While we cannot go so far as to say with Franklin that ''there never was a good war or a bad peace'', nevertheless, war stands out clearly as the great world-crime against humanity.
Civilisation has no doubt got forward sometimes upon the powder cart, as the saying goes, and in the particular circumstances of the case could perhaps have got forward no other way.
But when nations that are civilised or that claim to be civilised resort to war civilisation shudders.
Why it is that while to every reasonable individual war must appear as an outrage against humanity nations must still prepare for it and shed their best blood on the battlefield is a question we need not attempt to answer here.
With the details of a European war as our fare from day to day we can do no more than make the best of a bad business.
The nation that engages, however unwillingly, in a war of defence, even as the British Empire is now doing, has at least its conscience clear.
If it did not think it would be justified in defending itself it would soon find that there are even worse things to be endured than war.
It is a large question in itself, that of the arguments for and against war.
Germany would not have drawn the sabre if she had not judged that war would bring her great advantages which would amply atone for the sacrifices that must be entailed even upon a victorious nation.
Dispassionate consideration cannot fail to discover that wars have their credit as well as their debit side.
A common danger may unite a people as nothing else can.
Of this the present war has produced its splendid illustration within the British Empire.
A nation that is fighting for its existence or for the cause of the week against the oppressor may be said to fight for humanity and civilisation.
Not without a sense of sacrifice do we send away to Europe and the war 10,000 young New Zealanders.
It is the most serious thing we ever did.
Compared with the war in Europe the South African war was a picnic; compared with this gift of men the gift of a Dreadnought sinks to nothing; the Dreadnought meant merely a few pounds out of our pocket.
What the Expeditionary Force means cannot be expressed in coin; no one has calculated the sum of it.
The men left us light-hearted, cheering and singing; but it was a wet-eyed response on our part, and you do not easily say goodbye when there is a lump in your throat.
Perhaps they have not pictured possibilities, nor will we; let everything continue on the theory that we shall greet them back again and all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.
War is war, 'tis true, and few, few shall part where many meet; yes, we know all that, but our cue is hope and a cheerful countenance, with a willingness to thank Heaven that we can still be proud of our country.
The March of the Ten Thousand Greeks, which for 20 centuries and more has filled a page of history, let it not be mentioned in comparison with the March of the New Zealanders.
The Ten Thousand Greeks marched and fought in a quarrel not their own, had hired themselves out for the job - mercenaries, rascals all, with not a respectable motive amongst them.
Our New Zealanders march at the call of the blood, of the Flag, of the Empire, and we and they both are the richer for the sacrifice we make in common. - Civis. - ODT, 25.9.1914.
