I know that both America and England feel that Europe is not getting on with the peace, that she still has large armies, still fights, and at the same time cries out for help. Russia and France still have great armies, and this naturally makes smaller states arm too. Of course it is all desperately disappointing to some of us. We had hoped that this was a war to end wars—I think it has ended the biggest wars, yet there seem to be a few small private wars going on, and still a great deal of fear and hatred left. I am sure that you will never end war with wars.
I believe that the safest and surest way to get out of war is to join some sort of league of nations. That misrepresented and much despised League has already prevented three small wars, it has registered over one hundred treaties, has repatriated nearly four hundred thousand prisoners—not a bad record for only half a league. I think it is enough to make every woman in America want to join it in some form or other, certainly any of those who have had sons in the war. It is the memory of the anguish of the mothers and fathers who watched for four years which gives me the courage to speak plainly here to-night. You see, the anguish in a mother’s heart is felt in all other mothers’ hearts over the world, even though they be enemy mothers. If this is true, mothers in any country can be members. I was told to be careful. Why careful? Of what? I have not anything to say that could hurt any one in America, and I only want to try and help the thousands of people in less fortunate countries than America. Anyhow, I do believe that America likes people to say what they mean and care about.
No one could say that America does not care about Europe. Look at the way the American Relief Committee is helping Russia. It is the admiration of the whole of England; often I have heard it referred to in the House of Commons. Yet I don’t believe that the greatest philanthropy in the world can add much to the permanent reconstruction of the world, and that is what the world needs more now than anything—reconstruction. It is all very well to hear people talk of European entanglements, but the world is already tangled, and we have to think of a plan to disentangle ourselves. No one could think that English fathers and mothers—with nearly eight hundred thousand sons who will never return—would want to join in a League which would entangle them or any one else in war. The English know enough about wars never to want to fight or to see any one else have to fight. These mothers and fathers think, as I feel sure the fathers and mothers of America do, that the safest and sanest way to get out of wars is to join some sort of association of nations for peace. The Washington Conference shows us what can happen when great countries with great ideals get together. The difference between people with ideals and people without is simply the difference between Pagans and Christians—a Pagan is a man whose standard of right does not extend beyond his own interest. Now we Anglo-Saxons rather pride ourselves that our civilisation was built on Christianity. If that is the case, there is no doubt that a lot of Pagans have slipped in among us—perhaps they have also been proselytising. Don’t let us proselytise too far, don’t let us forget the faith of our forefathers. It must have taken a tremendous faith mixed with a double dose of courage to have crossed the Atlantic in a shell of a boat—yet they did. They were not Pagans. Civilisation has been nearly destroyed by Pagans. We cannot give them a second chance. It is wonderfully helpful to look back and see the kind of men in all countries who have made civilisation. They were not men who carried a grudge, they were not men who hated, but men with an inner consciousness of what man really is capable of, men who realised that life is redeemed only by a purpose bigger than themselves, and a love which passes all understanding.
III[C]
“We must put into public life those qualities which women have had to put into their home life.”
IT seems a strange thing to be here—but my life is a little like that of Alice in Wonderland. It gets curiouser and curiouser. When I sailed from Plymouth to the House of Commons, I may tell you frankly I didn’t half realise what the voyage would be like. I soon discovered that it was the kind of voyage which would take the spiritual faith of the Pilgrim Fathers and the courage of Sir Francis Drake. They both sailed from my port, and I have had to use both their courage and their faith.
However, I think women possess both courage and faith. When I speak of women I don’t mean every woman, I mean real women, women who care about real things—the sort of women who have not only borne men, but have given them such unselfish love that the world has seen, through them, a bit of what the love of God is like.
Now, if we possess courage and faith, it will be no use to us unless we use it. Faith is like a belief—it is only helpful if it leads us to knowledge. Belief in God will only help us if it leads us to knowledge of God.