The Logic of Peace

by RALPH BARTON PERRY

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IN the hostile alignment between “communism” and “western democracy” the United States occupies a peculiar position. It is impossible for an American to live abroad and to read European newspapers without being struck by the profound paradox that the fear of communism is as pervasive and powerful an emotion in this country, in which there is, practically speaking, no communism, as in other parts of the world where communism abounds. In Italy and France the Communist Party is the strongest party, if not numerically, then through its unity and discipline, and through its control of organized labor. It is doubtful if any government can long stand in either country without the support of the Communist Party; and it is quite possible that both countries will have a communist government within the next few years. If this occurs it will be because of internal conditions: because a majority of the people believe that this Party has the answers to the most pressing questions of the day; because it has provided active and courageous support for the resistance movement during the war, and therefore has a strong moral position; or because of a growing economic chaos in which people are inclined to resort to desperate measures.

There are strong if not dominant Communist Parties in every European country outside of Britain and Scandinavia: in Belgium, the Netherlands, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Greece, Germany. There are, presumably at least, 80 million or more communists or communist supporters in China, Manchuria, and Korea. What wiil happen in India, Burma, Indo-China, and Malaya, no one knows; but it will be remarkable if communism does not become a powerful force throughout the entire Far East. Add these areas and peoples to those which are already governed by Communist Parties or communist-dominated fronts — Soviet Russia, Poland, Yugoslavia, Rumania, Bulgaria, Albania — and it is a modest statement to say that half of the world is actually or potentially communist.

Those who live outside of Britain and the United States are, then, already living with communists as their fellow-citizens, or next door to communistdominated countries. They cannot get rid of communism by the use of disinfectants, congressional committees, or inquisitions. Their situation is what ours would be if either the Republican or the Democratic Party were communist and a presidential election were impending. They cannot be purged of communists any more than the United States can be purged of Republicans or Democrats.

When, on the other hand, we turn to the United States, the picture is totally different. Communists are few in number; and even recognizing the proportionally greater influence which they exercise through their discipline and fanatical devotion to their cause, their power is negligible. Because American communism has been driven underground, because American communists dare not acknowledge their party membership, Americans suffer from a conspiratorial complex, a fear like that of a haunted house at midnight. Since we cannot identify communists in the full light of day, we see them everywhere, and in our panic strike out at random against any sudden apparition.

The real danger, if danger it be, is not communism but a social and economic movement toward the left, a movement known by various names, such as “liberalism,” “radicalism,” “the New Deal,” or “ collectivism ” — the danger that workers may achieve a larger share of the control and benefits of industry, the danger that Negroes may achieve their rights, the danger that the masses of the people may learn to exercise their power, the danger that something may be taken away from the privileged and given to the unprivileged. This is the real danger.

But since it would scarcely do in America to align oneself against what so closely resembles our original equalitarian ideals, since this danger in large part coincides with what was once called hope and has been held up before our people as their legitimate aspiration, it is often given the bad name of communism in order to excite hostility against it; as, for example, when the superheated advocates of white supremacy give the name of communist to those who use the word “Negro” in place of the word “nigger.” The label is extended to include not only real communists, that is, members of the Communist Party, but those who share with communists any tendency to leftism — fellowtravelers with communism, fellow-travelers with fellow-travelers, and so ad infinitum. Hence in America everybody on the left, every effective advocate of radical change and social betterment, is called a communist by those on the right who prefer things as they are, or prefer to move more slowly.

Such being the nature of the crisis, there are two strategies which we may adopt — the strategy of war and the strategy of peace. Faced with this choice and the present confused state of the American mind, I wish here to defend the thesis that we should, for some years at least, consciously and methodically pursue the strategy of peace.

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THE logic of war rests on the supposition that conflict is inevitable: at the present time, it rests on the supposition that the world cannot exist half-Soviet and half-American. The duty of self-preservation therefore requires the United States to adopt the strategy of war. This implies that we should increase our armaments, and strike at the time and in the manner which are most likely to give us the victory. Since at the moment we have the advantage in atomic warfare, with a stockpile of improved atomic bombs and perhaps of other modern weapons, and since within a comparatively brief period the enemy will acquire a like equipment, we should make war at once. Of the other implications of the strategy of war we are only too vividly and painfully aware. It implies that building up of collective anger which inflames the deep-seated combative impulses of man, represents the enemy as hateful, submerges the humane feelings, and breaks down the acquired scruples which inhibit the use of violence. It implies the excitation of the adrenal glands and other parts of the sympathetic nervous system, rather than the control of the higher brain centers. It implies the blurring of the careful distinctions of thought, and the fusing of purposive living into an elemental passion — a will to win, to destroy, to kill.

The logic of war implies that under the stress of emergency we must be prepared to abridge our personal liberties. Believing that life itself is at stake, we must be prepared for a time to abandon most of what ennobles life, and makes it more than a matter of biological survival. The logic of war further implies that we should endeavor to align others with ourselves against the enemy: in other words, create a block, beginning with Britain and the British Commonwealth of Nations, and drawing to itself the lesser nations of Western Europe and of Latin America; a block which should share our irreconcilable enmity to Soviet Russia and constitute the beginnings of a military coalition.

That this logic of war is sometimes forced upon nations I do not doubt. It was, I believe, forced upon the United States in 1941. There is a strong current of thought and feeling in its support at the present time; and in some measure it describes what we are already doing. On the other hand, there would, I believe, be no doubt in the mind of any reader that this duly of self-preservation is a duty in extremis — to be undertaken only when the necessity is clear and pressing. When you add to the post-Hiroshima super atomic bombs the possibilities of guided missiles, and of biological and chemical warfare, the destructiveness of such warfare both to the flesh and to the spirit of man is literally indescribable. The historical development of war is subject to the law of diminishing returns and it has reached the period where it is of doubtful profit to anybody. It behooves us to be more than normally sure that our self-preservation is at stake.

If war is not forced upon us by the necessity of self-preservation, the alternative duty is to adopt the strategy of peace and follow its logic. This logic dictates a completely different policy. It implies, first, that we should refuse to regard war as inevitable, and that our present differences with Soviet Russia should be kept within the limits of goodtempered discussion. It implies that instead of attributing her words and deeds to base motives, even when appearances are against her and the manners of her diplomats are most irritating, we should give her the benefit of the doubt — and when in such matters is there not room for doubt? It implies that we should definitely renounce the idea of exploiting either by action or by threats our brief period of superiority in atomic weapons and other forms of military technology. It implies that we should be prepared to spend years, if needs be, in solving the difficulties of the peace settlement and the other disputes which are the normal legacy of war, proportionate as they arc to the magnitude of the greatest of all wars.

The logic of peace argues for patience. It argues for forbearance, and a desire to excel Soviet Russia not in toughness, or in diplomatic repartee, or in winning applause from our partisans, but in constructive statesmanship. It implies that we should not wait for Molotov or Vishinsky or Gromyko to be as generous or as high-minded as we should like them to be, meanwhile engaging in the unprofitable game of recrimination; but that we should ourselves exhibit generosity and high-mindedness, and continue to exhibit them for as long as may be necessary to raise the spirit of dispute to a level consistent with the gravity of the issue at stake and the immense responsibility which we carry as one of the principals in the making of history.

The logic of peace argues for a scrupulous avoidance of inflammatory or provocative utterance on the part of public officials, press and radio, and the spread of clichés in private conversation. It argues that we should scrupulously avoid any international political alignment that confirms the fear of Soviet Russia that the capitalistic countries are leagued against her. It implies that we should strive, not for weeks and months only, but for years, to transfer problems of security to the new agencies of collaboration, that is, to the United Nations, and not despair of this organization because in its infancy it displays the weaknesses of infancy and is as yet unable to fulfill the purposes for which it was designed. It is to be expected that during this period of infancy certain great powers, notably Soviet Russia and ourselves, will hesitate for a time to trust their full weight to its as yet infirm foundations; and that international disputes will be settled by a mixture of methods old and new.

The logic of peace in its fundamentals is like the logic of getting on with one’s neighbor. It implies seeing the other man’s point of view even if you do not adopt it — seeing yourself as he sees you, and seeing him as he sees himself, before finally making up your mind. The most wholesome preliminary exercise for inclining disputants to agreement is to practice the maxim of turn and turn about. Every claim should be first submitted to this test; and when so tested, conflicting claims tend to be moderated, in tone if not in substance.

The logic of peace implies not only good-tempered and patient negotiation, the gradual forging of methods of international collaboration, but a tolerance of differing ideologies. I do not mean tolerance in the negative sense of indifference, or in the relativistic sense of taking one idea to be as good as another, but in the constructive sense of advocating what one believes to be true by advancing the evidence, by the method of discussion, by listening and comparing, by thinking, distinguishing, and weighing, rather than by sheer affirmation or blind partisanship.

We are the advocates of what we call “democracy,” and we find ourselves in a world of opposing camps, the other being what is called “communism.” The logic of peace implies that instead of merely raising our flag and rallying about it amidst cheers and martial music, we ask ourselves what we mean by democracy; not from a pedantic interest in definitions for their own sake, but for clarity and coolness. Instead of hurling verbal smoke bombs at the opposing camp, tolerance asks what they mean. For the simple-mindedness of combat, black and white, for and against, friend and foe, it substitutes the making of more refined distinctions. Tolerance in this sense is a unifying and not a divisive force. It breaks the solidity of total opposition. It looks for common ground and invites agreement. It discloses partial agreements already existing; and partial agreements pave the way to larger agreements.

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SHALL we, then, in relation to that half of the world which we call communism adopt the logic of war or the logic of peace? I am going to accept the logic of peace to the extent of making distinctions. To Americans who oppose it for reasons, and not merely because the name has become a red flag, communism means at least four things, and those who fight it would, if candid, admit that they fight it on quite different grounds. When these grounds are distinguished, those who are allied against communism fall apart.

First, to many communism means simply Soviet Russia — not an idea, or social philosophy, or way of life, but a particular nation. To those who fear Russian expansion, the fact that Russia has become more nationalistic and less Marxian (if this be a fact) affords no comfort. The issue here depends on whether Russia is or is not entering on a career of territorial conquest which will bring a new and more extended Russian Empire into conflict with American possessions, dependencies, interests, and spheres of influence in different parts of this world.

To understand Russia’s view of what we call her “expansion” requires no probing into her dark Slavic soul. In order that one force shall come into collision with another force, both must have arrived at the same place. If our territorial security is threatened by Russia anywhere in the world it is because we are there and not merely because they are there. And to the simple-minded Russian it appears from a glance at the map that the collision, if there is one, is likely to occur nearer where they live than where we live. If we identify our boundaries with China on our west and the Dardanelles on our east, it looks, again in a simple-minded way, as though we had wandered far from home; or as though we had succeeded to the role of those earlier empires which boasted that the sun never set on their dominions.

The zone of Soviet expansion is peripheral and adjacent. It has not leaped across the seas to Canada, Mexico, or the West Indies. It comprises areas from which Russia has in the past been directly attacked, or unoccupied Asiatic areas analogous to our own western territories, into which her population has moved by peaceful penetration and settlement.

Russia’s recent expansion is thus prima facie defensive. It springs primarily, I believe, from a desire to escape forced imprisonment within her icebound ports, and to achieve freedom from the menace of attack. I see no intent of world conquest, no code of militarism, no philosophy of national or racial superiority— no Russian imperialism or pan-Slavism. What I do seo is a determination to consummate her own socialist revolution, within her own wide boundaries, with her own vast internal resources, and without interference from abroad; together with a profound suspicion of the inveterate hostility of the capitalistic countries. No fairminded person will, I think, deny that this demand for her own security — this will to achieve it now when she is comparatively strong, together with a tendency to overplay her hand now that she has at last a good hand to play — is a natural outgrowth of her history, both remote and recent; and that this suspicion of the intent of the capitalistic West is well-grounded in Russian memory and experience.

There are three other meanings of communism that identify it not with an aggressive nationalistic force, but with ideas and ideals, which therefore bring it within the duty of constructive tolerance. Force is to be met with force, if needs be; but ideas and ideals with better ideas and ideals.

To the churches, and especially to the Catholic Church, communism means the rejection of Christianity. On this issue the traditional American position is religious tolerance. As regards the specific beliefs of Christianity, Christians will naturally and properly hope for their spread; but this is no part of American public policy. No one, so far as I know, has proposed that the foreign policy of the United States should be directed to the uprooting of Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Mohammedanism, or paganism throughout the world. It is a recognized principle of American democracy that religious belief or disbelief should be considered a matter of private choice and left to churches completely separated from the state. This question was, or should have been, settled in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when after the bloody religious wars of earlier times men came to see that sincere piety cannot be spread by inquisition and persecution, but only by the radiant infection of its own intrinsic appeal.

There remain the two meanings of communism which most clearly deserve the name—a political doctrine and an economic doctrine.

Assuming the most unfavorable interpretation of the evidence, the communist political system is a dictatorship: a one-party rule, resting on the will of a small and self-perpetuating Politburo, enforced by indoctrination and police control, and exploiting the labor of extensive prison camps. That this system is profoundly un-American I would not for a moment question. If, however, we are to give the Soviet professions the same credit of sincerity which we claim for our own, this dictatorship, repugnant to us as it is, should be considered a means and not an end — an instrument of revolution, believed to be a necessary condition of the realization of a socialist economy.

The socialist economy is a debatable economic doctrine: to the effect, namely, that the abundant provision and just distribution of material goods, and the maximum of personal security and wellbeing for all, can be achieved better by the public than by the private ownership of capital or the means of production. I say that this doctrine is debatable because its opponents, as well as its proponents, do in fact debate it, and argue for or against it in the light of experience.

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To REMOVE these political and economic issues from the area of mere acrimony — to proceed on the principle of constructive tolerance — let us see whether it is not possible to find a meaning of democracy which is broad enough to embrace both the Soviet and the American principles, or to reduce their opposition to a difference of emphasis, or a difference of procedure, or a difference of hypothesis. A democracy, let us say, is a society so organized that it is controlled by the people at large in the interest of the people at large. There are therefore two yardsticks by which a democracy may properly be measured, namely, the distribution of control and the distribution of benefits. The first is the strictly political yardstick, according to which a society is deemed democratic in proportion as its government is controlled by a freely formed public opinion. This in turn will depend on the extent to which ihe people arc allowed to express and disseminate their opinions and criticize their government, without intimidation or government-inspired indoctrination. The second is the social yardstick according to which a society is deemed democratic in proportion as it is free from special privilege, or great inequalities of wealth, education, and leisure. Measured by this second yardstick a society would be undemocratic if it consisted, for example, of peasants exploited by great landowners, or workers exploited by industrial magnates.

These two parts of democracy are in principle, and in the long run in practice, interdependent. For the extent to which the people are capable of assuming control of their affairs will depend on the extent of their social advantages; and the extent to which they reap the fruits of organized society will depend on the extent to which they participate in its control. But these two parts of democracy do not always develop simultaneously. One may be behind the other; and in the transition from a non-democratic to a democratic phase of development either may precede the other.

Soviet Russia began with a social revolution, on the assumption that the power of an exploiting class — the imperial bureaucracy, the landed aristocracy, and the Orthodox Church — had first to be broken before the people could be prepared to exercise political power. Soviet Russia now advocates the same order of procedure in the countries of Eastern Europe and the Far East. The United States, on the other hand, in keeping with her different history and tradition, would begin by establishing the political forms which are peculiar to the West — parliamentary government, opposition parties, freedom of discussion, the majority vote by secret ballot. Each laughs derisively at the other’s claim to democracy: we when Russia gives the name of democracy to a system in which there is only one candidate for office or in which the press is strictly censored by the government; Russia when we give the name of democracy to a system in which workers are dependent on private employers who control their means of livelihood, or in which millions of Negroes and white tenant farmers remain in a condition of poverty and helplessness.

It is possible, I suggest, to view the matter more roundly and to see the dispute not as a conflict between one system and another but between two halves of the same system, which have unhappily, and owing largely to historical causes, been sundered. When democracy is thus roundly viewed our criticism of the Soviet political system will be tempered by an acknowledgment of its social purpose. Undoubtedly the standard of living in Soviet Russia falls far short of that enjoyed in the United States. It is too early, however, to conclude that this comparative failure is the fault of socialism. There are other factors to be taken into account: the legacy of Czarism, the exhausting effects of two world wars fought on Russian soil, the divisive and demoralizing effects of civil war, the sacrifices necessitated by a prolonged state of emergency. There has unquestionably been some social gain — some measure of welfare and opportunity of self-development hitherto unknown; and there is unquestionably some hope of better things to come in the near future.

Under given historical conditions it may well be that this gain and this hope would have been impossible without a violent overthrow of the old system and the temporary dictatorial control of the revolutionary party. There is evidence that, as might have been expected, the dictatorship initiated as means to an end has in the minds of a new bureaucracy become an end in itself. But it is too early, far too early, to conclude that this chapter of Soviet political history is the last or that the political liberties provided in the New Constitution are only a sham and a pretense.

When democracy is thus roundly viewed criticism is attended with confession. At the same time that we criticize the absence of liberty in Soviet Russia we will admit that we occasionally deny it ourselves. We will recognize that political and civil liberty does not constitute the whole of democracy; the pride which we take in our free political and civil institutions will be accompanied by an acknowledgment of the social and economic inequalities which are as yet unremedied.

This, I think, is the procedure which is dictated by the duty of constructive tolerance — to see democracy whole in order that the opposed champions of its parts may if possible become the allied champions of its whole. The integral democracy to which both parties profess allegiance may then be something more than a name. We may then cease to boast of the victories of the one part over the other part — of our one-sidedness over their one-sidedness; but only of victories of both over the common enemy, anti-democracy, the oppression of the many by the few, of the unfortunate by the fortunate, the backwardness and misery of mankind, the ignorance and helplessness which still frustrate the race of men in their endeavor to achieve the harmonious happiness of all its members. This is the old enemy, recently called Nazism, but now widely forgotten amidst the new enmities which divide those who were once friends in action, and are still allies, I believe, in principle — in their long-range design for the good of man.

In so far as we are imbued with the spirit of constructive tolerance we shall consider our own institutions as on trial and strive to prove them, to ourselves and to the world, by our practices and by their fruits. We shall best defeat communism, if it should be defeated, by showing that we have something so much better that communism loses its sales appeal.

I submit that the greatest threat of economic communism lies in the possibility of depression and unemployment: in the possibility of a profound and widespread privation and insecurity which would lead men in their bitterness and despair to forsake capitalism for some drastic remedy. And I submit that a catastrophic failure of capitalism would threaten not only our economic institutions but our political institutions as well.

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How is political communism to be avoided both at home and abroad ? By securing and extending our liberties and by proving to the world that they can be reconciled with order, public spirit, and a sense of civic responsibility. By perfecting our political system, and by proving to the world that it is capable of guaranteeing the good of all against the selfish pressures of personal ambition or corporate wealth.

How is economic communism to be avoided? By correcting the monopolistic abuses of our present system and preventing its recurrent periods of collapse. By proving to the world that capitalism can do the economic job, achieve stability, provide steady employment, create opportunity, and in general increase and equalize the welfare of the people.

Here is the real fighting front. Here is the real test of our institutions. And this is as we should Want it to be, for we want the best political and economic institutions: not those which possess the authority of dogma, or are merely endeared to us by old associations, or to some of us because they give us differential advantages; but those which in the light of criticism and experiment will most perfectly fulfill the social and humane purposes for the sake of which such institutions exist.

If what I have said in general has any validity it should throw light on the specific questions of American foreign policy.

We have our Truman Doctrine and our Marshall Plan. Unfortunately their wisdom must be debated at the same time that their meaning remains doubtful. Meanwhile the situation which provoked the Doctrine and the Plan alters from day to day, and the private citizen remote from the scene must necessarily either question what it is too late to prevent, or anticipate what he cannot predict, or confine himself to applying broad principles.

What, then, is the Truman Doctrine, as formulated by its author? Its broad moral appeal is based on the assumption that it means the relief of “human want and misery.” Its broad political appeal is based on the assumption that it means helping “free peoples to maintain their free institutions,” that is, “representative government, free elections, guarantees of individual liberty, freedom of speech and religion, and freedom from political oppression.”

But the time and place and implementation of the Doctrine implied other meanings — some implicit and some explicit. It seems probable that it had something to do with oil interests in the Near East. American foreign policy has never at any time during the last fifty years or at any place on the earth’s surface been wholly free from the smell of oil. Not that there is any harm in coveting oil, but only that if that be a part of the policy it is better to say so — better not to conceal it under high-sounding statements of principle — better for the world, better for the American soul, and perhaps in the long run, even belter for oil.

The substance of the Truman Doctrine is further confused by its including military and not merely economic “aid,” by its support of admittedly reactionary governments in Greece and Turkey, and by its timing to coincide with the withdrawal of Great Britain’s military forces from her traditional lines of empire. Taking all this into account the doctrine begins to look less like a declaration of humane and democratic principles, and more like an announcement of irreconcilable hostility to Soviet Russia and her friends and to communism and its adherents. It is not surprising that in the other camp, where there is already a disposition to suspect our motives, the Doctrine should be interpreted as wolfish power politics clothed in sheepish professions of disinterestedness. It is not surprising that at home the Doctrine should be welcomed by Russophobes and red-baiters of every description, religious, political, and economic; and used to justify their anger and recklessness.

The Truman Doctrine being so interpreted at home and abroad we are brought face to face with the issue of war and peace. There are certain sobering questions which demand an answer before we allow ourselves to be committed further by our deeds or by our emotions.

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ARE we for democracy, or are we against Soviet Russia, and prepared to defend anybody against her? Are we for democracy, including its social as well as its political implications, or are we against communism, and prepared to defend anything against it? Is it our intention at least to “contain” Russia and communism, no matter for whom or for what ?

Do we identify Russian-oriented or communist regimes in general with “totalitarian regimes imposed upon free peoples,” and under that formula do we consider them, one and all, as “undermining the foundations of international peace and hence the security of the United States”? In other words, is the Truman Doctrine the opening gun in a war which we are prepared to wage all over the world? Are we staking our national existence, pride, and prestige on victory in such a war, and committing ourselves to all the implications of such a war?

If we consider communism anywhere in the world as a threat to our security, are we prepared to side with Franco and Perón, who apparently hold the same view? Are we otherwise prepared to ally ourselves with any political force anywhere in the world, which for any reason has announced its hostility to communism? Are we announcing a new Anti-Comintern Pact, similar to that adopted by Germany, Italy, Spain, and Japan in 1939, and accepting the strange bedfellows which such a political alignment would make?

If, as lies within the bounds of possibility, Italy and France should become communist regimes, are we prepared to advance the necessary billions of dollars and the necessary personnel to defeat them by backing a counterregime? This is unquestionably what the opponents of communism in those countries take to be the logical implication of our proposed action in Greece and Turkey. Are we prepared through our inveterate hostility to communism to oppose popular and revolutionary movements throughout the world merely because they are instigated or led by communists, and even though this aligns us with the oppressor? Can we for reasons either of morality or of prudence afford thus to disassociate ourselves from the prevailing social and political currents of today and tomorrow?

Are we taking over and underwriting the imperialisms of the nineteenth century in defiance of the change in the balance of power through the simultaneous rise of Soviet Russia and decline of the British, French, and Dutch Empires, and regardless of the new economic and political forces which have come into play throughout the world?

Does the Truman Doctrine mean that we are committed in advance to a non-communist Germany — that we should regard a communist Germany as a threat to our security, and that we are therefore to prevent such a political development of Germany by force? If that is what we mean, what German policy do we expect from Soviet Russia? Does it mean that we are to purge western Germany of communists — de-communize it rather than deNazify it? Are we embarking on a struggle with Soviet Russia in which each shall endeavor to attract Germany to its half of a divided world? Do we propose to dispossess Soviet Russia of eastern Germany; or do we mean to divide Germany itself? How, if we harbor any of these intentions, do we expect to negotiate a peaceful settlement of the German problem—or, in fact, of any European problem?

The Marshall Plan had the great merit of confining itself to economic matters; and it did for a time provide a fresh and hopeful approach to international problems. Whether the regrettable unwillingness of Russia and Russian-oriented states to participate in the Marshall Plan was due to the Truman Doctrine is not known. But I cannot see how anyone could claim that the Doctrine contributed to the Plan. A seeming declaration of hostility to Russia and all her works was not calculated to create an atmosphere favorable to pan-European solidarity. It was awkward, to say the least, for an America which had seemingly taken sides against communism to undertake the support of an economic agreement which should embrace communism.

The reconstruction of the European economy is a staggering problem. To put the European economy on its feet, and at the same time repair the losses of the war, guarantee the safety of neighboring states against a resurgence of German militarism, reconcile the methods of capitalism and socialism, and unite the industrial west with the agricultural east, will require every art of statecraft and expertness. It cannot be done by any simple formula, or in a day; perhaps for many years to come it cannot be done at all. One thing, however, is clear: namely, that, it cannot be done with the world at the same time preparing, mentally or physically, for another war. It cannot be done with the world divided into two mutually distrustful political and ideological camps.

Hence we are brought back again to the urgent and the crucial problem of re-creating and preserving friendly relations between the United States and Soviet Russia. To this end, and since I do not believe that the threat to our security through the spread of communism is either grave or immediate, I would reject the logic of war and follow the logic of peace. I would continue to strive by diplomatic means to secure the acceptance of that policy in Germany and elsewhere throughout the world which we believe to be most consistent with the future peace and prosperity of the world. But I would separate this diplomatic effort altogether from any national, imperial, or ideological offensive which is bound to alienate and harden the attitude of those with whom we are attempting to come to agreement.

In short, I would define the present problem as the problem of living with communism, rather than the problem of lestroying communism. I would place a modus vivendi with Soviet Russia first in the order of business. I should be prepared to offer Soviet Russia a loan and a ten-year non-aggression pact. I would do all possible to create with Soviet Russia a relation of collaboration in the cause of peace and in the hope of gradually strengthening the United Nations. As respects the famous or infamous veto, I would bear in mind the fact that we invented it, are still officially committed to it, and, for all we know to the contrary, would ourselves use it as often as the majority in the Security Council went against what we thought to be our interests. The present use of the veto by Soviet Russia is a symptom and not a cause — symptomatic of a deep cleavage which would be fatal to the peace of the world whatever its constitutional machinery. The veto will be abandoned when and only when it seems relatively unimportant, to us and to Soviet Russia.

I would couple a pacific and conciliatory policy with a ringing declaration of faith which would embrace not only the secular values of polity, law, and economics, but the spiritual values which are a part of our Christian heritage; a declaration which would embrace not only political democracy, but social democracy as well; which would embrace not only our firm belief in the civil liberties, and in the right of peoples to choose their own form of government by free elections and open discussion, but also (and with equal emphasis) our sympathy with the submerged, exploited, and relatively unprivileged classes of men throughout the world, and hence with the purposes, but not the methods, of the social revolution.

If we adopt the logic of peace, we need not in the least abate either the loftiness of our ideals or the hope of their ultimate spread throughout the world. On the contrary, the method of constructive tolerance gives us greater freedom in the profession of our own creed because it is not accompanied by threats. For the ultimate realization of our ideals we would then count not upon the use of military or economic force against the proponents of other ideals. We would attempt to create throughout the world an atmosphere of peaceful rivalry for the good of mankind. We would be for and not against. We would prove our ideals by realizing them at home, and by persuading the people of the world not by pressures or mere precepts but by experience and example that our way of life is the good way — good for us and good for all.