Moral Poison in Modern Fiction, Page 2

  II

  THEN CAME THE WAR!

  —Which meant that thousands of boys and girls were suddenly snatchedaway from their homes and parents, flung out into the heat of life,under conditions of abnormal, and wholly vile, excitement. They had toact and think for themselves without guidance, training, or experience:to face problems almost entirely new to young and old alike.

  Practically, there were no safeguards.

  It was not that men rebelled against and defied the establishedtraditions: these simply did not apply to life as it burst upon oursons and daughters. Normal existence was wiped out by a flash oflightning. The old duties, habits, manners, responsibilities, wererudely cast aside: for what seemed, and perhaps was, a higher call. Thewhole of life was revised in a few hours; and it is no exaggeration tosay that none knew their way about the new world.

  Only a clear understanding of what war really meant for us, can revealthe special problems of to-day in their relation to the permanent,which are the only real, emotions and instincts of human nature.

  To a large extent, the mental and moral growth of all young menwas abruptly stopped short. Those who have come back, physicallyfit, are—in all the essentials of character—five years youngerthan by the calendar, though more "fixed" in their few ideas. Manyare further hampered and—in a sense—abnormal; maimed, diseased,or nerve-shattered; definitely unbalanced in some way; only halfthemselves, liable to sudden loss, or defiance, of self-control.

  For five years they were not men, but screws in a vast evil machine.They had, indeed, experience of death; none of life. They had,practically, no responsibility towards, or for, themselves; no senseof duty before them except obedience; no aim beyond a standardizedefficiency. They lost every influence of home, neighbourliness,citizenship, and above all the refinement and sanctity of love. To livefor the moment became their Ideal; in a vision of noble patriotism andsublime self-sacrifice. It was not for them to plan, look forward,build up life and character for themselves.

  This unnatural and irresponsible existence, moreover, was to be spentamong scenes of appalling savagery and the worst primitive passions.

  "The place was rotten with dead; green clumsy legs High-booted, sprawled and grovelled along the saps; And trunks, face downward, in the sucking mud, Wallowed like trodden sand-bags loosely filled; And naked sodden buttocks, mats of hair, Bulged, clotted heads slept in the plastering slime."

  Only devils can serve the Devil of War; and _the supreme sacrifice oursons made for us was the sacrifice of their humanity_.

  To "do their bit," they put away themselves.

  But this abnormal, unreal existence, these lives in the Flame ofHate, hardened and coarsened by the day's work, positively _had_ todiscover some outlet; quick, sure ways to forget. Quite unused to thenormal "decencies," without experience in "ordering" themselves, thesex-instinct became explosive, a sense-riot unrestrained. Remember,that to men (and women, for that matter), hard working at highpressure, leading a strained and feverish life, the sex-thirst springsout. There is no drug for worn-out bodies and souls so easy and sosweet-savoured, so prompt in its effects, for the moment so complete.In those days few stopped to count the cost, face the consequences, ornote the weakening of the will. With death "round the corner," why stopto think? Life was all snatching; action meant a shrewd blow, carelessof what, in ourselves or in another, we killed by the way.

  And for girls and young women there was one Rule of Life—"give the mena good time." I know the inspiring motive, however little conscious insome, was a generous self-forgetting. To give is always ennobling, andGod forbid one should ever, by thought or word, belittle the selflessheroism born in woman.

  But then, our daughters had no chance to know and choose, no testbetween real emotion and fevered desire—their own or another's.Inheriting a beautiful home-womanliness, the flower of shelteredinnocence, they had to make and be themselves in the open of a newworld. Nobility shone out among us in those days, miracles beyondbelief of what woman can do and suffer for big, or small, men: a newvision of the mothering of humanity that brought God to our side. Also,alas, terrible shattering of English girlhood, ugly staining of thepure in heart, feverish unrest, a fury of overdoing, a hard glitter ofcold joy. Always haste, never growth. Wherefore to-day our morality isan ash-heap, which some weep over, others kick up.

  _Dare we refuse to face the black awakening to disillusion?_