Too weak to stand against the winds.
What then? Farewell? No, let me—
I will find the face of God
With you among the worms.
Anon.
Notes of a Cosmopolite
Alexander S. Kaun
Mit dem Nationalhaß ist es ein eigenes Ding. Auf den untersten Stufen der Kultur wird man ihn immer am stärksten und heftigsten finden. Es giebt aber eine Stufe, wo er ganz verschwindet, wo man gewissermaßen über den Nationen steht und man ein Glück oder Weh seines Nachbarvolkes fühlt, als wärs dem eigenen Volk begegnet.—Goethe.
Uncle Sam vs. Onkel Michel
You remember the story of the king parading every morning before his meek subjects who expressed their great admiration for the sovereign’s gorgeous raiment, until a certain simpleton shouted: “Why, the king is nude!” I do not recall the end of the story, nor how the impudent sceptic was punished; but the part I do remember recurs to me every time some elemental power comes along and sweeps away the ephemeral figments from the body of mankind. Mars has more than once played the part of the rude simpleton; this god has neither tact nor manners; with his heavy boot he dots the i’s and compels us to name pigs pigs. His first victim falls the frail web of diplomatic niceties. Talleyrand’s cynicism about the function of the diplomat’s tongue to conceal truth has become bankrupt: who takes seriously nowadays the casuistry of the manicolored Books issued by the belligerents? Even Tartuffian England has had to doff the robe of idealism and to admit through the Times that it would have fought regardless of whether the neutrality of Belgium had been infringed upon or not. Good. One of the salutary results of the war (let us hope there will be more than one good result) has already been realized in the wholesale unmasquing of international politics; it will do immense good for mankind-Caliban to see his real image.