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rsity of California




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UMNMSITY Of



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MAY 2 8 1931

























































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EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NKW YORK BOSTON - CHICAGO DALLAS
ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED

LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.

TORONTO



EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

ESSAYS ON THE WAR A2TD
THE FUTURE



BY
HENRY SEIDEL CANBY, PH.D.

PBOFE8&03 IV



Neto Yorfe

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1919

All rightt retorted



COPYBIGHT, 1918,

By The Century Company, by the Yale Publishing Association, Inc.
by Harper and Brothers, and by the Atlantic Monthly Company.



By Hcrpfrakd Brgtho?!, tfj^Thf Qsqjury Company,
at.d hy th ? Tale Publishing 1 Association, Inc.

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* Set up and elccttotnred. ' published March, 1919.



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Norton ob

J. 8. Cushlng Co. Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.



Co t&t Jfceinors of
WALTER HINES PAGE

LATE AMBASSADOR TO GREAT BRITAIN
WHOSE DEVOTION TO THE CAUSE

OF MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING

AMONG THE ENGLISH-SPEAKING PEOPLES

WAS A CONSTANT HELP AND INSPIRATION TO

THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK



INTRODUCTION

IN the fat, green days before 1914, a book was
made in a manner that had become almost con-
ventional. You lived, you studied, you thought,
and then retired, like an expectant mother, to some
mental solitude, where the travail in due and decor-
ous order was ended, and the book came forth
complete. But in this book, conceived in war time
and finished in the early days of peace, I have
been subject to a different ordering. Life burned
intensely in 1918. The battle-front, the tumult-
uous humanity behind the lines, Great Britain and
France at war, where I was a humble observer,
flung imperious summons. Ideas, hopefully in-
terpretative of the surging forces loose everywhere,
shot into the mind, sometimes in a trench, some-
times in a munitions factory, on a steamer deck,
or at midnight in Piccadilly, and would wait only
for the quiet of an Oxford garden, or the peace of
a room high hung in Kensington above a park
cheery with thrushes, to be worked out as far as
the uncertainties of the time would permit.

As I wrote, then and later, I felt there was only
vii



viii INTRODUCTION

one question : What will come afterward ? and
that reflections upon race and education and work-
ing women and fighting men were all, like the game
of Twenty Questions, aimed at one answer. The
next generation may find that answer. I see only
a little further now that the war is over, than in
April of 1918, when Hardy's President of the Im-
mortals seemed about to play his own game with
our ideals and our little strengths behind them.
The ideas begin to fall together ; one sees the con-
necting links and I have written in many of them
in brief transitional and prefatory sections ; but
these essays are still most valuable, if valuable at
all, as historical evidence of how the war and its
aftermath affected one American mind. And
hence I have left them much as they were first con-
ceived : some with the memory of last night's bomb-
ing behind the words, or the intense sense of racial
contrast felt by an alien who finds himself among
comrades and friends ; others written in the dawn
of peace and looking forward to a future full of
urgency and promise and doubt. And though
only one bears that title all the first four on in-
ternational relationships, the fifth on morale, the
sixth and seventh on education, the eighth on re-
construction, and the ninth on war's ending all,
and the brief prefatory essays that precede them,
present the fruits of education by violence.



I wish to acknowledge the kindness of the
editors of Harper's Magazine for permission to
reprint " Transport 106," Education by Violence,
and Spes Unica; The Century Magazine for
Blood and Water, Innocents Abroad, and When
Johnny Comes Marching Home; The Atlantic
Monthly for The Irish Mind; and The Yale
Review for Tanks and War's Ending.



CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION . . vii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix

I ON WRITING THE TRUTH .... 1

"TRANSPORT 106" 6

H ON THE ENGLISH 29

BLOOD AND WATER 32

HI ON IRISH LITERATURE .... 55

THE IRISH MIND 57

IV ON THE SENSE OF RACE .... 83

INNOCENTS ABROAD 86

V ON MORALE ....... 104

SPES UNICA 107

VI ON THE UNCOMMON MAN .... 128

TANKS 130

VII ON THE PERSONAL IN EDUCATION . . 152
EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE . . . .155

Vm ON THE NEXT WAR 179

WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME . 182

IX ON SALVAGE AND WASTE .... 208

WAR'S ENDING 211

xi



EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE



ON WRITING THE TRUTH

In the last great crisis of the war, in the time
of the rush over the Chemin des Dames, and of
Chateau Thierry and Compiegne, I was a visitor
on the British Front at the chateau of Rollen-
court, where the accredited correspondents were
I can think of no more fitting word than
interned. All day we were off in motors, buzzing
the long white roads back of the front, chatting
in dug-outs, adventuring in quiet trenches, lunch-
ing with courteous generals in sound of sleepy
guns, breasting column after column of marching
men blue poilus weary for their rest camp,
fresh Americans, like brown helmeted legionaries,
striding loose-limbed toward the front, careless
Australians, . . . And at tea time we would swing
back into the shaded avenue, where Tommies in
" shorts " were running races on the turf, and
down past the turreted columbiere to the sweeping
fa9ade of the seventeenth century chateau.

In a salon, by a table covered with maps and
pipes, under pictures of the haute noblesse of the
province, we had tea, while the correspondents
B 1



2 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

swapped their " facts " and withheld their "sto-
ries," smoked each his cigarette, and retired,
thoughtful, to grind out his column for the world's
reading. At seven their work was ready for the
censor; at eight we dined, a criss-cross of banter
and argument ; at ten came the communique, relax-
ing the tension (for things were going badly in
Champagne) ; and then to bed in a high ceilinged
chamber, stuccoed in Louis Seize.

Midnight, and a Boche plane whirred over (we
heard his bombs on poor St. Pol) ; then dreamless
sleep, and a May morning, mists and dew in that
gentle valley, he of the " Mail " reading Horace
as he walked in the aisles of the lush garden, he of
the " Times " walking with me by the shadowy
river, trying to forget the war. And at ten, out
from that valley of peace, to the noisy roads, the
dust, the guns, the " crump " of the shells, the
plodding, horrible, fascinating machine of war.

A curious life. The soldier has little time to
think. He is too weary, too frightened, too busy,
or too dull. The civilian cannot think of war as
war. It is too unreal for him. But these men
whose names have come to our breakfast tables
with the coffee cups, were neither innocents,
naively pushing toward victory, nor civilians
dreaming afar off. Daily they saw war, and
nightly they came back to their garden.

And truth of thought for them became a differ-
ent thing from truth of writing. No war has
been so honestly, so faithfully reported as this one.
The correspondent has put into words all but his
thinking. Not all, of course, for the censor ac-



ON WRITING THE TRUTH 3

tually or potentially deprived us daily of many
sensations in opinion and experience. But that
which ever remained unwritten, which had to re-
main unwritten, was the meditation of these high-
bred, thoughtful men, trained to observe with
minds that the broadest culture as well as expe-
rience in the field had made keenly observant.

And on what did they meditate? Not, as they
wished, upon literature and music and free inter-
course with men living free of war's restrictions
(they welcomed the visitor just because he was an
outsider) ; but, so it seemed to me, constantly and
broodingly upon the mystery of war. Their
minds reacted from opinions on strategy, praise of
bravery, word pictures forming and reforming of
pitiful fugitives streaming southward, broken
towns, and airplanes shining among shrapnel puffs.
They talked of the art of Henry James, but
brooded, or so I thought, upon the causes of all
this turmoil, the effect of this stirring up of all the
passions upon the future. In my quiet talks with
them when the days' sights were seen and recorded
for the millions at home, I heard much that did not
go into their articles ; and it was most of it specu-
lation upon the significance of war.

Privileged observers, safe themselves except for
chance shots or bombing, with time for thinking,
they could watch the war as the scientist in his
laboratory watches through his lens the conflict of
microcosms in a drop of water. And they felt
with intensity what we visitors and many soldiers
dimly felt, that the whole truth had not been said,
could not yet be said about the war. The lesser



4 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

truth, that the Germans had willed the war, that
they must be beaten, was for the time more impor-
tant. More light, in 1918, would have made us see
less clearly. The greater truth, the causes lying
behind all wars, including this one, the good effects
of war which should be gained otherwise, the bad
effects of war, which should be defined, and known,
and hated all this they stored in their hearts.
For this truth they seemed to be constantly grop-
ing, though often in an hour's talk only a hint, a
phrase, an ejaculation revealed the undercurrent
of painful inquiry beneath the immediate business
of the day.

Men like these, and the soldiers fortunate enough
to have kept their intellects free and clear in the
grind of the trenches, will begin to write this truth
now. Neither we who saw the war by glimpses, nor
those prophetic critics who wrote of modern war
before it became a universal experience, can give
the evidence which must be presented. The time
begins to be ripe for true writing. The crisis of
war is over; the crisis of readjustment is upon us;
the penalty for plunging blindly upon new curves
leading inevitably to new conflicts, lies measurably
ahead. Free speech is safe now, or rather, noth-
ing else is safe for us. We have had narrative,
description, poetry, and philosophy of the war;
we have not had that inner burning thought forced
upon reflective minds by danger and horror and
waste and splendid bravery. The war is over. Let
us open our minds and allow no left-over scruples
of anxious patriotism to suppress the best of all
patriotism, which is the truth born of devotion to



ON WRITING THE TRUTH 5

one's fellow man. The truth about the war, when
it is written, will please neither pacifist nor milita-
rist ; neither preacher nor business man ; but it may
help to set them free from errors long deluding.
The germs of war, like the germs of all diseases,
we carry about us. There is no cure for a serious
infection; but there is an antiseptic, the truth
freely spoken. The real literature of the war,
when it comes, will speak to an open mind, and such
a mind I ask for the more modest endeavor of these
essays.



TRANSPORT 106"

This, of course, was not her real number, nor
can I tell her name, which is of little importance
in comparison with her true designation, the May-
flower sailing eastward, with four thousand Amer-
icans outward bound, and many a homegoing
Ally. It was a strange voyage, as different from
anything conceivable in peace-time as impressive
dreams from trivial realities. Day after day our
striped and spotted convoy herded through plung-
ing seas. Behind us a gray transport, like a beau-
tiful dolphin, dipped to rise as if for a jump,
shook her bow free, surged forward until we could
see the pink of massed faces on her hoisting-deck,
then dropped again astern. Ahead, a converted
liner swung backward and forward like an anxious
mother; and clear to the sea-rim great zebra-
monsters followed us, tankers laboring hull under,
horse-boats, transports, a grim cruiser shepherd-
ing their flanks, winking angrily at laggards,
guiding and hurrying our rear.

Day after day, somewhere in the ocean, we
plodded eastward, until, one morning, we saw

6



"TRANSPORT 106" 7

through the haze a row of tiny destroyers sitting
on their haunches like a pack of hounds in wait
for us. The midmost nosed our mother ship and
swung astern of her, swaying drunkenly like a toy
tin ship in a tub ; the rest spread fan-wise through
the ocean. Dusk comes and greener water. Sig-
nals blink, and the big, gray boats behind us quiver
and turn inward, setting their prows down gin-
gerly into the dangerous waves. Within, the
corridors of the great ship are lit with dim purple
lights. High, gloomy curtains sway with the roll
before every door. It is a scene from the palace
of Manfred. Soldiers guard the stairways, and
voices are suddenly hushed as from the merriment
inside some one steps into the gloom, hears the
swish of the waves, thinks of the great ships beside
him stealing through the darkness, shudders a
little, and goes back. But in the lounge there is
a blaze of light, card-playing, singing, French les-
sons, war-talk, a nervous grip on a life-preserver
now and then, yet, in spite of tension, the atmos-
phere of a friendly club. In the morning boat-
drill with life-preservers, the officers like yellow
chicks with pieces of shell clinging, the little cock-
ney in his flapped overcoat like a belted caterpil-
lar. The company's champions box in the cock-pit
aft. Through a hedge of gaitered legs one
catches sight of stout calves twisting, jerking, and



8 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

now and then a supple waist. They jump up
against a blue horizon, clinch, swing, clinch, and
down out of sight again. From every watch-
point the lookouts scan the gray-green Irish
water. " Wreckage, red, ninety degrees," they
call, and we see kegs, planks, boxes, in sad trails
bleeding upward from a gaping wound in some
good ship, pirate-sunk beneath us.

This is the setting merely of Transport 106,
but it is important because its subdued inten-
sity was like a screen of quivering light against
which men's characters were vividly flung. Indeed
I write of her not to describe our strange reversion
to the perils of the first emigrations, but because
she staged the prologue of a drama of interna-
tional character whose action will continue
through our times. A man wise enough might
have used our ship's company as a laboratory for
infinite tests and discoveries. We had Americans
of every useful class aboard officers and enlisted
men, government officials, diplomats, members of
special missions, Y. M. C. A. and Red Cross work-
ers, business men ; and most of the officers and all
of the three-thousand-odd soldiers below were cam-
ouflaged civilians drawn from every business pro-
fession and trade. We had a British Cabinet
Minister, an M. P., a dozen majors and captains,
a score of business representatives. We had



"TRANSPORT 106" 9

Scotch, Irish, Parisians, French-Canadians, Aus-
tralians, Italians. We had a leavening of woman-
kind, wives and stenographers. It was the Ark,
which also was representative of all save the enemy
alien. But it took months in the curiously changed
atmosphere of England and France, with Ameri-
cans curiously changed also, before I could inter-
pret the life aboard her.

A remark of Bernard Shaw's crystallized the
problem. I doubt whether the prayer I saw em-
broidered upon a sampler in Mr. Shaw's living-
room in Adelphi was ever answered, if proffered:

Let me be kind to all, I pray,
And never faults of others say.

But though Mr. Shaw has left the rough work
of contemporary satire to Mr. H. G. Wells, who
has made it a sub-department of his manufactory
of new worlds, nevertheless of all men in our time
he is best able to make those incisive phrases that
grip and hang upon the mind until it turns and
fights it out with the ideas coursing behind them.
" The possibility of anything like international
federation," he said, swinging backward and for-
ward in his chair with the peculiar nervous dignity
characteristic of the man, " depends upon the ex-
istence of psychological homogeneity among con-
tracting nations. If the idealists do not get hold



10 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

of the scheme and try to swallow it at one bite, it
will work out."

Month by month, as I saw in England, in Ire-
land, in France, and at the front the infinite im-
portance of racial personality how it wrecked
armies, won victories, frustrated diplomacy, and
in every crisis was a great X whose equivalent we
were seldom permitted to know, Mr. Shaw's phrase
sank farther into my mind. Are the nations, in this
respect, psychologically homogeneous? Do they
need to be? What is the psychological homoge-
neity necessary for the joint action in the future
which we all crave? These questions are ever re-
turning. And my thinking, whether it begins in
a trench in Lorraine, or a Sinn Fein meeting, or an
English week-end conversation with some person-
age " uncorked " by the intensity of the times,
always carries back to Transport 106.

There were, as I have said, representatives of all
the potential high contracting Powers not enemy
aboard, and if Americans were in heavy majority,
that was in just proportion to our perhaps dom-
inating influence upon the new world-order to fol-
low this war. It was an instructive experience to
live in pleasure and in danger for sixteen days with
this advance-guard of re-migrating America. At
home we had become a little skeptical, before the
war, as to the racial individuality of the American.



"TRANSPORT 106" 11

When your butcher is German, your plumber Irish,
your shoe-shiner Greek, your fruiterer Italian,
your best friend the son of a Scandinavian, the
sense of race weakens. I am an American, you
say, but what are these others? One of the great
experiences of Europe in war-time was to find the
American, even the hyphenated American, running
true to a type that the foreigner recognized as
valid. In uniform or out of it, even if he never
opens his mouth, there is never a question in Eu-
rope to-day as to whether a man is American.

Every attempt to define a race as a whole (the
French as frivolous, for example) breaks down;
nevertheless, I believe that most observers of the
year 1918 in Europe would agree with the charac-
terization I made of our Americans on Transport
106. Roughly speaking, they were divided into
Americans serious-minded and Americans earnest-
minded, with a few sophisticated individuals too de-
tached to classify. I understood very well the re-
mark months later of a well-known woman in Lon-
don, herself a transplanted American : " You seem
to me now," she said, " a grim people. I have to
put a * Jock ' or a ' Tommy ' into every American
ward of my hospital to make our boys laugh.
Americans take life so seriously ! " That, in spite
of joke-cracking and teasing, was the impression
we made on shipboard, and in France and England



12 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

also. I have seen a good-natured mob of sailors
and doughboys fling slang at one another under
the nose of the King at a Fourth of July ball-game
in London; and I have heard a squad of fresh
" rough-necks " from the plains " jolly " a High-
land officer for his too-pink knees ; but neverthe-
less, whenever I think of the American overseas I
seem to see a tall, lean, capable fellow with a pre-
ternaturally solemn face, and earnest eyes only now
and then lightening. " How solemn they look,"
passed from mouth to mouth of the crowd in Man-
chester as three thousand of ours marched by.
" They must be real fighters."

I could have explained, for I had lived with such
solemn youths, all the way over. It was not
merely the effect of a new world and the approach
to the war, although these had their part. There
was something deeper, and politicians at home and
abroad would do well to take note of it. Persh-
ing's Army has been well named a crusade.
Whether it is climate, or heredity, or an inexpli-
cable race development, there is a curious nervous
intensity in the American when he is roused that
is quite different from anything they know in Eu-
rope. Scarcely a " Tommy " or a poilu but knew
twice as thoroughly what the war meant in loss
and endeavor as the most imaginative American,
and yet they did not take it so hard. The war



"TRANSPORT 106" 13

with them had become like a cold in the head ; they
felt it always and so never got excited over it.
Nevertheless, good foreign observers say they
never were so " grim," even in 1914, as these Amer-
icans.

There are two kinds of American grimness, as I
learned very quickly on our transport. The first,
which I have called serious-mindedness, springs
from the moral nature, is rarer than mere earnest-
mindedness, more intelligent, and in the long run
perhaps more effective. I know nothing equal to
its intensity except the fanatic idealism of certain
Irish leaders and the bulldog tenacity of the pure-
bred southern Englishman. It is a genuine sur-
vival of the hard-fighting Puritanism that the sev-
enteenth century hammered to stay into the Amer-
ican temperament.

Sometimes it appears as a determined protest-
antism, as with the grizzled, square-set Westerner
who spent long days scowling across the unfamiliar
wastes of ocean. " I sure love a fight," he said,
" and I expect to enjoy myself over there. But I
hate war. Don't believe in it. I was a captain in
the Spanish War. Ninety per cent of my com-
pany were no good afterward, spoiled by graft and
' hand-outs.' By God, this military game has got
to stop ! That's why I've left my family to scratch
for a living, and come in. Fighting for fun's all
right, but not war ! "



14 EDUCATION BY VIOLENCE

Sometimes it is intellectual. I sat in the smok-
ing-room through a rolling afternoon with a
Princeton graduate, a " casual " on special and
important service. " I like the thinking part of
the work," he said as we talked, " but the men get
on my nerves. They are so monotonous. We
were all monotonous, grubbing little animals in
America. There had to be a war to save us. If
I come back (later he was wounded, " degree un-
determined ") I'm going in with all my might to
make life more worth living for the common man,
poor or rich."

Sometimes it is naively humorous. Three
doughboys leaned over the rail, talking of their
superiors. " The officers are clean-cut and pretty
well educated," one said, " but they aren't as good
as the men. I could 'a' been an officer, if I'd waited,
but this business didn't seem to stand waiting. I'm
content, as I am. The officers don't take the war
seriously enough for me."

These are random instances, but there is noth-
ing random in the enormous energies that tens of
thousands of Americans in the army, the Y. M.
C. A., the Red Cross, and elsewhere have loosed for
the physical and moral betterment of our men and
of Europe. Having applied the " uplift " to
pretty much everything in America, we are now
trying to uplift war, an undertaking worthy of a



"TRANSPORT 106" 15

vigorous and unsophisticated race; and I am not
sure that we shall not succeed. Certainly in
twenty years I have not encountered so many vital
forces incandescent with enthusiasm, so many
serious-minded, intensely active men working pas-
sionately for humanity, as in six months' associa-
tion with the most devastating war in history.

Germany presents no parallel. Neither does
France ; her efforts are in different (though no less
valuable) directions. The Briton is as strong to
save as we ; but the British " uplift " is more polit-
ical and economic, and in the hands of the intel-
lectuals and radicals chiefly. It is perhaps better
thought out, but lacks the fire and universality of
the American endeavor, which more resembles a
national religion than a movement for social re-
form. The moral nerve of America has been set
vibrating by the war.

Four-fifths of our Americans aboard, however,
I should have called earnest- rather than serious-
minded ; and these are the men who have most
deeply impressed Europe in her hour of need. Less
is to be said of them because their psychology is


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