lamentable failure, they still thought that their predecessors had been
justified in preaching only the general terms of the Christian gospel
and never applying it to war. One would fancy that they are so
unacquainted with history as to suppose that during the long ages of the
past the Churches were really frowning on violence and warfare, instead
of blessing and employing it. They fear to draw out in its full
proportion the inefficacy (because of its vagueness) of the gospel and
the long perversion of its ministers. Yet we cannot evade this
fundamental fact of the situation, that this particular war is an
outcome of a general military system, and the Churches have a very grave
responsibility for the maintenance of that system until the twentieth
century. We all know how the technical moral theologian of recent times
has glossed the complacency of his Church. He has drawn a distinction
between offensive and defensive war, and, since the latter is obviously
just, he has maintained that armies are rightly raised to wage it when
necessary. On this petty fallacy the Churches have so long reconciled
themselves to militarism, and have, in fact, been amongst its closest
allies. The clergy did not, or would not, see that the retention of the
military system was in itself the surest provocation of offensive war;
that ambition or covetousness could almost always find a moral pretext
for aggression, and that there have been comparatively few priests in
the history of Europe who ever stood out and unmasked the hypocrisy of
such monarchs. As long as the military system lasted, it was certain
that wars would take place, yet they never denounced the system. The
great conception of substituting justice for violence, law for
lawlessness, did not enter the mind of Christianity. It was born of the
secular humanitarian spirit of modern times.

For any serious person this is the gravest charge which the clergy have
to meet, and they one and all evade it. The civilisation of Europe has a