walked at night through gloom where objects were dim and

hard to see, when suddenly a flash of lightning has struck the

landscape livid. Trees close by, fences far off, houses, fields,

animals and the faces of people--all things stand transfixed by a

piercing distinctness. So now, in this thunderstorm of war, each

nation and every man and woman is searchingly revealed by the

perpetual lightnings. Whatever this American nation is, whatever

aspect, noble or ignoble, our Democracy shows in the glare of this

cataclysm, is even already engraved on the page of History, will be

the portrait of the United States in 1914-15 for all time.

I want no better photograph of any individual than his opinion of this

war. If he has none, that is a photograph of him. Last autumn there

were Americans who wished the papers would stop printing war news and

give their readers a change. So we have their photographs, as well as

those of other Americans who merely calculated the extra dollars they

could squeeze out of Europe's need and agony. But that--thank God!--is

not what we look like as a whole. Our sympathy has poured out for

Belgium a springtide of help and relief; it has flowed to the wounded

and afflicted of Poland, Servia, France and England. A continuous

publishing of books, magazine articles and editorials, full of justice

and of anger at Prussia's long-prepared and malignant assault, should

prove to Europe that American hearts and heads by the thousand and

hundred thousand are in the right place. Merely the stand taken by the

_New York Sun_, _New York Times_, _Outlook_ and _Philadelphia Public

Ledger_--to name no more--saves us from the reproach of moral

neutrality: saves us as individuals.

Yet, somehow, in Europe's eyes we fall short. The Allies, in spite of

their recognition of our material generosity, find us spiritually

wanting. In the _London Punch_, on the sinking of the Lusitania,

Britannia stands perplexed and indignant behind the bowed figure of

America, and, with a hand on her shoulder, addresses her thus:

_In silence you have looked on felon blows,

On butcher's work of which the waste lands reek;

Now, in God's name, from Whom your greatness flows,

Sister, will you not speak?_

This is asked of us not as individuals but as a nation; and as a

nation our only spokesman is our Government: "Sister, will you not

speak?" Well--we did speak; but after nine months of silence. This

silence, in the opinion of French and Belgian emissaries who have

talked to me with courteous frankness, constitutes our moral failure.

"When this war began"--they say--"we all looked to you. You were the

great Democracy; you were not involved; you would speak the justifying

word we longed for. We knew you must keep out politically; this was your

true part and your great strength. We altogether agreed with your

President there. But why did your universities remain dumb? The

University of Chicago stopped the mouth of a Belgian professor who was

going to present Belgium's case in public. Your press has been divided.

The word we expected from you has never come. You sent us your charity;

but what we wanted was justice, ratification of our cause."

To this I have answered:

"First--Our universities do not and cannot sit like yours in high

seats, inspiring public opinion. I wish they did. Second--We are not

yet melted into one nationality; we are a mosaic of languages and

bloods; yet, even so, never in my life have I seen the American press

and people so united on any question. Third--Our charity is our very

way--the only way we have--of telling you we are with you. I am glad

you recognize the necessity of our political neutrality. Anything else

would have been, both historically and as an act of folly,

unprecedented. Fourth--Do not forget that George Washington advised us

to mind our own business."

But they reply: "Isn't this your own business?" And there they touch

the core of the matter.

Across the sea the deadliest assault ever made on Democracy has been

going on, month after month. We send bread and bandages to the

wounded; individually we denounce the assault. Columbia and Uncle Sam

stand looking on. Is this quite enough? War being out of the question,

was there nothing else? No protest to register? Did the wide ocean

wholly let Columbia out? Europe, weltering in her own failure, had

turned towards us a wistful look.

I cannot tell what George Washington would have thought; I only know

that my answer to my European friends leaves them unconvinced--and

therefore how can it quite satisfy me? Minds are exalted now, and

white-hot. When they cool, what will our historic likeness be as

revealed in the lightnings of this cosmic emergency? Will it be the

portrait of a people who sold its birthright for a mess of pottage?

Viewing how we have given, and the tone of our press, perhaps this

would hardly be just. Yet I can not but regret that we did not protest.

What we lost in not doing so I see clearly; I can not see clearly what

we gained. We may argue thus in our defense: If it is deemed that we

missed a great opportunity in not protesting as signatories of the

violated Hague conventions, are not our proofs of the violations more

authentic now than at the time? What we heard was incredible to American

minds. We had never made or known such war. By the time the truth was

established a protest might have seemed somewhat belated. Well, this is

all the explanation we can offer. Is it enough?

It is too early to answer; certain it is that not as we see ourselves

but as others see us, so shall we forever be. Certain it is also, and

eternally, that through suffering alone men and nations find their

greater selves. It is fifty years since we Americans knew the

Pentecost of Calamity. These years have been too easy. We have not had

to live dangerously enough. We have prospered, we have been immune,

and our prosperity has proved somewhat a curse in disguise.

In these times that uncover men's souls and the souls of nations, has

our soul come to light, or only our huge, lavish body? In 1865 we had

found our soul indeed. Where is it gone? We have been witnessing many

"scholarly retreats," and every day we have had to hear the "maxims of

a low prudence." Have they sunk to the core and killed it? God forbid!

But since August, 1914, we have stood listening to the cry of our

European brothers-in-Liberty. They did not ask our feeble arm to

strike in their cause, but they yearned for our voice and did not get

it. Will History acquit us of this silence?

Meanwhile, the maxims of a low prudence, masquerading as Christianity,

daily counsel us to keep our arm feeble. It was not so that Washington

survived Valley Forge, or Lincoln won through to Appomattox. If the

Fourth of July and the Declaration it celebrates still mean anything

to us, let our arm be strong.

This for our own sake. For the sake of mankind, if this war brings

home to us that we now sit in the council of nations and share

directly in the general responsibility for the world's well-being, we

shall have taken a great stride in national and spiritual maturity,

and our talk about the brotherhood of man may progress from rhetoric

towards realization.