CORRESPONDENCE.
THE RELIGION OF THE ORDINARY SOLDIER. (To MCC EDITOR. OP riff " SPECTATOR.") ffre,—Just after the Somme Battle began, when even on the quieter parts of the line the air became charged with rumours, I was coming one morning from a service with my brigade and met a man from a neighbouring unit. As we walked down the road together, he inquired if it were true that there had been a Com- munion service that weekday. On my assuring him there had, he became very serious, looked at me narrowly, and after a moment's pause said: " Is there something in the wind then, Sir? " And I think that is the ordinary soldier's idea of Christianity. He looks upon it as an institution whose main concern is to prepare men for death; and therefore, until you are in front of that possibility, Christianity is not strictly relevant. When Falstaff's lower limbs were getting as cold as any stone, and he had cried out " God, God, God," three or four times, Mistress Quickly, to comfort him, bade him he should not think of God; she hoped there was no need to trouble himself with such thoughts yet. And so my companion from the other unit. He was wondering, since Communion had been held on a weekday, whether the time was now come to trouble himself with the thought of God. We may conclude from this attitude of mind, then, that what Christians mean by prayer—its use, not as a last resort, but as a first resort, the habitual and joyful practice of the presence of God—the ordinary soldier does not understand. Prayer is for him a thing to be used only in extremis. Man's extremity is God's oppor- tunity, but God's opportunity does not really come until man's extremity; and to trouble Him until you are so reduced is not quite fair to either party. We shall begin then by conceding that the apprehension of the higher spiritual thought of Christianity is beyond our ordinary soldier.
But what does he really feel about life? I know that a strong ease could be made out, if you judged from his common speech, for the theory that the ordinary soldier is a fatalist. The com- monest expressions that men use out here about the possibility of their death are such as : " If my name is on a shell, it's no use running away. It will find me"; and " If I'm meant to be hit, sothing I can do will get me out of it "; and " If my time's come, It'si come." But in dealing with Englishmen, one has always to be an one's guard against trusting their own expression of their experi- ence. I have often remembered how, as I was speaking to a man whose most intimate friend had just fallen by his side, he replied : " It can't be helped "; and I was classifying him as a Stoic when I saw his face and realized suddenly that what he had meant was, " Thy will be done." For the genius of Englishmen is not in expression; and I believe that the fatalistic phraseology under which he expresses his idea of the world's government is rather an indication of his slovenly thinking than of his personal experience.
It is therefore hopeless to find a Christian theory of life, or any other theory, in the ordinary soldier. His genius is not specula- tive, but practical. We shall be on a more profitable scent if we follow his actions, and judge for ourselves whether he has any of the spirit of Christ in him.
During a discharge of gas at the beginning of July along our front, one of the cylinders was displaced by the near bursting of an enemy shell. It turned the nozzle round, and the gas began to pour into our own trench. One of my lads, who was acting as orderly, heard from the communication trench that something was happening and ran into the front line. If he had lost the half-minute required to fix his gas helmet it would have been too late. He ran forward unprotected, tugged at the cylinder, and pointed its nozzle outwards again before he fell unconscious. H• died a few minutes afterwards. Those who saw it told me it was a quite spontaneous action. This boy would have told you that if his name was on a shell, it was no use running away. But what is this but " He saved others, himself he could not save"? This Christian instinct of self-sacrifice is a part of the manhood of thousands of our ordinary soldiers. Let us look further into the actions of our ordinary soldier. In all the times I have spent at dressing-stations I have never seen a wounded man urge his claim to medical attention before his proper turn came. Uncomplainingly they lie there on their stretchers, often having been lost eight of in shell-holes for many hours with horrible wounds, then jolted along over broken ground by the stretcher-bearers, first-dressed after long waiting, then hoisted into cars and bumped over execrable roads for several miles to the main dressing-station; and there they lie, quietly waiting their turn. These are the ordinary swearing, blasphem- ous soldiers, and this mute heroism is called " the British sense of fairness." But what is it but the fulfilling of the Christian precept, " Whatsoever things ye would that others should do unto you, do ye also unto them " ?
Again, let us see if our ordinary soldier does not know something of another Christian quality. One afternoon I was burying some Scotch soldiers at a little cemetery outside a main dressing-station. The day was fiercely hot. Yon perspired if you spoke. The soil was grimly hard and baked; but I was struck by the way the graves had been dug. They were broad enough for two bodies. The walls were firm and straight. They were of a quite needless depth. The grave-digger, a little common Lancashire bantam, stood by with his cap off, showing beads of perspiration through his close-cut hair. I commented on his work, and asked him why he had dug so deep and so welL " Well, Sir," was his answer, " it's not muck we can do for the poor lads. It's best to give them a good grave." An hour later and there would be no sign above ground of all this extra, unofficial labour; for your bad grave, once filled in, looks as well as your good one. What had we here but that secret charity that lets not its left hand know what its right hand doeth—the full and perfect image of the true Christian alms-doer? And yet I make no doubt that same little fellow bad no reverence, and would have played football in the same corner of a field where a Communion service was being conducted.
One more example. One of our company commanders, an older
man who had held a command for many years in Rhodesia, was sharing my billet. From his corner of the stone- floor he became communicative. " I'm not a religious man," he began, " as you know. I swear too much, Padre. But I believe there's something after this life. A few weeks ago a young lad in my company came and showed me a telegram saying his mother was dying. His leave was nowhere near due, but I saw the Colonel, and we got him off. Well, the other night I was standing in the trench at the corner of one of the bays, and I beard this lad talking to his mate. I'm not a religious man, as you know. I swear too much. But if there's one thing I can't stand it's that awful word. This lad came out with it every third word. I called him. ' Look here,' I said, I've heard you talking to your mate for five minutes. If you've used that awful word once, you've used it a hundred times. You didn't know I was there—I'm not saying anything about that. But a few weeks ago you came to me blubbing your eyes out because your mother was dead. Now, do you think it's a nice thing for your poor dead mother now to be hearing you use that word?' Isn't that right, Padre?" Both the Captain and the lad thought the argument was unanswerable. For, though they both swore, they believed " there's something after this life."
This letter has limited itself rigorously to the religion of the ordinary soldier. Nothing has been said of the deep personal piety that comes from the heart of our best Christian homes, that shines out here like a city set on an hill, even as it does in England. I have not told you of the proud answer of Sergeant E., when I asked him why he had been one of the ten men to volunteer to take a sap-head. " If any one has to do these jobs, it's better it should be the Christians." We have not been in the company of these austere sprits, but in the common soldier's. Many a time our scantily attended services stir one up to indignant speech against the irreverence, spiritual indifference, and prayerlessmess out here, and we would like to deal the ordinary soldier a sounding ecclesi- astical anathema. But when, having taken off our white collars, we reflect on his spontaneous self-sacrifice, his charity, his alms- doing, and his respect for the dead, we become juster, and, becoming juster, become more hopeful for the soul of the ordinary soldier.
" We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence.
For it is as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery."
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