PACIFISM

"Out law War;" the Bok Peace Plan; numerous other peace plans including that of the Christian Science Monitor; the pledge of the student delegates at Indianapolis not to take part in any future wars--with all these intellectual microbes in the air at once it is a fair bet that some people will catch the disease of pacifism. At least many become inspired with the desire to argue the question, and everything points to the conclusion that not a few demand some guarantee for permanent peace.

It is unfortunate that such can find only the word pacifism to describe their movement. Gotten on cowardice by misplaced idealism in the emotional stress of war, the first light it saw was very dark indeed, and the principle acts, or inactions, committed in its name have damned it eternally for the many heroes and heroines who have sustained through war the bitter loss of their more heroic men.

And damned it should be. Except for men who include it in their religious creed, pacifism in war time is inexcusable. But pacifism in time of peace is a very different thing. And for the men who wish to impress in the world the utter absurdity of contemplating war there can be nothing but favorable and enthusiastic applause.

For war is no longer a game, it is no longer even a dangerous game in which strength and skill of individuals, of staffs, even of armies can prevail. It is scientific destruction. The Frankenstein created by man is triumphant, and man must kill it. When strong men rode out to meet strong men, face to face and sword against sword, war was little more to be condemned that a football game. It was Olympian strife.

When war was such that the opposing general could say "Messieurs les Anglais, tirer les premiers," it boasted a gallantry. When people could sing

"We don't want to fight

But by Jingo if we do

We've got the ships we've got the men

We've got the money too!" war not such an unreasonable outlet for a nation's overweening pride.

But when war becomes such that whole peoples can be wiped out in a night by a few waves of gas, it has lost its glamor; it has lost its gallantry; it has lost its excitement; it is world suicide.

There is a hymn that often stirs us with its suggestion of the clash of arms:

"The Son of God goes forth to war

A kingly crown to gain,

His blood red banner streams afar--

Who follows in his train?"

But how would the Son of God fare now? Like any son of man he might be strangled by gas a thousand miles from any enemy, and forever lacking of his "kingly crown."

War is no longer a battle between combatants. The cleverest fighter strikes behind the lines. And while few men lack the physical courage to risk their own lives, none will be willing to take the chance of having his wife and children die in their home because an enemy he has never seen can drop a bomb on his city.

Yet the idea has not yet trampled, as Victor Bugo says ideas finally do, on the bended necks of rulers. The world can still be plunged into war at the command of men who will run their own and others risks from their desk-chairs. Until that becomes impossible each nation must maintain its defense. Nor will it do any good for men to pledge themselves to anything. The hardest drinkers in a community are always those who, as Sunday School children, swore never to touch a drop of liquor; and it's the confirmed bachelors who fall for the chores girls.

But what is essential is pacifism, active pacifism, as long as peace lasts; the impressing on those in power of the complete absurdity of war. It can be done even under the prejudice-stirring name of pacifism. For it cannot be done too soon. It must be done now. There is no time to change names when the world is on the bring of self-destruction.