tion,--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 democ