Of course, the inevitable happened—the Archduke’s will became law, and the lady went upstairs in tears, while I and two or three others (Catholics among us) thought and said, “Heaven help Europe when the time comes for its destinies to depend largely on the judgment of a man whose be-muddled intellect cannot distinguish between morality of the real world and of an entirely fantastic and fictitious one.”
ONE OF THE OLDEST, FEEBLEST, AND LEAST CAPABLE OF MEN
That time, as we now know, never came, but a still more fatal time did come—the cruel, ironical, and sinister time of July 28, 1914, when one of the oldest, feeblest, and least capable of living men, the Emperor of Austria, under the pretence of avenging the death of the heir-presumptive to his throne, signed with his trembling hand, which could scarcely hold the pen, the first of his many proclamations of war, and so touched the button of the monstrous engine that set Europe aflame.
The Archduke Ferdinand was foully done to death in discharging a patriotic duty, but to think that the penalty imposed on the world for the assassination of a man of his calibre and capacity for usefulness (or yet for the violation of the principles of public safety, thereby involved) has been the murdering of millions of men of many nationalities, the destruction of an entire kingdom, the burning of historic cities, the impoverishment of the rich and the starvation of the poor, the outraging of women and the slaughter of children, is also to think that for the past 365 days the destinies of humanity have been controlled by demons, who must be shrieking with laughter at the stupidities of mankind.
Thank God, we are not required to think anything quite so foolish, although we can not escape from a conclusion almost equally degrading. Victor Hugo used to say that only kings desired war, and that with the celebration of the United States of Europe we should see the beginning of the golden age of Peace. But the events of the tremendous days from July 28 to August 4,1914, show us with humiliating distinctness that though Kaisers, Emperors, Crown Princes, and Archdukes may be the accidental instruments of invisible powers in plunging humanity into seas of blood, a war is no sooner declared by any of them, however feeble or fatuous, than all the nations concerned make it their own. That was what happened in Central Europe the moment Austria declared war on Serbia, and the history of man on this planet has no record of anything more pitiful than the spectacle of Germany—“sincere, calm, deep-thinking Germany,” as Carlyle called her, whose triumph in 1870 was “the hopefullest fact” of his time—stifling her conscience in order to justify her participation in the conflict.
“GOOD GOD, MAN, DO YOU MEAN TO SAY …”
“We have tried in vain to localize the just vengeance of our Austrian neighbour for an abominable royal murder,” said the Germans, knowing well that the royal murder was nothing but a shameless pretext for an opportunity to test their strength against the French, and give law to the rest of Europe.
“Let us pass over your territory in order to attack our enemy in the West, and we promise to respect your independence and to recompense you for any loss you may possibly sustain,” said Germany to Belgium, without a thought of the monstrous crime of treachery which she was asking Belgium to commit against France.
“Stand aside in a benevolent neutrality, and we undertake not to take any of the possessions of France in Europe,” said Germany to Great Britain, without allowing herself to be troubled by so much as a qualm about the iniquity of asking us to trade with her in the French colonies. And when we rejected Germany’s infamous proposals, and called on her to say if she meant to respect the independence of Belgium, whose integrity we had mutually pledged ourselves to protect, her Chancellor stamped and fumed at our representative, and said, “Good God, man, do you mean to say that your country will go to war for a scrap of paper?”
A GERMAN HIGH PRIEST OF PEACE
Nor did the theologians, publicists, and authors of Germany show a more sensitive conscience than her statesmen. One of the theologians was Adolf Harnack, professor of Church History in Berlin and intimate acquaintance of the Kaiser. Not long before the war he published a book entitled “What is Christianity?” which began with the words, “John Stuart Mill used to say humanity could not be too often reminded that there was once a man named Socrates. That is true, but still more important it is to remind mankind that a man of the name of Jesus Christ once lived among them.” On this text the Book proceeded to enforce the practical application of Christ’s teaching to the modern world, and particularly to propound his doctrine of the wickedness and futility of violence, which led the author to the conclusion that it was “not necessary for justice to use force in order to remain justice.”
Somewhat later Professor Harnack came to this country to attend, if I remember rightly, a World Missionary Conference at Edinburgh, and the memory of him which abides in our northern capital is that of a high priest and prophet of the new golden age that was dawning on the world—the age of universal brotherhood and peace. But no sooner had war come within the zone of Germany than this man signed (if he did not write) a manifesto of German theologians which told “evangelical Christians abroad” that the German “sword was bright and keen,” that Germany was taking up arms to establish the justice of her cause and that ever through the storm and horror of the coming conflict the German people, with a calm conscience, would kneel and pray: “Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.”
“WE SHALL NEVER MASSACRE BELGIAN WOMEN”
One of the writers who performed the same kind of moral somersault was Gerhart Hauptmann, author of a Socialist drama called “The Weavers,” and, rumour says, protégé (what frightful irony!) of the Crown Prince, Hauptmann knew well (none better) that a vast proportion of the human family live perpetually on the borderland of want, and that of all who suffer by war the poor suffer most. Yet he wrote (and a degenerate son of the great Norwegian liberator, Bjôrnsen, published) a letter, in which, after telling the poor of his people that “heaven alone knew” why their enemies were assailing them, he called on them (in effect) to avenge unnameable atrocities, which he alleged, without a particle of proof, had been committed on innocent Germans living abroad, and then said, in allusion to Mr. Maeterlinck, “I can assure him that, although ‘barbarous Germans,’ we shall never be so cowardly as to massacre or martyr the Belgian women and children.” This was written in August 1914, at the very hour, as the world now knows, when the German soldiers in Liège were shooting, bayoneting, and burning alive old men and little children, raping nuns in their convents and young girls in the open streets. But the invisible powers of evil have no mercy on their instruments