The Question

EVEN we who are neutrals in this war have been struck as with a bludgeon. Bewilderment succeeds bewilderment, and we Americans drift on scarce knowing what to think, much less what part to play. The magical words, ‘America’s opportunity,’ are on every man’s tongue; yet none can interpret them. In us the blood of pioneers is not yet run out. Instinctively we feel the need for action. We give gladly, bountifully, stretching out our hands to stricken Belgians, comforting them as if they were our own. We fit out our ships of mercy. We equip hospitals and ambulances. Our hands are busy, and we find solace in activity. But ever before our eyes are vaster problems. As they gradually take shape, clearer and still more clear, it is our sacred duty to face them, not haphazard, not confused, but with steady purpose and definite resolve.

Right in this nation’s path must stand the peace which will conclude this war. If the Teutons win decisively, that peace will be signed in London or in Paris. Then America’s opinion will not be asked. Shall it be expressed? If that day comes, that grave decision must be made, and it will determine the future of the United States. Either we shall remain a people whose ideals of liberty, of culture, and of life prove that we are indissolubly bound to the English-speaking nations of the earth, working in our individual American fashion at the vast common task of Anglo-Saxon civilization, or we must live on in isolation, striving intensively to maintain our ideals, but never spreading them beyond our borders. Then, though we keep our own lamp burning, we must watch the lights of the Anglo-Saxon world go out, one by one, along the seven seas. There stand the alternatives. Are we prepared to face them?

If the Allies write the treaty of peace in Berlin, another problem rises in its place. Shall we acquiesce, though the mounting passion of triumphant nations force a peace more cruel than the war? Shall we watch in silence the barriers of liberalism razed before the advance of Russia’s autocracy? Or shall we find means to make our influence felt on the side of wisdom and of moderation? Shall the only great peaceful power in the world help to make peace effectual? There is another choice. Are we prepared to face it?

Again, the war may not be decisive. Famine and penury may be the only victors. Then may not the treaty be the Peace of Washington? Shall not we, then, with malice toward none, so frame our powerful advice that a treaty may result conceived in the spirit — we might almost say dedicated to the memory — of Lincoln ? These are the questions which destiny soon may ask. What shall our answer be?

Great nations are built on great ideas. Rome meant Law. England has meant Liberty. The high significance of Germany is Efficiency. Equal Justice and Opportunity to each is still the vision of America. Cannot that vision, which more than once in our history has seemed so near fulfillment, be steadfastly brought to pass? May we not see a generation trained to serve the state and paid in honor for that service? May not our national conscription be not for military but for industrial service, the service of a year, perhaps, when common toil shall teach the rich the cost of labor and make the poor man wise in the economic law; when each for each shall learn democracy? Cannot we finally decide that the flag shall not follow commerce to embroil us with our neighbors, and that capital which seeks high returns beyond our borders takes its own risk? Cannot we hope that national seriousness will increase as national egoism grows beautifully less? Is it not possible to shift the scale of values and let honor and respect wait only upon achievement and character? Little by little, then, shall we renew our faith in democracy. Little by little, shall we help once more to build the civilization of the world.