How many criminals, for selfish objects, have evinced personal courage like that of a soldier in action?—far greater, because not in obedience, but in opposition to power! Paid or commanded heroism is not heroism in the true sense. Thousands upon thousands in the peaceful walks of life have more worthily deserved glory by labour and sacrifice for the common good than they who are driven, under command, to slay their kind—who obey for no clearly-comprehended object, but first and foremost to preserve themselves. There are perhaps fifty men in five hundred, apart from the officers, whose dominant incentive in battle is other than self-preservation; whereas in peace one-half, if not more, of a like body of men utilize their physical and intellectual powers for the improvement of general conditions—and often without aiming at other recompense. The hour for lauding the soldier above the scientist and artisan is long since past, and vast military power, or military power of any sort, is a mockery of the present glorious age.
Can there be any more absurd sophistry than that of pretending that war corrects egoism? War is bred of egoism, bred of the cruellest of all egoisms—imperial ambition! In peace the basest selfishness is less harmful than the selfishness of international conflict. Even those men who have amassed enormous fortunes by robbing the poor have been of greater benefit to the world in general than if their intelligence and force had been utilized in planning how to crush another nation. Egoism, after all, is necessary to progress, and war is but its most barbaric expression.
Machiavelli’s assertion that power is the keynote of all policy has been grasped by the German war-philosophers, who flatter themselves they see clearly when looking upon the present epoch through the eyes of an unscrupulous fifteenth-century Italian. Machiavelli perhaps spoke truth for his time—a truth, moreover, still real for our own; but his word power has now a different significance. Now only is the power of reason generally developed; now only the many nations of the world speak the same moral language; now only the masses, formerly forced to be war-like animals, are thinking and, to a great extent, cultured beings.
But what is the use of reiterating what every thoughtful mind has heard crying to-day over the bleeding earth? That Reason which vast catastrophes invariably rouse to ephemeral life soon dies in the gathering storm-cloud of humanity’s innately savage passions! If the race most boastful of its culture, a race which leapt so rapidly from the confining narrowness of old-time heresies, could give birth to the devastating horror that has reigned for nearly five years, and threatened to thrust the world back into medieval darkness, what faith can be placed in mere Reason? What faith can be placed in any human argument, ideal, or belief—what faith in Man himself?—The majesty of human intellect, before so deliberate a destruction of its own works, is made to appear no more than a vain invention of fancy; and the supreme creature of all knowable creation appears of no more enduring significance than as depicted by Lamartine: “Ce pauvre insecte c’est l’homme, qui chante quelques jours devant Dieu sa jeunesse et ses amours, et puis se tait pour l’éternité!”
VIII
WHEN the spring of 1916 was in full leaf an unexpected pleasure was accorded us: permission from the Governor to ride bicycles within certain stated limits! The privilege was welcomed almost joyously by all; for, since there were no horses and no means of transit for those living in the suburbs, or those out of touch with such trams as were running, many workers were obliged to walk miles each day to and from their places of occupation. Besides, the pleasure-hungry inhabitants—doomed to remain summer and winter within the gloomy city—were glad of a chance to make excursions into woods and open country without expense or too great fatigue. Every man, woman, and child able to pedal immediately planned how to purchase a wheel, although many were only able to do so after a long period of saving—by cutting down their food supply, and other sacrifices. There were, of course, not enough bicycles in the country to meet even one-tenth of this suddenly-created demand, since most of the Belgian stock had been requisitioned for army purposes. But no sooner was the cheering permission given than the market was flooded, as though by magic, with wheels of all styles and all prices—made in Germany! Every shop was stocked to overflowing, sold out, and restocked with incredible rapidity.