The fact is recalled that Dr. David Starr Jordan, one of the most
prominent of the pacifists who decry armament and preparedness, said in
an article on “War and Waste,” published in 1913: “What shall we say of
the Great War of Europe ever threatening, ever impending, and which
never comes? We shall say that it will never come. Humanly speaking, it
is impossible.”
Prophecy, by a mere mortal, is always exceedingly dangerous. We all
hope, and we may firmly believe, that the United States will never be
compelled to engage in another war, but to make a definite prediction
that war will never come to us would be folly.
If war is ever to come, the question for this country to solve is,
whether we shall prepare to meet it before it comes, or after it comes.
Hudson Maxim, who has recently issued a large book to argue for
preparedness, is seemingly quite hopeless that his advice will be taken.
He says:
“Pacifism has ringed the nose of the American people and is leading
them, blind and unknowing, to the slaughter. War is inevitable. It
matters not that if this country could be roused, it might be saved.
When it is impossible to vitalize the impulse necessary to the
accomplishment of a thing, that thing is impossible. So I say, war is
inevitable and imminent. The American people could not now be roused
sufficiently to avert the impending calamity even by a call that would
rift the sky and shake down the stars from heaven! Fate has decreed
that our pride shall be humbled, and that we shall be bowed to the
dirt. We must first put on sackcloth, ashed in the embers of our
burning homes. Perhaps, when we build anew on the fire-blackened
desolation, our mood may be receptive of the knowledge that we must
shield our homes with blood and brawn and iron.”
Let us hope that this dismal prophecy will not be fulfilled. Let us hope
that it is as wide of the mark as was Dr. Jordan’s prophecy that there
would never be another great war in Europe. Yet if one is to play the
prophet, it is better to prophecy evil things that put us on our guard,
than smooth things that cause us to run heedlessly into danger.
Winston Churchill, the young English statesman, once began to raise a
mustache, and while it was still in the budding stage he was asked at
a dinner party to take out to dinner an English girl who had decided
opposing political views.
“I am sorry,” said Mr. Churchill, “we can not agree on politics.”
“No, we can’t,” rejoined the girl, “for to be frank with you I like
your politics about as little as I do your mustache.”
“Well,” replied Mr. Churchill, “remember that you are not really
likely to come into contact with either.”
* * * * *
After his first lecturing tour in this country Matthew Arnold visited
old Mrs. Proctor, the widow of the poet Barry Cornwall, and mother of
Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Proctor, giving Mr. Arnold a cup of tea, asked
him, “And what did they say about you in America?” “Well,” said the
literary autocrat, “they said I was conceited, and they said my
clothes did not fit me.” “Well, now,” said the old lady, “I think they
were mistaken as to the clothes.”