i am only a philosopher, and there is only one thing that a philosopher can be relied on to do, and that is, to contradict other philosophers. in ancient times philosophers defined man as the rational animal; and philosophers since then have always found much more to say about the rational than about the animal part of the definition. but looked at candidly, reason bears about the same proportion to the rest of human nature that we in this hall bear to the rest of america, europe, asia, africa and polynesia. reason is one of the very feeblest of nature’s forces, if you take it at only one spot and moment. it is only in the very long run that its effects become perceptible. reason assumes to settle things by weighing them against each other without prejudice, partiality or excitement; but what affairs in the concrete are settled by is, and always will be, just prejudices, partialities, cupidities and excitements. appealing to reason as we do, we are in a sort of forlorn-hope situation, like a small sandbank in the midst of a hungry sea ready to wash it out of existence. but sand-banks grow when the conditions favor; and weak as reason is, it has this unique advantage over its antagonists that its activity never lets up and that it presses always in one direction, while men’s prejudices vary, their passions ebb and flow, and their excitements are intermittent. our sand-bank, i absolutely believe, is bound to grow. bit by bit it will get dyked and breakwatered. but sitting as we do in this warm room, with music and lights and smiling faces, it is easy to get too sanguine about our task; and since i am called to speak, i feel as if it might not be out of place to say a word about the strength.
our permanent enemy is the rooted bellicosity of human nature. man, biologically considered, and whatever else he may be into the bargain, is the most formidable of all beasts of prey, and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on his own species. we are once for all adapted to the military status. a millennium of peace would not breed the fighting disposition out of our bone and marrow, and a function so ingrained and vital will never consent to die without resistance, and will always find impassioned apologists and idealizers.
not only men born to be soldiers, but non-combatants by trade and nature, historians in their studies, and clergymen in their pulpits, have been war’s idealizers. they have talked of war as of god’s court of justice. and, indeed, if we think how many things beside the frontiers of states the wars of history have decided, we must feel some respectful awe, in spite of all the horrors. our actual civilization, good and bad alike, has had past wars for its determining condition. great mindedness among the tribes of men has always meant the will to prevail, and all the more, so if prevailing included slaughtering and being slaughtered. rome, paris, england, brandenburg, piedmont — possibly soon japan — along with their arms have their traits of character and habits of thought prevail among their conquered neighbors. the blessings we actually enjoy, such as they are, have grown up in the shadow of the wars of antiquity. the various ideals were backed by fighting wills, and when neither would give way, the god of battles had to be the arbiter. a shallow view this, truly; for who can say what might have prevailed if man had ever been a reasoning and not a fighting animal? like dead men, dead causes tell no tales, and the ideals that went under in the past, along with all the tribes that represented them, find today no recorder, no explainer, no defender.
but apart from theoretic defenders, and apart from every soldierly individual straining at the leash and clamoring for opportunity, war has an omnipotent support in the form of our imagination. man lives by habits indeed, but what he lives for is thrills and excitements. the only relief from habit’s tediousness is periodical excitement. from time immemorial wars have been, especially for non-combatants, the supremely thrilling excitement. heavy and dragging at its end, at its outset every war means an explosion of imaginative energy. the dams of routine burst, and boundless prospects open. the remotest spectators share the fascination of that awful struggle now in process on the confines of the world. there is not a man in this room, i suppose, who doesn’t buy both an evening and a morning paper, and first of all pounce on the war column.
a deadly listlessness would come over most men’s imagination of the future if they could seriously be brought to believe that never again in soecula soeculorum would a war trouble human history. in such a stagnant summer afternoon of a world, where would be the zest or interest?
this is the constitution of human nature which we have to work against. the plain truth is that people want war. they want it anyhow; for itself, and apart from each and every possible consequence. it is the final bouquet of life’s fireworks. the born soldiers want it hot and actual. the non-combatants want it in the background, and always as an open possibility, to feed imagination on and keep excitement going. its clerical and historical defenders fool themselves when they talk as they do about it. what moves them is not the blessings it has won for us, but a vague religious exaltation. war is human nature at its uttermost. we are here to do our uttermost. it is a sacrament. society would rot without the mystical blood-payment.
we do ill, i think, therefore, to talk much of universal peace or of a general disarmament. we must go in for preventive medicine, not for radical cure. we must cheat our foe, circumvent him in detail, not try to change his nature. in one respect war is like love, though in no other. both leave us intervals of rest; and in the intervals life goes on perfectly well without them, though the imagination still dallies with their possibility. equally insane when once aroused and under headway, whether they shall be aroused or not depends on accidental circumstances. how are old maids and old bachelors made? not by deliberate vows of celibacy, but by sliding on from year to year with no sufficient matrimonial provocation. so of the nations with their wars. let the general possibility of war be left open, in heaven’s name, for the imagination to dally with. let the soldiers dream of killing, as the old maids dream of marrying.
but organize in every conceivable way the practical machinery for making each successive chance of war abortive. put peace men in power; educate the editors and statesmen to responsibility. how beautifully did their trained responsibility in england make the venezuela incident abortive! seize every pretext, however small, for arbitration methods, and multiply the precedents; foster rival excitements, and invent new outlets for heroic energy; and from one generation to another the chances are that irritation will grow less acute and states of strain less dangerous among the nations. armies and navies will continue, of course, and fire the minds of populations with their potentialities of greatness. but their officers will find that somehow or other, with no deliberate intention on any one’s part, each successive “incident” has managed to evaporate and to lead nowhere, and that the thought of what might have been remains their only consolation.
the last weak runnings of the war spirit will be “punitive expeditions.” a country that turns its arms only against uncivilized foes is, i think, wrongly taunted as degenerate. of course it has ceased to be heroic in the old grand style. but i verily believe that this is because it now sees something better. it has a conscience. it will still perpetrate peccadillos. but it is afraid, afraid in the good sense, to engage in absolute crimes against civilization.
