When the great war broke upon an unsuspecting brotherhood of fellow humans, we were, as a nation, from prosperity and self-indulgence, perilously near the brink of disaster. It is only in the light of events and a backward glance toward the precipice which had yawned for us that we may now indulge in a certain sort of solemn consolation. At least, we have been saved from a worse fate, one that has bells on its toes—our national intellect was on the wane; likewise our national conscience. But we were not alone—all nations were afflicted, ours no more than the rest, but we were the younger and more opulent. Regeneration or degeneracy? That was the uppermost question in the public mind when the king of Berlin turned loose his hosts of degeneracy, thereby bringing back to its sober senses the brain power of civilized mankind. And with it came the brawn.

Now when brain and brawn hook up together the danger of getting stuck in the mire is well nigh impossible. Men who had gone sordid while amassing great fortunes and looked on passively while their families cut the swath to which wealth and position seemed to entitle them, jumped to their feet with a new light in their eyes, while men just entering upon the threshold of success stood in awe of consequences beyond their control. But the main thing to happen was that the world turned its face toward the great intruder and, thereby, its heels toward the fatal abyss into which millions would have fallen from sheer crowding from behind.

We had been following the modern tendency and had gone the limit in quest of that will-o’-the-wisp called pleasure—which we never quite found. We nearly did, or thought we surely would, but in our hot pursuit we heard the blast of a war trumpet and we stopped in our tracks!

The weakest link in the chain of self-gratification had broken—the War Lord and his hosts had gone stark mad! Now was the time for the cohorts of insanity to wreak vengeance upon the joy-seeking, peace-loving people of the world. We who were on the brink of another kind of pitfall—too much opulence—paused in awe and horror to gaze upon the oncoming hords. And right here began the regeneration of mankind.

No one, taking the larger view of the world’s greatest catastrophe since the flood, will hesitate to believe that, even unto its most horrible detail, it represents the working out of some great plan. The world was far better off after the flood, for when the waters receded it was found that the valleys had been enriched by the washings from the mountain-sides and the hills. A new virginity had entered into the soil, the future value of which, to mankind, being wholly beyond computation.

And so in the final reckoning this tremendous letting of blood will have long since shed light upon its true significance. To-day we estimate it upon the basis of its horrors, its seeming uselessness, the blight of its trail across our own dooryards. But we’ve all heard of the fungus growth which blights the progress of plants and trees; and parasites which destroy the grains of the field, bringing famine upon the population. In the present case the tentacles of the great Octopus of Degeneracy took such strangling hold upon the body politic that half a world seems doomed to die that the other half may live in aid of the great plan of the universe. In the meantime, no life is worth while that takes no part in the titanic struggle, which must go on and on until, in the words of our leader, “the world is made safe for democracy.”