Principles of the Founders

Edwin D. Mead

The old Athenian life and our American life have much in common. The resemblances between Greek character and ours are marked. Those little Greek democracies were more like our great one than almost any intervening states. They offer us more pertinent examples and warnings than almost any other; and they are of peculiar value for us in this, that their history is rounded and complete, and in it we can see the various conflicting principles and tendencies working themselves out to the end, and so learn the full lesson of their logic. Pericles and Demosthenes speak to America as well as to Athens; and we may well domesticate their admonitions here to-day and emphasize them to our people and ourselves as the words of fellow-citizens, of Washington and Jefferson, of Sumner and Emerson. If the life and burning eloquence of Demosthenes teach anything, if the rounded period of history whose darkness he lights up teaches anything, they teach the vitality and the imperious moment of the appeal, in times of danger and temptation, to the fathers and to the great past, to the history and the teachings which in times of soberness have ever had the nation's highest honor. No nation which is virtuous and vital will ever be slave to the past; at the command of virtue and of vision it will snap precedent like a reed. But every people of seriousness, stability, and character is a reverent people; and when a people's reverence for its noble ancestors, its sacred oracles and its venerable charters ceases to be sturdy and becomes sentimental, much more when it ceases to exist at all, then the hour of that people's decay and doom hast struck. On this anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, let us remember and vow never to forget that when it becomes general or popular among us, as it has become common, to flout at the Declaration and its principles; whenever the nation commits itself to courses which for the sake of consistency and respectability invite and compel its disparagement; when our politics does not match our poetry and cannot be sung; when Washington and Jefferson and Sumner and Lincoln cease to be quoted in our cabinet and at our helm, then it is not well with us, but ill, and it is time to study the compass.

It is right to say, and let us remember it on this sacred anniversary, as an inspiration to duty, that Boston has been the center of the two great movements in our history, the movement which gave us independence and the movement which purged the land of slavery. If we could rear on Boston Common a monument upon which, around the central form of Samuel Adams, should be grouped the figures of James Otis and John Adams, John Hancock and Joseph Warren and their associates, how much that monument would represent of what was most dynamic in the days which led up to the American Revolution! If we could rear beside it a monument upon which, around the central figure of William Lloyd Garrison, should stand Wendell Phillips, Parker and Channing, Lowell and Emerson, Sumner and Andrew, how much would be represented by that group of what was most potent in the anti-slavery struggle! When the final history is written of the great social and industrial revolution into which we have already far advanced, and which will continue until there exists throughout the republic an industrial equality as great as the political equality which we now enjoy or claim to enjoy, it will be seen that here, too, Boston has done her conspicuous part. And when we survey the movement in behalf of the overthrow of war, in behalf of the peace of nations and the organization of the world, the preëminent task of our own time, we shall find that in this great movement Boston has led America; I think it is not too much to claim that she has led the world. As it was the glory of Boston and of Massachusetts, proudest of cities and commonwealths, strongest in patriotism, to lead the country in the assertion of national sovereignty against every false emphasis of state rights, in that long struggle which nearly cost the nation its life, and which made it forever impossible for the American to say henceforth, "My state is first," so it has been their glory to lead in the creation of the sentiment which meets the peculiar problem and menace of our own age, enabling and inspiring men to harmonize their politics and their religion, and know that their first allegiance is not to their nation but to humanity.

In this our Commonwealth and city have but been true to the sublime pointings and ideals of the leaders of the Revolution and the founders of the Republic, whom we celebrate to-day. Independence for the sake of independence, a new nation for the sake of a new nation,—that was not the aim and motive of our fathers. Their dream was of a new nation of juster institutions and more equal laws, a nation in which should dwell righteousness, and which should mark a new era among men. It should be especially an era of peace and brotherhood among the nations. They hated war. They believed that the time had come when the bloody dispensation of war, with all its terrible wickedness and waste, should cease; and their ambition and high hope was that their new republic might lead in the new dispensation of peace and order and mutual regard.