“I think the war has brought about a new appreciation of democracy,” said Hamilton.
“You’re right,” added McCall. “The war has put an end to imperialism. The Kaiser is crushed. Germany is a republic. The little countries of middle Europe are independent. But especially to Russia do the real democrats of the world turn their eyes. I think that even Great Britain will have to give Ireland its freedom and relinquish its hold on the oppressed brown races—the Hindus and the Persians.”
Dr. Levin shook his head. “You ought to be right, but you aren’t. The war has set back democracy. Europe will be split into fifty little states, all wrangling over boundary lines, over seaports, over tariffs, over a hundred and one things. Politically, Europe will be back in the middle ages, while economically it is in the twentieth century.”
The crowning heresy to McCall and Hamilton came when Levin proclaimed Bismarck a greater statesman than Wilson, because he unified Europe, while Wilson divided it.
“At any rate,” said Hamilton at length, “we three are united by a common love of our country and by certain common ideals. We may not agree as to whether the war has brought those ideals any closer to humanity or not, although personally I think it has. But we do know that these ideals are ours—America’s.”
“Yes,” said Levin, “and we are a little cross-section of America—Catholic, Protestant and Jew—but an unusual cross-section. Wait until you see the reaction in this country. The Italians are crying for Italia Irredenta and Italy for the Italians. Poland is crying Poland for the Poles. And the hundred per cent Americans have already begun raising the same cry here. Of course, we’ve missed them while we were in France; but the hundred per centers were the men back home that kept the homefires of hatred burning—painting yellow signs on German bakers who didn’t invest a certain quota of their savings in Liberty bonds, boycotting Hungarian restaurants, refusing to eat German fried potatoes or listen to Wagner—stupid things like that. But there were more important things, too, deprivation of the right of free speech and assembly, and suppression of newspapers.”
Hamilton remembered some of the letters Margaret had written.
“Well, wasn’t it necessary to protect the country at home from disaffection?”
“In certain cases it was, certainly,” said Levin. “But in many cases—I won’t say ‘most,’ it wasn’t. That sort of thing grows. It becomes a passion, a religion, like Sadism, of inflicting punishment. Psychopathically it has an interesting explanation. Politically it is dangerous. There is no doubt that many persons derive keen pleasure in hurting others. And the war has stirred them up.
“At first this intolerance is fairly reasonable—it makes powerless the enemies of the government in the prosecution of war. Which is as it should be. Then it becomes ingrown. Instead of imprisoning traitors as they arise, people begin to stir them up so that they may satisfy the pleasure of imprisoning. Men begin to watch their neighbor for slips from the patriotic code. A patriot must do this thing and that and refrain from the other. There may be five hundred different kinds of patriots in actuality—just as we three represent three different points of view and political philosophy. But the hundred per center can understand only one kind—his own.