ing, to make the peace, when it comes, not a mere cessation due to weariness, but a fraternal reconciliation, springing from realisation that the strife has been a folly of blindness. They have chosen to do nothing of all this. Allegiance to country has swept away allegiance to truth. Thought has become the slave of instinct, not its master. The guardians of the temple of Truth have betrayed it to idolaters, and have been the first to promote the idolatrous worship.
One of the most surprising things in this war is the universal appeal to atavistic moral notions which, in times of peace, civilised men would have repudiated with contempt. Germans speak of England's brutal national egotism, and represent Germany as fighting to maintain a great ideal of civilisation against an envious world. Englishmen speak of Germany's ruthless militarism and lust of dominion, and represent themselves as fighting to uphold the sacredness of treaties and the rights of small nations. In a sober mood, many of the men who use such language would recognize that it is melodramatic and mythical. All nations, at all times, are egotistic. It may happen, accidentally, that in pursuing its own interest a nation is also spreading civilisation or upholding the sacredness of treaties; but no impartial person can believe that for such ends a nation will sacrifice a million lives and a thousand millions of pounds. Such sacrifices are only made for nationally selfish ends, and until it is recognised that all the nations engaged in the war are equally and wholly selfish, no true thought about the issues involved is possible.
Moral judgment, as applied to others than one's self, are a somewhat subtilised police force: they make use
