,” by Wilfred Owen to gain a deeper glimpse into the Great War.

World War I saw the elements of scientific progress and technology introduced into warfare on a scale never seen before in history. The technology that brought optimism in human nature and goodness now brought death and destruction on a level that shocked the world. It is often said that wars are fought with the tactics of the previous war, and the Great War is no exception. Unfortunately, this meant wave after wave of men charging across open ground and fighting from trenches. These tactics combined with the advent of machine guns, heavy artillery, poison gas, flamethrowers, tanks, and airplanes saw extreme casualty rates. View the war footage below and read the poem, “Dulce et Decorum Est
(Links to an external site.)
,” by Wilfred Owen to gain a deeper glimpse into the Great War.
Then, write a 1-page, double-spaced reaction paper. Consider what effects this war may have on society and their view of God and of Christianity. How might these developments clash with the optimism of the Progressive Era?

Dulce et Decorum Est
Wilfred Owen – 1893-1918
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori