CHAPTER II
THE PATRIOTISM OF PEACE
The great mind knows the power of gentleness—
Only tries force because persuasion fails.
—Robert Browning.
THE patriotism of war is far easier to teach than the patriotism of peace. When bands are playing and the love of adventure is calling, men find it easy to march away to battle for their country, and boys and girls throb through all their young beings to do something for it.
But when men are staying at home, with comfort beckoning; with the government jogging along and getting the main things done somehow or other, under the guidance of professional politicians; and with one's personal affairs requiring apparently the application of all one's mortal powers,—then patriotism needs a spur.
It was of such "piping times of peace" that Goldsmith wrote:
"Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay."
The task set forth before the conscientious citizen then is to keep alive in himself the clear torch of patriotism,—which simply means the duty to sacrifice as freely, in proportion to the need, in time of peace as in time of war.
It is the difficulty of this task, seldom yet accomplished, which has led to the many eloquent panegyrics, in all languages, upon war as necessary to the very existence of a nation. Several entire books have been written to prove that sordidness and selfishness always possess and soon destroy a nation which does not have frequent wars. The philosophy of Nietzsche is largely founded upon this theory. Treitschke and Bernhardi follow him closely. Even De Quincey, Ruskin, and others from among our best English writers, subscribe to this monstrous doctrine, and it is true that there is plenty of support for it in history.
But we Americans have always believed in brains rather than brawn for the settlement of international as well as personal controversies. The duel has been banished from our country as an antiquated means of adjusting the quarrels of individual men, and logic requires that a similar course be pursued toward quarrels on a larger scale. Because we have been obliged to lay aside temporarily our convictions in order to save ourselves and the right, from a mad dog of a nation, which threatens to overthrow civilization, does not mean that we have given up our ideals. If the American nation stands for anything, it stands for peace, though we can and will fight if liberty and right are threatened.
In the study of the Iliad which has been suggested, the words which Agamemnon speaks to Hector should be especially commended to children:
"Cursed be the man, and void of law and right,
Unworthy property, unworthy light,
Unfit for public rule or private care,
The wretch, the monster, who delights in war,—
Whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy,
To tear his country and his kind destroy."
But in the face of the almost universal testimony against it, all of us should realize that extraordinary pains must be taken to inculcate the truth, and live it, that high patriotism can be kept alive in peace as well as in war.
Precept alone goes not very far in any line, and less, perhaps, in this, than in any other. The study of history and a little of the most modern literature, helps. Classical literature, in all languages, preaches with frightful unanimity, the necessity and the nobility of war. In the religion of Rome, Mars received ten times more homage than did Jupiter. The book and the precept must not be neglected, but your chief weapon in teaching your child the patriotism of peace must be the deed. You must set a strenuous example, or else all your words will pass like the whistle of the wind.
In President Hadley's inaugural, he asserted that the main object of education is to make good citizens,—which is, perhaps, only another way of saying that the chief object of education is to make patriots.
He was talking of the education of the schools; but Emerson somewhere says, in effect, that though we send our children to the schoolmaster, it is, after all, their environment which does most of the educating.
Emerson speaks of the shop-windows along the child's way; but it is his home which forms the most influential factor in his environment; and the part of the home usually dearest to him is his mother. It is a common saying, especially in our cities, that fathers see their children only when they are asleep, leaving them at breakfast-time, and returning after they have gone to bed. Up to the age of twelve, or thereabout, children should retire shortly after eight o'clock. During the next few years, even though they sit up later, they generally have to study. Thus, during their formative period, it is upon the mother that the home training of the children chiefly devolves.
A distinguished clergyman in a public address once eulogized his mother. He attributed to her every virtue and a wonderful mind. He was a violent anti-suffragist, and supposed that he was presenting a strong argument for his side when he said, "But though my incomparable mother counseled us upon almost every subject that could engage our attention, she never mentioned to us the subject of politics."
Had he not struck, perhaps, the main reason for the corruption of our politics? The fathers have no chance to instruct their young children in the rudiments of politics,—yet those children ought to be so instructed by somebody. They get little or nothing of it in school. If their mother does not teach them something about it, they will probably grow up ignorant of many of its snares and its opportunities.
To-day the anti-suffragists are wiser. They say that women should understand civic duties and should canvass them thoroughly with their children. The sin and the shame come only, in their opinion, when women actually vote for the best men and women to fill the offices.
The case is as if a woman should furnish a house, supplying its kitchen with every facility for cooking and cleaning; fitting its dining-room with the proper linen, silver and china; arranging its bedrooms for comfortable sleep; making its parlors beautiful for guests; and then, though she has known so well the needs of a household and how to provide for them, she draws back from the responsibility of running her model house, as if to say: "My sisters and I are not competent to manage this house. You men are far abler. Please make and enforce all the rules to govern it."
Let the men and the women work together, dividing the responsibility according to the fitness of each individual. There are stupid men and stupid women and there are bright men and bright women. Women are human beings before all else and all human interests are their interests. There is among us too much of cowardice and laziness, posing as hyper-refinement and modesty. Women as voters, "weavers of peace," as the old Saxons called them, are bound to be a helpful force in many departments, and especially in this great work of establishing universal peace, and teaching men how to use it. They should begin with the child in its cradle.
For, let us repeat, it cannot be too strongly impressed that the underlying and fundamental principles of politics must be taught by the mother, if they are taught at all; and like everything else that is good, they can be and should be taught. It does not seem to be generally understood, but it is a fact, that a training in politics is possible, and if our great experiment in government is to succeed, such a training should be given to every child, and the mother seems to be the natural, and often the only person to give it.
A mother was one day walking along the streets of the great city in which she lived, when she saw that a new liquor-saloon had been opened within two blocks of her home.
"Oh, dear!" she said to her little boy of eight, who held her hand, "Here is another saloon,—another place where men will spend their money foolishly and perhaps become drunkards,—and so near our own home! We have never had one so near before."
As she spoke, two men staggered out from the saloon-door and made their way unsteadily along the sidewalk. The child had never seen a drunken man before. His eyes widened with horror and an expression of utter disgust settled upon his eager little face.
"Why do they let 'em do it!" he burst forth. "Aren't there any Christians in Congress?"
It was plain that ideas of law and restraint, and of the difference between good government and bad government, were struggling for form and coherence in the child's mind.
The mother seized her opportunity. She explained briefly some of the evils of the saloon; the meaning of "high license" and "prohibition," and something of the arguments on both sides; how most good people agree that the saloon, as at present conducted, is a cancer on the body politic, and how the chief disagreement is concerning the best ways of controlling or suppressing it; how the liquor men are active in politics, while the temperance men are so busy with their own affairs, and usually so contemptuous of legislatures that they do not look carefully after the laws; how voters are often bribed; and as many more details as the boy seemed to want to hear.
He listened closely and asked many intelligent questions. He had received a lesson in politics which he did not forget, as his chance remarks showed for months afterward. He talked the matter over with his younger brothers, and they, too, began to ask questions. During the next few years that mother gave her boys brief talks on arbitration, the tariff, public education and its bearing on democracy, street-cleaning, road-making, silver and gold money, and many other topics of current politics. She was careful never to force them, for she knew that it is only when the mood is upon him that a boy likes to discuss serious subjects. The terms she used were of the simplest; and her husband, who was deeply interested in her efforts, and helped her whenever he could, supplied her with many illustrations, such as children could understand. Especially did she impress upon her children's minds the true and striking saying of a great Frenchman, that "governments are always just as bad as the people will let them be"; and that, as a part of the people, it was their duty to see that the government was made and kept good.
By "line upon line, precept upon precept," knowing that opinions are formed
"As boys learn to spell,—
By reiteration chiefly."
this mother tried to impress upon those children the duties of good citizenship. They are grown up now and show the effects of their training.
Many of us feel that more upon the subject of politics,—again we should remind ourselves that politics and patriotism are very nearly the same thing,—might easily and properly be taught in our public schools; for the foundation principles of politics are only those of ordinary ethics. In this way, morality, which is far more necessary than book-learning for the perpetuity of our institutions, would take that dominant place in our educational system, so strongly advocated by that prince of educators, Horace Mann. "Among all my long list of acquaintances," he says, "I find that for one man who has been ruined for want of intellectual attainments, hundreds have perished for want of morals. And yet we go on bestowing one hundred times more care and pains and cost on the education of the intellect than on the cultivation of the moral sentiments and the establishment of moral principles." He insists that morals should be regularly taught, and not "left to casual and occasional mention."
Thus broad and clear ideas of perfect honesty, with Abraham Lincoln and other good and great men as examples, form the foundation of clean politics, and should be impressed upon the children in our schools. The daily papers often describe shining instances of this cardinal virtue.
Suppose that a theater is burned and many lives lost. Laws may have been passed for the safeguarding of theaters, but the manager of this house disregarded them in order to save a few dollars. There is a chance to impress regard for law and its enforcement.
Or suppose that bribery is under discussion. Here is a true story of the way in which its devious methods were impressed upon the mind of a small boy:
He was stopping with his mother in a country town, when the tailor of the place, in speaking of the day's voting, remarked: "I don't gen'ally vote, but I did to-day, because they sent a carriage up from the Center for me. It takes time to vote and 'tain't much use. What does one vote amount to anyway? But when one of the bosses is anxious enough to come an' git me, why, then I'll vote, or if they'll give me my fare on the cars."
"Why," said the boy quickly, "isn't that bribery?"
"Lord, no!" said the man, shuffling about uneasily. "That jest pays me for my time an' trouble. I don't git nothin' for my vote."
Sophistries like this should be immediately made clear to the child. It would probably be impossible to show them to that tailor.
"Our Revolutionary fathers," said Horace Mann again, "abandoned their homes, sacrificed their property, encountered disease, bore hunger and cold, and stood on the fatal edge of battle, to gain that liberty which their descendants will not even go to the polls to protect. Our Pilgrim Fathers expatriated themselves, crossed the Atlantic,—then a greater enterprise than now to circumnavigate the globe,—and braved a savage foe, that they might worship God unmolested,—while many of us throw our votes in wantonness, or for a bribe, or to gratify revenge."
This is a terrible indictment. It is not as true now as it was in the time of Horace Mann. Still, the lesson contained in it should be impressed upon our children.