them was not a moral reason; it was simply upon the calculation that, while still pursuing its policy of physical force, it could afford to do without them. It could allow non-conformity based upon Christian teaching, or upon conscientious scruples, to streak the current of its policy, without thereby suffering any deflection of its course.
But it is quite different when the State, driven by its belief in the rightness and the remedial value of physical force, comes to commit the whole of its resources to the prosecution of war. The existence of the conscientious objector then becomes a more inconvenient factor in the situation; it may even, from the State's point of view, become a dangerous one. Then those insidious Christian idiosyncrasies, which have so often been allowed to withstand authority, must have all possible ground cut from under them, lest it should afford standing to a new social ideal. We have it on the authority of the public prosecutor himself that, if all men became conscientious objectors, war would no longer be possible; and from such a catastrophe the State must, of course, be saved by all possible means.
It is at this point, therefore, that the latent claim (which in peace time is often more honoured in the breach than in the observance) becomes insistent and active. The State must have—if it can get it—the personal service of all its able-bodied citizens. And
