CHAPTER II
LESSONS OF THE PAST
The problems that lie before us in the reconstitution of Europe are so many and so various that we can only hope to take a few separately, especially those which seem to throw most light on a possible future. I have used the phrase "reconstitution of Europe," because I do not know how otherwise to characterise the general trend of the ideas germinating in many men's minds as they survey the present crisis and its probable outcome. Europe will have to be reconstituted in more respects than one. At the present moment, or rather before the present war broke out, it was governed by phrases and conceptions which had become superannuated. An uneasy equipoise between the Great Powers represented the highest culmination of our diplomatic efforts. Something must clearly be substituted for this uneasy equipoise. It is not enough that after tremendous efforts the relative balance of forces between great states should, on the whole, dissuade them from war. As a matter of fact, it has not done so. The underlying conception has been that nations are so ardently bellicose that they require to be restrained from headlong conflicts by the doubtful and dangerous character of such military efforts as might be practicable. Hence Europe, as divided into armed camps, represents one of the old-fashioned ideas that we want to abolish. We wish to put in its stead something like a Concert of Europe. We have before our eyes a vague, but inspiring vision not of tremendous and rival armaments, but of a United States of Europe, each component element striving for the public weal, and for further advances in general cultivation and welfare rather than commercial prosperity. The last is a vital point, for it does not require much knowledge of modern history to discover that the race for commercial advantage is exactly one of the reasons why Europe is at war at the present moment. A vast increase in the commercial prosperity of any one state means a frantic effort on the part of its rivals to pull down this advantage. In some fashion, therefore, we have to substitute for endless competition the principle of co-operation, national welfare being construed at the same time not in terms of overwhelming wealth, but of thorough sanity and health in the body corporate.
Naked Strength
All this sounds shadowy and abstruse until it is translated into something concrete and definite. What is it we want to dispossess and banish from the Europe of to-day? We have to find something to take the place of what is called militarism. I dealt with the general features of militarism in my last essay; I will therefore content myself with saying that militarism in Europe has meant two things above all. First, the worship of might, as expressed in formidable armaments; next, the corresponding worship of wealth to enable the burden of armaments to be borne with comparative ease. The worship of naked strength involves several deductions. Right disappears, or rather is translated in terms of might. International morality equally disappears. Individuals, it is true, seek to be governed by the consciousness of universal moral laws. But a nation, as such, has no conscience, and is not bound to recognise the supremacy of anything higher than itself. Morality, though it may bind the individual, does not bind the State, or, as General von Bernhardi has expressed it, "political morality differs from individual morality because there is no power above the State." In similar fashion the worship of wealth carries numerous consequences with it, which are well worthy of consideration. But the main point, so far as it affects my present argument, is that it substitutes materialistic objects of endeavour for ethical and spiritual aims. Once more morality is defeated. The ideal is not the supremacy of good, but the supremacy of that range and sphere of material efficiency that is procurable by wealth.
Public Right
Let us try to be more concrete still, and in this context let us turn to such definite statements as are available of the views entertained by our chief statesmen, politicians, and leaders of public opinion. I turn to the speech which Mr. Asquith delivered on Friday evening, September 25, in Dublin, as part of the crusade which he and others are undertaking for the general enlightenment of the country. "I should like," said Mr. Asquith, "to ask your attention and that of my fellow-countrymen to the end which, in this war, we ought to keep in view. Forty-four years ago, at the time of the war of 1870, Mr. Gladstone used these words. He said: 'The greatest triumph of our time will be the enthronement of the idea of public right as the governing idea of European politics.' Nearly fifty years have passed. Little progress, it seems, has as yet been made towards that good and beneficent change, but it seems to me to be now at this moment as good a definition as we can have of our European policy—the idea of public right. What does it mean when translated into concrete terms? It means, first and foremost, the clearing of the ground by the definite repudiation of militarism as the governing factor in the relation of states and of the future moulding of the European world. It means next that room must be found and kept for the independent existence and the free development of the smaller nationalities, each with a corporate consciousness of its own. . . . And it means, finally, or it ought to mean, perhaps, by a slow and gradual process, the substitution for force, for the clash of competing ambition, for groupings and alliances, of a real European partnership based on the recognition of equal right and established and enforced by a common will."1 1 The Times, September 26.
Much the same language has been used by Sir Edward Grey and by Mr. Winston Churchill.
A Common Will
Observe that there are three points here. In the first place if I do not misapprehend Mr. Asquith's drift—in working for the abolition of militarism, we are working for a great diminution in those armaments which have become a nightmare to the modern world. The second point is that we have to help in every fashion small nationalities, or, in other words, that we have to see that countries like Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, the Scandinavian countries, Greece and the Balkan States, and, perhaps, more specially, the Slav nationalities shall have a free chance in Europe, shall "have their place in the sun," and not be browbeaten and raided and overwhelmed by their powerful neighbours. And the third point, perhaps more important than all, is the creation of what Mr. Asquith calls a "European partnership based on the recognition of equal right and established and enforced by a common will." We have to recognise that there is such a thing as public right; that there is such a thing as international morality, and that the United States of Europe have to keep as their ideal the affirmation of this public right, and to enforce it by a common will. That creation of a common will is at once the most difficult and the most imperative thing of all. Every one must be aware how difficult it is. We know, for instance, how the common law is enforced in any specified state, because it has a "sanction," or, in other words, because those who break it can be punished. But the weakness for a long time past of international law, from the time of Grotius onwards, is that it apparently has no real sanction. How are we to punish an offending state? It can only be done by the gradual development of a public conscience in Europe, and by means of definite agreements so that the rest of the civilised world shall compel a recalcitrant member to abide by the common decrees. If only this common will of Europe ever came into existence, we should have solved most, if not all, our troubles. But the question is: How?
A Hundred Years Ago
It may be depressing, but it certainly is an instructive lesson to go back just a hundred years ago, when the condition of Europe was in many respects similar to that which prevails now. The problems that unrolled themselves before the nations afford useful points of comparison. The great enemy was then Napoleon and France. Napoleon's views of empire were precisely of that universal predatory type which we have learnt to associate with the Kaiser and the German Empire. The autocratic rule of the single personal will was weighing heavily on nearly every quarter of the globe. Then came a time when the principle of nationality, which Napoleon had everywhere defied, gradually grew in strength until it was able to shake off the yoke of the conqueror. In Germany, and Spain, and Italy the principle of nationality steadily grew, while in England there had always been a steady opposition to the tyranny of Napoleon on the precise ground that it interfered with the independent existence of nations. The defeat of Napoleon, therefore, was hailed by our forefathers a hundred years ago as the dawn of a new era. Four great Powers—Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia—had before them as their task the settlement of Europe, one of the noblest tasks that could possibly be assigned to those who, having suffered under the old regime, were desirous to secure peace and base it on just and equitable foundations. There is thus an obvious parallelism between the conditions of affairs in 1815 and those which will, as we hope, obtain if and when the German tyrant is defeated and the nations of Europe commence their solemn task of reconstituting Europe. Of course, we must not press the analogy too far. The dawn of a new era might have been welcomed in 1815, but the proviso was always kept in the background that most of the older traditions should be preserved. Diplomacy was still inspired by its traditional watchwords. Above all, the transformation so keenly and so vaguely desired was in the hands of sovereigns who were more anxious about their own interests than perhaps was consistent with the common weal.
Equilibrium
At first the four Great Powers proceeded very tentatively. They wished to confine France—the dangerous element in Europe—within her legitimate boundaries. Next, they desired to arrange an equilibrium of Powers (observe, in passing, the old doctrine of the Balance of Power) so that no individual state should for the future be in a position to upset the general tranquillity. Revolutionary France was to be held under by the re-establishment of its ancient dynasty. Hence Louis XVIII was to be restored. The other object was to be obtained by a careful parcelling out of the various territories of Europe, on the basis, so far as possible, of old rights consecrated by treaties. It is unnecessary to go into detail in this matter. We may say summarily that Germany was reconstituted as a Confederation of Sovereign States; Austria received the Presidency of the Federal Diet; in Italy Lombardo-Venetian was erected into a kingdom under Austrian hegemony, while the Low Countries were annexed to the crown of Holland so as to form, under the title of the United Netherlands, an efficient barrier against French aggression northwards. It was troublesome to satisfy Alexander I of Russia because of his ambition to secure for himself the kingdom of Poland. Indeed, as we shall see presently, the personality of Alexander was a permanent stumbling-block to most of the projects of European statesmen. As a whole, it cannot be denied that this particular period of history, between Napoleon's abdication in 1814 and the meeting of the European Congress at Verona in 1882, presented a profoundly distressing picture of international egotism. The ruin of their common enemy, relieving the members of the European family from the necessity of maintaining concord, also released their individual selfishnesses and their long-suppressed mutual jealousies.1 1 See The Confederation of Europe, by Walter Alison Phillips (Longmans), esp. Chapters V and VI. Cf. also Political and Literary Essays, by the Earl of Cromer, 2nd series (Macmillan), on The Confederation of Europe.
The Holy Alliance
The figure of Alexander I dominates this epoch. His character exhibits a very curious mixture of autocratic ambition and a mystical vein of sheer undiluted idealism. Probably it would be true to say that he began by being an idealist, and was forced by the pressure of events to adopt reactionary tactics. Perhaps also, deeply embedded in the Russian nature we generally find a certain unpracticalness and a tendency to mystical dreams, far remote from the ordinary necessities of every day. It was Alexander's dream to found a Union of Europe, and to consecrate its political by its spiritual aims. He retained various nebulous thinkers around his throne; he also derived much of his crusade from the inspiration of a woman—Baroness von Krüdener, who is supposed to have owed her own conversion to the teaching of a pious cobbler. Even if we have to describe Alexander's dream as futile, we cannot afford to dismiss it as wholly inoperative. For it had as its fruit the so-called Holy Alliance, which was in a sense the direct ancestor of the peace programmes of the Hague, and, through a different chain of ideas, the Monroe Doctrine of the United States. We are apt sometimes to confuse the Holy Alliance with the Grand Alliance. The second, however, was a union of the four Great Powers, to which France was ultimately admitted. The first was not an alliance at all, hardly, perhaps, even a treaty. It was in its original conception a single-hearted attempt to arrange Europe on the principles of the Christian religion, the various nations being regarded as brothers who ought to have proper brotherly affection for one another. We know that, eventually, the Holy Alliance became an instrument of something like autocratic despotism, but in its essence it was so far from being reactionary that, according to the Emperor Alexander, it involved the grant of liberal constitutions by princes to their subjects.
Diplomatic Criticism
But just because it bound its signatories to act on certain vague principles for no well-defined ends, it was bound to become the mockery of diplomatists trained in an older school. Metternich, for instance, called it a "loud sounding nothing"; Castlereagh "a piece of sublime mysticism and nonsense," while Canning declared that for his part he wanted no more of "Areopagus and the like of that." What happened on this occasion is what ordinarily happens with well-intentioned idealists who happen also to be amateur statesmen. Trying to regulate practical politics, the Holy Alliance was deflected from its original purpose because its chief author, Alexander I, came under the influence of Metternich and was frightened by revolutionary movements in Italy and within his own dominions. Thus the instrument originally intended to preserve nationalities and secure the constitutional rights of people was converted into a weapon for the use of autocrats only anxious to preserve their own thrones. Nevertheless, though it may have been a failure, the Holy Alliance did not leave itself without witness in the modern world. It tried to regulate ordinary diplomacy in accordance with ethical and spiritual principles; and the dreaming mind of its first founder was reproduced in that later descendant of his who initiated the Hague propaganda of peace.
Failure
"These things were written for our ensamples," and we should be foolish indeed if we did not take stock of them with an anxious eye to the future. The main and startling fact is that with every apparent desire for the re-establishment of Europe on better lines, Europe, as a matter of fact, drifted back into the old welter of conflicting nationalities, while the very instrument of peace—the Holy Alliance—was used by autocratic governments for the subjection of smaller nationalities and the destruction of popular freedom. It is accordingly very necessary that we should study the conditions under which so startling a transformation took place. Even in England herself it cannot be said that the people were in any sense benefited by the conclusions of the war. They had borne its burdens, but at its end found themselves hampered as before in the free development of a democracy. Meanwhile, Europe at large presented a spectacle of despotism tempered by occasional popular outbreaks, while in the majority of cases the old fetters were riveted anew by cunning and by no means disinterested hands.
A Deceptive Parallel
What we have to ask ourselves is whether the conditions a hundred years ago have any real similarity with those likely to obtain when Europe begins anew to set its house in order. To this, fortunately, we can return a decided negative. We have already shown that the general outlines present a certain similarity, but the parallelism is at most superficial, and in many respects deceptive. A despot has to be overthrown, an end has to be put to a particular form of autocratic regime, and smaller states have to be protected against the exactions of their stronger neighbours that is the extent of the analogy. But it is to be hoped that we shall commence our labours under much better auspices. The personal forces involved, for instance, are wholly different. Amongst those who took upon themselves to solve the problems of the time is to be found the widest possible divergence in character and aims. On the one side we have a sheer mystic and idealist in the person of Alexander I, with all kinds of visionary characters at his side—La Harpe, who was his tutor, a Jacobin pure and simple, and a fervent apostle of the teachings of Jean Jacques Rousseau; Czartoryski, a Pole, sincerely anxious for the regeneration of his kingdom; and Capo d'Istria, a champion of Greek nationality. To these we have to add the curious figure of the Baroness von Krüdener, an admirable representative of the religious sickliness of the age. "I have immense things to say to him," she said, referring to the Emperor, "the Lord alone can prepare his heart to receive them." She had, indeed, many things to say to him, but her influence was evanescent and his Imperial heart was hardened eventually to quite different issues.
Metternich
Absolutely at the other extreme was a man like Metternich, trained in the old school of politics, wily with the wiliness of a practised diplomatic training, naturally impatient of speculative dreamers, thoroughly practical in the only sense in which he understood the term, that is to say, determined to preserve Austrian supremacy. To a reactionary of this kind the Holy Alliance represented nothing but words. He knew, with the cynicism bred of long experience of mankind, that the rivalries and jealousies between different states would prevent their union in any common purpose, and in the long run the intensity with which he pursued his objects, narrow and limited as it was, prevailed over the large and vague generosity of Alexander's nature. To the same type belonged both Talleyrand and Richelieu, who concentrated themselves on the single task of winning back for France her older position in the European commonwealth—a laudable aim for patriots to espouse, but one which was not likely to help the cause of the Holy Alliance.
Castlereagh and Canning
Half-way between these two extremes of unpractical idealists and extremely practical but narrow-minded reactionaries come the English statesmen, Castlereagh, Wellington, and Canning. Much injustice has been done to the first of these. For many critics have been misled by Byron's denunciation of Castlereagh, just as others have spoken lightly of the stubborn conservatism of Wellington, or the easy and half-cynical insouciance of the author of the Anti-Jacobin. As a matter of fact, Castlereagh was by no means an opponent of the principles of the Holy Alliance. He joined with Russia, Austria, and Prussia as a not unwilling member of the successive Congresses, but both he and Wellington, true to their national instincts, sought to subordinate all proposals to the interests of Great Britain, and to confine discussions to immediate objects, such as the limitation of French power and the suppression of dangerous revolutionary ideas. They were not, it is true, idealists in the sense in which Alexander I understood the term. And yet, on the whole, both Castlereagh and Canning did more for the principle of nationality than any of the other diplomatists of the time. The reason why Canning broke with the Holy Alliance, after Troppau, Laibach, and Verona, was because he discerned something more than a tendency on the part of Continental States to crush the free development of peoples, especially in reference to the Latin-American States of South America. It is true that in these matters he and his successor were guided by a shrewd notion of British interest, but it would be hardly just to blame them on this account. "You know my politics well enough," wrote Canning in 1822 to the British Ambassador in St. Petersburg, "to know what I mean when I say that for Europe I should be desirous now and then to read England." Castlereagh was, no doubt, more conciliatory than Canning, but he saw the fundamental difficulty of organising an international system and yet holding the balance between conflicting nations. And thus we get to a result such as seems to have rejoiced the heart of Canning, when he said in 1823 that "the issue of Verona has split the one and indivisible alliance into three parts as distinct as the constitutions of England, France, and Muscovy." "Things are getting back," he added, "to a wholesome state again. Every nation for itself and God for us all. Only bid your Emperor (Alexander I) be quiet, for the time for Areopagus and the like of that is gone by."1 1 The Confederation of Europe, by W. A. Phillips, p. 280.
Earthen Vessels
If, then, the ardent hopes of a regenerated Europe in the early years of the nineteenth century failed, the result was due in large measure to the fact that the business was committed to wrong hands. The organs for working the change were for the most part autocratic monarchs and old-world diplomatists—the last people in the world likely to bring about a workable millennium. A great crisis demands very careful manipulation. Cynicism must not be allowed to play any part in it. Traditional watchwords are not of much use. Theoretical idealism itself may turn out to be a most formidable stumbling-block. Yet no one can doubt that a solution of the problem, whenever it is arrived at, must come along the path of idealism. Long ago a man of the world was defined as a man who in every serious crisis is invariably wrong. He is wrong because he applies old-fashioned experience to a novel situation—old wine in new bottles—and because he has no faith in generous aspirations, having noted their continuous failure in the past. Yet, after all, it is only faith which can move mountains, and the Holy Alliance itself was not so much wrong in the principles to which it appealed as it was in the personages who signed it. We have noticed already that, like all other great ideas, it did not wholly die. The propaganda of peace, however futile may be some of the discussions of pacifists, is the heritage which even so wrong-headed a man as Alexander I has left to the world. The idea of arbitration between nations, the solution of difficulties by arguments rather than by swords, the power which democracies hold in their hands for guiding the future destinies of the world all these in their various forms remain with us as legacies of that splendid, though ineffective, idealism which lay at the root of the Holy Alliance.
Small Nationalities
And now after this digression, which has been necessary to clear the ground, and also to suggest apt parallels, let us return to what Mr. Asquith said in Dublin on the ultimate objects of the present war. He borrowed from Mr. Gladstone the phrase "the enthronement of the idea of public right as the governing idea of European politics," and in developing it as applicable to the present situation he pointed out that for us three definite objects are involved. The first, assented to by every publicist of the day, apart from those educated in Germany, is the wholesale obliteration of the notion that states exist simply for the sake of going to war. This kind of militarism, in all its different aspects, will have to be abolished. The next point brings us at once to the heart of some of the controversies raised in 1815 and onwards. "Room," said Mr. Asquith—agreeing in this matter with Mr. Winston Churchill—"room must be found, and kept, for the independent existence and the free development of the smaller nationalities, each with a corporate consciousness of its own." Now this is a plain issue which every one can understand. Not only did we go to war in order to help a small nationality—Belgium—but the very principle of nationality is one of the familiar phrases which have characterised British policy through the greater part of the nineteenth century. Our principle is to live and let live, to allow smaller states to exist and thrive by the side of their large neighbours without undue interference on the part of the latter. Each distinct nationality is to have its voice, at all events, in the free direction of its own future. And, above all, its present and future position must be determined not by the interests of the big Powers, but by a sort of plebiscite of the whole nationality.
Some Plain Issues
Applying such principles to Europe as it exists to-day, and as it is likely to exist tomorrow, we arrive at certain very definite conclusions. The independence of Belgium must be secured, so also must the independence of Holland and Denmark. Alsace and Lorraine must, if the inhabitants so wish, be restored to France, and there can be little doubt that Alsace at all events will be only too glad to resume her old allegiance to the French nation. The Duchies of Schleswig-Holstein must also decide whether they would like to be reunited to Denmark. And we are already aware that the Tsar has promised to give independence to the country of Poland a point which forms a curious analogy with the same offer originally proposed by the Tsar's ancestor, Alexander I. Of course, these do not exhaust by any means the changes that must be forthcoming. Finland will have to be liberated; those portions of Transylvania which are akin to Roumania must be allowed to gravitate towards their own stock. Italy must arrogate to herself if she is wise enough to join her forces with those of the Triple Entente—those territories which come under the general title of "unredeemed Italy"—the Trentino and Trieste, to say nothing of what Italy claims on the Adriatic littoral. Possibly the greatest changes of all will take place in reference to the Slavs. Serbia and Montenegro will clearly wish to incorporate in a great Slav kingdom a great many of their kinsmen who at present are held in uneasy subjection by Austria.1 1 The entrance of Turkey into the quarrel of course brings new factors into the ultimate settlement. Nor must we forget how these same principles apply to the Teutonic States. If the principle of nationality is to guide us, we must preserve the German nation, even though we desire to reduce its dangerous elements to impotence. Prussia must remain the home of all those Germans who accept the hegemony of Berlin, but it does not follow that the southern states of the German Empire—who have not been particularly fond of their northern neighbours—should have to endure any longer the Prussian yoke. Lastly, the German colonies can hardly be permitted to remain under the dominion of the Kaiser.1 1 Cf. Who is Responsible? by Cloudesley Brereton (Harrap), Chapter IV, "The Settlement." Here are only a few of the changes which may metamorphose the face of Europe as a direct result of enforcing the principle of nationalities.European Partnership
But there is a further point to which Mr. Asquith referred, one which is more important than anything else, because it represents the far-off ideal of European peace and the peace of the world. "We have got to substitute by a slow and gradual process," said Mr. Asquith, "instead of force, instead of the clash of compelling ambition, instead of groupings and alliances, a real European partnership, based on the recognition of equal right and established and enforced by a common will." There we have the whole crux of the situation, and, unfortunately, we are forced to add, its main difficulty. For if we desire to summarise in a single sentence the rock on which European negotiations from 1815 to 1829 ultimately split, it was the union of two such contradictory things as independent nationalities and an international committee or system of public law. Intrinsically the two ideas are opposed, for one suggests absolute freedom, and the other suggests control, superintendence, interference. If the one recognises the entire independence of a nationality within its own limits, the other seeks to enforce something of the nature of a European police to see that every nation does its duty. It is true, of course, that this public will of Europe must be incorporated in a kind of parliament, to which the separate nations must send their representatives, and that thus in a fashion each nation will have its proper say in any of the conclusions arrived at. But here the difficulty starts anew owing to the relative size, and therefore the relative importance of the different states constituting the union. If all alike are given an equivalent vote, it is rather hard on the big states, which represent larger numbers and therefore control larger destinies. If, on the other hand, we adopt the principle of proportional representation, we may be pretty certain that the larger states will press somewhat heavily on the smaller. For instance, suppose that some state violates, or threatens to violate, the public law of the world. In that case the Universal Union must, of course, try to bring it to reason by peaceful means first, but if that should fail, the only other alternative is by force of arms. If once we admit the right of the world-organisation to coerce its recalcitrant members, what becomes of the sovereign independence of nations? That, as we have said, was the main difficulty confronting the European peace-maker of a hundred years ago, and, however we may choose to regard it, it remains a difficulty, we will not say insuperable, but at all events exceedingly formidable, for the European peace-makers of the twentieth century. The antithesis is the old antithesis between order and progress; between coercion and independence; between the public voice, or, if we like to phrase it so, the public conscience, and the arbitrariness and irresponsibility of individual units. Or we might put the problem in a still wider form. A patriot is a man who believes intensely in the rights of his own nationality. But if we have to form a United States of Europe we shall have gradually to soften, diminish, or perhaps even destroy the narrower conceptions of patriotism. The ultimate evolution of democracy in the various peoples means the mutual recognition of their common interests, as against despotism and autocracy. It is clear that such a process must gradually wipe out the distinction between the different peoples, and substitute for particularism something of universal import. In such a process what, we ask once more, becomes of the principle of nationality, which is one of our immediate aims? In point of fact, it is obvious that, from a strictly logical standpoint, the will of Europe, or the public right of Europe, and the free independence of nationalities are antithetical terms, and will continue to remain so, however cunningly, by a series of compromises, we may conceal their essential divergence. That is the real problem which confronts us quite as obstinately as it did our forefathers after the destruction of the Napoleonic power. And it will have to be faced by all reformers, whether they are pacifists or idealists, on ethical or political grounds.
A Moral for Pacifists
What is the outcome of the foregoing considerations? The only moral at present which I am disposed to draw is one which may be addressed to pacifists in general, and to all those who avail themselves of large and generous phrases, such as "the public will of Europe," or "the common consciousness of civilised states." The solution of the problem before us is not to be gained by the use of abstract terms, but by very definite and concrete experience used in the most practical way to secure immediate reforms. We demand, for instance, the creation of what is to all intents and purposes an international federal system applied to Europe at large. Now it is obvious that a federal system can be created amongst nations more or less at the same level of civilisation, inspired by much the same ideals, acknowledging the same end of their political and social activity. But in what sense is this true of Europe as we know it? There is every kind of diversity between the constituent elements of the suggested federation. There is no real uniformity of political institutions and ideals. But in order that our object may be realised it is precisely this uniformity of political institutions and ideals amongst the nations which we require. How is a public opinion formed in any given state? It comes into being owing to a certain community of sentiments, opinions, and prejudices, and without such community it cannot develop. The same thing holds true of international affairs. If we desiderata the public voice of Europe, or the public conscience of Europe, Europe must grow to be far more concordant than it is at present, both in actual political institutions and in those inspiring ideals which form the life-blood of institutions. How many states, for instance, recognise or put into practice a really representative system of government?
Compulsory Arbitration
If we turn to the programme of the pacifists, we shall be confronted by similar difficulties. Pacifism, as such, involves an appeal to all the democracies, asking them to come into line, as it were, for the execution of certain definite projects intended to seek peace and ensure it. The first stage of the peace movement is the general recognition of the principle of arbitration between states. That first period has, we may take it, been already realised. The second stage is the recognition of compulsory arbitration. When, in 1907, the second Hague Conference was held, this principle was supported by thirty-two different states, representing more than a thousand million human beings. Something like three or four hundred millions remained not yet prepared to admit the principle in its entirety. I may remark in passing that the verbal acceptance of a general principle is one thing, the application, as we have lately had much reason to discover, is quite another. We may recognise, however, that this second stage of the pacifist programme has, undoubtedly, made large advances. But of course it must necessarily be followed by its consequence, a third stage which shall ensure respect for, and obedience to arbitration verdicts. Recalcitrant states will have to be coerced, and the one thing that can coerce them is an international police administered by an international executive power. That is to say, we must have a parliament of parliaments, a universal parliament, the representatives of which must be selected by the different constituent members of the United States of Europe. When this has been done, and only when this has been done, can we arrive at a fourth stage, that of a general disarmament. In the millennium that is to be it is only the international police which shall be allowed to use weapons of war in order to execute the decrees of the central parliament representing the common European will.
Democratic Unanimity
Here we have all the old difficulties starting anew, and especially the main one—democratic unanimity. How far the democracies of the European Commonwealth can work in unison is one of the problems which the future will have to solve. At present they, obviously, do not do so. The Social Democrats of Germany agreed to make war on the democrats of other countries. Old instincts were too strong for them. For it must always be remembered that only so far as a cosmopolitan spirit takes the place of narrow national prejudices can we hope to reach the level of a common conscience, or a common will of Europe. And are we prepared to say that national prejudices ought to be obliterated and ignored? The very principle of nationality forbids it.
I do not wish, however, to end on a note of pessimism. The mistake of the pacifist has all along been the assumption that bellicose impulses have died away. They have done nothing of the kind, and are not likely to do so. But, happily, all past experience in the world's history shows us that ideas in a real sense govern the world, and that a logical difficulty is not necessarily a practical impossibility. In this case, as in others, a noble and generous idea of European peace will gradually work its own fulfilment, if we are not in too much of a hurry to force the pace, or imagine that the ideal has been reached even before the preliminary foundations have been laid.