democratic communities of the New World as in the monarchies of Europe.
Not content with the possession of vast and almost unpeopled areas,
they had spread their dominion from ocean to ocean, and built up an
empire less extensive indeed than that of Russia, but even more
compact, far richer in resources, and far better suited to be the home
of a highly civilised people. Into this enormous area there began to
pour a mighty flood of immigration from Europe, as soon as the
Napoleonic wars were over. By 1878 the population of the States had
risen to about 50,000,000, and was greater than that of any European
state save Russia. A new world-state of the first rank had arisen. It
was made up of contributions from all the European peoples. Those of
British stock, especially the Irish, still predominated throughout this
period, but the Germans and the Scandinavians were becoming
increasingly numerous, and the Italians, Greeks, Poles, Czechs, Russian
Jews, and other stocks were beginning to form very substantial
elements. It was a melting-pot of races, which had to be somehow welded
into a nation by the moulding-power of the traditions implanted by the
earlier British settlers. It may fairly be said that no community has
ever had imposed upon it a more difficult task than the task imposed by
Fate upon the American people of creating a national unity out of this
heterogeneous material. The great experiment was, during this period,
singularly successful. The strength of the national sentiment and of
the tradition of freedom was very powerfully exhibited in the strain of
the great Civil War (1861-65) which maintained at a great cost the
threatened unity of the republic, and brought about the emancipation of
the negro slaves. And the Civil War produced in Abraham Lincoln a
national hero, and an exponent of the national character and ideals,
worthy to be set beside Washington. The America of Lincoln manifestly
stood for Liberty and Justice, the fundamental ideals of Western
civilisation.
But in this great moulding tradition of freedom there was one dubious
and narrowing element. Accustomed to regard herself as having achieved
liberty by shaking off her connection with the Old World, America was
tempted to think of this liberty as something peculiar to herself,
something which the 'effete monarchies' of the Old World did not, and
could not, fully understand or share, something which exempted her from
responsibility for the non-American world, and from the duty of aiding
and defending liberty beyond her own limits. In the abounding
prosperity of this fortunate land, liberty was apt to be too readily
identified merely with the opportunity of securing material prosperity,
and the love of liberty was apt to become, what indeed it too often is
everywhere, a purely self-regarding emotion. The distance of the
republic from Europe and its controversies, its economic
self-sufficiency, its apparent security against all attack, fostered
and strengthened this feeling. While the peoples of the Old World
strove with agony and travail towards freedom and justice, or wrestled
with the task of sharing their own civilisation with the backward races
of the globe, the echo of their strivings penetrated but faintly into
the mind of America, like the noises of the street dimly heard through
the shuttered windows of a warmed and lighted room. To the citizens of
the Middle West and the Far West, especially, busy as they were with
the development of vast untapped resources, the affairs of the outer
world necessarily appeared remote and insignificant. Even their
newspapers told them little about these far-off events. Naturally it
appeared that the function of the republic in the progress of the world
was to till its own garden, and to afford a haven of refuge to the
oppressed and impoverished who poured in from all lands; and this idea
was strengthened by the great number of immigrants who were driven to
the New World by the failure of the successive European revolutions of
the nineteenth century, and by the oppressive tyranny of the Habsburg
monarchy and the Russian despots.
This attitude of aloofness from, and contempt, or, at the best,
indifference, to the Old World was further encouraged by the
traditional treatment of American history. The outstanding event of
that story was, of course, the breach with Britain, with which the
independent existence of the Republic began, and which constituted also
almost its only direct contact with the politics of the Old World. The
view of this conflict which was driven into the national mind by the
school-books, by the annual celebrations of the Fourth of July, and by
incessant newspaper writing, represented the great quarrel not as a
dispute in a family of free communities, in which a new and very
difficult problem was raised, and in which there were faults on both
sides, but as one in which all the right was on one side, as a heroic
resistance of free men against malevolent tyranny. This view has been
profoundly modified by the work of American historians, whose
researches during the last generation have transformed the treatment of
the American Revolution. To-day the old one-sided view finds
expression, in books of serious pretensions, only in England; and it is
to American scholars that we must have recourse for a more scientific
and impartial treatment. But the new and saner view has scarcely yet
made its way into the school-books and the newspapers. If Britain, the
mother of political liberty in the modern world, the land from which
these freemen had inherited their own liberties and the spirit which
made them insist upon their enlargement, was made to appear a tyrant
power, how could it be expected that the mass of Americans, unversed in
world-politics, should follow with sympathy the progress of liberty
beyond the limits of their own republic? It was in the light of this
traditional attitude that the bulk of Americans regarded not only the
wars and controversies of Europe, but the vast process of European
expansion. All these things did not appear to concern them; they seemed
to be caused by motives and ideas which the great republic had
outgrown, though, as we have already seen, and shall see again, the
republic had by no means outgrown them. The strength of this
traditional attitude, fostered as it was by every circumstance,
naturally made the bulk of the American people slow to realise, when
the great challenge of Germany was forced upon the world, that the
problems of world-politics were as vitally important for them as for
all other peoples, and that no free nation could afford to be
indifferent to the fate of liberty upon the earth.
At one moment, indeed, almost at the beginning of the period, it
appeared as if this narrow outlook was about to be abandoned. The
League of Peace of the great European powers of 1815[6] had, by 1822,
developed into a league of despots for the suppression of revolutionary
tendencies. They had intervened to crush revolutionary outbreaks in
Naples and Piedmont; they had authorised France to enter Spain in order
to destroy the democratic system which had been set up in that country
in 1820. Britain alone protested against these interventions, claiming
that every state ought to be left free to fix its own form of
government; and in 1822 Canning had practically withdrawn from the
League of Peace, because it was being turned into an engine of
oppression. It was notorious that, Spain once subjugated, the monarchs
desired to go on to the reconquest of the revolting Spanish colonies in
South America. Britain could not undertake a war on the Continent
against all the Continental powers combined, but she could prevent
their intervention in America, and Canning made it plain that the
British fleet would forbid any such action. To strengthen his hands, he
suggested to the American ambassador that the United States might take
common action in this sense. The result was the famous message of
President Monroe to Congress in December 1823, which declared that the
United States accepted the doctrine of non-intervention, and that they
would resist any attempt on the part of the European monarchs to
establish their reactionary system in the New World.
[6] See "Nationalism and Internationalism," p. 155 ff.
In effect this was a declaration of support for Britain. It was so
regarded by Monroe's most influential adviser, Thomas Jefferson. 'Great
Britain,' he wrote, 'is the nation which can do us the most harm of any
one, or all, on earth, and with her on our side we need not fear the
whole world. With her, then, we should the most sedulously cherish a
cordial friendship; and nothing would tend more to knit our affection
than to be fighting once more side by side hi the same cause.' To be
fighting side by side with Britain in the same cause--the cause of the
secure establishment of freedom in the world--this seemed to the
Democrat Jefferson an object worth aiming at; and the promise of this
seemed to be the main recommendation of the Monroe Doctrine. It was
intended as an alliance for the defence of freedom, not as a
proclamation of aloofness; and thus America seemed to be taking her
natural place as one of the powers concerned to strengthen law and
liberty, not only within her own borders, but throughout the world.
The Monroe Doctrine was rapidly accepted as expressing the fundamental
principle of American foreign policy. But under the influence of the
powerful tradition which we have attempted to analyse, its significance
was gradually changed; and instead of being interpreted as a
proclamation that the great republic could not be indifferent to the
fate of liberty, and would co-operate to defend it from attack in all
cases where such co-operation was reasonably practicable, it came to be
interpreted by average public opinion as meaning that America had no
concern with the politics of the Old World, and that the states of the
Old World must not be allowed to meddle in any of the affairs of either
American continent. The world of civilisation was to be divided into
water-tight compartments; as if it were not indissolubly one. Yet even
in this rather narrow form, the Monroe doctrine has on the whole been
productive of good; it has helped to save South America from becoming
one of the fields of rivalry of the European powers.
But it may be doubted whether the mere enunciation of the doctrine,
even in this precise and definite form, has of itself been sufficient
to secure this end. There is good reason to believe that the doctrine
would not have been safe from challenge if it had not been safeguarded
by the supremacy of the British Fleet. For throughout the last
half-century all the world has known that any defiance of this
doctrine, and any attack upon America, would bring Britain into the
field. During all this period one of the factors of world-politics has
been the existence of an informal and one-sided alliance between
Britain and America. The alliance has been informal, because it has not
rested upon any treaty or even upon any definite understanding. It has
been one-sided, because while average opinion in America has been
distrustful of Britain, has been apt to put unfavourable constructions
upon British policy, and has generally failed to appreciate the value
and significance of the work which Britain has done in the outer world,
Britain, on the other hand, has always known that America stood for
justice and freedom; and therefore, however difficult the relations
between the two powers might occasionally become, Britain has
steadfastly refused to consider the possibility of a breach with
America, and with rare exceptions has steadily given her support to
American policy. The action of the British squadron off the Philippines
in 1898, in quietly interposing itself between the threatening German
guns and the American Fleet, has, in fact, been broadly typical of the
British attitude. This factor has not only helped to preserve the
Monroe Doctrine from challenge, it has indirectly contributed to deepen
the American conviction that it was possible, even in the changed
conditions of the modern world, to maintain a complete isolation from
the political controversies of the powers.
During the period 1815-1878, then, while the greater part of Europe was
still indifferent to extra-European affairs, America had developed into
a vast state wherein freedom and law were enthroned, a huge melting-pot
wherein diverse peoples were being gradually unified and turned into a
new nation under the moulding power of a great tradition of liberty.
But her geographical position, and certain elements in her tradition,
had hitherto led her to abstain from, and even to repudiate, that great
part in the shaping of the common destinies of civilisation to which
she was manifestly called by her wealth, her numbers, her freedom, and
her share in the traditions of all the European peoples. In the nature
of things, whatever some Americans might think, this voluntary
isolation could not continue for ever. It was to be brought to an end
by the fevered developments of the next era, and by the great challenge
to the liberties of the world in which it culminated.
VI
THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE, 1815-1878
Mighty as had been the achievements of other lands which have been
surveyed in the last section, the main part in the expansion of
European civilisation over the world during the first three-quarters of
the nineteenth century was played by Britain. For she was engaged in
opening out new continents and sub-continents; and she was giving an
altogether new significance to the word 'Empire.' Above all, she was
half-blindly laying the foundations of a system whereby freedom and the
enriching sense of national unity might be realised at once in the new
and vacant lands of the earth, and among its oldest civilised peoples;
she was feeling her way towards a mode of linking diverse and free
states in a common brotherhood of peace and mutual respect. There is no
section of the history of European imperialism more interesting than
the story of the growth and organisation of the heterogeneous and
disparate empire with which Britain entered upon the new age.
This development appeared, on the surface, to be quite haphazard, and
to be governed by no clearly grasped theories or policy. It is indeed
true that at all times British policy has not been governed by theory,
but by the moulding force of a tradition of ordered freedom. The period
produced in Britain no imperialist statesman of the first rank, nor did
imperial questions play a leading part in the deliberations of
parliament. In fact, the growth of the British Empire and its
organisation were alike spontaneous and unsystematic; their only guide
(but it proved to be a good guide) was the spirit of self-government,
existing in every scattered section of the people; and the part played
by the colonists themselves, and by the administrative officers in
India and elsewhere, was throughout more important than the part played
by colonial secretaries, East Indian directors, parliamentarians and
publicists at home. For that reason the story is not easily handled in
a broad and simple way.
Enjoying almost a monopoly of oversea activity, Britain was free, in
most parts of the world, to expand her dominions as she thought fit.
Her statesmen, however, were far from desiring further expansion: they
rightly felt that the responsibilities already assumed were great
enough to tax the resources of any state, however rich and populous.
But, try as they would, they could not prevent the inevitable process
of expansion. Several causes contributed to produce this result.
Perhaps the most important was the unexampled growth of British trade,
which during these years dominated the whole world; and the flag is apt
to follow trade. A second cause was the pressure of economic distress
and the extraordinarily rapid increase of population at home, leading
to wholesale emigration; in the early years of the century an
extravagantly severe penal code, which inflicted the penalty of death,
commonly commuted into transportation, for an incredible number of
offences, gave an artificial impetus to this movement. The restless and
adventurous spirit of the settlers in huge and unexplored new countries
contributed another motive for expansion. And in some cases, notably in
India, political necessity seemed to demand annexations. Over a
movement thus stimulated, the home authorities found themselves, with
the best will in the world, unable to exercise any effective restraint;
and the already colossal British Empire continued to grow. It is no
doubt to be regretted that other European nations were not able during
this period to take part in the development of the non-European world
in a more direct way than by sending emigrants to America or the
British lands. But it is quite certain that the growth of British
territory is not to be attributed in any degree to the deliberate
policy, or to the greed, of the home government, which did everything
in its power to check it.
In India the Russian menace seemed to necessitate the adoption of a
policy towards the independent states of the North-West which brought
an extension of the frontier, between 1839 and 1849, to the great
mountain ranges which form the natural boundary of India in this
direction; while a succession of intolerable and quite unprovoked
aggressions by the Burmese led to a series of wars which resulted in
the annexation of very great territories in the east and north-east:
Assam, Aracan, and Tenasserim hi 1825; Pegu and Rangoon in 1853;
finally, in 1885-86, the whole remainder of the Burmese Empire. In
North America settlers found their way across the Rocky Mountains or
over the Isthmus of Panama into the region of British Columbia, which
was given a distinct colonial organisation in 1858; and the
colonisation of the Red River Settlement, 1811-18, which became hi 1870
the province of Manitoba, began the development of the great central
plain. In South Africa frontier wars with the Kaffirs, and the restless
movements of Boer trekkers, brought about an expansion of the limits of
Cape Colony, the annexation of Natal, and the temporary annexation of
the Orange River Settlement and the Transvaal; but all these additions
were most reluctantly accepted; the Orange River Settlement and the
Transvaal soon had their independence restored, though the former, at
any rate, accepted it unwillingly. In Australia, drafts of new settlers
planting themselves at new points led to the organisation of six
distinct colonies between 1825 and 1859; and this implied the definite
annexation of the whole continent. New Zealand was annexed in 1839, but
only because British traders had already established themselves in the
islands, were in unhappy relations with the natives, and had to be
brought under control.
But it was not the territorial expansion of the British Empire which
gave significance to this period in its history, but, in a far higher
degree, the new principles of government which were developed during
its course. The new colonial policy which gradually shaped itself
during this age was so complete a departure from every precedent of the
past, and represented so remarkable an experiment in imperial
government, that its sources deserve a careful analysis. It was brought
into being by a number of distinct factors and currents of opinion
which were at work both in Britain and in the colonies.
In the first place, there existed in Britain, as in other European
countries, a large body of opinion which held that all colonies were
sure to demand and obtain their independence as soon as they became
strong enough to desire it; that as independent states they could be
quite as profitable to the mother-country as they could ever be while
they remained attached to her, more especially if the parting took
place without bitterness; and that the wisest policy for Britain to
pursue was therefore to facilitate their development, to place no
barrier in the way of the increase of their self-government, and to
enable them at the earliest moment to start as free nations on their
own account. This was not, indeed, the universal, nor perhaps even the
preponderant, attitude in regard to the colonies in the middle of the
nineteenth century. But it was pretty common. It appeared in the most
unexpected quarters, as when Disraeli said that the colonies were
'millstones about our necks,' or as when The Times advocated in a
leading article the cession of Canada to the United States, on the
ground that annexation to the great Republic was the inevitable destiny
of that colony, and that it was much better that it should be carried
out in a peaceable and friendly way than after a conflict. It is
difficult to-day to realise that men could ever have entertained such
opinions. But they were widely held; and it must at least be obvious
that the prevalence of these views is quite inconsistent with the idea
that Britain was deliberately following a policy of expansion and
annexation in this age. Men who held these opinions (and they were to
be found in every party) regarded with resentment and alarm every
addition to what seemed to them the useless burdens assumed by the
nation, and required to be satisfied that every new annexation of
territory was not merely justifiable, but inevitable.
A second factor which contributed to the change of attitude towards the
colonies was the growing influence of a new school of economic thought,
the school of Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Malthus. Their ideas had begun
to affect national policy as early as the twenties, when Huskisson took
the first steps on the way to free trade. In the thirties the bulk of
the trading and industrial classes had become converts to these ideas,
which won their definite victories in the budgets of Sir Robert Peel,
1843-46, and in those of his disciple Gladstone. The essence of this
doctrine, as it affected colonial policy, was that the regulation of
trade by government, which had been the main object of the old colonial
policy, brought no advantages, but only checked its free development.
And for a country in the position which Britain then occupied, this was
undeniably true; so overwhelming was her preponderance in world-trade
that every current seemed to set in her direction, and the removal of
artificial barriers, originally designed to train the current towards
her shores, allowed it to follow its natural course. The only
considerable opposition to this body of economic doctrine came from
those who desired to protect British agriculture; but this motive had
(at this period) no bearing upon colonial trade. The triumph of the
doctrine of free trade meant that the principal motive which had
earlier led to restrictions upon the self-government of the
colonies--the desire to secure commercial advantages for the
mother-country--was no longer operative. The central idea of the old
colonial system was destroyed by the disciples of Adam Smith; and there
no longer remained any apparent reason why the mother-country should
desire to control the fiscal policy of the colonies. An even more
important result of the adoption of this new economic doctrine was that
it destroyed every motive which would lead the British government to
endeavour to secure for British traders a monopoly of the traffic with
British possessions. Henceforth all territories administered under the
direct control of the home government were thrown open as freely to the
merchants of other countries as to those of Britain herself. The part
which Britain now undertook in the undeveloped regions of her empire
(except in so far as they were controlled by fully self-governing
colonies) was simply that of maintaining peace and law; and in these
regions she adopted an attitude which may fairly be described as the
attitude, not of a monopolist, but of a trustee for civilisation. It
was this policy which explains the small degree of jealousy with which
the rapid expansion of her territory was regarded by the rest of the
civilised world. If the same policy had been followed, not necessarily
at home, but in their colonial possessions, by all the colonising
powers, the motives for colonial rivalry would have been materially
diminished, and the claims of various states to colonial territories,
when the period of rivalry began, would have been far more easily
adjusted.