Holmes's correspondence offers no shortage of examples of this disdain. About a pacifist in World War I, he wrote, "What damned fools people are who believe things. . . . All 'isms seem to me silly-but this hyperaethereal respect for human life seems perhaps the silliest of all." In another letter, he wrote, "I see no reason for attributing to a man a significance different in kind from that which belongs to a baboon or a grain of sand."
He took a similarly jaundiced view of the concepts of rights, truth, and justice. "All my life I have sneered at the natural rights of man." Rights were merely "what a given crowd will fight for." Truth was "what I can't help believing. . . . I can't help preferring port to ditch- water, but I see no ground for supposing that the cosmos shares my weakness." And de gustibus non est disputandum. "[W]hen men differ in taste as to the kind of world they want the only thing to do is go to work killing."
Yet Holmes eventually came to appreciate aspects of the wartime experience that had snuffed out his ideals. The highest expression of that appreciation came in "The Soldier's Faith," an address Holmes gave at Harvard on Memorial Day in 1895: "I do not know what is true. I do not know the meaning of the universe. But in the midst of doubt, in the collapse of creeds, there is one thing I do not doubt, that no man who lives in the same world with most of us can doubt, and that is that the faith is true and adorable which leads a soldier to throw away his life in obedience to a blindly accepted duty, in a cause which he little understands, in a plan of campaign of which he has no notion, under tactics of which he does not see the use." Teddy Roosevelt, of course, loved the speech.