As to the future:—
‘If it is certain that France must force another fight with Germany in a short span of years, if she pursues her present policy of implacable antagonism; if it is certain that England is already carefully seeking the European equilibrium, and that a responsible minister has already written of the possibility of a military accord with Germany; if there has been seen, owing to the foolish belief of the Allies in force—a belief which increases in inverse ratio to the Allied possession of effective force—the re-birth of Russian militarism, as there will assuredly be seen the re-birth of German militarism; if there are quarrels between Greece and Italy, between Italy and the Jugo-Slavs, between Hungary and Austria, between every tiny nation and its neighbour, even between England and France, it is because, when war has once been invoked, it cannot easily be exorcised. It will linger long in Europe: the straw will smoulder and at any moment may break into flame....
‘This is not lurid imagining: it is as logical as a piece of Euclidean reasoning. Only by a violent effort to change our fashion of seeing things can it be averted. War-making is now a habit.’
And as to the outcome on the mind of the people:—
‘The war has killed elasticity of mind, independence of judgment, and liberty of expression. We think not so much of the truth as of conforming to the tacitly accepted fiction of the hour.[78]
Sir Philip Gibbs renders on the whole a similar verdict. He says:—
‘The people of all countries were deeply involved in the general blood-guiltiness of Europe. They made no passionate appeal in the name of Christ or in the name of humanity for the cessation of the slaughter of boys and the suicide of nations, and for a reconciliation of peoples upon terms of some more reasonable argument than that of high explosives. Peace proposals from the Pope, from Germany, from Austria, were rejected with fierce denunciation, most passionate scorn, as “peace plots” and “peace traps,” not without the terrible logic of the vicious circle, because indeed, there was no sincerity of renunciation in some of those offers of peace, and the Powers opposite to us were simply trying our strength and our weakness in order to make their own kind of peace, which should be that of conquest. The gamblers, playing the game of “poker,” with crowns and armies as their stakes, were upheld generally by the peoples, who would not abate one point of pride, one fraction of hate, one claim of vengeance, though all Europe should fall in ruin, and the last legions of boys be massacred. There was no call from people to people across the frontiers of hostility. “Let us end this homicidal mania. Let us get back to sanity and save our younger sons. Let us hand over to justice those who will continue the slaughter of our youth!” There was no forgiveness, no generous instinct, no large-hearted common sense in any combatant nation of Europe. Like wolves they had their teeth in one another’s throats, and would not let go, though all bloody and exhausted, until one should fall at the last gasp, to be mangled by the others. Yet in each nation, even in Germany, there were men and women who saw the folly of the war and the crime of it, and desired to end it by some act of renunciation and repentance, and by some uplifting of the people’s spirit to vault the frontiers of hatred and the barbed wire which hedged in patriotism. Some of them were put in prison. Most of them saw the impossibility of counteracting the forces of insanity which had made the world mad, and kept silent, hiding their thoughts and brooding over them. The leaders of the nations continued to use mob-passion as their argument and justification, excited it anew when its fires burned low, focussed it upon definite objectives, and gave it a sense of righteousness by the high-sounding watchwords of liberty, justice, honour, and retribution. Each side proclaimed Christ as its captain, and invoked the blessing and aid of the God of Christendom, though Germans were allied with Turks, and France was full of black and yellow men. The German people did not try to avert their ruin by denouncing the criminal acts of their War Lords nor by deploring the cruelties they had committed. The Allies did not help them to do so, because of their lust for bloody vengeance and their desire for the spoils of victory. The peoples shared the blame of their rulers because they were not nobler than their rulers. They cannot now plead ignorance or betrayal by false ideals which duped them, because character does not depend on knowledge, and it was the character of European peoples which failed in the crisis of the world’s fate, so that they followed the call-back of the beast in the jungle rather than the voice of the Crucified One whom they pretended to adore.’
And perhaps most important of all (though the clergy here just stand for the complacent mob mind; they were no worse than the laity), this:—
‘I think the clergy of all nations, apart from a heroic and saintly few, subordinated their faith, which is a gospel of charity, to national limitations. They were patriots before they were priests, and their patriotism was sometimes as limited, as narrow, as fierce, and as blood-thirsty as that of the people who looked to them for truth and light. They were often fiercer, narrower, and more desirous of vengeance than the soldiers who fought, because it is now a known truth that the soldiers, German and Austrian, French and Italian and British, were sick of the unending slaughter long before the ending of the war, and would have made a peace more fair than that which now prevails if it had been put to the common vote in the trenches; whereas the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Archbishop of Cologne, and the clergy who spoke from many pulpits in many nations under the Cross of Christ, still stoked up the fires of hate and urged the armies to go on fighting “in the cause of Justice,” “for the defence of the Fatherland,” “for Christian righteousness,” to the bitter end. Those words are painful to write, but as I am writing this book for truth’s sake, at all cost, I let them stand.’[79]
From Passion to Indifference: the Result of Drift