Strange combats are being waged between metaphysicians, poets, historians—Eucken against Bergson; Hauptmann against Maeterlinck; Rolland against Hauptmann; Wells against Bernard Shaw. Kipling and D’Annunzio, Dehmel and de Régnier sing war hymns, Barrès and Maeterlinck chant pæans of hatred. Between a fugue of Bach and the organ which thunders _Deutschland über Alles_, Wundt, the aged philosopher of eighty-two, calls with his quavering voice the students of Leipzig to the holy war. And each nation hurls at the other the name “Barbarians....” [Sidenote: Come! Let us make a stand!] Come, friends! Let us make a stand! Can we not resist this contagion, whatever its nature and virulence be—whether moral epidemic or cosmic force? Do we not fight against the plague, and strive even to repair the disaster caused by an earthquake? Or must we bow ourselves before it, agreeing with Luzzatti in his famous article that “_In the universal disaster, the nations triumph_”? Shall we say with him that it is good and reasonable that “the demon of international war, which mows down thousands of beings, should be let loose,” so that the great and simple truth, “love of our country,” be understood? It would seem, then, that love of our country can flourish only through the hatred of other countries and the massacre of those who sacrifice themselves in the defense of them. There is in this theory a ferocious absurdity, a Neronian dilettantism which repels me to the very depths of my being. No! Love of my country does not demand that I shall hate and slay those noble and faithful souls who also love theirs, but rather that I should honor them and seek to unite with them for our common good.... [Sidenote: We are at heart all brothers!]