mobilising peace sentiment and for adjusting just such differences as those which arose in July, 1914, was rather clumsy and inadequate and could not be made to operate as rapidly as the machinery of war, particularly as one party to the controversy was bent on having war.

The other thing that may be said in answer to the charge that pacifism has failed is that a certain type of pacifism, and what is usually meant by "pacifism" has failed. Its failure, however, clears the ground and makes room for saner and more practical efforts. There is no denying the fact that a good deal of pacifist sentiment was hardly distinguishable from mild-mannered sentimentality. The disciples of this school were unquestionably sincere enough and perhaps were rigorously logical, but they refused to look the facts of life in the face and to deal with men and nations as they actually are. They were naïve. Their plans were visionary and their schemes chimerical. "The peace movement," writes Ellen Key in her most

war would be declared to-day, and that well-known pacific character of Emperor, as well as, he might add, his own, might be accepted as a guarantee that war was both just and inevitable. This was a matter that must be settled directly between the two parties immediately concerned. I said that you would hear with regret that hostilities could not be arrested, as you feared that they might lead to complications threatening the peace of Europe."- The British White Paper, No. 62.

recent book, "that has only appealed to the emotions has never put the axe to the root of the problem. . . . So long as it was only a proclamation of Christian humanitarianism, it never built on a foundation of reality." These pacifists too often thought of countries and statesmen in the abstract, gave free rein to their imaginations, and dreamed of a day when blessed peace would cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. Their ignorance of Realpolitik was both profound and comprehensive. They evidenced but little genius for practicality, and dogmatically refused to compromise. Like Brand in Ibsen's drama, they could have “all or nothing," and because they could not have all, they were perforce obliged to take nothing, or, what is infinitely worse-war. Maybe the time will come, in the far future, when human nature will not merely acknowledge the wrong and waste and folly of war, but will go ahead and actually forge its swords into ploughshares, remodel its ships into schools and transform its arsenals into factories that produce the goods the people need. But that time has not yet come and we shall gain nothing but disappointment by deluding ourselves with fan1 War, Peace, and the Future, pp. 122, 123.

tastic visions. It can hardly help to speculate on when, if ever, this desired day will dawn.

Because pacifism has failed in its endeavour to prevent war, it must now, willingly or involuntarily, make way for statesmanship, for a new kind of statesmanship. The pressing task now is to make statesmen out of pacifists and pacifists out of statesmen. We shall have to quit gazing into the heavens and turn our attention to the actual problems that confront men and nations in a real world. We shall have to lay aside every weight of vain visioning and run with patience the long race. We shall have to substitute willing for wishing and cultivate a talent for details. We shall have to organise the world for peace and not for war. We must be ready to reckon with the facts as they are, and with human nature as it is. It will probably be conceded without discussion that this particular kind of “pacifism," this new statesmanship, has not yet had a try-out. Whether or not it can succeed in preventing war is still unsettled and uncertain. We shall know more about that a decade or a century hence.

CHAPTER II

DO CHRISTIANS WANT WAR?

A GREAT many people contend that this war has demonstrated the futility of Christianity, the impotence of all organised religion. Whichever way we turn some one is ready to remind us that if Christianity stands for anything at all it stands for peace on earth, good will to men. We are not permitted to forget for an hour that the Gospel of Christ, whatever else it may be, is an evangel of peace; that the message of Jesus was a challenge to a warring world. The force of love and righteousness, it is explained, came into the world to displace the force of Roman arms. Furthermore, it is pointed out that this Gospel has now been preached to the uttermost parts of the world, that every European nation is nominally Christian, and that the Church numbers its adherents by the millions — more than twenty-four million Protestants and more than thirteen million Roman Catholics. And yet when war threatened, the whole structure went to pieces like a frame house in San Francisco.

That Christianity has failed has been whispered among churchmen in their cloistered retreats, and proclaimed from the housetops by the enemies of the Church. It is one of those half-truths that are more dangerous than falsehoods. The ready reply to the accusation is that Christianity has not failed because Christianity has never been tried. As well say, as some do, that democracy has never been tried. Of course both have been tried-after a fashion. Those who say that Christianity failed to prevent this world war speak the unvarnished and undeniable truth. The Christianity that has been tried has certainly failed. And the fact of the war is the reproach of Christianity. But the particular kind of Christianity that has been weighed in the balance and found wanting is nominal and formal and mystic Christianity: theological, ecclesiastical and sacerdotal Christianity. Some other kind of Christianity will have to be tried.

The old kind of Christianity could not withstand the shock of the earthquake. It did not succeed in fireproofing the world against the flames of war. When certain rulers and statesmen were determined to have war they brushed aside all the compunctions of Christian conscience. Apparently they were not only not bothered by their own pri