an earnest desire for the establishment of a High Court of Nations
to adjudge international controversies, and thus supersede the
Arbitrament of War. It would be an act of moral dignity consistent
with these professions, and becoming the character it vaunts before
the world, if it abandoned the bellicose escutcheon,--at least, that
_Algerine_ emblem, fit only for corsairs, if not also the Latin motto
with its menace of the sword. If a Latin substitute for the latter
be needed, it might be those words of Virgil, "_Pacisque_ imponere
morem,"[90] or that sentence of noble truth from Cicero, "Sine SUMMA
JUSTITIA rempublicam geri nullo modo posse":[91] the first a homage to
Peace, and the second a consecration to Justice. Where such a spirit
prevailed, there would be little occasion to consider the question of
War Preparations.
[90] Æneid, VI. 852.
[91] De Republica, Lib. II. cap. 43.
Massachusetts is not alone in the bellicose anachronism of her banner.
The nation is in the same category. Our fathers would have hesitated
long before accepting the eagle for the national escutcheon, had they
recalled the pungent words of Erasmus on this most unrepublican bird.
"Let any physiognomist, not a blunderer in his trade," says this most
learned scholar, "consider the look and features of an eagle, those
rapacious and wicked eyes, that menacing curve of the beak, those
cruel cheeks, that stern front,--will he not at once recognize _the
image of a king_, a magnificent and majestic king? Add to these a
dark, ill-omened color, an unpleasing, dreadful, appalling voice,
and that threatening scream at which every kind of animal trembles."
Proceeding with his indictment, he describes the eagle in old age as
satisfied with nothing but blood, with which he prolongs his hateful
life, the upper mandible growing so that he cannot feed on flesh, while
the natural rapacity continues,--all of which typifies the wicked
prince. But the scholar becomes orator, when, after mentioning that
there are innumerable species of birds, some admirable for richness
of plumage, some remarkable for snowy whiteness, some shining with
befitting blackness, some pre-eminent in bodily stature, some notable
for fecundity, some grateful at the rich banquet, some pleasant
from loquacity, some captivating in song, some distinguished for
courage, some created for the entertainment of man,--he proceeds to
say: "Of all birds, the eagle alone has seemed to wise men _the apt
type of royalty_: not beautiful, not musical, not fit for food,--but
carnivorous, ravenous, plundering, destroying, fighting, solitary,
hateful to all, the curse of all, and though able to do the greatest
harm, yet wishing to do more than he can."[92] Erasmus, who says this
and much more, is no mean authority. Brightest and best among the
scholars who illustrated the modern revival of letters, loving peace,
and detesting kings, he acquired a contemporary power and fame such
as letters never bestowed before, if since,--at least until Voltaire,
kindred in versatile genius, mounted the throne. In all the homage
profusely offered to the latter there was nothing stronger than that
of Luther to Erasmus, when the great Reformer asked, "Who is the man
whose soul Erasmus does not occupy, whom Erasmus does not instruct,
over whom Erasmus does not reign?" His face is still familiar from the
devotion of two great artists, Albert Dürer and Hans Holbein, each of
whom has left to us his portrait,--while he is commemorated by a bronze
statue in Rotterdam, his birthplace, and by a monument in the ancient
cathedral at Basel, where he died. It is this renowned scholar who
castigates our eagle. Doubtless for fighting qualities this royal bird
was transferred to the coin and seal of a Republic. His presence there
shows the spirit which unconsciously prevailed; and this same presence,
beyond all question, exercises a certain influence, especially with the
young, nursing a pride in that beak and those pounces which are the
menace of War.
[92] Erasmi Adagia, Chil. III. Cent. VII. Prov. 1: _Scarabæus aquilam
quærit._ Hallam, Literature of Europe, Part I. ch. 4. sec. 43, 44.
* * * * *
The maxim, _In time of Peace prepare for War_,[93] is transmitted from
distant ages, when brute force was the general law. It is the terrible
inheritance which painfully reminds present generations of their
connection with the Past. It belongs to the dogmas of barbarism. It is
the companion of harsh, tyrannical rules by which the happiness of the
many is offered up to the few. It is the child of suspicion, and the
forerunner of violence. Having in its favor almost uninterrupted usage,
it possesses a hold on popular opinion not easily unloosed. And yet
no conscientious man can fail, on careful observation, to detect its
mischievous fallacy,--_at least among Christian nations in the present
age_,--a fallacy the most costly the world has witnessed, dooming
nations to annual tribute in comparison with which the extortions of
conquest are as the widow's mite. So true is what Rousseau said, and
Guizot has since repeated, that "a bad principle is far worse than a
bad fact"; for the operations of the latter are finite, while those of
the former are infinite.
[93] If countenance were needed in thus exposing a pernicious maxim, I
might find it in the German philosopher Kant, whose work on Perpetual
Peace treats it with very little respect. (Kant, Sämmtliche Werke,
Band VII., _Zum Ewigen Frieden_, § 1.) Since this Oration, Sir Robert
Peel and the Earl of Aberdeen, each Prime Minister of England, and
practically conversant with the question, have given their valuable
testimony in the same direction. Life has its surprises; and I confess
one in my own, when the latter, in conversation on this maxim, most
kindly thanked me for what I had said against it.
I speak of this principle with earnestness; for I believe it erroneous
and false, founded in ignorance and wrong, unworthy of civilization,
and disgraceful to Christians. I call it a principle; but it is a mere
_prejudice_,--sustained by vulgar example only, and not by enlightened
truth,--obeying which, we imitate the early mariners, who, steering
from headland to headland, hugged the shore, unwilling to venture upon
the broad ocean, with the luminaries of heaven for their guide. If not
yet discerned in its true character, it is because the clear light of
truth is discolored and refracted by an atmosphere where the cloud of
War covers all.
Dismissing the actual usage on the one side, and considerations of
economy on the other, I would regard these Preparations in the simple
light of reason, in a just appreciation of the nature of man, and in
the injunctions of the highest truth. Our conclusion will be very
easy. They are twice pernicious, and whoso would vindicate them must
satisfactorily answer these two objections: _first_, that they inflame
the people, exciting to deeds of violence, otherwise alien to the
mind; and, _secondly_, that, having their origin in the low motives of
distrust and hate, inevitably, by a sure law of the human mind, they
excite to corresponding action in other nations. Thus, in fact, are
they _promoters of War_, rather than _preservers of Peace_.
In illustration of the _first_ objection, it will occur at once to
every inquirer that the possession of power is in itself dangerous,
tempting the purest and highest, and too rarely enjoyed without
abuse. Nor is the power to employ force in War an exception. Nations
possessing the greatest armaments are the most belligerent. It is the
feebler powers which enjoy eras of Peace. Throughout more than seven
hundred years of Roman history resounds the din of War, with only two
short lulls of Peace; and in modern times this din has been echoed from
France. But Switzerland has had no din. Less prepared, this Republic
had less incentive to War. Not only in nations do we find this law. It
applies to individuals also. The same din which resounded in Rome and
was echoed from France has filled common life, and from the same cause.
The _wearing of arms_ has been a provocative, too often exciting, as it
furnished the weapon of strife. The odious system of private quarrels,
with altercation and hostile meetings even in the street, disgracing
the social life of modern Europe, continued with this habit. This was
its origin. But who can measure the extent of its influence? Dead
bodies stretched on the pavements, and vacant chairs at home, were the
contemporary witnesses. If death was hasty and unpremeditated, it was
only according to the law of such encounter. Poets and authors, wearing
arms, were exposed to the rude chances. The dramatist Marlowe, in some
respects almost Shakespearian, "renowned for his rare art and wit,"
perished ignominiously under the weapon of a vulgar adversary; and
Savage, whose genius and misfortune inspired the friendship and praise
of Samuel Johnson, was tried at the Old Bailey for murder committed in
a sudden broil. Nothing of this could have occurred without the habit
of wearing arms, which was a fashion. Out of this came the _Dance of
Death_.
This pernicious influence is illustrated by Judge Jay with admirable
plainness. He shows the individual as an example to nations. Listen, a
moment, to what he says so well. "The expert swordsman, the practised
marksman, is ever more ready to engage in personal combats than the man
who is unaccustomed to the use of deadly weapons. In those portions of
our country where it is supposed essential to personal safety to go
armed with pistols and bowie-knives mortal affrays are so frequent as
to excite but little attention, and to secure, with exceedingly rare
exceptions, perfect impunity to the murderer; whereas at the North
and East, where we are unprovided with such facilities for taking
life, comparatively few murders of the kind are perpetrated. We might,
indeed, safely submit the decision of the principle we are discussing
to the calculations of pecuniary interest. Let two men, equal in age
and health, apply for an insurance on their lives,--one known to be
ever armed to defend his honor and his life against every assailant,
and the other a meek, unresisting Quaker: can we doubt for a moment
which of these men would be deemed by an Insurance Company most likely
to reach a good old age?"[94]
[94] Address before the American Peace Society, pp. 23, 24.
With this practical statement and its strong sense I leave this
objection to War Preparations, adding a single supplementary
remark,--What is good for the individual is good for nations.
The _second_ objection, though different in character, is not less
operative. It is founded on that law of human nature according to
which the very hate or distrust to which these Preparations testify
excites in others a corresponding sentiment. This law is general and
fundamental. Though rarely recognized by nations as a rule of conduct,
it was never without its influence on individuals. Indeed, it is little
more than a practical illustration of the Horatian adage, _Si vis me
flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi_: If you wish me to weep, you must
yourself first grieve. Nobody questions its truth or applicability. But
does it not proclaim that War Preparations in a period of professed
Peace must naturally prompt adverse Preparations, and everywhere within
the circle of their influence quicken the Spirit of War? So are we all
knit together that the feelings in our own bosoms awaken corresponding
feelings in the bosoms of others,--as harp answers to harp in its
softest vibration, as deep responds to deep in the might of its power.
What in us is good invites the good in our brother; generosity begets
generosity; love wins love; Peace secures Peace;--while all in us that
is bad challenges the bad in our brother; distrust engenders distrust;
hate provokes hate; War arouses War. Therefore are we admonished to
avoid such appeal, and this is the voice of Nature itself.
This beautiful law is everywhere. The wretched maniac, in whose
mind the common principles of conduct are overthrown, confesses its
overruling power; and the vacant stare of madness is illumined by a
word of love. The wild beasts confess it: and what is the story of
Orpheus, whose music drew in listening rapture the lions and panthers
of the forest, or of St. Jerome, whose kindness soothed the lion to lie
down at his feet, but expressions of its prevailing power?[95]
[95] Scholars will remember the incident recorded by Homer in the
Odyssey (XIV. 30, 31), where Ulysses, on reaching his loved Ithaca, is
beset by dogs, described as wild beasts in ferocity, who rush towards
him barking; but he, with _craft_ (that is the word of Homer), seats
himself upon the ground _and lets his staff fall from his hand_. A
similar incident is noticed by Mr. Mure, in his entertaining travels in
Greece, and also by Mr. Borrow, in his "Bible in Spain." Pliny remarks,
that all dogs may be appeased in the same way: "_Impetus eorum et
sævitia mitigatur ab homine considente humi._" Nat. Hist., Lib. VIII.
cap. 40.
Even a fable may testify. I would not be tempted too far, but, at the
risk of protracting this discussion, I cannot forget illustrations
which show how poetry at least, if not history, has interpreted the
heart of man.
Looking back to the historic dawn, one of the most touching scenes
illumined by that auroral light is the peaceful visit of the aged
Priam to the tent of Achilles, entreating the body of his son. The
fierce combat ended in the death of Hector, whose unhonored corse the
bloody Greek has trailed behind his chariot. After twelve days of
grief, the venerable father is moved to seek the remains of the son
he has so dearly loved. He leaves his lofty cedarn chamber, and with
a single aged attendant, unarmed, repairs to the Grecian camp beside
the distant sounding sea. Entering alone, he finds Achilles in his
tent, with two of his chiefs. Grasping his knees, the father kisses
those terrible homicidal hands which had taken the life of his son.
Touched by the sight which he beholds, the heart of the inflamed, the
angry, the inflexible Achilles responds to the feelings of Priam.
He takes the suppliant by the hand, seats him by his side, consoles
his grief, refreshes his weary body, and concedes to the prayers of
a weak, unarmed old man what all Troy in arms could not win. In this
scene, which fills a large space in the Iliad,[96] the master poet,
with unconscious power, has presented a picture of the omnipotence of
that law, making all mankind of kin, in obedience to which no word of
kindness, no act of confidence, falls idly to the earth.
[96] Book XXIV.
Among the early passages of Roman history, perhaps none makes a deeper
impression than that scene, after the Roman youth were consumed at
the Allia, and the invading Gauls under Brennus had entered the city,
where in a temple were seated the venerable Senators of the Republic,
too old to flee, and careless of surviving the Roman name, each on
his curule chair, unarmed, looking, as Livy says, more august than
mortal, and with the majesty of the gods. The Gauls gaze as upon sacred
images; and the hand of slaughter, which had raged through the streets
of Rome, is stayed by the sight of an unarmed assembly. This continued
until one of the invaders standing nearest reached his hand to stroke
gently the silver beard of a Senator, who, indignant at the license,
smote the barbarian with his ivory staff, which was the signal for
general vengeance. Think you that a band of savages could have slain
these Senators, if the _appeal to Force_ had not been made first by one
of their own number? This story, though recounted by Livy, and also
by Plutarch,[97] is repudiated by Niebuhr; but it is none the less
interesting as a legend, attesting the law by which hostile feelings
are aroused or subdued.
[97] Liv., Lib. V. cap. 41. Plutarch, Life of Camillus.
This great scene, in its essential parts, has been repeated in another
age and country. The theatre was an African wilderness, with Christian
converts for Roman Senators. The little band, with their pastor, who
was a local chief, assembled on a Sabbath morning for prayer, when
suddenly robbers came upon them, as the Gauls upon Rome, and demanded
cattle. The pastor, asking his people to sit still, calmly pointed to
the cattle, and then turned back to unite with the rest in prayer. The
robbers, like the Gauls, looked on in silence, awed into forbearance,
until they quietly withdrew, injuring nobody and touching nothing. Such
an instance, which is derived from the report of missionaries,[98]
testifies again to the might of meekness, and proves that the Roman
story, though reduced to the condition of a legend, is in harmony with
actual life.
[98] Moffat, Missionary Labors and Scenes in Southern Africa, Ch. 32.
An admired picture by Virgil, in his melodious epic, furnishes similar
testimony. The Trojan fleet, beaten by tempest on the raging waves,
is about to succumb, when the God of the Sea, suddenly appearing in
tranquil power, stills the hostile elements, as a man venerable for
piety and deserts by a gentle word assuages a furious populace just
breaking into sedition and outrage.[99] The sea and the populace were
equally appeased. Alike in the god and the man was the same peaceful
presence. Elsewhere is this same influence. Guizot, illustrates
this same influence, when, describing the development of mediæval
civilization, he exhibits an angry multitude subdued by an unarmed
man, employing the _word_ instead of the _sword_.[100] And surely no
reader of that noble historical romance, the _Promessi Sposi_, can
forget that finest scene, where Frà Cristoforo, in an age of violence,
after slaying his comrade in a broil, presents himself unarmed and
penitent before the family and retainers of his victim, and by
dignified gentleness awakens the admiration of men raging against him.
Both hemispheres are at this moment occupied with the popular romance,
_Le Juif Errant_, by Eugène Sue, where is an interesting picture of
Christian courage superior to the trained violence of the soldier.
Another example, made familiar by recent translations of _Frithiof's
Saga_, the Swedish epic,[101] is more emphatic. The scene is a battle.
Frithiof is in deadly combat with Atlé, when the falchion of the latter
breaks. Throwing away his own weapon, Frithiof says,--
"_Swordless foeman's life
Ne'er dyed this gallant blade._"
[99] "Ille regit dictis animos et pectora mulcet."
_Æneid_, I. 146-154.
[100] Guizot, Histoire de la Civilisation en France, Tom. II. p. 36.
[101] Longfellow, Poets and Poetry of Europe, p. 161: Tegnér.
The two champions now close in mutual clutch; they hug like bears, says
the poet.
"'Tis o'er; for Frithiof's matchless strength
Has felled his ponderous size,
And 'neath that knee, a giant length,
Supine the Viking lies.
'But fails my sword, thou Berserk swart,'
The voice rang far and wide,
'Its point should pierce thy inmost heart,
Its hilt should drink the tide.'
'Be free to lift the weaponed hand,'
Undaunted Atlé spoke;
Hence, fearless, quest thy distant brand:
Thus I abide the stroke.'"
Frithiof regains his sword, intent to close the dread debate, while his
adversary awaits the stroke; but his heart responds to the generous
courage of his foe; he cannot injure one who has shown such confidence
in him.
"_This quelled his ire, this checked his arm,
Outstretched the hand of peace._"
I cannot leave these illustrations without alluding again to the
treatment of the insane, teaching, by conclusive example, how strong
in Nature must be the responsive principle. On proposing to remove
the heavy chains from the raving maniacs of the Paris hospitals,
the benevolent Pinel was regarded as one who saw visions or dreamed
dreams. At last his wishes were gratified. The change in the patients
was immediate; the wrinkled front of warring passion was smoothed
into the serene countenance of Peace. The treatment by Force is now
universally abandoned; the law of kindness takes its place; and these
unfortunates mingle together, unvexed by restraints implying suspicion,
and therefore arousing opposition. What an example to nations, who are
little better than insane! The ancient hospitals, with their violent
madness, making confusion and strife, are a dark, but feeble, type of
the Christian nations, obliged to wear the intolerable chains of War,
assimilating the world to one great mad-house; while the peace and
good-will now abounding in these retreats are the happy emblems of what
awaits mankind when at last we practically recognize the supremacy of
those higher sentiments which are at once a strength and a charm,--
"making their future might
Magnetic o'er the fixed, untrembling heart."
I might dwell also on recent experience, so full of delightful wisdom,
in the treatment of the distant, degraded convict of New South Wales,
showing how confidence and kindness on the part of overseers awaken a
corresponding sentiment even in outcasts, from whose souls virtue seems
blotted out.
Thus, from all quarters and sources--the far-off Past, the far-away
Pacific, the verse of the poet, the legend of history, the cell of the
mad-house, the congregation of transported criminals, the experience of
daily life, the universal heart of man--ascends spontaneous tribute to
that law according to which we respond to the sentiments by which we
are addressed, whether of love or hate, of confidence or distrust.
If it be urged that these instances are exceptional, I reply at once,
that it is not so. They are indubitable evidence of the real man,
revealing the divinity of Humanity, out of which goodness, happiness,
true greatness can alone proceed. They disclose susceptibilities
confined to no particular race, no special period of time, no narrow
circle of knowledge or refinement, but present wherever two or more
human beings come together, and strong in proportion to their virtue
and intelligence. Therefore on the nature of man, as impregnable
ground, do I place the fallacy of this most costly and pernicious
prejudice.
Nor is Human Nature the only witness: Christianity testifies in
familiar texts, and then again by holiest lips. Augustine, in one of
his persuasive letters, protests, with proverbial heart of flame,
_against turning Peace into a Preparation for War_, and then tells the
soldier whom he addresses to be _pacific even in war_.[102] From the
religion of his Master the great Christian saint had learned that Love
is more puissant than Force. To the reflecting mind, the Omnipotence
of God himself is less discernible in earthquake and storm than in
the gentle, but quickening, rays of the sun, and the sweet descending
dews. He is a careless observer who does not recognize the superiority
of gentleness and kindness in exercising influence or securing rights
among men. As the storms of violence beat upon us, we hug mantles
gladly thrown aside under the warmth of a genial sun.
[102] "Non enim pax quæritur ut bellum excitetur.... Esto ergo etiam
bellando pacificus."--Augustini Epistola CCV., ad Bonifacium Comitem:
Opera, Tom. II. p. 318.
Christianity not only teaches the superiority of Love to Force, it
positively enjoins the practice of the former, as a constant, primal
duty. It says, "Love your neighbors"; but it does not say, "In time
of Peace rear the massive fortification, build the man-of-war, enlist
standing armies, train militia, and accumulate military stores, to
overawe and menace your neighbor." It directs that we should do to
others as we would have them do to us,--a golden rule for all; but how
inconsistent is that distrust in obedience to which nations professing
peace sleep like soldiers on their arms! Nor is this all. Its precepts
inculcate patience, forbearance, forgiveness of evil, even the duty
of benefiting a destroyer, "as the sandal-wood, in the instant of its
overthrow, sheds perfume on the axe which fells it." Can a people in
whom this faith is more than an idle word authorize such enormous
sacrifices to pamper the Spirit of War? Thus far nations have drawn
their weapons from earthly armories, unmindful that there are others of
celestial temper.