You cannot make war on war and on your neighbor at
the same time. War cannot bear the terrible castigation of
comedy, the ruthless light of laughter that glares on the stage.
When men are heroically dying for their country, it is not the
time to show their lovers and wives and fathers and mothers how
they are being sacrificed to the blunders of boobies, the
cupidity of capitalists, the ambition of conquerors, the
electioneering of demagogues, the Pharisaism of patriots, the
lusts and lies and rancors and bloodthirsts that love war because
it opens their prison doors, and sets them in the thrones of
power and popularity. For unless these things are mercilessly
exposed they will hide under the mantle of the ideals on the
stage just as they do in real life.
And though there may be better things to reveal, it may not, and
indeed cannot, be militarily expedient to reveal them whilst the
issue is still in the balance. Truth telling is not compatible
with the defence of the realm. We are just now reading the
revelations of our generals and admirals, unmuzzled at last by
the armistice. During the war, General A, in his moving
despatches from the field, told how General B had covered himself
with deathless glory in such and such a battle. He now tells us
that General B came within an ace of losing us the war by
disobeying his orders on that occasion, and fighting instead of
running away as he ought to have done.
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