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Antietam. He tells of a rabbit making its way through a gap in the lines, showing a white flag of truce as he ran. An Irishman seeing it said, "Go it! I wish I was going where you are going." "Yes," said a comrade by his side, "I would be going too, if t'were not for my character." It was that character exhibited in war, but developed in Peace, which made. the ratio of courage so high in many of the battles of the Civil War. It was not the greater range of the gun, the better marksmanship, nor any such physical reason, but it was the character of the men on both sides, the North and the South, that made these bloody contests what they were. This suggests the part that universities and schools must take in this great movement for World Peace-to keep the hard discipline that is found in the camp, and on the march; to teach the men to do their duty, even when they do not understand the plan of the campaign or see the use of the tactics; to fix in them a character which cares not for comfort but for conquest; but above all things else to produce in them a spirit which will make them indifferent to their own loss or fortune, or even to life itself, in the devotion to interests which are larger than their own; which will plant in their hearts "the soldier's faith against the doubt of civil life, more besetting and harder to overcome than all the misgivings of the battle-field; which will cause them to love glory more than to wallow in ease."

There is our chance, our best chance to help the cause of internal and international Peace-not by contributing to appropriations for carrying on war, but by intelligence, by a greater industrial skill and individual initiative; by greater willingness to endure hardship as a good soldier, not merely physical hardship, sleeping on the bare ground, or going without food, and shelter, but by holding ourselves to some rigid course of study, some discipline, some high profession, by thinking through the problems of life until we come out upon the boundaries of the known truth. Our task should be in teaching men, not alone how to save life, nor to prolong life, nor to make it more comfortable, but how to lose life nobly. It is the miser of life as well as of wealth whom we hold in contempt. Some time ago I wrote what I called the "Soldier's Recessional," descriptive

of the passing of the great choristers of our Civil War through the narrow arch which hides the everlasting from this life

Soon, soon will pass the last gray pilgrim through,

Of that thin line in surplices of blue;

Winding as some tired stream asea

Soon, soon will sound upon our listening ears,

His last song's quaver as he disappears

Beyond our answering litany;

And soon the faint antiphonal refrain

Which memory repeats in sweetened strain,

Will come as from some far cloud shore;

Then for a space the hush of unspoke prayer,

And we who've knelt shall rise with heart to dare
The thing in Peace they sang in war.

(Great applause.)

"The song they sang in war," was not merely a love of Union, it was not a hate of slavery, it was not a devotion to any political theory, but it was a readiness to give their lives for something greater than themselves, something beyond their selfish interests, something beyond those dearest to them, something even which they could not understand. God grant that we have not to study again our lesson in such a school, but that Peace, if it come by arbitration, comes not at the price of those virtues which are the most precious possessions of the people who should make the league of Peace-honesty, reverence, fearlessWe must keep the soldier's valor, and the soldier's readiness to give his life; we must make every student a soldier in these characteristics, but we must teach him to give his life, not by telling him how to take life, but by showing him how to ennoble and enrich life. (Great applause.)

ness.

DR. BUTLER:

As the next speaker, I present a fellow citizen whom we are always glad to hear for himself alone. His years of leadership in this community have made his voice always welcome when moral principles are at stake. In addition, he comes to us to-night with his hands filled with credentials. He is not only the leader of the New York Society for Ethical Culture, not only the Professor of Social and Political Ethics in Columbia University, but—as I have the honor of announcing for the first time-by the action

of the Prussian Ministry of Education, the Theodore Roosevelt, Professor-elect, in the University of Berlin for the year 1908-09. I present Dr. Felix Adler.

What Can We Do?

DR. FELIX ADLER

MR. CHAIRMAN, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: The point to which I desire to address myself to-night is "What can we do?” Not what can governments do, but what can you and I do to advance the interests of Peace, and especially what is the duty of the universities and of the educated class whom the universities trained? There are those who see the approach of Peace in the near future. There are others, more pessimistic in temperament, who regard the day of Peace as far off. But that question need not concern us to-night. There is a duty laid upon every one of us, in the words of the Scripture, to "Seek Peace and pursue it." It is for us to pursue it steadfastly, no matter when the goal will be attained.

And more particularly I would speak of what those should do who have had the advantage of a university education. I believe that university men have a special function. They are citizens, like the rest, but they have a special function in the matter of citizenship and in regard to the Peace of the world.

The presence on this platform of the distinguished men who represent the ancient universities of Oxford and Cambridge, has led my thoughts back for a moment to the origin of the great universities, and I stop to ask myself: What was it that called them into being? What was the purpose which they served at their origin? Reflection and reading have led me to believe that all institutions are, as it were, stamped at their origin, and that the purpose imprinted upon them in the moment of their birth is never wholly lost, and that they can never wholly depart from it. Now, to serve what purpose did these great universities spring into being? They came into being in response to a social need. They were not founded, they grew; and they grew in response to a great social need, a need that has since been often forgotten, but that can never be permanently obscured. They came in response to the need of finding intellectual supports for the highest and deepest faiths of mankind. Unfortunately, at

that time the faith was conceived of too rigidly. It stood like a rigid wall, which the play of intellect could not affect. And so it came to pass that the intellect, wearying of its effort, recoiled upon itself. And the universities restricted themselves more or less to the promotion of utilities and the training of the intellectual faculties. But the university of the future will resume the purpose for which it came into life, and of all the faiths for which it will seek to supply intellectual supports, none is more important than the faith that good in the end will triumph over evil, sanity over madness, civilization over barbarism, and that Peace will replace War.

Let me briefly mention two ways in which you, my fellow students, you the men and women of our colleges and universities, can be the sustainers and promoters of Peace. In the first place the university students and graduates ought above all others to stand for sober second thought in times of popular excitement. When the storm is abroad, when the multitude rages like a weltering sea, when every safeguard threatens to be swept away, then it is the special duty of those who have learned deliberation, who have been trained in the higher institutions of learning, to stand for deliberation. In monarchical countries there are barriers outside the people. The will of the monarch is such a barrier against popular passion. In a democracy there can be no barriers outside the people, the barriers must all be within the people. The graduates of universities should form a barrier against popular passion.

There are two phrases one often hears, "Public sentiment,' "Public opinion." For my part I am satisfied with neither of them. Sentiment is fluctuating; opinion, as Plato long ago told us, is capricious. There is something better than public sentiment and public opinion, namely, public reason. It is public reason for which the educated classes ought, above all others, to stand. By checking popular frenzies they can help the cause of Peace.

Secondly, they can be of immense service by counteracting one of the principal causes of war, namely, the antipathy which is so generally felt against whatever is alien and strange. In early times the stranger was ipso facto the enemy, and even at the present day war is often due to the sheer misunderstanding and mistrust of aliens.

And, on the contrary, nothing is nobler in culture than the complete transformation which it works in this sentiment. The cultivated man is one who realizes that the type of civilization represented by foreign countries is a necessary complement to the type of civilization represented by his own country. He is one who strives to appropriate and assimilate whatever is excellent in the life, the thought, the ideals of strangers. Culture makes for Peace; and universities, so far as they stand for culture, make for Peace. The cultivated man is one who is able truly to say, Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto.

And now, in closing, permit me one additional word. I have often speculated—who has not?—on the subject of what is called earthly immortality. There have been various pleasing ways in which men have been immortalized, so to speak, in this earthly fashion. Some men's names linger on in flowers, as for instance that of Linnaeus, the celebrated botanist, in the delicate and fragrant linnaea. The names of others have been attached to trees, like the famous Cherokee chief, whose name lasts on in the stately Sequoia. Others are perpetuated by attaching their names to great thoroughfares, like the "Goethe Strasse" the "Rue Voltaire." Others perpetuated their names by inscribing them over the portals of the philanthropic institutions which they have founded. But, if I may be permitted to say so, there is a finer, a more spiritual way than this, and that is to be willing that the name shall be obliterated, not to desire that it shall continue to be mentioned; to sink the private self in some objective good, like the anonymous builders of the great cathedrals, whose names indeed are forgotten, but who continue to live in the beauty and perfection of the edifices which they reared. (Applause.) At The Hague there will be a Temple of Peace, and that is well. But it can but be the symbol and token of another Temple of Peace "not builded by hands," to which each one of us can contribute his building stone; a temple whose world-wide dome and shining arches will one day gather beneath them a sanctified and ennobled humanity. That temple is as yet a mere vision; but surely the day will dawn, however dark the clouds that obscure its dawning, when the vision will come true. And blessed are we if we are contributors in the least to bring it nearer. In that day no one will hurt another any more, and no one will wound another any more;

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