patibility. On the contrary, such a mixture of expediency and idealism is one of the most familiar and universal facts of life. That which distinguishes constructive progress from mere pious wishing is the use of present means to bring one forward toward one's end. The present means will always be of that age which one seeks to leave behind. It is necessary to walk until one can ride, and to ride until one can fly. It is only the fanatical mind which fails to see so obvious a fact, or to govern itself by a principle so fundamental and so indispensable to all forward action.

I submit, then, that we need a propaganda that shall take the middle ground, and recognize the real problem. In place of war parties and peace parties that exaggerate their own halftruths, and ignore all other half-truths, thus blinding our eyes and impotently consuming our passions and energies, we need the wise and balanced mind, adjusted to the needs of the hour and inspired with hope of the future.

Persons so minded will agree that there is war in fact, and that so long as there is war there is danger. Where there is danger any thoughtful mind must commend caution and foresight, so that the danger may be well and effectively met in proportion to its imminence and its magnitude.

But it is no less imperative that the hope of peace should be kept bright and that the purpose to attain permanent peace should be undaunted. Prophecy and inspiration are as important as efficiency and trained judgment. It is no less important to contrive new social and political devices and to agitate for their application and trial. Projects for disarmament, for an international court, or for the publicity of diplomatic negotiations, should not be regarded as vain imaginings because they depart from ancient practise, but as inventions by which after trial and selection men may eventually forge the tools by which to establish a new and better practise. In short, the upward road of progress can be ascended only by one who both keeps his footing secure, and looks ahead with ardor and imagination.

VI

WHAT IS WORTH FIGHTING FOR?

NOT

OT long ago a newspaper despatch from Leicester, England, described the untimely fate of a travelling band of pacifist preachers who styled themselves "The Fellowship of Reconciliation." It appears that the good patriots of Leicester beat them soundly, burned their camp and equipment, and concluded the matter by singing "Tipperary" and "God Save the King" over the ashes.

The incident epitomizes the absurd but deeply tragic plight of man. His bravest and most exalted purposes, those of nationality and humanity, are driving him to self-destruction. There is more of tragedy in this than a present loss of life and material goods; there is a dreadful suggestion of doom, as when one first detects symptoms of an incurable disease. There is a seeming fatality in life by which right motives impel man to work evil. Intelligence, self-sacrifice, devotion to a cause, those qualities of mind and will

on which we have been taught to pride ourselves, seem only to make men more terrible, or more weak, according as they turn to deeds or to meditation. To take up arms and destroy, or to sit passively by while destruction rages unrebuked-there is apparently neither virtue nor happiness in either course. If such be the predicament of man, it is not surprising that many are praying that the curtain be rung down and an end made of the whole sorry business.

In what I have here to say I address those who are still determined to think the matter through notwithstanding the fact that, as Mr. Tulliver says, "thinking is mighty puzzling work." Despair we may reserve as a course of last resort. Likewise the death-bed consolations of religion by which human weal and woe are left to the inscrutable wisdom of Almighty God. When the present scene becomes too painful we may shut our eyes, or turn to some celestial vision. But I for one cannot yet absolve myself from responsibility. There is a task of civilization and social progress to which man has so solemnly pledged himself that he cannot abandon it with honor. And in this hour of trial that pledge requires us to form a plan of action which shall be neither an act of blind faith nor a confession of failure.

We must endeavor both to see our way and to

make our way.

How shall the constructive work of civilization be saved and promoted? It would be a much simpler matter if it were only one's "inward peace" that was at stake. Mr. Bertrand Russell tells us that "the greatest good that can be achieved in this life is to have will and desire directed to universal ends, purged of the selfassertion which belongs to instinctive will.” 1 But there is one greater good, and that is the accomplishment of these universal ends. This is a much more baffling and hazardous undertaking. It requires a man not only to make up his mind, but to bring things to pass. It becomes necessary to use the harsh and dangerous instruments by which things are done in this world. Civilization is not saved by the mere purging of one's heart, but by the work of one's hands. The forces of destruction must be met, each according to its kind, by the forces of deliverance. The belief that when a man has struck an attitude, and has braved it out in the midst of a rough and vulgar world, he has somehow solved the problem and done his duty, underlies much of the pacific sentiment that is now abroad. It is a

1 Atlantic Monthly, August, 1915, p. 267.