ABOVE THE BATTLE
On September 22, 1914, the essay _Au-dessus de la mêlée_ was published
in "_Le Journal de Genève_." After the preliminary skirmish with Gerhart
Hauptmann, came this declaration of war against hatred, this foundation
stone of the invisible European church. The title, "Above the Battle,"
has become at once a watchword and a term of abuse; but amid the
discordant quarrels of the factions, the essay was the first utterance
to sound a clear note of imperturbable justice, bringing solace to
thousands.
It is animated by a strange and tragical emotion, resonant of the hour
when countless myriads were bleeding and dying, and among them many of
Rolland's intimate friends. It is the outpouring of a riven heart, the
heart of one who would fain move others, breathing as it does the heroic
determination to try conclusions with a world that has fallen a prey to
madness. It opens with an ode to the youthful fighters. "O young men
that shed your blood for the thirsty earth with so generous a joy! O
heroism of the world! What a harvest for destruction to reap under this
splendid summer sun! Young men of all nations, brought into conflict by
a common ideal, ... all of you, marching to your deaths, are dear to
me.... Those years of skepticism and gay frivolity in which we in
France grew up are avenged in you.... Conquerors or conquered, quick or
dead, rejoice!" But after this ode to the faithful, to those who believe
themselves to be discharging their highest duty, Rolland turns to
consider the intellectual leaders of the nations, and apostrophises them
thus: "For what are you squandering them, these living riches, these
treasures of heroism entrusted to your hands? What ideal have you held
up to the devotion of these youths so eager to sacrifice themselves?
Mutual slaughter! A European war!" He accuses the leaders of taking
cowardly refuge behind an idol they term fate. Those who understood
their responsibilities so ill that they failed to prevent the war,
inflame and poison it now that it has begun. A terrible picture. In all
countries, everything becomes involved in the torrent; among all
peoples, there is the same ecstasy for that which is destroying them.
"For it is not racial passion alone which is hurling millions of men
blindly one against another.... All the forces of the spirit, of reason,
of faith, of poetry, and of science, all have placed themselves at the
disposal of the armies in every state. There is not one among the
leaders of thought in each country who does not proclaim that the cause
of his people is the cause of God, the cause of liberty and of human
progress." He mockingly alludes to the preposterous duels between
philosophers and men of science; and to the failure of what professed to
be the two great internationalist forces of the age, Christianity and
socialism, to stand aloof from the fray. "It would seem, then, that
love of our country can flourish only through the hatred of other
countries and the massacre of those who sacrifice themselves in defense
of them. There is in this theory a ferocious absurdity, a Neronian
dilettantism, which revolts me to the very depths of my being. No! Love
of my country does not demand that I should hate and slay those noble
and faithful souls who also love theirs, but rather that I should honor
them and seek to unite with them for our common good." After some
further discussion of the attitude of Christians and of socialists
towards the war, he continues: "There was no reason for war between the
western nations; French, English, and German, we are all brothers and do
not hate one another. The war-preaching press is envenomed by a
minority, a minority vitally interested in the diffusion of hatred; but
our peoples, I know, ask for peace and liberty, and for that alone." It
was a scandal, therefore, that at the outbreak of the war the
intellectual leaders should have allowed the purity of their thought to
be besmirched. It was monstrous that intelligence should permit itself
to be enslaved by the passions of a puerile and absurd policy of race.
Never should we forget, in the war now being waged, the essential unity
of all our fatherlands. "Humanity is a symphony of great collective
souls. He who cannot understand it and love it until he has destroyed a
part of its elements, is a barbarian.... For the finer spirits of
Europe, there are two dwelling places: our earthly fatherland, and the
City of God. Of the one we are the guests, of the other the builders....
It is our duty to build the walls of this city ever higher and
stronger, that it may dominate the injustice and the hatred of the
nations. Then shall we have a refuge wherein the brotherly and free
spirits from out all the world may assemble." This faith in a lofty
ideal soars like a sea-mew over the ocean of blood. Rolland is well
aware how little hope there is that his words can make themselves
audible above the clamor of thirty million warriors. "I know that such
thoughts have little chance of being heard to-day. I do not speak to
convince. I speak only to solace my conscience. And I know that at the
same time I shall solace the hearts of thousands of others who, in all
lands, cannot and dare not speak for themselves." As ever, he is on the
side of the weak, on the side of the minority. His voice grows stronger,
for he knows that he is speaking for the silent multitude.
[Illustration: Romain Rolland at the time of writing _Above the
Battle_]