Puslapio vaizdai

hates of war die hard, but die they must before the healing ministry of real peace can be begun. The nation that continues to soil its soul with hatred long after a war is ended betrays a basic barbarism beneath its thin veneer of culture.

The common folk of all nations have already sloughed off the hate spirit of war-time. But there is still a distressingly large number of vociferous busybodies blocking the return to that spirit of tolerance, of faith, and of fairness which constitutes the very atmosphere of peace. These deserve constant exposure and indictment. Who are they?

During the war, atrocity-mongering was a trade that the smallest minds

could carry on. Many small men

found in this trade their first chance for publicity. They basely prostituted the nation's legitimately righteous indignation against the lawless enemies of decent international standards. They leaped into national prominence by their ability to manipulate the language of hate. They were tolerated by a sensible nation upon the purely pragmatic ground that they helped keep sharp the fighting edge of the nation's spirit. The trouble is that many of them do not yet realize that the war is over. Even a plea for Christian chivalry is still likely to draw from them the charge of pro-Germanism.

But these unreasoning artists in hate have slightly altered their program. From professional persecutors they have evolved into professional patriots. They have launched a campaign of "patrioteering" that is, perhaps, a greater menace to the country than the widely denounced profiteering. They have become the self-appointed guardians of the nation's thought on all political, social, and industrial issues. Their militant mediocrity is now engaged in defense of a suicidal social reaction. They loudly proclaim a selfish, tactless, and strifeengendering policy of "America first" in strident tones that will as surely draw the resentment of the world as did the guttural pronouncement of "Deutschland über Alles."

We need to realize, at this Christmas season, that the "intellectual rioting and looting" which has followed the war is

even more dangerous than physical rioting and looting, because its infection lasts much longer. Months ago, Bernard Shaw wrote a paragraph that makes pertinent reading at this season dedicated to good-will. He wrote:

Every one who is not a born fool must realize soon what all the clever people realized long ago, that the moral cleaning-up after the war is far more important than the material restorations. The towns that have been knocked down mostly needed it very badly, and will be replaced, let us hope, by better planned, healthier, happier habitations. We shall be able to build cathedrals quite as handsome as the best mediaeval ones, stained glass and all, as soon as we really like them and want them. But the poisoning of the human soul by hatred, the darkening of the human mind by lies, and ter and destruction and starvation, are evils the hardening of the human heart by slaughthat spread and fester long after the guns have stopped. Yet the importance that war gives to fools who are negligible in peace makes them loth to let the war cease if they can possibly carry it on by mere rancor after the soldiers have come home.

Then, after a brilliant argument in which he points out the fact that if we persist in maintaining a belligerent hate in our hearts against old enemies, sooner or later that belligerency, that belief that liberty and justice are things to be secured by fighting, will be turned into the class struggle at home, Shaw concludes:

We had better muzzle the trumpet and raise the hymn of peace, even though its loveliest and noblest settings, in The Messiah, in The Magic Flute, in the Ninth Symphony, in Parsifal, are all the work of those notorious Huns, Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, and Wagner.


Labor and capital could celebrate the Christmas of 1920 in no finer way than by a high resolve that during 1921 both shall strive, in consonance with the spirit of peace and tolerance, to think less in terms of the battle-field and more in terms of the council-chamber. The battle mind has been inevitable in the labor-capital struggles of the

past, but pure tests of strength, such as bargainings and strikes, can never bring industrial health to the world. Nothing save some continuously just administration of industry can do that. Such administration will never come as the by-product of a fight. It must be the consciously conceived product of industrial statesmanship, and industrial statesmanship is impossible without the spirit of tolerant good-will and mutual respect.


Conservatives and radicals could celebrate the Christmas of 1920 in no finer way than by a determination to arrive at a more just understanding of their respective rôles in the drama of progress. This alone can shift their conflicts from the field of passion to the field of principle. This alone can breed tolerant good-will between such irreconcilable opponents. Neither seems to recognize the fact that both are necessary.

If the world were populated by radicals alone, there would be only two days in the calendar,-May 1 and October 1, for every day would be movingday. There would be no breathingspells in which to consolidate the gains of the last move. Life would be an eternal race to a fire. Movement would Mr. Wil

be prized above destination. son once wisely said:

Movement has no virtue in itself.


If a

is not worth while for its own sake. thing is good to-day, I should like to have it stay that way to-morrow. Most of our calculations in life are dependent upon things staying the way they are.


would seem a waste of time to point out that ancient distinction between mere change and improvement. Yet there is a class of mind that is prone to confuse them. We have had political leaders whose conception of greatness was to be forever frantically doing something-it mattered little what; restless, vociferous men, without sense of the energy of concentration, knowing only the energy of succession. Now, life does not consist of eternally running to a fire. There is no virtue in going anywhere unless you gain something by being there. The direction is just as important as the impetus of motion.

Progress, development-those are modern words. The modern idea is to leave the

past and press onward to something new. But what is progress going to do with the past, and with the present? How is it going to treat them? With ignominy, or respect? Should it break with them altogether, or rise out of them, with its roots still deep in the older time? . . . I believe, for one, that you cannot tear up ancient rootages and safely plant the tree of liberty in soil which is not native to it. I believe that the ancient traditions of a people are its ballast; you cannot make a tabula rasa upon which to write a political program. You must

knit the new into the old.

This is good Christmas reading for radicals, but very bad Christmas reading for conservatives. It brings a needed lesson of tolerance to the radical, but is likely to strengthen the conservative in his fatal tendency to blind reaction. The radical owes something to the conservative for insisting that the best of the past be conserved, and the social temper would be better if the radical realized this. But the conservative probably owes much more to the radical than the radical owes to the conservative. The conservative retards progress unnecessarily. If radicals had not played the persistent gadfly to conservatives, the conservatives would today be living in caves, victims of the precarious life of their primitive ancestors. The conservative owes most of his comforts and privileges to the radical. Hardly a century passes without the crucifixion of some social, political, or industrial Messiah by conservatives. The conservative can, in the light of history, well afford to be more tolerant toward the agitator, without surrendering his "divine right" as guardian of the best in the status quo. These slightly paraphrased and rearranged lines from Maeterlinck's essay on "Our Social Duty" are good Christmas reading for conservatives:

For reasons which we do not always understand, it is doubtless necessary that the race should progress slowly. But let us not fear lest we be drawn too far; and let no reflection, however just, break or temper our ardor. Our future excesses are essential to the equilibrium of life. Let us go always to the most extreme limits of our thoughts, our hopes, and our justice. There are men

enough about us whose exclusive duty, whose most precise mission, is to extinguish the fires which we kindle.

Let us not say to ourselves that the best truth always lies in moderation, in the decent average. This would perhaps be so if the majority of men did not think, did not hope upon a much lower plane than is needful. That is why it behooves the others to think and hope upon a higher plane than seems reasonable. The average, the decent moderation of to-day will be the least human of things to-morrow.

Let us have no fear lest the fairest towers of former days be insufficiently defended, for at every cross-way on the road that leads to the future, each progressive spirit is opposed by ten thousand men to guard the past.

The point is that there is so much inertia in the world that no lover of things as they are need grow nervous. The car of progress is headed up a steep incline, not on a down-grade. Not once in a century are brakes really needed. This fact should breed tolerance in the conservative mind- -a tolerance that would save us much useless and costly friction.

We can never achieve peace until we achieve tolerance, good-will. This editorial is not a plea for the tolerance that rests upon indifference, but for the tolerance that springs from mutual understanding, a tolerance that is in no wise inconsistent with the strenuous defense of principles.

Nor is this editorial a plea for international and social peace at any price, not a plea for mere quiet. Peace and quiet are not synonyms. Mere social calm may be a very unworthy goal for a people. There is quiet in the village graveyard, but every one in it is dead. Compromise to attain social quiet may be treason to justice. A people may enjoy greater peace in the midst of a war for right than in times of peace sodden with injustice. Did not L. P. Jacks write an illuminating essay on "The Peacefulness of Being at War!" Peace is a by-product of justice and ardent adventures in behalf of great ideals.

There is no point, even at Christmastime, in crying "Peace! peace! when there is no peace." There is point in rededicating ourselves at Christmas

time to that spirit of tolerance, goodwill, and justice upon which alone lasting peace and sustained progress can be based.


NE of the outstanding facts of modern life is this: our cities and our states have outgrown our ability to administer them. Our civilization is smitten with the curse of bigness. A few years ago Lord Bryce, in his presidential address to the British Academy, ventured the suggestion that modern states have grown so big as to be virtually unmanageable by existing means of human control. We may pass this by as merely an interesting speculation in political philosophy, but we cannot dodge the fact that the city civilization of the United States is to-day virtually unmanageable.

The average American dislikes to admit that anything can be too big to be managed. Executive vanity is an American trait. We like to think that we possess a peculiar genuis for organization and control. It may not be flattering to our genius to say that anything can grow so big as to be unmanageable, but facts are not concerned with flattery. And the fact is that the average administrator in city or state is to-day at his wit's end. His job has got out of hand.

The municipal administration of New York City, for instance, resembles nothing so much as a nervous spinster weakly clutching at the reins of a runaway team. This is not merely another smug criticism of Mr. Hylan's administration. It is the simple recording of a fact that would be more or less true of any administration in the New York of 1920-a fact that is more or less true of every big city.

In New York City a typical day is one continuous round of inconveniences due to the fact that the administration of its common life is inadequate. Let us list a few obvious facts.

The New-Yorker is frequently the shivering victim of a coal shortage due to inadequate mining and transportation facilities, to say nothing of inadequate

social control of the mining industry in ing the situation. The building that is general.

A strike in the harbor or at the ferry may leave him foodless.

Adequate control of transportation in the city streets, on the surface-car lines, and in the subways has broken down. Men, women, and children are jammed into subway-cars at five o'clock in the evening with less regard for physical comfort and decency than is displayed by a Western cattle-dealer loading stock for shipment. Every day brings its toll of death from trucks and taxis in the city streets.

Moving-day is a calamity.

On the first of October last it was estimated that seventy-five thousand families attempted to move one hundred and fifty thousand loads of household goods, while only two thousand vans were available. A strike of van-drivers and their helpers had prevented a great amount of moving prior to the first day of October. Free-lance van-owners charged exorbitant prices for moving goods. Twenty-five dollars an hour was not an uncommon charge. Certain streets of the city resembled the streets of a mining-camp in the days of the gold rush. Furniture was piled high on the sidewalks. Thousands of families had nowhere to go. Men of meager salaries were forced to take their families to expensive hotels in the business district, if, indeed, they were fortunate enough to gain entrance.

The day was a day of civil war between landlords and tenants over their respective rights. One hundred and twenty-five thousand eviction notices were in the hands of landlords in preparation for the day. Moving-vans, loaded with furniture, made fruitless trips to apartments out of which old tenants, unable to find other quarters, had refused to move.

Storage warehouses were jammed, and many families were forced to give away their furniture, or sell it for a song to second-hand dealers.

Congestion is so great that, unless it be relieved, a cholera epidemic may be not an unlikely development.

Human control of the housing situation has broken down. The community seems powerless in the matter of remedy

being done is on an utterly unreasonable and anti-social basis. With a housing situation that menaces both morals and health, New York City built ten times as many garages as houses during 1920, while money, materials, and labor needed for the building of homes has been drawn away by the letting of contracts for $97,000,000 worth of commercial buildings.

In the face of all this, drab-minded politicians, incapable of any idea that cannot be compressed within the confines of some ancient shibboleth, attack every proposal of municipal, state, or federal aid, while they denounce paternalism and prate of private initiative. On the other hand, every proposal to readjust taxation in a manner that will stimulate private investment in the building of apartment-houses is vigorously attacked by equally unthinking radicals who sense a weak surrender to capitalism. Through it all we listen in vain for a note of authority, and wander leaderless in futile search for some center of adequate social control.


Even hospital facilities are inadequate. If we cannot prevent a congestion that breeds disease, it might be thought that we would at least make an extra effort to care for the sick, the victims of our administrative failure. At the moment of writing it is estimated that there are a hundred and eighty thousand persons ill in Greater New York. This is at the rate of one to every thirty-four of the population. There is only one hospital bed for every two hundred and twelve persons. percentage of cases of illness that are hospital cases is greater in New York City than in any other city in the United States. This is because more than six million persons are crowded into the city's limited territory, with hundreds of thousands living in about one third of the space they occupied before the war. Naturally, in such congested conditions, a sick person, if his illness be at all communicable, should be sent to a hospital to prevent the spread of the disease. Yet the growth of hospital facilities lags far behind the growth of the population.

Despite the heroic efforts of the

telephone and telegraph companies, the communication service of the country remains half-convenience and half-nuisance. The writer recently had the delightful experience of having a telegram consume four hours in traversing twelve miles, of traveling a distance of thirtyfive miles by accommodation train and arriving in Buffalo ahead of a telegram sent six hours before, and of repeating such experiences three times within one week. All this is not carping criticism of the telegraph and telephone companies. It is simply the sketching in of a few details of the picture of our uncontrolled civilization.

It is easy and common to lay all this to the war. But that is a coward's refuge. We were headed for this chaos before there was a war-cloud in the sky. We must sooner or later face the possibility that the modern city, the modern state, the modern empire, is perhaps unmanageable after reaching a certain size. We are beginning to pay the penalty for our servile worship of the god of quantity. But we are slow to learn. Think of New York City, in its present condition, complaining that the first census returns showed a slight decrease in its population! This wild race for numbers leads straight to the abyss.

Before the war Mr. Justice Brandeis, in a discussion of trusts and efficiency, stated a principle that may well be taken to heart by political scientists. He said:

While a business may be too small to be efficient, efficiency does not grow indefinitely with increasing size. There is in every line of business a unit of greatest efficiency.

. . The unit of greatest efficiency is reached when the disadvantages of size counterbalance the advantages. The unit of greatest efficiency is exceeded when the disadvantages of size outweigh the advantages.

This is a perfectly obvious statement, but builders of cities, states, and empires have never taken it into account. The quest of bigness has been kept up, as if health, happiness, and social efficiency were secondary consideration to size. The history of mankind has been one continued story, without an instalment missing, of man's creation of instruments that sooner or later have

made him their victim. Steam and the machine might have emancipated the race from innumerable troubles. Instead, they have brought in their train the factory system and the labor problem that have rent the world. Rapid transportation might have knit the world together into such a community of interests that war would have been unthinkable. Instead of making war impossible, it has made war epidemic.

Are we, then, in the grip of blind forces carrying modern civilization to destruction? This may not be the only deduction to be drawn. There are at present three world-wide movements that may together set the feet of civilization in a safer path. These three movements are:

First, the movement for the self-determination of all peoples.

Second, the movement for a league of nations.

Third, the movement for a reform of representative government to the end that we shall elect representatives from trades and occupations and vital interests as well as, if not instead of, from artificially created geographical areas. This movement is technically known as "occupational representation" and figures in gild socialism and in the soviet scheme.

Let no reader jump to the conclusion that this is a plea for political anarchy, a super-state, or Bolshevism. No one of these movements alone would help very much. Self-determination alone might simply split the world into warring fragments and sign a universal license for political incompetency. This would set the clock of political progress back for several centuries. A league of nations alone might simply create super-state and be the last step in the suicidal quest of bigness. The movement for a state organized upon the basis of trades and occupations instead of geographical areas of representation would, alone, give us pure Bolshevism, pure gild socialism, or a dictatorship of the proletariate.


But in each of these movements— self-determination, league of nations, and occupational representation-is a spark of the divine fire that may light the way to a fairer future. We dare

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