Peace Theories and the Balkan War by Angell, Norman - CHAPTER VI.

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Peace Theories and the Balkan War

CHAPTER VI.

PACI­FISM, DE­FENCE, AND “THE IM­POS­SI­BIL­ITY OF WAR.”

Did the Crimean War prove Bright and Cob­den wrong?--Our cu­ri­ous rea­son­ing--Mr. Churchill on “il­lu­sions”--The dan­ger of war is not the il­lu­sion but its ben­efits--We are all Paci­fists now since we all de­sire Peace--Will more ar­ma­ments alone se­cure it?--The ex­pe­ri­ence of mankind--War “the fail­ure of hu­man wis­dom”--There­fore more wis­dom is the rem­edy--But the Mil­itarists on­ly want more arms--The Ger­man Lord Roberts--The mil­itary cam­paign against po­lit­ical Ra­tio­nal­ism--How to make war cer­tain.

The ques­tion sure­ly, which for prac­ti­cal men stands out from the mighty his­tor­ical episode touched on in the last chap­ter, is this: Was the fact that these de­spised men were so en­tire­ly right and their tri­umphant ad­ver­saries so en­tire­ly wrong a mere fluke, or was it due to the sound­ness of one set of prin­ci­ples and the hol­low­ness of the oth­er; and were the prin­ci­ples spe­cial to that case, or gen­er­al to in­ter­na­tion­al con­flict as a whole?

To have an opin­ion of worth on that ques­tion we must get away from cer­tain con­fu­sions and mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tions.

It is a very com­mon habit for the Bel­li­cist to quote the list of wars which have tak­en place since the Crimean War as proof of the er­ror of Bright and Cob­den. But what are the facts?

Here were two men who stren­uous­ly and ruth­less­ly op­posed a cer­tain pol­icy; they urged, not on­ly that it would in­evitably lead to war, but that the war would be fu­tile--but not ster­ile, for they saw that oth­ers would grow from it. Their coun­sel was dis­re­gard­ed and the war came, and events have proved that they were right and the war-​mak­ers wrong, and the very fact that the wars took place is cit­ed as dis­ap­prov­ing their “the­ories.”[8]

It is a like con­fu­sion of thought which prompts Mr. Churchill to re­fer to Paci­fists as peo­ple who deem the _dan­ger_ of war an il­lu­sion.

This per­sis­tent mis­con­cep­tion is worth a lit­tle ex­am­ina­tion.

* * * * *

The smoke from the first rail­way en­gines in Eng­land killed the cat­tle and the poul­try of the coun­try gen­tle­men near whose prop­er­ty the rail­road passed--at least, that is what the coun­try gen­tle­man wrote to the _Times_.

Now if in the do­main of quite sim­ple ma­te­ri­al things the dis­like of hav­ing fixed habits of thought dis­turbed, leads gen­tle­men to re­sent in­no­va­tions in that way, it is not as­ton­ish­ing that in­no­va­tions of a more in­tan­gi­ble and elu­sive kind should be sub­ject to a like un­con­scious mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion, es­pe­cial­ly by news­pa­pers and pub­lic men pushed by com­mer­cial or po­lit­ical ne­ces­si­ty to say the pop­ular thing rather than the true thing: that con­tained in the speech of Mr. Churchill, which, to­geth­er with a news­pa­per com­ment there­on, I have made the “text” of this lit­tle book, is a typ­ical case in point.

It is pos­si­ble, of course, that Mr. Churchill in talk­ing about “per­sons who pro­fess to know that the dan­ger of war has be­come an il­lu­sion,” had not the slight­est in­ten­tion of re­fer­ring to those who share the views em­bod­ied in “The Great Il­lu­sion,” which are, _not_ that the dan­ger of war is an il­lu­sion, but that the ben­efit is. All that hap­pened was that his hear­ers and read­ers in­ter­pret­ed his words as re­fer­ring there­to; and that, of course, he could not pos­si­bly pre­vent.

In any case, to mis­rep­re­sent an au­thor (and I mean al­ways, of course, quite sin­cere and un­con­scious mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tions, like that which led the coun­try gen­tle­men to write that rail­way smoke killed poul­try) is a tri­fling mat­ter, but to mis­rep­re­sent an idea, is not, for it makes that bet­ter un­der­stand­ing of facts, the cre­ation of a more in­formed pub­lic opin­ion, by which alone we can avoid a pos­si­bly colos­sal fol­ly, an un­der­stand­ing dif­fi­cult enough as it is, still more dif­fi­cult.

And that is why the cur­rent mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion (again un­con­scious) of most ef­forts at the bet­ter un­der­stand­ing of the facts of in­ter­na­tion­al re­la­tion­ship needs very bad­ly to be cor­rect­ed. I will there­fore be very def­inite.

The im­pli­ca­tion that Paci­fists of any kind have ev­er urged that war is im­pos­si­ble is due ei­ther to that con­fu­sion of thought just touched up­on, or is mere­ly a sil­ly gibe of those who de­ride ar­gu­ments to which they have not lis­tened, and con­se­quent­ly do not un­der­stand, or which they de­sire to mis­rep­re­sent; and such mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion is, when not un­con­scious, al­ways stupid and un­fair.

So far as I am con­cerned, I have nev­er writ­ten a line, nor, so far as I know, has any­one else, to plead that war is im­pos­si­ble. I have, on the con­trary, al­ways urged, with the ut­most em­pha­sis that war is not on­ly pos­si­ble but ex­treme­ly like­ly, so long as we re­main as ig­no­rant as we are con­cern­ing what it can ac­com­plish, and un­less we use our en­er­gies and ef­forts to pre­vent it, in­stead of di­rect­ing those ef­forts to cre­ate it. What an­ti-​Bel­li­cists as a whole urge, is not that war is im­pos­si­ble or im­prob­able, but that it is im­pos­si­ble to ben­efit by it; that con­quest must, in the long run, fail to achieve ad­van­tage; that the gen­er­al recog­ni­tion of this can on­ly add to our se­cu­ri­ty. And in­ci­den­tal­ly most of us have de­clared our com­plete readi­ness to take any demon­stra­bly nec­es­sary mea­sure for the main­te­nance of ar­ma­ment, but urge that the ef­fort must not stop there.

One is jus­ti­fied in won­der­ing whether the pub­lic men--states­men, sol­diers, bish­ops, preach­ers, jour­nal­ists--who in­dulge in this gibe, are re­al­ly un­able to dis­tin­guish be­tween the plea that a thing is un­wise, fool­ish, and the plea that it is im­pos­si­ble; whether they re­al­ly sup­pose that any­one in our time could ar­gue that hu­man fol­ly is im­pos­si­ble, or an “il­lu­sion.” It is quite ev­ident­ly a trag­ic re­al­ity. Un­doubt­ed­ly the readi­ness with which these crit­ics thus fall back up­on con­fu­sion of thought in­di­cates that they them­selves have il­lim­itable con­fi­dence in it. But the con­fu­sion of thought does not stop here.

I have spo­ken of Paci­fists and Bel­li­cists, but, of course, we are all Paci­fists now. Lord Roberts, Lord Charles Beres­ford, Lord Fish­er, Mr. Win­ston Churchill, The Navy League, the Navier League, the Uni­ver­sal Mil­itary Ser­vice League, the Ger­man Em­per­or, the Ed­itor of _The Spec­ta­tor_, all the Chan­cel­leries of Eu­rope, alike de­clare that their one ob­ject is the main­te­nance of peace. Nev­er were such Paci­fists. The Ger­man Em­per­or, speak­ing to his army, in­vari­ably points out that they stand for the peace of Eu­rope. Does a First Lord want new ships? It is be­cause a strong British Navy is the best guar­an­tee of peace. Lord Roberts wants con­scrip­tion be­cause that is the one way to pre­serve peace, and the Ed­itor of _The Spec­ta­tor_ tells us that Turkey's great crime is that she has not paid enough at­ten­tion to sol­dier­ing and ar­ma­ment, that if on­ly she had been stronger all would have been well. All alike are quite per­suad­ed in­deed that the one way to peace is to get more ar­ma­ment.

Well, that is the method that mankind has pur­sued dur­ing the whole of its his­to­ry; it has nev­er shown the least dis­po­si­tion not to take this ad­vice and not to try this method to the full. And writ­ten his­to­ry, to say noth­ing of un­writ­ten his­to­ry, is there to tell us how well it has suc­ceed­ed.

Un­hap­pi­ly, one has to ask whether some of these mil­itary Paci­fists re­al­ly want it to suc­ceed? Again I do not tax any with con­scious in­sin­cer­ity. But it does re­sult not mere­ly from what some im­ply, but from what they say. For cer­tain of these doughty Paci­fists hav­ing told you how much their one ob­ject is to se­cure peace, then pro­ceed to tell you that this thing which they hope to se­cure is a very evil thing, that un­der its blight­ing in­flu­ence na­tions wane in lux­ury and sloth. And of course they im­ply that our own na­tion, about a third of whom have not enough to eat and about an­oth­er third of whom have a heart-​break­ing strug­gle with small means and pre­car­ious­ness of liveli­hood, is in dan­ger of this de­gen­er­ation which comes from too much wealth and lux­ury and sloth and ease. I could fill a dozen books the size of this with the solemn warn­ing of such Paci­fists as these against the dan­ger of peace (which they tell you they are strug­gling to main­tain), and how splen­did and glo­ri­ous a thing, how fine a dis­ci­pline is war (which they tell you they are try­ing so hard to avoid). Thus the Ed­itor of _The Spec­ta­tor_ tells us that mankind can­not yet dis­pense with the dis­ci­pline of war; and Lord Roberts, that to make war when you are re­al­ly ready for it (or that in any case for Ger­many to do it) is “an ex­cel­lent pol­icy and one to be pur­sued by ev­ery na­tion pre­pared to play a great part in his­to­ry.”

The truth is, of course, that we are not like­ly to get peace from those who be­lieve it to be an evil thing and war and ag­gres­sion a good thing, or, at least, are very mixed in their views as to this. Be­fore men can se­cure peace they must at least make up their minds whether it is peace or war they want. If you do not know what you want, you are not like­ly to get it--or you are like­ly to get it, whichev­er way you pre­fer to put it.

And that is an­oth­er thing which di­vides us from the mil­itary Paci­fists: we re­al­ly do want peace. As be­tween war and peace we have made our choice, and hav­ing made it, stick to it. There may be some­thing to be said for war--for set­tling a thing by fight­ing about it in­stead of by un­der­stand­ing it,--just as there may be some­thing to be said for the or­deal, or the du­el, as against tri­al by ev­idence, for the rack as a cor­rec­tive of re­li­gious er­ror, for ju­di­cial tor­ture as a sub­sti­tute for cross-​ex­am­ina­tion, for re­li­gious wars, for all these things--but the bal­ance of ad­van­tage is against them and we have dis­card­ed them.

But there is a still fur­ther dif­fer­ence which di­vides us: We have re­alised that we dis­card­ed those things on­ly when we re­al­ly un­der­stood their im­per­fec­tions and that we ar­rived at that un­der­stand­ing by study­ing them, by dis­cussing them,--be­cause one man in Lon­don or an­oth­er in Paris raised plain­ly and bold­ly the whole ques­tion of their wis­dom and be­cause the in­tel­lec­tu­al fer­ment cre­at­ed by those in­ter­ro­ga­tions, ei­ther in the ju­ridi­cal or re­li­gious field, re-​act­ed on the minds of men in Gene­va or Wurten­burg or Rome or Madrid. It was by this means, not by im­prov­ing the rapiers or im­prov­ing the in­stru­ments of the in­qui­si­tion, that we got rid of the du­el and that Catholics ceased to tor­ture Protes­tants or _vice ver­sa_. We gave these things up be­cause we re­alised the fu­til­ity of phys­ical force in these con­flicts. We shall give up war for the same rea­son.

But the Bel­li­cist says that dis­cus­sions of this sort, these at­tempts to find out the truth, are but the en­cour­age­ment of per­ni­cious the­ories: there is, ac­cord­ing to him, but one way--bet­ter rapiers, more and bet­ter racks, more and bet­ter in­qui­si­tions.

Mr. Bonar Law, in one of the very wis­est phras­es ev­er pro­nounced by a states­man, has de­clared that “war is the fail­ure of hu­man wis­dom.”

That is the whole case of Paci­fism: we shall not im­prove ex­cept at the price of us­ing our rea­son in these mat­ters; of un­der­stand­ing them bet­ter. Sure­ly it is a tru­ism that that is the price of all progress; san­er con­cep­tions--man's recog­ni­tion of his mis­takes, whether those mis­takes take the form of can­ni­bal­ism, slav­ery, tor­ture, su­per­sti­tion, tyran­ny, false laws, or what you will. The ver­iest sav­age, or for that mat­ter the ape, can blind­ly fight, but whether the an­imal de­vel­ops in­to a man, or the sav­age in­to civ­ilized man, de­pends up­on whether the el­ement of rea­son en­ters in an in­creas­ing de­gree in­to the so­lu­tion of his prob­lems.

The Mil­itarist ar­gues oth­er­wise. He ad­mits the dif­fi­cul­ty comes from man's small dis­po­si­tion to think; there­fore don't think--fight. We fight, he says, be­cause we have in­suf­fi­cient wis­dom in these mat­ters; there­fore do not let us trou­ble to get more wis­dom or un­der­stand­ing; all we need do is to get bet­ter weapons. I am not mis­rep­re­sent­ing him; that is quite fair­ly the pop­ular line: it is no use talk­ing about these things or try­ing to ex­plain them, all that is log­ic and the­ories; what you want to do is to get a big­ger army or more bat­tle­ships. And, of course, the Bel­li­cist on the oth­er side of the fron­tier says ex­act­ly the same thing, and I am still wait­ing to have ex­plained to me how, there­fore, if this mat­ter de­pends up­on un­der­stand­ing, we can ev­er solve it by ne­glect­ing un­der­stand­ing, which the Mil­itarist urges us to do. Not on­ly does he ad­mit, but pleads, that these things are com­plex, and sup­pos­es that that is an ar­gu­ment why they should not be stud­ied.

And a third dis­tinc­tion will, I think, make the dif­fer­ence be­tween us still clear­er. Like the Bel­li­cist, I am in favour of de­fence. If in a du­elling so­ci­ety a du­el­list at­tacked me, or, as a Huguenot in the Paris of the six­teenth cen­tu­ry a Catholic had at­tacked me, I should cer­tain­ly have de­fend­ed my­self, and if needs be have killed my ag­gres­sor. But that at­ti­tude would not have pre­vent­ed my do­ing my small part in the cre­ation of a pub­lic opin­ion which should make du­elling or such things as the mas­sacre of St. Bartholomew im­pos­si­ble by show­ing how un­sat­is­fac­to­ry and fu­tile they were; and I should know per­fect­ly well that nei­ther would stop un­til pub­lic opin­ion had, as the re­sult of ed­uca­tion of one kind or an­oth­er, re­alised their fu­til­ity. But it is as cer­tain as any­thing can be that the Churchills of that so­ci­ety or of that day would have been vo­cif­er­ous in declar­ing (as in the case of the du­el they still to-​day de­clare in Prus­sia) that this at­tempt to prove the fu­til­ity of du­elling was not on­ly a bad and per­ni­cious cam­paign, but was in re­al­ity a sub­tle at­tempt to get peo­ple killed in the street by bul­lies, and that those who val­ued their se­cu­ri­ty would do their best to dis­cred­it all an­ti-​du­elling pro­pa­gan­da--by mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion, if needs be.

Let this mat­ter be quite clear. No one who need be con­sid­ered in this dis­cus­sion would think of crit­icis­ing Lord Roberts for want­ing the army, and Mr. Churchill for want­ing the navy, to be as good and ef­fi­cient as pos­si­ble and as large as nec­es­sary. Per­son­al­ly--and I speak, I know, for many of my col­leagues in the an­ti-​war move­ment--I would be pre­pared to sup­port British con­scrip­tion if it be demon­stra­bly wise or nec­es­sary. But what we crit­icise is the per­sis­tent ef­fort to dis­cred­it hon­est at­tempts at a bet­ter un­der­stand­ing of the facts of in­ter­na­tion­al re­la­tion­ship, the ev­er­last­ing gibe which it is thought nec­es­sary to fling at any con­struc­tive ef­fort, apart from ar­ma­ment, to make peace se­cure. These men pro­fess to be friends of peace, they pro­fess to re­gret the growth of ar­ma­ment, to de­plore the un­wis­dom, ig­no­rance, prej­udice and mis­un­der­stand­ing out of which the whole thing grows, but im­me­di­ate­ly there is any def­inite ef­fort to cor­rect this un­wis­dom, to ex­am­ine the grounds of the prej­udice and mis­un­der­stand­ing, there is a volte face and such ef­forts are sneered at as “sen­ti­men­tal” or “sor­did,” ac­cord­ing as the plea for peace is put up­on moral or ma­te­ri­al grounds. It is not that they dis­agree in de­tail with any giv­en propo­si­tion look­ing to­wards a ba­sis of in­ter­na­tion­al co-​op­er­ation, but that in re­al­ity they dep­re­cate rais­ing the mat­ter at all.[9] It must be ar­ma­ments and noth­ing but ar­ma­ments with them. If there had been any pos­si­bil­ity of suc­cess in that we should not now be en­ter­ing up­on the 8,000th or 9,000th war of writ­ten his­to­ry. Ar­ma­ments may be nec­es­sary, but they are not enough. Our plan is ar­ma­ments plus ed­uca­tion; theirs is ar­ma­ment ver­sus ed­uca­tion. And by ed­uca­tion, of course, we do not mean school books, or an ex­ten­sion of the School Board cur­ricu­lum, but a recog­ni­tion of the fact that the char­ac­ter of hu­man so­ci­ety is de­ter­mined by the ex­tent to which its units at­tempt to ar­rive at an _un­der­stand­ing_ of their re­la­tion­ship, in­stead of mere­ly sub­du­ing one an­oth­er by force, which does not lead to un­der­stand­ing at all: in Turkey, or Venezuela, or San Domin­go, there is no par­tic­ular ef­fort made to ad­just dif­fer­ences by un­der­stand­ing; in so­ci­eties of that type they on­ly be­lieve in set­tling dif­fer­ences by ar­ma­ments. That is why there are very few books, very lit­tle thought or dis­cus­sion, very lit­tle in­tel­lec­tu­al fer­ment but a great many guns and sol­diers and bat­tles. And through­out the world the con­flict is go­ing on be­tween these ri­val schools. On the whole the West­ern world, in­side the re­spec­tive fron­tiers, al­most en­tire­ly now tends to the Paci­fist type. But not so in the in­ter­na­tion­al field, for where the Pow­ers are con­cerned, where it is a ques­tion of the at­ti­tude of one na­tion in re­la­tion to an­oth­er, you get a de­gree of un­der­stand­ing rather less than more than that which ob­tains in the in­ter­nal pol­itics of Venezuela, or Turkey, or Mo­roc­co, or any oth­er “war­like” state.

And the dif­fi­cul­ty of cre­at­ing a bet­ter Eu­ro­pean opin­ion and tem­per is due large­ly to just this idea that ob­sess­es the Mil­itarist, that un­less they mis­rep­re­sent facts in a sen­sa­tion­al di­rec­tion the na­tions will be too ap­athet­ic to arm; that ed­uca­tion will abol­ish funk, and that pre­sum­ably funk is a nec­es­sary el­ement in self-​de­fence.

For the most cred­itable ex­pla­na­tion that we can give of the Mil­itarist's ob­jec­tion to hav­ing this mat­ter dis­cussed at all, is the ev­ident im­pres­sion that such dis­cus­sion will dis­cour­age mea­sures for self-​de­fence; the Mil­itarist does not be­lieve that a peo­ple de­sir­ing to un­der­stand these things and in­ter­est­ed in the de­vel­op­ment of a bet­ter Eu­ro­pean so­ci­ety, can at the same time be de­ter­mined to re­sist the use of force. They be­lieve that un­less the peo­ple are kept in a blue funk, they will not arm, and that is why it is that the Mil­itarist of the re­spec­tive coun­tries are for ev­er talk­ing about our de­gen­er­ation and the rest. And the Ger­man Mil­itarist is just as an­gry with the un­war­like qual­ities of his peo­ple as the En­glish Mil­itarist is with ours.

Just note this par­al­lel:

BRITISH OPIN­ION ON BRITISH AP­ATHY AND GER­MAN VIGOUR.

"There is a way in which Britain is cer­tain to have war and its hor­rors and calami­ties; it is this--by per­sist­ing in her present course of un­pre­pared­ness, her ap­athy, un­in­tel­li­gence, and blind­ness, and in her dis­re­gard of the warn­ings of the most or­di­nary po­lit­ical in­sight, as well as of the ex­am­ple of his­to­ry.

“Now in the year 1912, just as in 1866, and just as in 1870, war will take place the in­stant the Ger­man forces by land and sea are, by their su­pe­ri­or­ity at ev­ery point, as cer­tain of vic­to­ry as any­thing in hu­man cal­cu­la­tion can be made cer­tain. 'Ger­many strikes when Ger­many's hour has struck.' That is the time-​hon­oured pol­icy of her For­eign Of­fice. It is her pol­icy at the present hour, and it is an ex­cel­lent pol­icy. It is, or should be, the pol­icy of ev­ery na­tion pre­pared to play a great part in his­to­ry.”--LORD ROBERTS, at Manch­ester.

“Britain is dis­unit­ed; Ger­many is ho­mo­ge­neous. We are quar­relling about the Lords' Ve­to, Home Rule, and a dozen oth­er ques­tions of do­mes­tic pol­itics. We have a Lit­tle Navy Par­ty, an An­ti-​Mil­itarist Par­ty; Ger­many is unan­imous up­on the ques­tion of naval ex­pan­sion.”--MR. BLATCH­FORD.

GER­MAN OPIN­ION ON GER­MAN AP­ATHY AND BRITISH VIGOUR.

“Whole stra­ta of our na­tion seem to have lost that ide­al en­thu­si­asm which con­sti­tut­ed the great­ness of its his­to­ry. With the in­crease of wealth they live for the mo­ment, they are in­ca­pable of sac­ri­fic­ing the en­joy­ment of the hour to the ser­vice of great con­cep­tions, and close their eyes com­pla­cent­ly to the du­ties of our fu­ture and to the press­ing prob­lems of in­ter­na­tion­al life which await a so­lu­tion at the present time.”--GEN­ER­AL VON BERN­HAR­DI in “Ger­many and the Next War.”

“There is no one Ger­man peo­ple, no sin­gle Ger­many.... There are more abrupt con­trasts be­tween Ger­mans and Ger­mans than be­tween Ger­mans and In­di­ans.”

“One must ad­mire the con­sis­tent fi­deli­ty and pa­tri­otism of the En­glish race, as com­pared with the un­cer­tain and er­rat­ic meth­ods of the Ger­man peo­ple, their mis­trust, and sus­pi­cion.... In spite of nu­mer­ous wars, blood­shed, and dis­as­ter, Eng­land al­ways emerges smooth­ly and eas­ily from her mil­itary crises and set­tles down to new con­di­tions and sur­round­ings in her usu­al cool and de­lib­er­ate man­ner, so dif­fer­ent from the Ger­man.”--_Berlin­er Tage­blatt_, March 14, 1911.

Pre­sum­ably each doughty war­rior knows his own coun­try bet­ter than that of the oth­er, which would car­ry a con­clu­sion di­rect­ly con­trary to that which he draws.

But note al­so where this idea that it is nec­es­sary ar­ti­fi­cial­ly to stim­ulate the de­fen­sive zeal of each coun­try by re­sist­ing any ten­den­cy to agree­ment and un­der­stand­ing leads. It leads even so good a man as Lord Roberts in­to the trap of dog­mat­ic proph­esy con­cern­ing the in­ten­tions of a very com­plex het­ero­ge­neous na­tion of 65 mil­lion peo­ple. Lord Roberts could not pos­si­bly tell you what his own coun­try will do five, ten, or fif­teen years hence in such mat­ters as Home Rule or the Suf­frag­ists, or even the pay­ment of doc­tors, but he knows ex­act­ly what a for­eign coun­try will do in a much more se­ri­ous mat­ter. The sim­ple truth is, of course, that no man knows what “Ger­many” will do ten years hence, any more than we can know what “Eng­land” will do. We don't even know what Eng­land will _be_, whether Union­ist or Lib­er­al or Labour, So­cial­ist, Free Trade or Pro­tec­tion­ist. All these things, like the ques­tion of Peace and War de­pends up­on all sorts of ten­den­cies, drifts and de­vel­op­ments. At bot­tom, of course, since war, in Mr. Bonar Law's fine phrase, is “nev­er in­evitable--on­ly the fail­ure of hu­man wis­dom,” it de­pends up­on whether we be­come a lit­tle less or a lit­tle more wise. If the for­mer, we shall have it; if the lat­ter, we shall not. But this dog­ma­tism con­cern­ing the oth­er man's evil in­ten­tions is the very thing that leads away from wis­dom.[10] The sort of tem­per and ideas which it pro­vokes on both sides of the fron­tier may be gath­ered from just such av­er­age gems as these plucked re­cent­ly from the En­glish press:--

Yes, we may as well face it. _War with Ger­many is in­evitable_, and the on­ly ques­tion is--Shall we con­sult her con­ve­nience as to its date? Shall we wait till Ger­many's present naval pro­gramme, which is ev­ery year re­duc­ing our ad­van­tage, is com­plete? Shall we wait till the smoul­der­ing in­dus­tri­al rev­olu­tion, of which all these strikes are warn­ings, has bro­ken in­to flame? Shall we wait till Con­sols are 65 and our na­tion­al cred­it is gone? Shall we wait till the In­come Tax is 1s. 6d. in the pound? OR SHALL WE STRIKE NOW--_find­ing ev­ery out-​of-​work a job in con­nec­tion with the guardian­ship of our shores_, and, with our mighty fleet, ei­ther sink­ing ev­ery Ger­man ship or tow­ing it in tri­umph in­to a British port? _Why_ should we do it? _Be­cause the com­mand of the seas is ev­er ours_; be­cause our is­land po­si­tion, our in­ter­na­tion­al trade and our world-​wide do­min­ions _de­mand that no oth­er na­tion shall dare to chal­lenge our suprema­cy_. That is why. Oh, yes, the cost would be great, but we could raise it to-​day all right, _and we should get it back_.

If the strug­gle comes to-​day, we shall win--and af­ter it is over, there will be abound­ing pros­per­ity in the land, and no more labour un­rest.

Yes, we have no fear of Ger­many to-​day. The on­ly en­emy we fear is the crack-​brained fa­nat­ics who prate about peace and good­will whilst for­eign _Dread­noughts_ are grad­ual­ly clos­ing in up­on us. As Mr. Bal­four said at the Eu­genic Con­fer­ence the oth­er day, man is a wild an­imal; and there is no room, in present cir­cum­stances, for any tame ones.--_John Bull_, Aug. 24, 1912.

The ital­ics and large type are those of the orig­inal, not mine. This pa­per ex­plains, by the way, in this con­nec­tion that “In the Chan­cel­leries of Eu­rope _John Bull_ is re­gard­ed as a neg­li­gi­ble jour­nal­is­tic quan­ti­ty. But _John Bull_ is read by a mil­lion peo­ple ev­ery week, and that mil­lion not the least thought­ful and in­tel­li­gent sec­tion of the com­mu­ni­ty, they _think_ about what they read.”

One of the mil­lion seems to have thought to some pur­pose, for the next week there was the fol­low­ing let­ter from him. It was giv­en the place of hon­our in a se­ries and runs as fol­lows:--

I would have ex­tend­ed your “Down with the Ger­man Fleet!” to “Down with Ger­many and the Ger­mans!” For, un­less the whole ---- lot are swept off the sur­face of the earth, there will be no peace. If the peo­ple in Eng­land could on­ly re­alise the quar­rel­some, de­ceit­ful, un­der­hand­ed, ego­tis­tic any tyran­ni­cal char­ac­ter of the Ger­mans, there would not be so much balder­dash about a friend­ly un­der­stand­ing, etc., be­tween Eng­land and Ger­many. The Ger­man is a born tyrant. The de­sire to re­main with Britain on good terms will on­ly last so long un­til Ger­many feels her­self strong enough to beat Eng­land both on sea and on land: af­ter­wards it'll sim­ply be “_la bourse ou la vie_,” as the French proverb goes. Pro­vid­ed they do not know that there are any En­glish lis­ten­ers about, phras­es like the fol­low­ing can be heard ev­ery day in Ger­man restau­rants and oth­er pub­lic places: “I hate Eng­land and the En­glish!” “Nev­er mind, they won't be stand­ing in our way much longer. We shall soon be ready.”

And _John Bull_, with its mil­lion read­ers, is not alone. This is how the _Dai­ly Ex­press_, in a dou­ble-​lead­ed lead­er, teach­es his­to­ry to its read­ers:--

When, one day, En­glish­men are not al­lowed to walk the pave­ments of their cities, and their wom­en are for the plea­sure of the in­vaders, and the of­fices of the Tiny Eng­land news­pa­pers are in­cin­er­at­ed by a fu­ri­ous mob; when for­eign mil­itary of­fi­cers pro­claim mar­tial law from the Roy­al Ex­change steps, and when some bil­lions of pounds have to be raised by tax­ation--by tax­ation of the “toil­ing mil­lions” as well as oth­ers--to pay the in­vaders out, and the British Em­pire con­sists of Eng­land--less Dover, re­quired for a for­eign strate­gic tun­nel--and the Chan­nel Is­lands--then the ghosts of cer­tain politi­cians and pub­li­cists will prob­ably call a meet­ing for the dis­cus­sion of the Fourth Di­men­sion.--Lead­ing Ar­ti­cle, _Dai­ly Ex­press_, 8/7/12.

And not mere­ly shall our wom­en fill the harems of the Ger­man pashas, and En­glish­men not be al­lowed to walk up­on the pave­ment (it would be the Ger­man way of solv­ing the traf­fic prob­lem--near the Bank), but a “well-​known Diplo­mat” in an­oth­er pa­per tells us what else will hap­pen.

If Eng­land be van­quished it means the end of all things as far as she is con­cerned, and will ring in a new and some­what ter­ri­ble era. Bankrupt, shorn of all pow­er, de­sert­ed, as must clear­ly fol­low, as a com­mer­cial state, and groan­ing un­der a huge in­dem­ni­ty that she can­not pay and is not in­tend­ed to be able to pay, what will be the melan­choly end of this great coun­try and her teem­ing pop­ula­tion of forty-​five mil­lions?

... Her ship­ping trade will be trans­ferred as far as pos­si­ble from the En­glish to the Ger­man flag. Her bank­ing will be lost, as Lon­don will no longer be the cen­tre of com­merce, and ef­forts will be made to en­able Berlin to take Lon­don's place. Her man­ufac­tures will grad­ual­ly desert her. Fail­ing to ob­tain pay­ments in due time, es­tates will be se­questered and be­come the prop­er­ty of wealthy Ger­mans. The in­dem­ni­ty to be de­mand­ed is said to be one thou­sand mil­lions ster­ling.

The im­me­di­ate re­sult of de­feat would mean, of course, that in­sol­ven­cy would take place in a very large num­ber of com­mer­cial busi­ness­es, and oth­ers would speed­ily fol­low. Those who can­not get away will starve un­less large re­lief funds are forth­com­ing from, say, Cana­da and the Unit­ed States, for this coun­try, bereft of its man­ufac­tures, will not be able to sus­tain a pop­ula­tion of more than a very few mil­lions.--From an Ar­ti­cle by “A Well-​known Diplo­ma­tist” in _The Throne_, June 12, 1912.

These are but sam­ples; and this sort of thing is go­ing on in Eng­land and Ger­many alike. And when one protests that it is wicked rub­bish born of funk and ig­no­rance, that what­ev­er hap­pens in war this does not hap­pen, and that it is based on false eco­nomics and grows in­to ut­ter­ly false con­cep­tions of in­ter­na­tion­al re­la­tion­ship, one is shout­ed down as an an­ti-​ar­ma­ment man and an en­emy of his coun­try.

Well, if that view is per­sist­ed in, if in re­al­ity it is nec­es­sary for a peo­ple to have lies and non­sense told to them in or­der to in­duce them to de­fend them­selves, some will be apt to de­cide that they are not worth de­fend­ing. Or rather will they de­cide that this phase of the pro-​ar­ma­ment cam­paign--which is not so much a cam­paign in favour of ar­ma­ment as one against ed­uca­tion and un­der­stand­ing--will end in turn­ing us in­to a na­tion ei­ther of poltroons or of bul­lies and ag­gres­sors, and that since life is a mat­ter of the choice of risks it is wis­er and more coura­geous to choose the less evil. A na­tion may be de­feat­ed and still live in the es­teem of men--and in its own. No civ­ilized man es­teems a na­tion of Bashi-​Bazouks or Prus­sian Junkers. Of the two risks in­volved--the risk of at­tack aris­ing from a pos­si­ble su­pe­ri­or­ity of ar­ma­ment on the part of a ri­val, and the risk of drift­ing in­to con­flict be­cause, con­cen­trat­ing all our en­er­gies on the mere in­stru­ment of com­bat, we have tak­en no ad­equate trou­ble to un­der­stand the facts of this case--it is at least an ar­guable propo­si­tion that the sec­ond risk is the greater. And I am prompt­ed to this ex­pres­sion of opin­ion with­out sur­ren­der­ing one io­ta of a life­long and pas­sion­ate be­lief that a na­tion at­tacked should de­fend it­self to the last pen­ny and to the last man.

And you think that this idea that the na­tions--ours amongst them--may drift in­to fu­tile war from sheer pan­ic and funk aris­ing out of the ter­ror in­spired by phan­toms born of ig­no­rance, is mere­ly the idea of Paci­fist cranks?

The fol­low­ing, re­fer­ring to the “pre­cau­tion­ary mea­sures” (_i.e._, mo­bi­liza­tion of armies) tak­en by the var­ious Pow­ers, is from a lead­ing ar­ti­cle of the _Times_:--

“Pre­cau­tions” are un­der­stand­able, but the re­mark of our Berlin Cor­re­spon­dent that they may pro­duce an un­ten­able po­si­tion from which re­treat must be hu­mil­iat­ing is ap­pli­ca­ble in more than one di­rec­tion. Our Vi­en­na Cor­re­spon­dent tru­ly says that “there is no valid rea­son to be­lieve war be­tween Aus­tria-​Hun­gary and Rus­sia to be in­evitable, or even im­me­di­ate­ly prob­able.” We en­tire­ly agree, but wish we could add that the ab­sence of any valid rea­son was plac­ing strict lim­ita­tions up­on the scope of “pre­cau­tions.” The same cor­re­spon­dent says he is con­stant­ly be­ing asked:--“Is there no means of avoid­ing war?” The same ques­tion is now be­ing asked, with some be­wil­der­ment, by mil­lions of men in this coun­try, who want to know what dif­fi­cul­ties there are in the present sit­ua­tion which should threat­en Eu­rope with a gen­er­al war, or even a col­li­sion larg­er than that al­ready wit­nessed.... There is no great na­tion in Eu­rope which to-​day has the least de­sire that mil­lions of men should be torn from their homes and flung head­long to de­struc­tion at the bid­ding of vain am­bi­tions. The Balkan peo­ples fought for a cause which was pe­cu­liar­ly their own. They were in­spired by the mem­ories of cen­turies of wrong which they were burn­ing to avenge. The larg­er na­tions have no such quar­rel, un­less it is wil­ful­ly man­ufac­tured for them. The com­mon sense of the peo­ples of Eu­rope is well aware that no is­sue has been pre­sent­ed which could not be set­tled by am­ica­ble dis­cus­sion. In Eng­land men will learn with amaze­ment and in­creduli­ty that war is pos­si­ble over the ques­tion of a Ser­vian port, or even over the larg­er is­sues which are said to lie be­hind it. Yet that is whith­er the na­tions are blind­ly drift­ing Who, then, makes war? The an­swer is to be found in the Chan­cel­leries of Eu­rope, among the men who have too long played with hu­man lives as pawns in a game of chess, who have be­come so en­meshed in for­mu­las and the jar­gon of diplo­ma­cy that they have ceased to be con­scious of the poignant re­al­ities with which they tri­fle. And thus will war con­tin­ue to be made, un­til the great mass­es who are the sport of pro­fes­sion­al schemers and dream­ers say the word which, shall bring, not eter­nal peace, for that is im­pos­si­ble, but a de­ter­mi­na­tion that wars shall be fought on­ly in a just and righ­teous and vi­tal cause. If that word is ev­er to be spo­ken, there nev­er was a more ap­pro­pri­ate oc­ca­sion than the present; and we trust it will be spo­ken while there is yet time.

And the very next day there ap­peared in the _Dai­ly Mail_ an ar­ti­cle by Mr. Lo­vat Fras­er end­ing thus:--

The re­al an­swer rests, or ought to rest, with the man in the train. Does he want to join in Ar­maged­don? It is time that he be­gan to think about it, for his an­swer may soon be sought.

Now we have here, stat­ed in the first case by the most au­thor­ita­tive of En­glish news­pa­pers, and in the sec­ond by an ha­bit­ual con­trib­utor of the most pop­ular, the whole case of Paci­fism as I have at­tempt­ed to ex­pound it, name­ly: (1) That our cur­rent state­craft--its fun­da­men­tal con­cep­tions, its “ax­ioms,” its ter­mi­nol­ogy--has be­come ob­so­lete by virtue of the changed con­di­tions of Eu­ro­pean so­ci­ety; that the caus­es of con­flict which it cre­ates are half the time based on il­lu­sions, up­on mean­ing­less and emp­ty for­mu­las; (2) that its sur­vival is at bot­tom due to pop­ular ig­no­rance and in­dif­fer­ence--the sur­vival on the part of the great mass of just those con­cep­tions born of the old and now ob­so­lete con­di­tions--since diplo­ma­cy, like all func­tions of gov­ern­ment, is a re­flec­tion of av­er­age opin­ion; (3) that this pub­lic opin­ion is not some­thing which de­scends up­on us from the skies but is the sum of the opin­ions of each one of us and is the out­come of our dai­ly con­tacts, our writ­ing and talk­ing and dis­cus­sion, and that the road to safe­ty lies in hav­ing that gen­er­al pub­lic opin­ion bet­ter in­formed not in di­rect­ly dis­cour­ag­ing such bet­ter in­for­ma­tion; (4) that the mere mul­ti­pli­ca­tion of “pre­cau­tions” in the shape of in­creased ar­ma­ments and a readi­ness for war, in the ab­sence of a cor­re­spond­ing and par­al­lel im­prove­ment of opin­ion, will mere­ly in­crease and not ex­or­cise the dan­ger, and, fi­nal­ly, (5) that the prob­lem of war is nec­es­sar­ily a prob­lem of at least two par­ties, and that if we are to solve it, to un­der­stand it even, we must con­sid­er it in terms of two par­ties, not one; it is not a ques­tion of what shall be the pol­icy of each with­out ref­er­ence to the oth­er, but what the fi­nal up­shot of the two poli­cies tak­en in con­junc­tion will be.

Now in all this the _Times_, es­pe­cial­ly in one out­stand­ing cen­tral idea, is em­body­ing a con­cep­tion which is the an­tithe­sis of that ex­pressed by Mil­itarists of the type of Mr. Churchill, and, I am sor­ry to say, of Lord Roberts. To these lat­ter war is not some­thing that we, the peo­ples of Eu­rope, cre­ate by our ig­no­rance and tem­per, by the nurs­ing of old and vi­cious the­ories, by the poor­ness and de­fects of the ideas our in­tel­lec­tu­al ac­tiv­ities have de­vel­oped dur­ing the last gen­er­ation or two, but some­thing that “comes up­on us” like the rain or the earth­quake, and against which we can on­ly pro­tect our­selves by one thing: more arms, a greater readi­ness to fight.

In ef­fect the an­ti-​Ed­uca­tion­al­ists say this: “What, as prac­ti­cal men, we have to do, is to be stronger than our en­emy; the rest is the­ory and does not mat­ter.”

Well the in­evitable out­come of such an at­ti­tude is catas­tro­phe.

I have said else­where that in this mat­ter it seems fa­tal­ly easy to se­cure ei­ther one of two kinds of ac­tion: that of the “prac­ti­cal man” who lim­its his en­er­gies to se­cur­ing a pol­icy which will per­fect the ma­chin­ery of war and dis­re­gard any­thing else; or that of the ide­al­ist, who, per­suad­ed of the bru­tal­ity or im­moral­ity of war, is apt to show a cer­tain in­dif­fer­ence con­cern­ing self-​de­fence. What is need­ed is the type of ac­tiv­ity which will in­clude both halves of the prob­lem: pro­vi­sion for ed­uca­tion, for a Po­lit­ical Ref­or­ma­tion in this mat­ter, _as well as_ such means of de­fence as will mean­time coun­ter­bal­ance the ex­ist­ing im­pulse to ag­gres­sion. To con­cen­trate on ei­ther half to the ex­clu­sion of the oth­er half is to ren­der the whole prob­lem in­sol­uble.

What must in­evitably hap­pen if the na­tions take the line of the “prac­ti­cal man,” and lim­it their en­er­gies sim­ply and pure­ly to pil­ing up ar­ma­ments?

A crit­ic once put to me what he ev­ident­ly deemed a pos­er: “Do you urge that we shall be stronger than our en­emy, or weak­er?”

To which I replied: “The last time that ques­tion was asked me was in Berlin, by Ger­mans. What would you have had me re­ply to those Ger­mans?”--a re­ply which, of course, meant this: In at­tempt­ing to find the so­lu­tion of this ques­tion in terms of one par­ty, you are at­tempt­ing the im­pos­si­ble. The out­come will be war, and war would not set­tle it. It would all have to be be­gun over again.

The Navy League cat­echism says: “De­fence con­sists in be­ing so strong that it will be dan­ger­ous for your en­emy to at­tack you.”[11] Mr. Churchill, how­ev­er, goes far­ther than the Navy League, and says: “The way to make war im­pos­si­ble is to make vic­to­ry cer­tain.”

The Navy League def­ini­tion is at least pos­si­ble of ap­pli­ca­tion to prac­ti­cal pol­itics, be­cause rough equal­ity of the two par­ties would make at­tack by ei­ther dan­ger­ous. Mr. Churchill's prin­ci­ple is im­pos­si­ble of ap­pli­ca­tion to prac­ti­cal pol­itics, be­cause it could on­ly be ap­plied by one par­ty, and would, in the terms of the Navy League prin­ci­ple, de­prive the oth­er par­ty of the right of de­fence. As a mat­ter of sim­ple fact, both the Navy League, by its de­mand for two ships to one, and Mr. Churchill, by his de­mand for cer­tain vic­to­ry, de­ny in this mat­ter Ger­many's right to de­fend her­self; and such de­nial is bound, on the part of a peo­ple an­imat­ed by like mo­tives to our­selves, to pro­voke a chal­lenge. When the Navy League says, as it does, that a self-​re­spect­ing na­tion should not de­pend up­on the good­will of for­eign­ers for its safe­ty, but up­on its own strength, it rec­om­mends Ger­many to main­tain her ef­forts to ar­rive at some sort of equal­ity with our­selves. When Mr. Churchill goes fur­ther and says that a na­tion should be so strong as to make vic­to­ry over its ri­vals cer­tain, he knows that if Ger­many were to adopt his own doc­trine its in­evitable out­come would be war.

The is­sue is plain: We get a bet­ter un­der­stand­ing of cer­tain po­lit­ical facts in Eu­rope, or we have war. And the Bel­li­cist at present is res­olute­ly op­posed to such po­lit­ical ed­uca­tion. And it is for that rea­son, not be­cause he is ask­ing for ad­equate ar­ma­ment, that some of the best of this coun­try look with the deep­est mis­giv­ing up­on his work, and will con­tin­ue to do so in in­creas­ing de­gree un­less his pol­icy be changed.

Now a word as to the peace Paci­fist--the Paci­fist sans phras­es--as dis­tinct from the mil­itary Paci­fist. It is not be­cause I am in favour of de­fence that I have at times with some em­pha­sis dis­as­so­ci­at­ed my­self from cer­tain fea­tures and meth­ods of the peace move­ment, for non-​re­sis­tance is no nec­es­sary part of that move­ment, and, in­deed, so far as I know, it is no ap­pre­cia­ble part. It is the meth­ods not the ob­ject or the ide­als of the peace move­ment which I have ven­tured to crit­icize, with­out, I hope, of­fence to men whom I re­spect in the very high­est and sin­cer­est de­gree. The meth­ods of Paci­fism have in the past, to some ex­tent at least, im­plied a dis­po­si­tion to al­low easy emo­tion to take the place of hard think­ing, good in­ten­tion to stand for in­tel­lec­tu­al jus­ti­fi­ca­tion; and it is as plain as any­thing well can be that some of the best emo­tion of the world has been ex­pend­ed up­on some of the very worst ob­jects, and that in no field of hu­man ef­fort--medicine, com­merce, en­gi­neer­ing, leg­is­la­tion--has good in­ten­tion ev­er been able to dis­pense with the ne­ces­si­ty of know­ing the how and the why.

It is not that the some­what ques­tion-​beg­ging and emo­tion­al ter­mi­nol­ogy of some Paci­fists--the ap­peal to broth­er­ly love and hu­man­ity--con­notes things which are in them­selves poor or mean (as the av­er­age Mil­itarist would im­ply), but be­cause so much of Paci­fism in the past has failed to rec­on­cile in­tel­lec­tu­al­ly the claims of these things with what are the fun­da­men­tal needs of men and to show their re­la­tion and prac­ti­cal ap­pli­ca­tion to ac­tu­al prob­lems and con­di­tions.

[Foot­note 8: As a mat­ter of fact, of course, the work of these two men has not been fruit­less. As Lord Mor­ley tru­ly says: “They were rout­ed on the ques­tion of the Crimean War, but it was the rapid spread of their prin­ci­ples which with­in the next twen­ty years made in­ter­ven­tion im­pos­si­ble in the Fran­co-​Aus­tri­an War, in the Amer­ican War, in the Dan­ish War, in the Fran­co-​Ger­man War, and above all, in the war be­tween Rus­sia and Turkey, which broke out on­ly the oth­er day.”]

[Foot­note 9: Thus the Ed­itor of the _Spec­ta­tor_:--

“For our­selves, as far as the main eco­nom­ic propo­si­tion goes, he preach­es to the con­vert­ed.... If na­tions were per­fect­ly wise and held per­fect­ly sound eco­nom­ic the­ories, they would rec­og­nize that ex­change is the union of forces, and that it is very fool­ish to hate or be jeal­ous of your co-​op­er­ators.... Men are sav­age, blood­thirsty crea­tures ... and when their blood is up will fight for a word or a sign, or, as Mr. An­gell would put it, for an il­lu­sion.”

There­fore, ar­gues the _Spec­ta­tor_, let the il­lu­sion con­tin­ue--for there is no oth­er con­clu­sion to be drawn from the ar­gu­ment.]

[Foot­note 10: Need it be said that this crit­icism does not im­ply the faintest want of re­spect for Lord Roberts, his qual­ities and his ser­vices. He has ven­tured in­to the field of for­eign pol­itics and prophe­cy. A pub­lic man of great em­inence, he has ex­pressed an En­glish view of Ger­man “in­ten­tions.” For the man in the street (I write in that ca­pac­ity) to re­ceive that ex­pres­sion in si­lence is to en­dorse it, to make it na­tion­al. And I have stat­ed here the rea­sons which make such an at­ti­tude dis­as­trous. We all great­ly re­spect Lord Roberts, but, even be­fore that, must come re­spect for our coun­try, the de­ter­mi­na­tion that it shall be in the right and not in the wrong, which it cer­tain­ly will be if this easy dog­ma­tism con­cern­ing the evil in­ten­tions of oth­er na­tions be­comes na­tion­al.]

[Foot­note 11: The Ger­man Navy Law in its pream­ble might have filched this from the British Navy League cat­echism.]