Evening Post. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1927. COOLIDGE'S CONUNDRUM

Evening Post, Volume CIV, Issue 68, 17 September 1927, Page 8

Evening Post. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1927. COOLIDGE'S CONUNDRUM

On the 2nd August—the fourth anniversary of his first swearing-in as President of the United States—the silent and mysterious Mr. Coolidge summoned to his rural White House m the Black Hills of South Dakota the select group of journalists through whom he had been speaking to the world during his so-called holiday. "Are you all there?" he asked, and the question did not take long to answer, as the full number was only six. The. President's secretary then locked and guarded the door, and the great man himself distributed to the company six slips of paper on which was typewritten: "I do not choose lo run for President in 1928." Orally, he had nothing to add—literally nothing, it seems, for we are told that in answer to the reporters' requests for further information "Mr. Coolidge merely shook his head negatively." "President Coolidge has announced that he will not be a candidate for the Presidency in 1928" was the first message that reached us on the subject, and the decision was so interpreted by his countrymen. They were amazed that Mr. Coolidge should have thrown the game away just when the ball was at his feel, but there was at least some comfort in the fact that a much-debated question was at last settled, and candidates and parly managers were free to make their arrangements accordingly. Such was the first impression, but the second showed that the surprise and the comfort were alike premature. Mr. Coolidge had not said "I will not run for" but "I do not choose to run," and on reflection about half of his countrymen came to the conclusion that the distinction was vital.

When this difference of opinion was reported by cable, those who dissented from the "prima facie" view of the formula seemed to be imputing too refined a subtlety to the President, but it is impossible to read the arguments in which American newspapers now to hand abound without seeing that the dissenters have quite a plausible case. The silent Mr. Coolidge may indeed be congratulated upon having broken silence on the political issue which people most wanted to hear about, and, upon having done so in words of one syllable which effectually disguise his meaning. He may also be congratulated upon the silence which he has since maintained when a few more monosyllables would have removed all ambiguity and saved reams of futile argument and speculation about his meaning. "Editors and Press correspondents," says the "Literary Digest" in rather appalling language, "speedily sensed the issuance of a historic statement." The historicity that the "Digest" was here sensing was in relation to the effect of the statement upon the succession to the Presidency. But the form of the statement may give it a higher claim to remembrance as an example of the skill with which the simplest possible words and constructions may be used to conceal thought. Oulside of Holy- Writ it is not often that a few syllables have provoked such immense masses of interpretation, but here the man who set the puzzle can look on with the key in his pocket and enjoy the joke—a privilege denied to the sacred writers. Everything of course turns on the word "choose." Was Mr. Coolidge "merely staling a preference, or asserting a final decision"? What may be termed the orthodox interpretation takes the second alternative and accepts the statement as an absolute refusal. 2[lieii a man, saja "I clo not choose

to do a thing," he means, most emphatically, writes Mr. Clinton W. Gilbert in the "New York Evening Post," that he has made up his mind, not to do it. Other authorities strengthen this argument from general usage by an appeal to the speech of the New England to which Mr. Coolidge belongs. There can be no doubt, says the "Boston Post," that President Coolidge has firmly determined on retirement. When he says he does not "choose" to be a candidate, that, in the New England sense, is positive. The habitnal New England understatement is typical. If he had said "I do not think I will be a candidate," everyone who knows the JSew England habit of speech would take it as a flat refusal. A writer in the "New York Times" who takes the same view supports it by asking why/should there have been any announcement at all "if the President intended to have a string tied to his disclaimer of candidacy?" Immediately after the an-, nouncement there was force in this question, but every day that the President has since allowed to pass in silence has weakened the force of this question and strengthened that of another, viz., "Why, if the President objects to having a string tied to his candidacy, has he not cut the string which others have tied to it?" There has of course been a copious appeal to the dictionaries, but it does not seem to help very much. Professor Whitney is quoted as saying that " 'choose" always indicates an act of the will," and the statement is beyond challenge. But the root of the ambiguity here is in the negative. President Coolidge does not say "I choose to stand aside," which would have indicated an act of the will, but "I do not choose to run," which is, in form at any rate,, the negation of such an act. In conversation, no doubt, as Mr. Gilbert says, ."I do not choose" often means "I choose not" —that is to say, the apparent negative is really an affirmative. But when one thinks of this cautious man brooding over his decision for months, committing it at last to a typewritten formula to be communicated behind locked doors, and then listening for weeks in silence to his countrymen arguing about its meaning, the idea that the ambiguity is not studied is difficult to resist. It would have "been so easy to say "I shall not run"—it would be so easy to say it now—if that is really the oracle's meaning. The amount of meaning, and of contradictory meaning, that President Coolidge has managed to pack into that brief formula is certainly a triumph oi expression or concealment on, his part and of interpretation on the part of his commentators. According to one eminent authority, 'Mr. Arthur Brisbane, the President's meaning is "absolutely clear," and it is this:— Selecting his words admirably, ho (the President) says, "I could be reelected in 1928 if I choose, but I do not choose. I have been elected onco. I nm entitled to a second election. There is no third election or third term question involved. No candidate could beat mo for the Republican nomination. No Democrat could beat me at the polls but I do not choose to run." Mr. David Lawrence, a journalist of equal eminence,-is equally clear that the President meant exactly the opposite, and paraphrases him as follows :r— I do not choose to uso my office to get aolcgates, and I do not choose to make an active campaign for the Presidential nomination in 1928. If my party thinks I should not have another term and wishes to nominate somebody else, I will lnakc no contest against my party but will cheerfully abide by its decision. It my party wishes mo to servo, I will do so gladly in tho futuro as I havo in tho past. Was the Delphic oracle itself ever more successful in packing much into little and giving equal satisfaction to both sides?