having to die, except that he came not to care so much so long as he
was sure he was only to be asked to die. As for his valour--Well, said
he, it's no use grousing, and if it's a question of bayonets, it had better
be mine in the other chap's stomach. Besides we English-speaking
peoples don't shout about our valour. And as for religion--Well,
if there's a God why doesn't He stop this bloody war, or, anyway,
where the blazes is He?

There you are. It's abominable to write like that. Here it is in
print; isn't it disgraceful? You see, it happens to be true. But if
men said that, loud enough and enough of them, there would be no more
wars. No more wars? There would be no more Downing Street either, and
an American army would march, as like as not, on Washington.
Disgraceful! It's so disgraceful that I am not sure, as I write, that
this article will ever be printed.

Now since the War it is noticeable that the spirit of censorship has
very visibly increased its activities among us. There is little doubt
of that and there is little doubt of the reason for it. The War, by
tearing down shams and by stripping men and women to the essentials,
forced many to see things as they are. The old lies were no use in
that hour, nor the old conventions and beliefs. Men learned to look
beyond them, and they learned not to be afraid to look. Partly it was
no use being afraid in the War and men got out of the habit, and
partly, having looked, they saw something so much better ahead. Or
again the trend of modern civilisation was so unarguably revealed in
all the stark horror of its inhumanity that men saw suddenly that it
was better to be brave and revolt and be killed than be cowardly and
submit and live.