Now, it is no exaggeration at all to say that any one who has ever known any soldiers (I can only answer for English and Irish and Scotch soldiers) would find it just as easy to believe that a real Bishop would grovel on the carpet in a religious ecstasy, or that a real doctor would dance about the drawing-room to show the invigorating effects of his own medicine, as to believe that a soldier, when asked for his authority, would point to a lot of shining weapons and declare symbolically that might was right.  Of course, a real soldier would go rather red in the face and huskily repeat the proper formula, whatever it was, as that he came in the King’s name.

Soldiers have many faults, but they have one redeeming merit; they are never worshippers of force.  Soldiers more than any other men are taught severely and systematically that might is not right.  The fact is obvious.  The might is in the hundred men who obey.  The right (or what is held to be right) is in the one man who commands them.  They learn to obey symbols, arbitrary things, stripes on an arm, buttons on a coat, a title, a flag.  These may be artificial things; they may be unreasonable things; they may, if you will, be wicked things; but they are weak things.  They are not Force, and they do not look like Force.  They are parts of an idea:  of the idea of discipline; if you will, of the idea of tyranny; but still an idea.  No soldier could possibly say that his own bayonets were his authority.  No soldier could possibly say that he came in the name of his own bayonets.  It would be as absurd as if a postman said that he came inside his bag.  I do not, as I have said, underrate the evils that really do arise from militarism and the military ethic.  It tends to give people wooden faces and sometimes wooden heads.  It tends moreover (both through its specialisation and through its constant obedience) to a certain loss of real independence and strength of character.  This has almost always been found when people made the mistake of turning the soldier into a statesman, under the mistaken impression that he was a strong man.  The Duke of Wellington, for instance, was a strong soldier and therefore a weak statesman.  But the soldier is always, by the nature of things, loyal to something.  And as long as one is loyal to something one can never be a worshipper of mere force.  For mere force, violence in the abstract, is the enemy of anything we love.  To love anything is to see it at once under lowering skies of danger.  Loyalty implies loyalty in misfortune; and when a soldier has accepted any nation’s uniform he has already accepted its defeat.