It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation
*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*
Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"
The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.
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I like the message of this alot. Reminds me of why Tongans do not pray for the wind to be at their backs because that entailed another sailor being blown backwards by the same wind.
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I think this is an important message, not because it discourages war, but because it lays out the terrible repercussions of war. It may be necessary, but you have to reconcile that even a justified war is terrible.
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Actually, I think Twain is being a bit hypocritical here. If a war actually exists, then either you want to be defeated, or you want to defeat the other side. I very much doubt Twain would really, really want his own people to suffer what he describes. That being so, he does actually make the same prayer, if perhaps not explicitly.
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Gyah, three 'actually' in the same post is a bit much, act... when you come to think about it.
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I agree with Twain that it is important to understand all of the negative reprecussions of going to battle, but were I in the congregation at that church I would have answered with a very loud "YES!" The alternative being the other side winning the war and all of those terrible things happening to my townsfolk.
If both sides of this battle are actively engaging in war, I don't think pity would stop me from defending myself and my family w/ all of the force necessary.
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What Twain was refering to was the hupla and patriotic orgy that accompanied the Spanish/American war, our great experiment in colonialism. There was little to no chance of anyone in the US suffering what he describes we inflict on the other side.
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If both sides of this battle are not actively engaging in war, I think pity would stop me from using all of the force necessary.
Thanks Dan, context is everything. I assumed, obviously incorrectly, that the war in question was the Revolutionary War.
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KOM: I think Twain was opposing the over the top petitioning to God for victory. As if God actually assists the side that prays the most.
People usually ask God to saturate their side with victory, without any thought as to what the other side must experience for them to obtain "The Victory."
The Spanish American war was ridiculous IMO.
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I think Twain uses this story as an argument against blind patriotism and over-glorification of the war effort rather than to suggest that you should not wish that your side win. It is not that you should not pray for your troops to do well, but rather that when you do so, you should know the consequences of such prayers. War is ugly, people die, and good things like families and loving, caring relationships are destroyed; this is not to be forgotten.
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Included in the prayer for victory should be a prayer for mercy for the victims and a prayer for a pure heart and mind for the victorious. But I don't think that means one shouldn't pray for victory. Not that anyone said it should, but, ya know, I like the sound of the clicking keyboard.
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quote:The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.
Now this is what I call a proper sentence. 166 words! Pelegius has nothing on this guy.
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This was one of my favorite stories of Twain's since I found it in College. It was bound in a book by itself, almost in Poetic stanzas.
What I found saddest is that Twain was not allowed to publish this story while he lived. His family, publisher, and friends believed to do so would be to risk his life. It was to "sacriligous". Or, as Twain said, "I don't think the prayer will be published in my time. None but the dead are permitted to tell the truth."
The true question that this brings up is how does it reflect on our ongoing war on Terror. I don't only mean Iraq, but our enemies through out the mid-east, from Palestine to Pakistan. Where does self-defence end and brutality begin?
And more importantly, how can we get would-be-terrorists to ask the same questions.
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