All through his training he is learning the unimportance of his individuality, realizing that in a national, a world crisis, it counts for nothing.  On the other hand, he is equally learning that as a unit in a fighting force his every action is of the utmost importance.  The humility which the Army inculcates is not an abject self-depreciation that leads to loss of self-respect and effort.  Substituted for the old individualism is a new self-consciousness.  The man has become humble, but in proportion the soldier has become exceeding proud.  The old personal whims and ambitions give place to a corporate ambition and purpose, and this unity of will is symbolized in action by the simultaneous exactitude of drill, and in dress by the rigid identity of uniform.  Anything which calls attention to the individual, whether in drill or in dress, is a crime, because it is essential that the soldier’s individuality should be wholly subordinated to the corporate personality of the regiment.

As I said before, the personal humility of the soldier has nothing in it of abject self-depreciation or slackness.  On the contrary, every detail of his appearance, and every most trivial feature of his duty assumes an immense significance.  Slackness in his dress and negligence in his work are military crimes.  In a good regiment the soldier is striving after perfection all the time.

And it is when he comes to the supreme test of battle that the fruits of his training appear.  The good soldier has learnt the hardest lesson of all—­the lesson of self-subordination to a higher and bigger personality.  He has learnt to sacrifice everything which belongs to him individually to a cause that is far greater than any personal ambitions of his own can ever be.  He has learnt to do this so thoroughly that he knows no fear—­for fear is personal.  He has learnt to “hate” father and mother and life itself for the sake of—­though he may not call it that—­the Kingdom of God on earth.

It is a far cry from the old days when one talked of self-realization, isn’t it?  I make no claim to be a good soldier; but I think that perhaps I may be beginning to be one; for if I am asked now whether I “loathe militarism in all its forms,” I think that “the answer is in the negative,” I will even go farther, and say that I hope that some of the discipline and self-subordination that have availed to send men calmly to their death in war, will survive in the days of peace, and make of those who are left better citizens, better workmen, better servants of the State, better Church men.

IV

A MONTH’S REFLECTIONS

Timothy and I are on detachment.  We are billeted with M. le Cure, and we mess at the schoolmaster’s.  Hence we are on good terms with all parties, for of course a good schoolmaster shrugs his shoulders at a priest, and a good priest returns the compliment.  In war time, however, the hatchet seems to be buried pretty deep.  We have not seen it sticking out anywhere.