THE HOPE OF LASTING PEACE

(From a Symposium on “Nationality,” 1915.)

In these times one dread lies heavy on heart and brain—the thought that after all the unimaginable suffering, waste, and sacrifice of this war nothing may come of it, no real relief, no permanent benefit to Europe, no improvement to the future of mankind.

The pronouncements of publicists: “This must never happen again,” “Conditions for abiding peace must be secured,” “The United States of Europe must be founded,” “Militarism must cease”—all such are the natural outcome of this dread. They are proclamations admirable in sentiment and intention. But, human nature being what it has been and is likely to remain, we must face the possibility that nothing will come of the war, save the restoration of Belgium (that, at least, is certain); some alterations of boundaries; a long period of economic and social trouble more bitter than before; a sweeping moral reaction after too great effort. Cosmically regarded, this war is a debauch rather than a purge, and debauches have always to be paid for.

Confronting the situation in this spirit, we shall be the more rejoiced if any of our wider hopes should by good fortune be attained.

Leaving aside the restoration of Belgium—for what do we continue to fight? We go on, as we began, because we all believe in our own countries and what they stand for. And in considering how far the principle of nationality should be exalted, one must remember that it is in the main responsible for the present state of things. In truth, the principle of nationality of itself and by itself is a quite insufficient ideal. It is a mere glorification of self in a world full of other selves; and only of value in so far as it forms part of that larger ideal, an international ethic, which admits the claims and respects the aspirations of all nations. Without that ethic little nations are (as at the present moment) the prey—and, according to the naked principle of nationality, the legitimate prey—of bigger nations. Germany absorbed Schleswig, Alsace-Lorraine, and now Belgium, by virtue of nationalism, of an overweening belief in the perfection of its national self. Austria would subdue Serbia from much the same feeling. France does not wish to absorb or subdue any European people of another race, because France, as ever, a little in advance of her age, is already grounded in this international ethic of solid respect for the rights of all nations which belong, broadly speaking, to the same stage of development. The same may now be said of the other Western democratic Powers, Britain and America, “To live and let live,” “To dwell together in unity,” are the guiding maxims of the international ethic, by virtue of which alone have the smaller communities of men—the Belgiums, Bohemias, Polands, Serbias, Denmarks, Irelands, Switzerlands of Europe—any chance of security in the maintenance of their national existence. In short, the principle of nationality, unless it is prepared to serve this international ethic, is but a frank abettor of the devilish maxim: “Might is right.” All this is truism; but truisms are often the first things we forget.

The whole question of nationality in Europe bristles with difficulties. It cannot be solved by theory and rule of thumb. What is a nation? Shall it be determined by speech, by blood, by geographical boundary, by historic tradition? The freedom and independence of a country can and ever should be assured when with one voice it demands the same. It is seldom so simple as that. Belgium, no doubt, is as one man. Poland is one man in so far as the Poles are concerned, but what of the Austrians, Russians, Germans settled among them? What of Ireland split into two camps? What of the Germans in Bohemia; in Alsace; in Schleswig? Compromise alone is possible in many cases, going by favour of majority. And there will always remain the very poignant question of the rights and aspirations of the minorities. Let us by all means clear the air by righting glaring wrongs, removing palpable anomalies, redressing obvious injustices, securing so far as possible the independent national life of homogeneous groups; but let us not, dazzled by the glamour of a word, dream that by restoring a few landmarks, altering a few boundaries, and raising a pæan to the word “nationality” we can banish all clouds from the sky of Europe and muzzle the ambitions of the stronger nations.

In my belief the best hope for lasting peace, the chief promise of security for the rights and freedom of little countries, the most reasonable guarantee of international justice and general humanity, lies in the gradual growth of democracy, of rule by consent of the governed. When Europe is all democratic, and its civilization on one plane—instead of as now on two—then and then only we shall begin to draw the breath of real assurance. Then only will the little countries sleep quietly in their beds. It is conceivable, nay probable, that an ideal autocracy could achieve more good for its country and for the world at large in a given time than the rule of the most enlightened democracy. It is certain that ideal autocracies hold sway but once in a blue moon.

If proof be needed that the prevalence of democracy will end aggression among nations that belong to the same stage of development, secure the rights of small peoples, foster justice and humaneness in man, let the history of this last century and a half be well examined, and let the human probabilities be weighed. Which is the more likely to advocate wars of aggression? They who, by age, position, wealth, are secure against the daily pressure of life, they who have passed their time out of touch with the struggle for existence, in an atmosphere of dreams, ambitions, and power over other men? Or they who every hour are reminded how hard life is, even at its most prosperous moments, who have nothing to gain by war, and all, even life, to lose; who by virtue of their own struggles have a deep knowledge of the struggles of their fellow-creatures; an instinctive repugnance to making those struggles harder; who have heard little and dreamed less of those so-called “national interests” that are so often mere chimeras; who love, no doubt, in their inarticulate way, the country where they were born and the modes of life and thought to which they are accustomed, but know of no traditional and artificial reasons why the men of other countries should not be allowed to love their own lands and modes of thought and life in equal peace and security?

Assuredly, the latter of these two kinds of men are the less likely to favour ambitious projects and aggressive wars. According as “the people,” through their representatives, have or have not the final decision in such matters, the future of Europe shall be made of war or peace, of respect or of disregard for the rights of little nations.

It is advanced against democracies that the workers of a country, ignorant and provincial in outlook, have no grasp of international politics. True—in a Europe where national ambitions and dreams are still for the most part hatched and nurtured in nests perched high above the real needs and sentiments of the simple working folk who form nine-tenths of the population in each country. But once those nests of aggressive nationalism have fallen from their high trees, so soon as all Europe conforms to the principle of rule by consent of the governed, it will be found—as it has already been found in France and in this country—that the general sense of the community informed by growing publicity (through means of communication ever speeding-up) is quite sufficient trustee of national safety; quite able, even enthusiastically able, to defend its country from attack.

It is said that democracies are liable to be swept by gusts of passion, in danger of yielding to Press or mob sentiment. But are not the peoples of democratic countries as firmly counselled and held in check by their responsible ministers and elected representatives as are the peoples of autocratically governed countries? What power of initiative have “the people” in either case? They act only through their leaders. But their leaders are elected—that is the point.

Representative Governments must answer for their actions to their fellow-men. Autocratic Governments need only answer to their gods. The eyes of representative Governments are turned habitually inwards towards the condition of the people whom they represent. The eyes of autocratic Governments may indeed be turned inwards, but what they usually see of the people whom they do not represent is liable to make them turn outwards. In other words, they find in successful foreign adventure and imperialism a potent safeguard against internal troubles.

The problem before the world at the end of this war is how to eliminate the virus of an aggressive nationalism that will lead to fresh outbursts of death. It is a problem that I, for one, fear will beat the powers and good-will of all, unless there should come a radical change of Governments in Central Europe; unless the real power in Germany and Austria-Hungary passes into the hands of the people of those countries, through their elected representatives, as already it has passed in France and Britain. This is in my belief the only chance for the defeat of militarism, of that raw nationalism, which, even if beaten down at first, will ever be lying in wait, preparing secret revenge and fresh attacks. How this democratization of Central Europe can be brought about I cannot tell. It is far off as yet. But if this be not at long last the outcome of the war, we may still, I fear, talk in vain of the rights of little nations, of peace, disarmament, of chivalry, justice, and humanity. We may whistle for a changed Europe.