Читать книгу Prize Orations of the Intercollegiate Peace Association - Intercollegiate Peace Association - Страница 5

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These orations are selected from hundreds of similar addresses spoken in recent years by hundreds of students in American colleges. I believe it is not too bold to say that they represent the highest level of undergraduate thinking and speaking. They are worthy interpreters of the cause of peace, but they are, as well, noble illustrations of the type of intellectual and moral culture of American students. Whoever reads them will, I believe, become more optimistic, not only over the early fulfillment of the dreams of peace among nations, but also over the intellectual and ethical condition of academic life.

For the simple truth is that the cause of peace makes an appeal of peculiar force to the undergraduate. It appeals to his imagination. This imagination is at once historic and prophetic. War makes an appeal to the historic imagination of the student. His study of Greek and Roman history has been devoted too largely to the wars that these peoples waged. Marathon, Salamis, Carthage, are names altogether too familiar and significant. By contrast he sees what this history, which is written in blood, might have become. If the millions of men slain had been permitted to live, and if the uncounted treasure spent had been economically used, the results in the history of civilization would have been far richer and nobler. He notes, too, does this student, that [Page viii] if the last decades of the eighteenth century and the first decades of the nineteenth had been free from wars in Europe, humanity would now have attained a far higher level of physical and intellectual strength. The historic imagination of the student pictures, as his reason interprets, such conditions. His prophetic imagination likewise exercises its creative function. The student sees nations to-day dwelling in armed truces and moving to and fro as a soldiery actual or possible. He realizes that war puts up what civilization puts down, and puts down what civilization elevates. He reads the lamented Robertson's great lecture on the poetry of war, but he knows also, as Robertson intimates, that "peace is blessed; peace arises out of charity." The poetry of peace is more entrancing than the poetry of carnage. To this primary element in the mind of the undergraduate—the imagination—our great cause therefore makes an appeal of peculiar earnestness.

To the reason of the college man, also, the cause of peace makes a peculiar appeal through its simple logic. War is most illogical. It breaks the law of the proper interpretation of causality. When two nations of adjacent territory cannot agree over a boundary line, why should settlement be made in terms of physical force? When two nations fail to see eye to eye in adjusting the questions of certain fishing rights, why should they incarnadine the seas in seeking for the truth to be applied in settlement? In civil disputes, why, asks the student, should rifles be employed to discover truth and right? War is an intellectual anachronism, a breach of logic. Of course, one may reply, humanity is not logical in its reasoning any more than it is exact in its observing. Of course it is not; but the college is set to cast out the rule of no-reason and to bring in the reign of reason. Peace furnishes a motive and a method of such advancement. Peace is logic for the individual and for the nation.

The illogical character of war is also made evident by the contrast between the college man as a thinker and war itself. The college man who thinks sees truth broadly; war interprets life narrowly, at the point of the bayonet. The college man who thinks sees truth deeply; war makes its primary appeal to the superficial love of glory, of pomp, and of circumstance. The college man who thinks sees truth in its highest relations; war is hell. The college man who thinks sees truth in long ranges and in far-off horizons; war is emotional, and the warrior flings the years into the hours. The college man who thinks, thinks accurately, with logic, with reason; war does not think—it strikes. "Strike," the college man may also say, "but hear!" he cries; "yes, think." If the college can make the student think, it has created the greatest force for making the world and the age a world and an age of peace.

It is plain enough, too, that the economic side of war makes a tremendous appeal to the student. The cost of the battleship Indiana was practically $6,000,000; the total value of grounds and buildings of the colleges and universities in Indiana is slightly more than $7,000,000, and the productive funds are $4,000,000. The total cost of the battleship Oregon was more than $6,500,000; the total value of grounds and buildings of the universities and colleges of Oregon is less than $2,000,000, and the productive funds amount to hardly more than $2,000,000. The cost of the battleship Iowa was nearly $6,000,000, and the productive funds of all the colleges and universities of the state are only $5,000,000. The battleship Kentucky cost $5,000,000; in the colleges of that state the total amount of productive funds is only $2,000,000, and the total value of grounds and buildings, $3,000,000. The battleship Alabama cost more than $4,500,000, and the entire property, real and personal, of all the universities and colleges in that state is less than $4,000,000. The cost of the battleship Wisconsin was more than $4,500,000; the whole value of all grounds and buildings of the colleges and universities of the state is only slightly more than $7,000,000. The battleship Maine cost more than $5,000,000, and the entire value in grounds, buildings, and productive funds of the colleges and universities of that state is little more than $5,000,000.

The value of the buildings of five hundred colleges and universities in this country was estimated in a recent year at $262,000,000, and the productive funds at $357,000,000. Leaving out those now in course of construction, the total cost of the battleships and armored cruisers of the United States named after individual states is $325,000,000.

The cost of maintaining these battleships during the fiscal year of 1910, though many were in commission but a small part of the year, amounted to no less than $33,000,000. The amount which all the colleges and universities in this country received in tuition fees in 1911 was only $20,000,000; and the entire income received both from fees and productive funds was only about $34,000,000. In other words, when one takes into account the depreciation of the battleship or armored cruiser, the entire cost of the thirty-eight battleships for a single year is greater than the administration of the entire American system of higher education.

Is it not painfully manifest that the cost of war constitutes a mighty argument for the economic mind of the student?

Moreover, I am inclined to believe that the very difficulties belonging to the triumph of our great cause constitute ground for its closer relationship to the college man. The college man wishes, as well as needs, a hard job. The easy task, the rosy opportunity, makes no appeal. He is like Garibaldi's soldiers, who, when the choice was once offered them by the commander to surrender to ease and safety, chose hardship and peril. The Boxer revolution in China was followed by hundreds of applications from college men and women to be sent forth to China to take the place of the martyrs. The difficulties in the progress of the great cause are of every sort and condition. Industrial narrowness and commercial greed, military and political ambitions, sectional zeal, national jealousy, the sensitiveness of each nation in matters of national honor, the glamour of the good and the beautiful under the sentiment of patriotism, the historic honor attending death for one's country, the ease of creating war scares among the people, the looseness of the organization of the higher forces of the world—all these conditions and more pile up into a Pelion on Ossa as a part of the difficulties standing in the progress of our great movement. But such difficulties inspire rather than deter. The student says, "I will; therefore I can." He also says, "I can; therefore I will." He knows that the forces fighting for him are more than those that fight against him, strong as these are. Man in his noblest relationships, the songs of the poet (the best interpreter, from Homer and Virgil to the "Winepress" of Alfred Noyes), the torture, the pains, the sufferings, the woes, the vision of the prophet of a loving and perfect humanity, the reason of logic—all these and more are to him inspirations, and strengthen him in his great quest. He is a knight of the Holy Grail that is filled from the river of the water of life.

Perhaps, furthermore, the cause makes its most impressive appeal to the collegian in its internationalism, or interpatriotism. This internationalism addresses itself to his own international appreciation. The collegian is a patriot. He is a patriot not only against a foreign country but often against certain parts of his own country—loyal to the interests which he believes a section of his own nation properly represents. The German students have fought for their Fatherland; they have also fought for the liberal sentiments of their own land against reactionary movements, as in 1848. In the American Civil War no brighter record is to be found than is embodied in the tablets in Memorial Hall, Cambridge, or in Memorial Hall, Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina. But the collegian possesses the international sense, and possesses it more and more deeply with each passing decade. His is the international mind, interpreting phenomena in terms of common justice. His is the international heart, feeling the universal joys and sorrows, woes and exultations. His is the international will, seeking to do good to all men. His is the international conscience, weighing right and duty in the [Page xiii] scales of divine humanity. Whatever interpretation he gives to the sayings of Paul that God made all nations of men to dwell on the face of the earth and has fixed the bounds of their habitation—whether he stops with the words "the face of the earth" or whether he goes on to interpret the limitations of their residence—it is nevertheless true that his mind, his heart, his will, and his conscience do go out toward all nations in their endeavor to realize their highest racial and interracial peace. No man is a foreigner to him.

I have, I trust, said enough to intimate that these orations arise out of a natural and normal condition of the student mind and heart. They also, in subject as well as in origin, bear a special message of cheer and hopefulness to all who have a good will toward the collegian and toward the great cause for which we all are laboring.

CHARLES F. THWING

President

Western Reserve University

Cleveland, Ohio