EditorialsWhy Socialists Went to WarWehave listened with much interest to the excuses for the German Socialists who went to war, as well as to the attacks on them for doing so. Now, though hesitating to obtrude our ignorance into the muddle of a complicated discussion, we can’t refrain from offering a suggestion.The bottom reason for sudden activity under the stress of unusual circumstances is to be found, not in a conscious mental decision, but in the previously-formed habits of the individual mind. We are referring partly to the mob-emotion which has swept away so many even of the greatest souls of Europe. We are thinking more of the essence of Socialism, and the sort of emotional method which has been produced among its adherents—the material upon which mob-psychology had to work.There is no essential difference between the method of German Imperialism and the method of German Socialism; the only difference lies in the objectives. Both insist on the supreme importance of the state, both work through cohesive organization and the almost unquestioning following of leaders. The habit of obedience, the instinct for organization, the gregarious mode of action—these are the very qualities of the individual German which have made it possible for the German Social Democratic Party to grow to such size and strength. What more inevitable, when the mobilization order went up, when flags flew and drums beat, than that the individual German Socialist should in his excitement shoulder his gun and march to war?Of course, we don’t really know anything about it, and we haven’t the resources to make anything like a scientific investigation. But we strongly suspect that the morals of organized humanity will remain inferior to the morals of the individual until the individual habit of mind becomes one which denies to organized humanity supreme authority over the will.G. H. S.Even Galsworthy!InScribner’s Magazinefor November, Mr. Galsworthy has a stunning article on the War. And then at its close:—“Your Prussian supermen of Nietzsche’s cult...!”Another New PoetMr.Scharmel Iris is a young Italian poet, born in Florence, who at the tender age of ten, and later, was praised by Ruskin, Swinburne, Francis Thompson, Edmund Gosse, and other men who may be assumed to know what good poetry is. Ruskin wrote: “He is a youth of genius and his poems are marvelously beautiful. His heart has felt the pathos of life and he has set this pathos to music.” Swinburne said: “He writes with imaginative ardor, and impassioned is the word which best illustrates his utterance. He is genuine and sincere, and his lovely poems display energy of emotion and a true sense of poetic restraint.” Thompson was more superlative: “I believe Scharmel Iris to be a poet of the first rank,” he stated. “His poems are sublime in conception, rich in splendid imagery, full of remarkable metaphors and new figures, and musical in expression.” Of course it has been difficult for a young man of such talent to find a publisher or a public; but at last a volume of his work is to be brought out by the Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company. The book will be calledLyrics of a Lad, and will be ready about Christmas time. Beside a preface by Maurice Francis Egan and an interesting title-page decoration by Michele Greco, it will have a frontispiece portrait by Eugene R. Hutchinson, the photographer who should never be referred to by any noun except “artist.” Personally, we love Mr. Iris’s work; we use the verb thoughtfully, because his poetry is not merely the sort which interests or attracts; it remains in your mind as part of that art treasure-house which is your religion and your life.Prizes for PoetryAninteresting announcement comes fromPoetryin regard to two prize offers. One—the Helen Haire Levinson prize of two hundred dollars for the best poetry by a citizen of the United States published in the magazine during its second year—has been awarded to Mr. Carl Sandburg for hisChicago Poems. This is a particularly gratifying decision, for Mr. Sandburg’s is a new voice which must be reckoned with in American poetic production. The second is a one hundred dollar offer for the best war or peace poem on the present European situation, and has been given to Miss Louise Driscoll of Catskill, New York, for a poem calledMetal Checks, which appears in the November issue.
Editorials
Wehave listened with much interest to the excuses for the German Socialists who went to war, as well as to the attacks on them for doing so. Now, though hesitating to obtrude our ignorance into the muddle of a complicated discussion, we can’t refrain from offering a suggestion.
The bottom reason for sudden activity under the stress of unusual circumstances is to be found, not in a conscious mental decision, but in the previously-formed habits of the individual mind. We are referring partly to the mob-emotion which has swept away so many even of the greatest souls of Europe. We are thinking more of the essence of Socialism, and the sort of emotional method which has been produced among its adherents—the material upon which mob-psychology had to work.
There is no essential difference between the method of German Imperialism and the method of German Socialism; the only difference lies in the objectives. Both insist on the supreme importance of the state, both work through cohesive organization and the almost unquestioning following of leaders. The habit of obedience, the instinct for organization, the gregarious mode of action—these are the very qualities of the individual German which have made it possible for the German Social Democratic Party to grow to such size and strength. What more inevitable, when the mobilization order went up, when flags flew and drums beat, than that the individual German Socialist should in his excitement shoulder his gun and march to war?
Of course, we don’t really know anything about it, and we haven’t the resources to make anything like a scientific investigation. But we strongly suspect that the morals of organized humanity will remain inferior to the morals of the individual until the individual habit of mind becomes one which denies to organized humanity supreme authority over the will.
G. H. S.
InScribner’s Magazinefor November, Mr. Galsworthy has a stunning article on the War. And then at its close:—“Your Prussian supermen of Nietzsche’s cult...!”
Mr.Scharmel Iris is a young Italian poet, born in Florence, who at the tender age of ten, and later, was praised by Ruskin, Swinburne, Francis Thompson, Edmund Gosse, and other men who may be assumed to know what good poetry is. Ruskin wrote: “He is a youth of genius and his poems are marvelously beautiful. His heart has felt the pathos of life and he has set this pathos to music.” Swinburne said: “He writes with imaginative ardor, and impassioned is the word which best illustrates his utterance. He is genuine and sincere, and his lovely poems display energy of emotion and a true sense of poetic restraint.” Thompson was more superlative: “I believe Scharmel Iris to be a poet of the first rank,” he stated. “His poems are sublime in conception, rich in splendid imagery, full of remarkable metaphors and new figures, and musical in expression.” Of course it has been difficult for a young man of such talent to find a publisher or a public; but at last a volume of his work is to be brought out by the Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company. The book will be calledLyrics of a Lad, and will be ready about Christmas time. Beside a preface by Maurice Francis Egan and an interesting title-page decoration by Michele Greco, it will have a frontispiece portrait by Eugene R. Hutchinson, the photographer who should never be referred to by any noun except “artist.” Personally, we love Mr. Iris’s work; we use the verb thoughtfully, because his poetry is not merely the sort which interests or attracts; it remains in your mind as part of that art treasure-house which is your religion and your life.
Aninteresting announcement comes fromPoetryin regard to two prize offers. One—the Helen Haire Levinson prize of two hundred dollars for the best poetry by a citizen of the United States published in the magazine during its second year—has been awarded to Mr. Carl Sandburg for hisChicago Poems. This is a particularly gratifying decision, for Mr. Sandburg’s is a new voice which must be reckoned with in American poetic production. The second is a one hundred dollar offer for the best war or peace poem on the present European situation, and has been given to Miss Louise Driscoll of Catskill, New York, for a poem calledMetal Checks, which appears in the November issue.