Chapter X: 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.