I have just received a letter from The Public of New York, stating that I am to have that magazine for six months with your compliments— for which I thank you most heartily. I judge that some of your work will appear in The Public, and I am eager to see anything you may write on the world muddle.
During the last few months I have seen, here and there, some references to you and your work evidently intended to be uncomplimentary; and I have noted that at least one of your books has been barred from the camps. All this gave me pleasure; for you could not be the power you have been for so long, and shall be, let us hope, for another quarter of a century, if those who flourish in the atmosphere of war could agree with you. I even saw some tittle tattle to the effect that your degree might be taken from you on the ground that, being a Pacifist, you must be pro-German! This struck me as a rich bit of unconscious humor; for you are rather more than a walking doctorate, and God alone could de-Jordanize you.
I have a strong suspicion that you have yet to do some of the greatest work of your life. The other day when we got the fake report that peace had been declared, and when all the bells were ringing, I said to my wife, 'They think peace has come, but it is the greater war that has begun.' You who know that killing a man is not equivalent to convincing him, will be a leader in the new war of ideas, and I will serve in the ranks on your side. I know very well that under
certain circumstances war cannot be avoided; but the war itself does not make me forget the circumstances.
Lately I have had a chance to feel the strength of the foe in a small way. I may had told you that I do reviews for the Minneapolis Journal. During the summer, the editor began to groom me for the Sunday editorial page; that is, he planned to have me do the Big Talking for the paper. Well, I began to talk for him — and there was an explosion in the editor's office. I was informed that only was I unpractical but that I did not understand Jesus Christ. (All of which may be quite true!) In reply, I pointed out the fact that if the Journal were to employ in succession all the forward-looking thinkers in all the nations, it would have the same trouble with each of them as it was having with me. I also stated that there were values somewhat greater than any editorial salary he could pay me. He didn't discharge me from the staff; but I am not making the Big Talk for the paper, and when I slip a bit of liberalism into my reviews, the blue pencil generally finds it, though now and then I do get some things across, for it appears that the editor is not infallible in the matter of detecting liberalism!
I finished "The Song of Three Friends" last month, and Macmillans will bring it out as soon as possible. Owing to the shortage and high prices of paper there seemed to be some reason to fear that the book might be delayed, especially since some of the more important poets have been turned down recently. The MS was read by more than the usual number of literary advisers, and the consensus of opinon seemed to be that the book was too "important" to be delayed. So the vice-president wrote me. I think they see the importance of the body of material upon which I am working. Anyway, the affair is encouraging. I feel free to tell you these things because you seemed to be genuinely interested in the poem, and also because you give me a safe feeling.
This letter is too long; but I've been wanting to write you for some time, and your kind thought of me in connection with The Public has given me a good excuse.
