THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST HATRED
The essay _Au-dessus de la mêlée_ was the first stroke of the woodman's
axe in the overgrown forest of hatred; thereupon, a roaring echo
thundered from all sides, reverberating reluctantly in the newspapers.
Undismayed, Rolland resolutely continued his work. He wished to cut a
clearing into which a few sunbeams of reason might shine through the
gloomy and suffocating atmosphere. His next essays aimed at illuminating
an open space of such a character. Especially notable were _Inter Arma
Caritas_ (October 30, 1914); _Les idoles_ (December 4, 1914); _Notre
prochain l'ennemi_ (March 15, 1915); _Le meutre des élites_ (June 14,
1915). These were attempts to give a voice to the silent. "Let us help
the victims! It is true that we cannot do very much. In the everlasting
struggle between good and evil, the balance is unequal. We require a
century for the upbuilding of that which a day destroys. Nevertheless,
the frenzy lasts no more than a day, and the patient labor of
reconstruction is our daily bread. This work goes on even during an hour
when the world is perishing around us."
The poet had at length come to understand his task. It is useless to
attack the war directly. Reason can effect nothing against the elemental
forces. But he regards it as his predestined duty to combat throughout
the war everything that the passions of men lead them to undertake for
the deliberate increase of horror, to combat the spiritual poison of the
war. The most atrocious feature of the present struggle, one which
distinguishes it from all previous wars, is this deliberate poisoning.
That which in earlier days was accepted with simple resignation as a
disastrous visitation like the plague, was now presented in a heroic
light, as a sign of "the grandeur of the age." An ethic of force, an
ethic of destruction, was being preached. The mass struggle of the
nations was being purposely inflamed to become the mass hatred of
individuals. Rolland, therefore, was not, as many have supposed,
attacking the war; he was attacking the ideology of the war, the
artificial idolization of brutality. As far as the individual was
concerned, he attacked the readiness to accept a collective morality
constructed solely for the duration of the war; he attacked the
surrender of conscience in face of the prevailing universalization of
falsehood; he attacked the suspension of inner freedom which was
advocated until the war should be over.
His words, therefore, are not directed against the masses, not against
the peoples. These know not what they do; they are deceived; they are
dumb driven cattle. The diffusion of lying has made it easy for them to
hate. "Il est si commode de haïr sans comprendre." The fault lies with
the inciters, with the manufacturers of lies, with the intellectuals.
They are guilty, seven times guilty, because, thanks to their education
and experience, they cannot fail to know the truth which nevertheless
they repudiate; because from weakness, and in many cases from
calculation, they have surrendered to the current of uninstructed
opinion, instead of using their authority to deflect this current into
better channels. Of set purpose, instead of defending the ideals they
formerly espoused, the ideals of humanity and international unity, they
have revived the ideas of the Spartans and of the Homeric heroes, which
have as little place in our time as have spears and plate-armor in these
days of machine-gun warfare. Heretofore, to the great spirits of all
time, hatred has seemed a base and contemptible accompaniment of war.
The thoughtful among the non-combatants put it away from them with
loathing; the warriors rejected the sentiment upon grounds of chivalry.
Now, hatred is not merely supported with all the arguments of logic,
science, and poesy; but is actually, in defiance of gospel teaching,
raised to a place among the moral duties, so that every one who resists
the feeling of collective hatred is branded as a traitor. Against these
enemies of the free spirit, Rolland takes up his parable: "Not only have
they done nothing to lessen reciprocal misunderstanding; not only have
they done nothing to limit the diffusion of hate; on the contrary, with
few exceptions, they have done everything in their power to make hatred
more widespread and more venomous. In large part, this war is their war.
By their murderous ideologies they have led thousands astray. With
criminal self-confidence, unteachable in their arrogance, they have
driven millions to death, sacrificing their fellows to the phantoms
which they, the intellectuals, have created." The persons to whom blame
attaches are those who know, or who might have known; but who, from
sloth, cowardice, or weakness, from desire for fame or for some other
personal advantage, have given themselves over to lying.
The hatred breathed by the intellectuals was a falsehood. Had it been a
truth, had it been a genuine passion, those who were inspired with this
feeling would have ceased talking and would themselves have taken up
arms. Most people are moved either by hatred or by love, not by abstract
ideas. For this reason, the attempt to sow dissension among millions of
unknown individuals, the attempt to "perpetuate" hatred, was a crime
against the spirit rather than against the flesh. It was a deliberate
falsification to include leaders and led, drivers and driven, in a
single category; to generalize Germany as an integral object for hatred.
We must join one fellowship or the other, that of the truthtellers or
that of the liars, that of the men of conscience or that of the men of
phrase. Just as in _Jean Christophe_, Rolland, in order to show forth
the universally human fellowship, had distinguished between the true
France and the false, between the old Germany and the new; so now in
wartime did he draw attention to the ominous resemblance between the war
fanatics in both camps, and to the heroic isolation of those who were
above the battle in all the belligerent lands. Thus did he endeavor to
fulfill Tolstoi's dictum, that it is the function of the imaginative
writer to strengthen the ties that bind men together. In Rolland's
comedy _Liluli_, the "cerveaux enchaînés," dressed in various national
uniforms, dance the same Indian war-dance under the lash of Patriotism,
the negro slave-driver. There is a terrible resemblance between the
German professors and those of the Sorbonne. All of them turn the same
logical somersaults; all join in the same chorus of hate.
But the fellowship to which Rolland wishes to draw our attention, is the
fellowship of solace. It is true that the humanizing forces are not so
well organized as the forces of destruction. Free opinion is gagged,
whereas falsehood bellows through the megaphones of the press. Truth has
to be sought out with painful labor, for the state makes it its business
to hide truth. Nevertheless, those who search perseveringly can discover
truth among all nations and among all races. In these essays, Rolland
gives many examples, drawn equally from French and from German sources,
showing that even in the trenches, nay, that especially in the trenches,
thousands upon thousands are animated with brotherly feelings. He
publishes letters from German soldiers, side by side with letters from
French soldiers, all couched in the same phraseology of human
friendliness. He tells of the women's organizations for helping the
enemy, and shows that amid the cruelty of arms the same lovingkindness
is displayed on both sides. He publishes poems from either camp, poems
which exhale a common sentiment. Just as in his _Vie des hommes
illustres_ he had wished to show the sufferers of the world that they
were not alone, but that the greatest minds of all epochs were with
them, so now does he attempt to convince those who amid the general
madness are apt to regard themselves as outcasts because they do not
share the fire and fury of the newspapers and the professors, that they
have everywhere silent brothers of the spirit. Once more, as of old, he
wishes to unite the invisible community of the free. "I feel the same
joy when I find the fragile and valiant flowers of human pity piercing
the icy crust of hatred that covers Europe, as we feel in these chilly
March days when we see the first flowers appear above the soil. They
show that the warmth of life persists below the surface, and that soon
nothing will prevent its rising again." Undismayed he continues on his
"humble pélérinage," endeavoring "to discover, beneath the ruins, the
hearts of those who have remained faithful to the old ideal of human
brotherhood. What a melancholy joy it is to come to their aid." For the
sake of this consolation, for the sake of this hope, he gives a new
significance even to war, which he has hated and dreaded from early
childhood. "To war we owe one painful benefit, in that it has served to
bring together those of all nations who refuse to share the prevailing
sentiments of national hatred. It has steeled their energies, has
inspired them with an indefatigable will. How mistaken are those who
imagine that the ideas of human brotherhood have been stifled.... Not
for a moment do I doubt the coming unity of the European fellowship.
That unity will be realized. The war is but its baptism of blood."
Thus does the good Samaritan, the healer of souls, endeavor to bring to
the despairing that hope which is the bread of life. Perchance Rolland
speaks with a confidence that runs somewhat in advance of his innermost
convictions. But he only who realized the intense yearnings of the
innumerable persons who at that date were imprisoned in their respective
fatherlands, barred in the cages of the censorships, he alone can
realize the value to such poor captives of Rolland's manifestoes of
faith, words free from hatred, bringing at length a message of
brotherhood.