A fat living of domineering idleness for industrial pirates and their pampered pets and shameless hangers-on is not much longer possible, unless the masters as usual can set the working people clutching at one another’s throats, draining one another’s sweat and blood in a hateful spasm of international epilepsy called “patriotic” war. Therefore drug the working people. Therefore read again to the weary multitude the goriest pages of history, and declare to them that an act must be soaked in a brother’s blood before it is magnificent. The people must lust again for another savage storm of stupid wrath called war. Therefore we see the war-flag of capitalism shrewdly waved before the bulging, easily inflamed eyes of the multitude: “Good fighters—war”; “young men not only willing, but anxious to fight—war”; “heroes, heroes—war”; “glory, military glory—war”; “noble, noble soldiers—war”; “ours the most improved arms in the world—war”; “greatest navy on earth—war”; “splendid victories—war”; “better militia—larger army—war”; “our national honor—war”; “we never surrender—war”; “America in the Orient—war”; “we must defend our foreign markets—war”; “see the brave boys behind the guns—war”; “send the fleets around the earth and dare the world to war”; “we are all ready for war, war, war”;—over and over this oratorical flag, this Christless vocabulary of blood-spilling cruelty, on and on, year after year—till these disgusting phrases steam in memory with the spurting blood of the long-mourned slain. Another war is necessary. Therefore fill the trenches with the carcasses of citizens and with fixed bayonets march on—on—on to noisy glory, on to the red madness of the brutal battlefield. This is the pagan text of literary and oratorical hirelings before a nation of Christians and peaceful Jews; this is the loveless refrain bellowed before blushing school girls; this is the Alexandrian slogan before excitable, impressible boys; this is the gore-stained banner to be gallantly flaunted on holidays before the tear-wet eyes of the sad old widows and the hobbling cripples of the Civil War; this is the race-cursing call to ninety millions of people sick of stupidly disputing with sword and cannon, longing to embrace one another in caressing fraternalism. Hideous echoes of the cruel voice of Caesar, savage whoop from the tomb of Napoleon, the assassin of France, barbarous yell from the war-cursed plains of the long, long ago—this—yes, this is the sublime height reached by the average orthodox teacher and preacher of patriotism.