Essay On American Contribution and the Democratic Idea | Page 5

inexplicable. To him the
underlying issue was not democratic, but imperialistic; and this was
partly because he was unable to make a mental connection between a
European war and the brand of democracy he recognized. Preaching
and propaganda fail unless it can be brought home to a people that
something dear to their innermost nature is at stake, that the fate of the
thing they most desire, and are willing to make sacrifices for, hangs in
the balance.
During a decade the old political parties, between which there was now
little more than an artificial alignment, had been breaking up.
Americans were absorbed in the great liberal movement begun under

the leadership of President Roosevelt, the result of which was to
transform democracy from a static to a pragmatic and evolutionary
conception,--in order to meet and correct new and unforeseen evils.
Political freedom was seen to be of little worth unless also
accompanied by the economic freedom the nation had enjoyed before
the advent of industrialism. Clerks and farmers, professional men and
shopkeepers and artisans were ready to follow the liberal leaders in
states and nation; intellectual elements from colleges and universities
were enlisted. Paralleling the movement, at times mingling with it, was
the revolt of labour, manifested not only in political action, but in
strikes and violence. Readily accessible books and magazines together
with club and forum lectures in cities, towns, and villages were rapidly
educating the population in social science, and the result was a growing
independent vote to make politicians despair.
Here was an instance of a democratic culture growing in isolation,
resentful of all external interference. To millions of Americans--
especially in our middle western and western states--bent upon social
reforms, the European War appeared as an arresting influence.
American participation meant the triumph of the forces of reaction.
Colour was lent to this belief because the conservative element which
had opposed social reforms was loudest in its demand for intervention.
The wealthy and travelled classes organized preparedness parades and
distributed propaganda. In short, those who had apparently done their
utmost to oppose democracy at home were most insistent that we
should embark upon a war for democracy across the seas. Again, what
kind of democracy? Obviously a status quo, commercially imperialistic
democracy, which the awakening liberal was bent upon abolishing.
There is undoubtedly in such an office as the American presidency
some virtue which, in times of crisis, inspires in capable men an
intellectual and moral growth proportional to developing events.
Lincoln, our most striking example, grew more between 1861 and 1865
than during all the earlier years of his life. Nor is the growth of
democratic leaders, when seen through the distorted passions of their
day, apparently a consistent thing. Greatness, near at hand, is startlingly
like inconsistency; it seems at moments to vacillate, to turn back upon
and deny itself, and thus lays itself open to seemingly plausible
criticism by politicians and time servers and all who cry out for

precedent. Yet it is an interesting and encouraging fact that the faith of
democratic peoples goes out, and goes out alone, to leaders
who--whatever their minor faults and failings --do not fear to reverse
themselves when occasion demands; to enunciate new doctrines,
seemingly in contradiction to former assertions, to meet new crises.
When a democratic leader who has given evidence of greatness ceases
to develop new ideas, he loses the public confidence. He flops back
into the ranks of the conservative he formerly opposed, who catch up
with him only when he ceases to grow.
In 1916 the majority of the American people elected Mr. Wilson in the
belief that he would keep them out of war. In 1917 he entered the war
with the nation behind him. A recalcitrant Middle West was the first to
fill its quota of volunteers, and we witnessed the extraordinary
spectacle of the endorsement of conscription: What had happened? A
very simple, but a very great thing Mr. Wilson had made the issue of
the war a democratic issue, an American issue, in harmony with our
national hopes and traditions. But why could not this issue have been
announced in 1914 or 1915? The answer seems to be that peoples, as
well as their leaders and interpreters, must grow to meet critical
situations. In 1861 the, moral idea of the Civil War was obscured and
hidden by economic and material interests. The Abraham Lincoln who
entered the White House in 1881 was indeed the name man who signed
the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863; and yet, in a sense, he was not
the same man; events and responsibilities had effected a profound but
logical growth in his personality. And the people of the Union were not
ready to endorse Emancipation in 1861. In 1863, in the darkest hour of
the