It might have been expected that the Canadians would have been tempted
to follow the political model of their great neighbour the United
States; and if their development had been the outcome of friction with
the mother-country, no doubt they would have done so. But they
preferred to follow the British model. The keynote of the American
system is division of power: division between the federal government
and the state governments, which form mutual checks upon one another;
division between the executive and the legislature, which are
independent of one another at once in the states and in the federal
government, both being directly elected by popular vote. The keynote of
the British system is concentration of responsibility by the
subordination of the executive to the legislature. The Canadians
adopted the British principle: what had formerly been distinct colonies
became, not 'states' but 'provinces,' definitely subordinated to the
supreme central government; and whether in the federal or in the
provincial system, the control of government by the representative body
was finally established. This concord with the British system is a fact
of real import. It means that the political usages of the home-country
and the great Dominion are so closely assimilated that political
co-operation between them is far easier than it otherwise might be; it
increases the possibility of a future link more intimate than that of
mere co-operation.
Not less whole-hearted or generous than the treatment of the problems
of Canadian government was the treatment of the same problem in
Australia. Here, as a matter of course, all the colonies had been
endowed, at the earliest possible date, with the familiar system of
representative but not responsible government. No such acute friction
as had occurred in Canada had yet shown itself, though signs of its
development were not lacking. But in 1852 an astonishing step was taken
by the British parliament: the various Australian colonies were
empowered to elect single-chamber constituent assemblies to decide the
forms of government under which they wished to live. They decided in
every case to reproduce as nearly as possible the British system:
legislatures of two chambers, with ministries responsible to them.
Thus, in Australia as in Canada, the daughter-peoples were made to feel
the community of their institutions with those of the mother-country,
and the possibility of intimate and easy co-operation was increased.
Two years later, in 1854, New Zealand was endowed with the same system.
Among all the British realms in which the white man was predominant,
only South Africa was as yet excluded from this remarkable development.
The reasons for this exclusion we have already noted: its consequences
will occupy our attention in later pages.
Very manifestly the empire which was developing on such lines was not
an empire in the old sense--a dominion imposed by force upon unwilling
subjects. That old word, which has been used in so many senses, was
being given a wholly new connotation. It was being made to mean a free
partnership of self-governing peoples, held together not by force, but
in part by common interests, and in a still higher degree by common
sentiment and the possession of the same institutions of liberty.
In the fullest sense, however, this new conception of empire applied
only to the group of the great self-governing colonies. There were many
other regions, even before 1878, included within the British Empire,
though as yet it had not incorporated those vast protectorates over
regions peopled by backward races which have been added during the last
generation. There were tropical settlements like British Honduras,
British Guiana, Sierra Leone, and Cape Coast Castle; there were many
West Indian Islands, and scattered possessions like Mauritius and
Hong-Kong and Singapore and the Straits Settlements; there were
garrison towns or coaling-stations like Gibraltar, Malta, Aden, St.
Helena. To none of these were the institutions of full responsible
self-government granted. Some of them possessed representative
institutions without responsible ministries; in others the governor was
assisted by a nominated council, intended to express local opinion, but
not elected by the inhabitants; in yet others the governor ruled
autocratically. But in all these cases the ultimate control of policy
was retained by the home government. And in this general category, as
yet, the South African colonies were included. Why were these
distinctions drawn? Why did the generation of British statesmen, who
had dealt so generously with the demand for self-government in Canada
and Australia, stop short and refuse to carry out their principles in
these other cases?
It is characteristic of British politics that they are never merely or
fully logical, and that even when political doctrines seem to enjoy the
most complete ascendancy, they are never put into effect without
qualifications or exceptions. The exceptions already named to the
establishment of full self-government were due to many and varying
causes. In the first place, there was in most of these cases no
effective demand for full self-government; and it may safely be
asserted that any community in which there is no demand for
self-governing institutions is probably not in a condition to work them
with effect. Some of these possessions were purely military posts, like
Gibraltar and Aden, and were necessarily administered as such. Others
were too small and weak to dream of assuming the full privileges. But
in the majority of cases one outstanding common feature will appear on
closer analysis. Nearly all these territories were tropical or
semi-tropical lands, whose British inhabitants were not permanent
settlers, but were present solely for the purposes of trade or other
exploitation, while the bulk of the population consisted of backward
peoples, whose traditions and civilisation rendered their effective
participation in public affairs quite impracticable. In such cases, to
have given full political power to the small and generally shifting
minority of white men would have been to give scope to many evils; and
to have enfranchised, on a mere theory, the mass of the population
would have been to produce still worse results. It would have sentenced
these communities to the sort of fate which has befallen the beautiful
island of Hayti, where the self-government of a population of
emancipated negro slaves has brought nothing but anarchy and
degradation. In such conditions the steady Reign of Law is the greatest
boon that can be given to white settlers and coloured subjects alike;
and the final authority is rightly retained by the home government,
inspired, as British opinion has long required that it should be, by
the principle that the rights of the backward peoples must be
safeguarded. Under this system, both law and a real degree of liberty
are made possible; whereas under a doctrinaire application of the
theory of self-government, both would vanish.
But there remains the vast dominion of India, which falls neither into
the one category nor into the other. Though there are many primitive
and backward elements among its vast population, there are also peoples
and castes whose members are intellectually capable of meeting on equal
terms the members of any of the ruling races of the West. Yet during
this age, when self-government on the amplest scale was being extended
to the chief regions of the British Empire, India, the greatest
dominion of them all, did not obtain the gift of representative
institutions even on the most modest scale. Why was this?
It was not because the ruling race was hostile to the idea, or desired
merely to retain its own ascendancy. On the contrary, both in Britain
and among the best of the British administrators in India, it was
increasingly held that the only ultimate justification for the British
power in India would be that under its guidance the Indian peoples
should be gradually enabled to govern themselves. As early as 1824,
when in Europe sheer reaction was at its height, this view was being
strongly urged by one of the greatest of Anglo-Indian administrators,
Sir Thomas Munro, a soldier of distinction, then serving as governor of
Madras. 'We should look upon India,' he wrote, 'not as a temporary
possession, but as one which is to be maintained permanently, until the
natives shall have abandoned most of their superstitions and
prejudices, and become sufficiently enlightened to frame a regular
government for themselves, and to conduct and preserve it. Whenever
such a time shall arrive, it will probably be best for both countries
that the British control over India should be gradually withdrawn. That
the desirable change contemplated may in some after age be effected in
India, there is no cause to despair. Such a change was at one time in
Britain itself at least as hopeless as it is here. When we reflect how
much the character of nations has always been influenced by that of
governments, and that some, once the most cultivated, have sunk into
barbarism, while others, formerly the rudest, have attained the highest
point of civilisation, we shall see no reason to doubt that if we
pursue steadily the proper measures, we shall in time so far improve
the character of our Indian subjects as to make them able to govern and
protect themselves.'
In other words, self-government was the desirable end to be pursued in
India as elsewhere; but in India there were many and grave obstacles to
its efficient working, which could only slowly be overcome. In the
first place, India is more deeply divided in race, language, and
religion than any other region of the world. Nowhere else is there such
a medley of peoples of every grade of development, from the almost
savage Bhil to the cultivated and high-bred Brahmin or Rajput or
Mahomedan chief. There are sharp regional differences, as great as
those between the European countries; but cutting across these there
are everywhere the rigid and impermeable distinctions of caste, which
have no parallel anywhere else in the world. The experience of the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, whose confusion of races is simplicity itself
in comparison with the chaos of India, affords a significant
demonstration of the fact that parliamentary institutions, if they are
established among deeply divided peoples, must almost inevitably be
exploited for the purpose of racial ascendancy by the most vigorous or
the best-organised elements among the people; and a very ugly tyranny
is apt to result, as it has resulted in Austro-Hungary. This
consequence would almost certainly follow the establishment of a full
representative system in India. In the cities of mediaeval Italy, when
the conflict of parties became so acute that neither side could expect
justice from the other, the practice grew up of electing a podesta from
some foreign city to act as an impartial arbiter. The British power in
India has played the part of a podesta in restraining and mediating
between the conflicting peoples and religions of India.
But again (and this is even more fundamental), for thousands of years
the history of India has been one long story of conquests and tyrannies
by successive ruling races. Always Might has been Right, so that the
lover of righteousness could only pursue it, like the mediaeval
ascetic, by cutting himself off from the world, abjuring all social
ties, and immolating the flesh in order to live by the spirit. Always
Law had been, in the last resort, the Will of the Stronger, not the
decree of impartial justice. Always the master-races, the predatory
bands, the ruling castes, had expected to receive, and the mass of the
people had been accustomed to give, the most abject submission; and
these habits were difficult to overcome. 'In England,' says Sir Thomas
Munro, 'the people resist oppression, and it is their spirit which
gives efficacy to the law: in India the people rarely resist
oppression, and the law intended to secure them from it can therefore
derive no aid from themselves. ... It is in vain to caution them
against paying by telling them that the law is on their side, and will
support them in refusing to comply with unauthorised demands. All
exhortations on this head are thrown away, and after listening to them
they will the very next day submit to extortion as quietly as before.'
How could representative institutions be expected to work under such
conditions? They would have lacked the very foundation upon which alone
they can firmly rest: respect for law, and public co-operation in the
enforcement of it. Thus the supreme service which the government of
India could render to its people was the establishment and maintenance
of the Reign of Law, and of the liberty which it shelters. In such
conditions representative government would be liable to bring, not
liberty, but anarchy and the renewal of lawless oppression.
But although the extension of the representative system to India
neither was nor could be attempted in this age, very remarkable
advances were made towards turning India in a real sense into a
self-governing country. It ceased to be regarded or treated as a
subject dominion existing solely for the advantage of its conquerors.
That had always been its fate in all the long centuries of its history;
and in the first period of British rule the trading company which had
acquired this amazing empire had naturally regarded it as primarily a
source of profit. In 1833 the company was forbidden to engage in trade,
and the profit-making motive disappeared. The shareholders still
continued to receive a fixed dividend out of the Indian revenues, but
this may be compared to a fixed debt-charge, an annual payment for
capital expended in the past; and it came to an end when the company
was abolished in 1858. Apart from this dividend, no sort of tribute was
exacted from India by the ruling power. India was not even required to
contribute to the upkeep of the navy, which protected her equally with
the rest of the Empire, or of the diplomatic service, which was often
concerned with her interests. She paid for the small army which guarded
her frontiers; but if any part of it was borrowed for service abroad,
its whole pay and charges were met by Britain. She paid the salaries
and pensions of the handful of British administrators who conducted her
government, but this was a very small charge in comparison with the
lavish outlay of the native princes whom they had replaced. India had
become a self-contained state, whose whole resources were expended
exclusively upon her own needs, and expended with the most scrupulous
honesty, and under the most elaborate safeguards.
They were expended, moreover, especially during the later part of this
period, largely in equipping her with the material apparatus of modern
civilisation. Efficient police, great roads, a postal service cheaper
than that of any other country, a well-planned railway system, and,
above all, a gigantic system of irrigation which brought under
cultivation vast regions hitherto desert--these were some of the boons
acquired by India during the period. They were rendered possible partly
by the economical management of her finances, partly by the liberal
expenditure of British capital. Above all, the period saw the beginning
of a system of popular education, of which the English language became
the main vehicle, because none of the thirty-eight recognised
vernacular tongues of India either possessed the necessary literature,
or could be used as a medium for instruction in modern science. In 1858
three universities were established; and although their system was
ill-devised, under the malign influence of the analogy of London
University, a very large and increasing number of young graduates,
trained for modern occupations, began to filter into Indian society,
and to modify its point of view. All speaking and writing English, and
all trained in much the same body of ideas, they possessed a similarity
of outlook and a vehicle of communication such as had never before
linked together the various races and castes of India. This large and
growing class, educated in some measure in the learning of the West,
formed already, at the end of the period, a very important new element
in the life of India. They were capable of criticising the work of
their government; they were not without standards of comparison by
which to measure its achievements; and, aided by the large freedom
granted to the press under the British system, they were able to begin
the creation of an intelligent public opinion, which was apt, in its
first movements, to be ill-guided and rash, but which was nevertheless
a healthy development. That this newly created class of educated men
should produce a continual stream of criticism, and that it should even
stimulate into existence public discontents, is by no means a
condemnation of the system of government which has made these
developments possible. On the contrary, it is a proof that the system
has had an invigorating effect. For the existence and the expression of
discontent is a sign of life; it means that there is an end of that
utter docility which marks a people enslaved body and soul. India has
never been more prosperous than she is to-day; she has never before
known so impartial a system of justice as she now possesses; and these
are legitimate grounds of pride to her rulers. But they may even more
justly pride themselves upon the fact that in all her history India has
never been so frankly and incessantly critical of her government as she
is to-day; never so bold in the aspirations for the future which her
sons entertain.
The creation of the new class of Western-educated Indians also
facilitated another development which the British government definitely
aimed at encouraging: the participation of Indians in the conduct of
administration in their own land. The Act of 1833 had laid it down as a
fundamental principle that 'no native of the said territories ... shall
by reason only of his religion, place of birth, descent, or any of
them, be disabled from holding any place, office, or employment.' The
great majority of the minor administrative posts had always been held
by Indians; but until 1833 it had been held that the maintenance of
British supremacy required that the higher offices should be reserved
to members of the ruling race. This restriction was now abolished; but
it was not until the development of the educational system had produced
a body of sufficiently trained men that the new principle could produce
appreciable results; and even then, the deficiencies of an undeveloped
system of training, combined with the racial and religious jealousies
which the government of India must always keep in mind, imposed
limitations upon the rapid increase of the number of Indians holding
the higher posts. Still, the principle had been laid down, and was
being acted upon. And that also constituted a great step towards
self-government.
India in 1878 was governed, under the terms of a code of law based upon
Indian custom, by a small body of British officials, among whom leading
Indians were gradually taking their place, and who worked in detail
through an army of minor officials, nearly all of Indian birth, and
selected without regard to race or creed. She was a self-contained
country whose whole resources were devoted to her own needs. She was
prospering to a degree unexampled in her history; she had achieved a
political unity never before known to her; she had been given the
supreme boon of a just and impartial law, administered without fear or
favour; and she had enjoyed a long period of peace, unbroken by any
attack from external foes. Here also, as fully as in the self-governing
colonies, membership of the British Empire did not mean subjection to
the selfish dominion of a master, or the subordination to that master's
interests of the vital interests of the community. It meant the
establishment among a vast population of the essential gifts of Western
civilisation, rational law, and the liberty which exists under its
shelter. Empire had come to mean, not merely domination pursued for its
own sake, but trusteeship for the extension of civilisation.
The period of practical British monopoly, 1815-1878, had thus brought
about a very remarkable transformation in the character of the British
Empire. It had greatly increased in extent, and by every test of area,
population, and natural resources, it was beyond comparison the
greatest power that had ever existed in the world. But its organisation
was of an extreme laxity; it possessed no real common government; and
its principal members were united rather by a community of institutions
and ideas than by any formal ties. Moreover, it presented a more
amazing diversity of racial types, of religions, and of grades of
civilisation, than any other political fabric which had existed in
history. Its development had assuredly brought about a very great
expansion of the ideas of Western civilisation over the face of the
globe, and, above all, a remarkable diffusion of the institutions of
political liberty. But it remained to be proved whether this loosely
compacted bundle of states possessed any real unity, or would be
capable of standing any severe strain. The majority of observers, both
in Britain itself and throughout the world, would have been inclined,
in 1878, to give a negative answer to these questions.
VII
THE ERA OF THE WORLD-STATES, 1878-1900
The Congress of Berlin in 1878 marks the close of the era of
nationalist revolutions and wars in Europe. By the same date all the
European states had attained to a certain stability in their
constitutional systems. With equal definiteness this year may be said
to mark the opening of a new era in the history of European
imperialism; an era of eager competition for the control of the still
unoccupied regions of the world, in which the concerns of remote lands
suddenly became matters of supreme moment to the great European powers,
and the peace of the world was endangered by questions arising in China
or Siam, in Morocco or the Soudan, or the islands of the Pacific. The
control of Europe over the non-European world was in a single
generation completed and confirmed. And the most important of the many
questions raised by this development was the question whether the
spirit in which this world-supremacy of Europe was to be wielded should
be the spirit which long experience had inspired in the oldest of the
colonising nations, the spirit of trusteeship on behalf of
civilisation; or whether it was to be the old, brutal, and sterile
spirit of mere domination for its own sake.
On a superficial view the most obvious feature of this strenuous period
was that all the remaining unexploited regions of the world were either
annexed by one or other of the great Western states, or were driven to
adopt, with greater or less success, the modes of organisation of the
West. But what was far more important than any new demarcation of the
map was that not only the newly annexed lands, but also the
half-developed territories of earlier European dominions, were with an
extraordinary devouring energy penetrated during this generation by
European traders and administrators, equipped with railways,
steam-boats, and all the material apparatus of modern life, and in
general organised and exploited for the purposes of industry and trade.
This astonishing achievement was almost as thorough as it was swift.
And its result was, not merely that the political control of Europe
over the backward regions of the world was strengthened and secured by
these means, but that the whole world was turned into a single economic
and political unit, no part of which could henceforth dwell in
isolation. This might have meant that we should have been brought
nearer to some sort of world-order; but unhappily the spirit in which
the great work was undertaken by some, at least, of the nations which
participated in it has turned this wonderful achievement into a source
of bitterness and enmity, and led the world in the end to the tragedy
and agony of the Great War.
The causes of this gigantic outpouring of energy were manifold. The
main impelling forces were perhaps economic rather than political. But
the economic needs of this strenuous age might have been satisfied
without resort to the brutal arbitrament of war: their satisfaction
might even have been made the means of diminishing the danger of war.
It was the interpretation of these economic needs in terms of an
unhappy political theory which has led to the final catastrophe.