phase of the interdependence of the national and the democratic
principles. The vitality of English national life has been impaired by
its identification with an inadequate and aristocratic political
principle. In France the effective vitality of the democracy has been
very much lowered by certain flaws in the integrity of French national
life. France is strong where England is weak and is weak where England
is strong; and this divergence of development is by no means accidental.
Just because they were the first countries to become effectively
nationalized, their action and reaction have been constant and have
served at once to develop and distinguish their national temperaments.
The English invasions accelerated the growth of the French royal power
and weakened domestic resistance to its ambitions. The English
revolutions of the seventeenth century made the Bourbons more than ever
determined to consolidate the royal despotism and to stamp out
Protestantism. The excesses of the French royal despotism brought as a
consequence the excesses of the Revolutionary democracy. The Reign of
Terror in its turn made Englishmen more than ever suspicious of the
application of rational political ideas to the fabric of English
society. So the ball was tossed back and forth--the national temperament
of each people being at once profoundly modified by this action and
reaction and for the same cause profoundly distinguished one from the
other. The association has been more beneficial to France than to
England, because the French, both before and after the Revolution,
really tried to learn something from English political experience,
whereas the English have never been able to discover anything in the
political experience of their neighbors, except an awful example of the
danger of democratic ideas and political and social rationalism.
The ideas of the French democracy were in the beginning revolutionary,
disorderly, and subversive of national consistency and good faith. No
doubt the French democracy had a much better excuse for identifying
democracy with a system of abstract rights and an indiscriminate
individualism than had the American democracy. The shadow of the Old
Régime hung over the country; and it seemed as if the newly won civil
and political rights could be secured only by erecting them into
absolute conditions of just political association and by surrounding
them with every possible guarantee. Moreover, the natural course of the
French democratic development was perverted by foreign interference and
a constant condition of warfare; and if the French nation had been
allowed to seek its own political salvation without interference, as was
this English nation, the French democracy might have been saved many an
error and excess. But whatever excuses may be found for the disorders of
the French democracy, the temporary effect of the democratic idea upon
the national fabric was, undoubtedly, a rending of the roots of their
national stability and good feeling. The successive revolutionary
explosions, which have constituted so much of French history since 1789,
have made France the victim of what sometimes seem to be mutually
exclusive conceptions of French national well-being. The democratic
radicals are "intransigeant." The party of tradition and authority is
"ultramontane." The majority of moderate and sensible people are usually
in control; but their control is unstable. The shadow of the Terror and
the Commune hangs over every serious crisis in French politics. The
radicals jump to the belief that the interests and rights of the people
have been betrayed and that the traitors should be exterminated. Good
Frenchmen suffer during those crises from an obsession of suspicion and
fear. Their mutual loyalty, their sense of fair play, and their natural
kindliness are all submerged under a tyranny of desperate apprehension.
The social bond is unloosed, and the prudent bourgeois thinks only of
the preservation of person and property.
This aspect of the French democracy can, however, easily be
over-emphasized and usually is over-emphasized by foreigners. It is
undoubtedly a living element in the composition of the contemporary
France; but it was less powerful at the time of the Commune than at the
time of the Terror, and is less powerful to-day than it was in 1871.
French political history in the nineteenth century is not to be regarded
as a succession of meaningless revolutions, born of a spirit of reckless
and factious insubordination, but as the route whereby a people,
inexperienced in self-government, have been gradually traveling towards
the kind of self-government best fitted to their needs. It is entirely
possible that the existing Republic, modified perhaps for the purpose of
obtaining a more independent and a more vigorous executive authority,
may in the course of time give France the needed political and social
stability. That form of government which was adopted at the time,
because it divided Frenchmen the least, may become the form of
government which unites Frenchmen by the strongest ties. Bismarck's
misunderstanding of the French national character and political needs
was well betrayed when he favored a Republic rather than a Legitimist
monarchy in France, because a French Republic would, in his opinion,
necessarily keep France a weak and divided neighbor. The Republic has
kept France divided, but it has been less divided than it would have
been under any monarchical government. It has successfully weathered a
number of very grave domestic crises; and its perpetuity will probably
depend primarily upon its ability to secure and advance by practical
means the international standing of France. The Republic has been
obliged to meet a foreign peril more prolonged and more dangerous than
that which has befallen any French government since 1600. From the time
of Richelieu until 1870, France was stronger than any of her continental
neighbors. Unless they were united against her she had little to fear
from them; and her comparative strength tempted her to be aggressive,
careless, and experimental in her foreign policy. That policy was
vacillating, purposeless, and frequently wasteful of the national
resources. Eventually, it compromised the international position of
France. After 1871, for the first time in almost three hundred years,
the very safety of France in a time of peace became actively and gravely
imperiled. The third Republic reaped the fruit of all the former
trifling with the national interest of France and that of its neighbors;
and the resulting danger was and is so ominous and so irretrievable that
it has made and will make for internal stability. If the Republic can
provide for French national defense and can keep for France the position
in Europe to which she is entitled, the Republic will probably endure.
And in that case it will certainly deserve to endure, because it will
have faced and overcome the most exacting possible national peril.
Even the most loyal friend of France can, however, hardly claim that the
French democracy is even yet thoroughly nationalized. It has done
something to obtain national cohesion at home, and to advance the
national interest abroad; but evidences of the traditional dissociation
between French democracy and French national efficiency and consistency
are still plainly visible. Both the domestic and the foreign policies of
the Republic have of late years been weakened by the persistence of a
factious and anti-national spirit among radical French democrats.
The most dangerous symptom of this anti-national democracy is that an
apparently increasing number of educated Frenchmen are rebelling against
the burdens imposed upon the Republic by its perilous international
position. They are tending to seek security and relief, not by
strengthening the national bond and by loyalty to the fabric of their
national life, but by personal disloyalty and national dissolution. The
most extreme of democratic socialists do not hesitate to advocate armed
rebellion against military service in the interest of international
peace. They would fight their fellow-countrymen in order to promote a
union with foreigners. How far views of this kind have come to prevail,
an outsider cannot very well judge; but they are said to be popular
among the school teachers, and to have impaired the discipline of the
army itself. Authoritative French journals claim that France cannot
afford to run the risk of incurring the ill-will of Germany, even in a
good cause, because the country is no longer sure of its military
efficiency. There is no present danger of this anti-nationalist
democracy capturing control of the French government, as did the
revolutionary democracy at an earlier date; but its existence is a
source of weakness to a nation whose perilous international situation
requires the most absolute patriotic devotion on the part of her sons.
Unfortunately, it is also true that the official domestic policy of the
Republic is not informed by a genuinely national spirit. Just as the
English national interest demands the temporary loosening of traditional
bonds for the sake of securing national cohesion at a smaller sacrifice
of popular vitality, so, on the contrary, the French national interest
demands more of the English spirit of compromise for the sake of
national consistency. The wounds dealt to the integrity of French
national life by the domestic conflicts of four generations require
binding and healing. The Third Republic has on the whole been more
national in its domestic policy than were any of the preceding French
governments for over two hundred years; but it has still fallen far
short of its duty in that respect. The healing of one wound has always
been followed by the opening of another. Irreconcilable differences of
opinion still subsist; and they are rarely bridged or dissolved by any
fundamental loyalty of patriotic feeling. The French have as yet been
unable to find in their democracy any conscious ideal of mutual loyalty
which provides a sufficient substitute for a merely instinctive national
tradition. They have not yet come to realize that the success of their
whole democratic experiment depends upon their ability to reach a good
understanding with their fellow-countrymen, and, that just in so far as
their democracy fails to be nationally constructive, it is ignoring the
most essential condition of its own vitality and perpetuity.
The French democracy is confronted by an economic, as well as a
political, problem of peculiar difficulty. The effects of the Revolution
were no less important upon the distribution of wealth in France than
upon the distribution of political power. The people came into the
ownership of the land; and in the course of time the area of this
distribution has been increased rather than diminished. Furthermore, the
laws under which property in France is inherited have promoted a
similarly wide distribution of personal estate. France is a rich
country; and its riches are much more evenly divided than is the case in
Great Britain, Germany, or the United States. There are fewer large
fortunes, and fewer cases of poverty. The average Frenchman is a small,
but extremely thrifty proprietor, who abhors speculation and is always
managing to add something to his accumulations; and the French economic
system is adapted to this peculiar distribution of wealth. The scarcity
in France of iron and coal has checked the tendency to industrial
organization on a huge scale. The strength of the French industrial
system does not consist in the large and efficient use of machinery, but
in its multitude of skilled craftsmen and the excellence of their
handiwork. In a system of this kind, labor naturally receives a large
percentage of the gross product, and a larger proportion of wage-earners
reach an independent economic position. At first sight it looks as if
France was something like a genuine economic democracy, and ought to
escape the evils which threaten other countries from an economic
organization, in which concentrated capital plays a more important part.
But the situation is not without another and less favorable aspect.
France, in becoming a country of small and extremely thrifty property
owners, has also become a country of partial economic parasites with
very little personal initiative and energy. Individual freedom has been
sacrificed to economic and social equality; and this economic and social
equality has not made for national cohesion. The bourgeois, the
mechanic, and the farmer, in so far as they have accumulated property,
are exhibiting an extremely calculating individualism, of which the most
dangerous symptom is the decline in the birth-rate. Frenchmen are
becoming more than ever disinclined to take the risks and assume the
expense of having more than one or two children. The recent outbreak of
anti-militarism is probably merely another illustration of the
increasing desire of the French bourgeois for personal security, and the
opportunity for personal enjoyment. To a foreigner it looks as if the
grave political and social risks, which the French nation has taken
since 1789, had gradually cultivated in individual Frenchmen an
excessive personal prudence, which adds to the store of national wealth,
but which no more conduces to economic, social, and political efficiency
than would the incarceration of a fine army in a fortress conduce to
military success. A nation or an individual who wishes to accomplish
great things must be ready, in Nietsche's phrase, "to lived
angerously"--to take those risks, without which no really great
achievement is possible; and if Frenchmen persist in erecting the virtue
of thrift and the demand for safety into the predominant national
characteristic, they are merely beginning a process of national
corruption and dissolution.
That any such result is at all imminent, I do not for a moment believe.
The time will come when the danger of the present drift will be
understood, and will create its sufficient remedy; and all good friends
of democracy and human advancement should hope and believe that France
will retain indefinitely her national vitality. If she should drift into
an insignificant position in relation to her neighbors, a void would be
created which it would be impossible to fill and which would react
deleteriously upon the whole European system. But such a result is only
to be avoided by the general recognition among Frenchmen that the means
which they are adopting to render their personal position more secure is
rendering their national situation more precarious. The fate of the
French democracy is irrevocably tied up with the fate of French
national life, and the best way for a Frenchman to show himself a good
democrat is to make those sacrifices and to take those risks necessary
for the prestige and welfare of his country.
V
THE RELATION OF GERMAN NATIONALITY TO DEMOCRACY
The German Empire presents still another phase of the relation between
democracy and nationality, and one which helps considerably towards an
understanding of the varied possibilities of that relationship. The
German national organization and policy was wrought in a manner entirely
different from that of either France or England. In the two latter
countries political freedom was conquered only as the result of
successive revolutions; and the ruling classes were obliged to recognize
the source of these political reformations by renouncing all or a large
part of their inherited responsibilities. In Germany, on the other hand,
or rather in Prussia as the maker of modern Germany, the various changes
in the national organization and policy, which have resulted in the
founding of a united nation, originated either with the crown or with
the royal counselors. The Prussian monarchy has, consequently, passed
through the revolutionary period without abandoning its political
leadership of the Prussian state. It has created a national
representative body; but it has not followed the English example and
allowed such a body to tie its hands; and it has remained, consequently,
the most completely responsible and representative monarchy in Europe.
Up to the present time this responsibility and power have on the whole
been deserved by the manner in which they have been exercised. German
nationality as an efficient political and economic force has been
wrought by skillful and patriotic management out of materials afforded
by military and political opportunities and latent national ties and
traditions. During the eighteenth century the Prussian monarchy came to
understand that the road to effective political power in Germany was by
way of a military efficiency, disproportionate to the resources and
population of the Kingdom. In this way it was able to take advantage of
almost every important crisis to increase its dominion and its
prestige. Neither was Prussian national efficiency built up merely by a
well-devised and practicable policy of military aggression. The Prussian
monarchy had the good sense to accept the advice of domestic reformers
during its period of adversity, and so contributed to the economic
liberation and the educational training of its subjects. Thus the modern
German nation has been at bottom the work of admirable leadership on the
part of officially responsible leaders; and among those leaders the man
who planned most effectively and accomplished the greatest results was
Otto von Bismarck.
* * * * *
It requires a very special study of European history after 1848 to
understand how bold, how original, how comprehensive, and how adequate
for their purpose Bismarck's ideas and policy gradually became; and it
requires a very special study of Bismarck's own biography to understand
that his personal career, with all its transformations, exhibits an
equally remarkable integrity. The Bismarck of from 1848 to 1851 is
usually described as a country squire, possessed by obscurantist
mediæval ideas wholly incompatible with his own subsequent policy. But
while there are many superficial contradictions between the country
squire of 1848 and the Prussian Minister and German Chancellor, the
really peculiar quality of Bismarck's intelligence was revealed in his
ability to develop a constructive German national policy out of the
prejudices and ideas of a Prussian "junker." Bismarck, in 1848, was
primarily an ardent Prussian patriot who believed that the monarchy was
divinely authorized to govern the Prussian people, and that any
diminution of this responsibility was false in principle and would be
baleful in its results. These ideas led him, in 1848, to oppose the
constitution, granted by Frederick William IV and to advocate the
repression of all revolutionary upheavals. He never essentially departed
from these principles; but his experience gradually taught him that they
were capable of a different and more edifying application. The point of
view from which his policy, his achievements, and his career can best be
understood is that of a patriotic Prussian who was exclusively,
intelligently, and unscrupulously devoted to the welfare (as he
conceived it) of his country and his king. As a loyal Prussian he wished
to increase Prussian influence among the other German states, because
that was the only way to improve her standing and greatness as a
European Power; and he soon realized that Austria constituted the great
obstacle to any such increase of Prussian influence. He and he only drew
the one sufficient inference from this fact. Inasmuch as Prussia's
future greatness and efficiency depended absolutely on the increase of
her influence in Germany, and inasmuch as Austria barred her path,
Prussia must be prepared to fight Austria, and must make every possible
provision, both diplomatic and military, to bring such a war to a
successful issue. Such a purpose meant, of course, the abandonment of
the policy which Prussia had pursued for a whole generation. The one
interest which Bismarck wanted the Prussian government to promote was
the Prussian interest, no matter whether that interest meant opposition
to the democracy or coöperation therewith; and the important point in
the realization of this exclusive policy is that he soon found himself
in need of the help of the German democratic movement. His resolute and
candid nationalism in the end forced him to enter into an alliance with
the very democracy which he had begun by detesting.
It must be admitted, also, that he had in the beginning reason to
distrust the Prussian and the German democracy. The German radicals had
sought to compass the unification of Germany by passing resolutions and
making speeches; but such methods, which are indispensable accessories
to the good government of an established national community, were
utterly incompetent to remove the obstacles to German unity. These
obstacles consisted in the particularism of the German princes, the
opposition of Austria, and looming in the background the possible
opposition of France; and Bismarck alone thoroughly understood that such
obstacles could be removed by war and war only. But in order to wage war
successfully, a country must be well-armed; and in the attempt to arm
Prussia so that she would be equal to asserting her interests in
Germany, Bismarck and the king had to face the stubborn opposition of
the Prussian representative assembly. Bismarck did not flinch from
fighting the Prussian assembly in the national interest any more than he
flinched under different circumstances from calling the German democracy
to his aid. When by this policy, at once bold and cautious, of Prussian
aggrandizement, he had succeeded in bringing about war with Austria, he
fearlessly announced a plan of partial unification, based upon the
supremacy of Prussia and a national parliament elected by universal
suffrage; and after the defeat of Austria, he successfully carried this
plan into effect. It so happened that the special interest of Prussia
coincided with the German national interest. It was Prussia's effective
military power which defeated Austria and forced the princes to abate
their particularist pretensions. It was Prussia's comparatively larger
population which made Bismarck insist that the German nation should be
an efficient popular union rather than a mere federation of states. And
it was Bismarck's experience with the anti-nationalism "liberalism" of
the Prussian assembly, elected as it was by a very restricted suffrage,
which convinced him that the national interest could be as well trusted
to the good sense and the patriotism of the whole people as to the
special interests of the "bourgeoisie." Thus little by little the
fertile seed of Bismarck's Prussian patriotism grew into a German
semi-democratic nationalism, and it achieved this transformation without
any essential sacrifice of its own integrity. He had been working in
Prussia's interest throughout, but he saw clearly just where the
Prussian interest blended with the German national interest, and just
what means, whether by way of military force or popular approval, were
necessary for the success of his patriotic policy.
When the Prussian Minister-President became the Imperial Chancellor, he
pursued in the larger field a similar purpose by different means. The
German national Empire had been founded by means of the forcible
coercion of its domestic and foreign opponents. It remained now to
organize and develop the new national state; and the government, under
Bismark's lead, made itself responsible for the task of organization and
development, just as it had made itself responsible for the task of
unification. According to the theories of democratic individualistic
"liberalism," such an effort could only result in failure, because from
the liberal point of view the one way to develop a modern industrial
nation was simply to allow the individual every possible liberty. But
Bismarck's whole scheme of national industrial organization looked in a
very different direction. He believed that the nation itself, as
represented by its official leaders, should actively assist in preparing
an adequate national domestic policy, and in organizing the machinery
for its efficient execution. He saw clearly that the logic and the
purpose of the national type of political organization was entirely
different from that of a so-called free democracy, as explained in the
philosophy of the German liberals of 1848, the Manchester school in
England, or our own Jeffersonian Democrats; and he successfully
transformed his theory of responsible administrative activity into a
comprehensive national policy. The army was, if anything, increased in
strength, so that it might remain fully adequate either for national
defense or as an engine of German international purposes. A beginning
was made toward the creation of a navy. A moderate but explicit
protectionist policy was adopted, aimed not at the special development
either of rural or manufacturing industries, but at the all-round
development of Germany as an independent national economic unit. In
Prussia itself the railways were bought by the government, so that they
should be managed, not in the interest of the shareholders, but in that
of the national economic system. The government encouraged the spread of
bettor farming methods, which have resulted in the gradual increase in
the yield per acre of every important agricultural staple. The
educational system of the country was made of direct assistance to
industry, because it turned out skilled scientific experts, who used
their knowledge to promote industrial efficiency. In every direction
German activity was organized and was placed under skilled professional
leadership, while at the same time each of these special lines of work
was subordinated to its particular place in a comprehensive scheme of
national economy. This "paternalism" has, moreover, accomplished its
purpose. German industrial expansion surpasses in some respects that of
the United States, and has left every European nation far behind.
Germany alone among the modern European nations is, in spite of the
temporary embarrassment of Imperial finance, carrying the cost of modern
military preparation easily, and looks forward confidently to greater
successes in the future. She is at the present time a very striking
example of what can be accomplished for the popular welfare by a
fearless acceptance on the part of the official leaders of economic as
well as political responsibility, and by the efficient and intelligent
use of all available means to that end.
Inevitably, however, Germany is suffering somewhat from the excess of
her excellent qualities. Her leaders were not betrayed by the success of
their foreign and domestic policies to attempt the immediate
accomplishment of purposes, incommensurate with the national power and
resources; but they were tempted to become somewhat overbearing in their
attitude toward their domestic and foreign opponents. No doubt a
position which was conquered by aggressive leadership must be maintained
by aggressive leadership; and no doubt, consequently, the German
Imperial Power could not well avoid the appearance and sometimes the
substance of being domineering. But the consequence of the Bismarckian
tradition of bullying and browbeating one's opponents has been that of
intensifying the opposition to the national policy and of compromising
its success. France has been able to escape from the isolation in which
she was long kept by Bismarck after the war, and has gradually built up
a series of understandings with other Powers, more or less inimical to
Germany. The latter's standing in Europe is not as high as it was ten
years ago, in spite of the increased relative efficiency of her army,
her navy, and her economic system. Moreover, an equally serious and
dangerous opposition has been created at home. The government has not
succeeded in retaining the loyal support of a large fraction of the
German people. A party which is composed for the most part of
workingmen, and which has been increasing steadily in the number of its
adherents, is utterly opposed to the present policy and organization of
the Imperial government; and those Social Democrats have for the most
part been treated by the authorities with repressive laws and abusive
epithets. Thus a schism is being created in the German national system
which threatens to become a source of serious weakness to the national
efficiency and strength.
That the existence of some such domestic opposition is to a certain
extent unavoidable must be admitted. A radical incompatibility exists
between the national policy of the Imperial and Prussian governments and
the Social Democratic programme; and the Imperial authorities could not
conciliate the Social Democrats without abandoning the peculiar
organization and policy which have been largely so responsible for the
extraordinary increase in the national well-being. On the other hand, it
must also be remembered that the Prussian royal power has maintained its
nationally representative character and its responsible leadership quite
as much by its ability to meet legitimate popular grievances and needs
as by its successful foreign policy. The test of German domestic
statesmanship hereafter will consist in its ability to win the support
of the industrial democracy, created by the industrial advance of the
country, without impairing the traditional and the existing practice of
expert and responsible leadership. The task is one of extreme
difficulty, but it is far from being wholly impossible, because the
Social Democratic party in Germany is every year becoming less
revolutionary and more national in its outlook. But at present little
attempt is being made at conciliation; and the attitude of the ruling
classes is such that in the near future none is likely to be made. In
this respect they are false to the logic of the origin of German
political unity. The union was accomplished with the assistance of the
democracy and on a foundation of universal suffrage. As Germany has
become more of a nation, the democracy has acquired more substantial
power; but its increase in numbers and weight has not been accompanied
by any increase of official recognition. The political organization of
Germany is consequently losing touch with those who represent one
essential aspect of the national growth. It behooves the ruling classes
to tread warily, or they may have to face a domestic opposition more
dangerous than any probable foreign opposition.
The situation is complicated by the dubious international standing of
the German Empire. She is partly surrounded by actual and possible
enemies, against whom she can make headway only by means of continuous
vigilance and efficient leadership; while at the same time her own
national ambitions still conflict in some measure with the interests of
her neighbors. Her official foreign policy since 1872 has undoubtedly
been determined by the desire to maintain the peace of Europe under
effective guarantees, because she needed time to consolidate her
position and reap the advantages of her increasing industrial
efficiency; but both German and European statesmen are none the less
very conscious of the fact that the German Empire is the European Power
which has most to gain in Europe from a successful war. Some Frenchmen
still cherish plans of revenge for 1870; but candid French opinion is
beginning to admit that the constantly increasing resources of Germany
in men and money make any deliberate policy of that kind almost
suicidal. France would lose much more by a defeat than she could gain
from a victory, and the fruits of victory could not be permanently held.
Italy, also, has no unsatisfied ambition which a war could gratify,
except the addition of a few thousand Austrian-Italians to her
population. Russia still looks longingly toward Constantinople; but
until she has done something to solve her domestic problem and
reorganize her finances, she needs peace rather than war. But the past
successes of Germany and her new and increasing expansive power tempt
her to cherish ambitions which constitute the chief menace to the
international stability of Europe. She would have much to lose, but she
would also have something to gain from the possible disintegration of
Austria-Hungary. She has possibly still more to gain from the
incorporation of Holland within the Empire. Her increasing commerce has
possessed her with the idea of eventually disputing the supremacy of the
sea with Great Britain. And she unquestionably expects to profit in Asia
Minor from the possible break-up of the Ottoman Empire. How seriously
such ambitions are entertained, it is difficult to say; and it is wholly
improbable that more than a small part of this enormous programme of
national aggrandizement will ever be realized. But when Germany has the
chance of gaining and holding such advantages as these from a successful
war, it is no wonder that she remains the chief possible disturber of
the European peace. In her case certainly the fruits of victory look
more seductive than the penalties of defeat look dangerous; and the
resolute opposition to the partial disarmament, which she has always
offered at the Hague Conference, is the best evidence of the unsatisfied
nature of her ambitions.
Germany's standing in the European system is, then, very far from being
as well-defined as are those of the older nations, like France and Great
Britain. The gradual growth of a better understanding between France,
Great Britain, and Russia is largely due to an instinctive coalition of
those powers who would be most injured by an increase of the German
influence and dominion; and the sense that Europe is becoming united
against them makes German statesmen more than ever on their guard and
more than ever impatient of an embarrassing domestic opposition. Thus
Germany's aggressive foreign policy has so far tended to increase the
distance between her responsible leaders and the popular party; and
there are only two ways in which this schism can be healed. If German
foreign policy should continue to be as brilliantly successful as it was
in the days of Bismarck, the authorities will have no difficulty in
retaining the support of a sufficient majority of the German
people--just as the victory over Austria brought King William and
Bismarck forgiveness from their parliamentary opponents. On the other
hand, any severe setback to Germany in the realization of its aggressive
plans would strengthen the domestic opposition and might lead to a
severe internal crisis. It all depends upon whether German national
policy has or has not overstepped the limits of practical and permanent
achievement.
VI
MILITARISM AND NATIONALITY
The foregoing considerations in respect to the existing international
situation of Germany bring me to another and final aspect of the
relation in Europe between nationality and democracy. One of the most
difficult and (be it admitted) one of the most dubious problems raised
by any attempt to establish a constructive relationship between those
two principles hangs on the fact that hitherto national development has
not apparently made for international peace. The nations of Europe are
to all appearances as belligerent as were the former European dynastic
states. Europe has become a vast camp, and its governments are spending
probably a larger proportion of the resources of their countries for
military and naval purposes than did those of the eighteenth century.
How can these warlike preparations, in which all the European nations
share, and the warlike spirit which they have occasionally displayed, be
reconciled with the existence of any constructive relationship between
the national and the democratic ideas?
The question can best be answered by briefly reviewing the claims
already advanced on behalf of the national principle. I have asserted
from the start that the national principle was wholly different in
origin and somewhat different in meaning from the principle of
democracy. What has been claimed for nationality is, not that it can be
identified with democracy, but that as a political principle it remained
unsatisfied without an infusion of democracy. But the extent to which
this infusion can go and the forms which it takes are determined by a
logic and a necessity very different from that of an absolute democratic
theory. National politics have from the start aimed primarily at
efficiency--that is, at the successful use of the force resident in the
state to accomplish the purposes desired by the Sovereign authority.
Among the group of states inhabited by Christian peoples it has
gradually been discovered that the efficient use of force is contingent
in a number of respects upon its responsible use; and that its
responsible use means a limited policy of external aggrandizement and a
partial distribution of political power and responsibilities. A national
polity, however, always remains an organization based upon force. In
internal affairs it depends at bottom for its success not merely upon
public opinion, but, if necessary, upon the strong arm. It is a matter
of government and coercion as well as a matter of influence and
persuasion. So in its external relations its standing and success have
depended, and still depend, upon the efficient use of force, just in so
far as force is demanded by its own situation and the attitudes of its
neighbors and rivals. The democrats who disparage efficient national
organization are at bottom merely seeking to exorcise the power of
physical force in human affairs by the use of pious incantations and
heavenly words. That they will never do. The Christian warrior must
accompany the evangelist; and Christians are not by any means angels. It
is none the less true that the modern nations control the expenditure of
more force in a more responsible manner than have any preceding
political organizations; and it is none the less true that a further
development of the national principle will mean in the end the
attachment of still stricter responsibilities to the use of force both
in the internal and external policies of modern nations.
War may be and has been a useful and justifiable engine of national
policy. It is justifiable, moreover, not merely in such a case as our
Civil War, in which a people fought for their own national integrity.
It was, I believe, justifiable, in the case of the two wars which
preceded the formation of the modern German Empire. These wars may,
indeed, be considered as decisive instances. Prussia did not drift into
them, as we drifted into the Civil War. They were deliberately provoked
by Bismarck at a favorable moment, because they were necessary to the
unification of the German people under Prussian leadership; and I do not
hesitate to say that he can be justified in the assumption of this
enormous responsibility. The German national organization means
increased security, happiness, and opportunity of development for the
whole German people; and inasmuch as the selfish interests of Austria
and France blocked the path, Bismarck had his sufficient warrant for a
deliberately planned attack. No doubt such an attack and its results
injured France and the French people just as it has benefited Germany;
but France had to suffer that injury as a penalty for the part she had
as a matter of policy played in German affairs. For centuries a united
France had helped to maintain for her own purposes a divided Germany;
and when Germany herself became united, it was inevitable, as Bismarck
foresaw in 1848, that French opposition must be forcibly removed, and
some of the fruits of French aggression be reclaimed. That the
restitution demanded went further than was necessary, I fully believe;
but the partial abuse of victory does not diminish the legitimacy of the
German aggression. A war waged for an excellent purpose contributes more
to human amelioration than a merely artificial peace,--such as that
established by the Holy Alliance. The unification of Germany and Italy
has not only helped to liberate the energies of both the German and the
Italian people, but it has made the political divisions of Europe
conform much more nearly to the lines within which the people of Europe
can loyally and fruitfully associate one with another. In fact, the
whole national movement, if it has increased the preparations for war,
has diminished in number of probable causes thereof; and it is only by
diminishing the number of causes whereby a nation has more to gain from
victory than it has to lose by defeat that war among the civilized
powers can be gradually extinguished.
At the present time it is, as we have seen, the international situation
and the national ambitions of Russia and Germany which constitute the
chief threat to European peace. Germany's existing position in Europe
depends upon its alliance with Austria-Hungary. The Habsburg Empire is
an incoherent and unstable state which is held together only by dynastic
ties and external pressure. The German, the Austrian, and the Hungarian
interests all demand the perpetuation of the Habsburg dominion; but it
is doubtful whether in the long run its large Slavic population will not
combine with its blood neighbors to break the bond. But whether the
German, Austrian, and Hungarian interest does or does not prevail, the
fundamental national interests, which are compromised by the precarious
stability of Austria-Hungary, are alone sufficient to make disarmament
impossible. Disarmament means the preservation of Europe in its existing
condition; and such a policy, enforced by means of international
guarantees, would be almost as inimical to the foundation of a permanent
and satisfactory international system now as it was in 1820. The fact
has to be recognized that the ultimate object of a peaceable and stable
European international situation cannot in all probability be reached
without many additional wars; and the essential point is that these
wars, when they come, should, like the wars between Austria or France
and Prussia, or like our Civil War, be fought to accomplish a desirable
purpose and should be decisive in result.
Modern conflicts between efficiently organized nations tend to obtain
just this character. They are fought for a defensible purpose, and they
accomplish a definite result. The penalties of defeat are so disastrous
that warfare is no longer wantonly incurred; and it will not be provoked
at all by nations, such as Italy or France, who have less to gain from
victory than they have to lose from defeat. Moreover, the cost of
existing armaments is so crushing that an ever increasing motive exists
in favor of their ultimate reduction. This motive will not operate as
long as the leading Powers continue to have unsatisfied ambitions which
look practicable; but eventually it will necessarily have its effect.
Each war, as it occurs, even if it does not finally settle some
conflicting claims, will most assuredly help to teach the warring
nations just how far they can go, and will help, consequently, to
restrict its subsequent policy within practicable and probably
inoffensive limits. It is by no means an accident that England and
France, the two oldest European nations, are the two whose foreign
policies are best defined and, so far as Europe is concerned, least
offensive. For centuries these Powers fought and fought, because one of
them had aggressive designs which apparently or really affected the
welfare of the other; but the result of this prolonged rivalry has been
a constantly clearer understanding of their respective national
interests. Clear-headed and moderate statesmen like Talleyrand
recognized immediately after the Revolution that the substantial
interests of a liberalized France in Europe were closely akin to those
of Great Britain, and again and again in the nineteenth century this
prophecy was justified. Again and again the two Powers were brought
together by their interests only to be again divided by a tradition of
antagonism and misunderstanding. At present, however, they are probably
on better terms than ever before in the history of their relations; and
this result is due to the definite and necessarily unaggressive
character of their European interests. They have finally learned the
limits of their possible achievement and could transgress them only by
some act of folly.
In the course of another fifty years the limits of possible aggression
by Germany and Russia in Europe will probably be very much better
defined than they are to-day. These two Powers will seek at the
favorable moment to accomplish certain aggressive purposes which they
secretly or openly entertain, and they will succeed or fail. Each
success or failure will probably be decisive in certain respects, and
will remove one or more existing conflicts of interest or ambiguities of
position. Whether this progressive specification of the practicable
foreign policies of the several Powers will soon or will ever go so far
as to make some general international understanding possible, is a
question which no man can answer; but as long as the national principle
retains its vitality, there is no other way of reaching a permanent and
fruitful international settlement. That any one nation, or any small
group of nations, can impose its dominion upon Europe is contrary to
every lesson of European history. Such a purpose would be immeasurably
beyond the power even of 90,000,000 Germans or 150,000,000 Russians, or
even beyond the power of 90,000,000 Germans allied with 150,000,000
Russians. Europe is capable of combining more effectually than ever
before to resist any possible revival of imperialism; and the time will
come when Europe, threatened by the aggression of any one domineering
Power, can call other continents to her assistance. The limits to the
possible expansion of any one nation are established by certain
fundamental and venerable political conditions. The penalties of
persistent transgression would be not merely a sentence of piracy
similar to that passed on Napoleon I, but a constantly diminishing
national vitality on the part of the aggressor. As long as the national
principle endures, political power cannot be exercised irresponsibly
without becoming inefficient and sterile.
Inimical as the national principle is to the carrying out either of a
visionary or a predatory foreign policy in Europe, it does not imply any
similar hostility to a certain measure of colonial expansion. In this,
as in many other important respects, the constructive national democrat
must necessarily differ from the old school of democratic "liberals." A
nationalized democracy is not based on abstract individual rights, no
matter whether the individual lives in Colorado, Paris, or Calcutta. Its
consistency is chiefly a matter of actual historical association in the
midst of a general Christian community of nations. A people that lack
the power of basing their political association on an accumulated
national tradition and purpose is not capable either of nationality or
democracy; and that is the condition of the majority of Asiatic and
African peoples. A European nation can undertake the responsibility of
governing these politically disorganized societies without any necessary
danger to its own national life. Such a task need not be beyond its
physical power, because disorganized peoples have a comparatively small
power of resistance, and a few thousand resolute Europeans can hold in
submission many million Asiatics. Neither does it conflict with the
moral basis of a national political organization, because at least for a
while the Asiatic population may well be benefited by more orderly and
progressive government. Submission to such a government is necessary as
a condition of subsequent political development. The majority of Asiatic
and African communities can only got a fair start politically by some
such preliminary process of tutelage; and the assumption by a European
nation of such a responsibility in a desirable phase of national
discipline and a frequent source of genuine national advance.
Neither does an aggressive colonial policy make for unnecessary or
meaningless wars. It is true, of course, that colonial expansion
increases the number of possible occasions for dispute among the
expanding nations; but these disputes have the advantage of rarely
turning on questions really vital to the future prosperity of a European
nation. They are just the sort of international differences of interest
which ought to be settled by arbitration or conciliation, because both
of the disputants have so much more to lose by hostilities than they
have to gain by military success. A dispute turning upon a piece of
African territory would, if it waxed into war, involve the most awful
and dangerous consequences in Europe. The danger of European wars,
except for national purposes of prime importance, carries its
consequence into Africa and Asia. France, for instance, was very much
irritated by the continued English occupation of Egypt in spite of
certain solemn promises of evacuation; and the expedition of Marchand,
which ended in the Fashoda incident, indirectly questioned the validity
of the British occupation of Egypt by making that occupation
strategically insecure. In spite, however, of the deliberate manner in
which France raised this question and of the highly irritated condition
of French public opinion, she could not, when the choice had to be made,
afford the consequences of a Franco-English war. In the end she was
obliged to seek compensation elsewhere in Africa and abandon her
occupation of Fashoda. This incident is typical; and it points directly
to the conclusion that wars will very rarely occur among European
nations over disputes as to colonies, unless the political situation in
Europe is one which itself makes war desirable or inevitable. A Bismarck
could handle a Fashoda incident so as to provoke hostilities, but in
that case Fashoda, like the Hohenzollern candidacy in Spain, would be a
pretext, not a cause. The one contemporary instance in which a
difference of colonial interests has caused a great war is the recent
conflict between Russia and Japan; and in this instance the issues
raised by the dispute were essentially different from the issues raised
by a dispute over a colonial question between two European nations. The
conflict of interests turned upon matter essential to the future
prosperity of Japan, while at the same time the war did not necessarily
involve dangerous European complications.
The truth is that colonial expansion by modern national states is to be
regarded, not as a cause of war, but as a safety-valve against war. It
affords an arena in which the restless and adventurous members of a
national body can have their fling without dangerous consequences, while
at the same time it satisfies the desire of a people for some evidence
of and opportunity for national expansion. The nations which, one after
another, have recognized the limits of their expansion in Europe have
been those which have adopted a more or less explicit policy of colonial
acquisition. Spain was, indeed, a great colonial power at a time when
her policy in Europe continued to be aggressive; but her European
aggressions soon undermined her national vitality, and her decadence in
Europe brought her colonial expansion to a standstill. Portugal and
Holland were too small to cherish visions of European aggrandizement,
and they naturally sought an outlet in Asia and Africa for their
energies. After Great Britain had passed through her revolutionary
period, she made rapid advances as a colonial power, because she
realized that her insular situation rendered a merely defensive European
policy obligatory. France made a failure of her American and Asiatic
colonies as long as she cherished schemes of European aggrandizement.
Her period of colonial expansion, Algeria apart, did not come until
after the Franco-Prussian War and the death of her ambition for a Rhine
frontier. Bismarck was opposed to colonial development because he
believed that Germany should husband her strength for the preservation
and the improvement of her standing in Europe; but Germany's power of
expansion demanded some outlet during a period of European rest.
Throughout the reign of the present Emperor she has been picking up
colonies wherever she could in Asia and Africa; and she cherishes
certain plans for the extension of German influence in Asia Minor. It is
characteristic of the ambiguous international position of Germany that
she alone among the European Powers (except the peculiar case of Russia)
is expectant of an increase of power both in Europe and other
continents.
In the long run Germany will, like France, discover that under existing
conditions an aggressive colonial and aggressive European policy are
incompatible. The more important her colonies become and the larger her
oceanic commerce, the more Germany lays herself open to injury from a
strong maritime power, and the more hostages she is giving for good
behavior in Europe. Unless a nation controls the sea, colonies are from
a military point of view a source of weakness. The colonizing nation is
in the position of a merchant who increases his business by means of a
considerable increase of his debts. His use of the borrowed capital may
be profitable, but none the less he makes his standing at the time of an
emergency much more precarious. In the same way colonies add to the
responsibilities of a nation and scatter its military resources; and a
nation placed in such a situation is much less likely to break the
peace.
The economic and political development of Asia and Africa by the
European Powers is in its infancy; and no certain predictions can be
made as to its final effects upon the political relations among
civilized nations. Many important questions in respect thereto remain
ambiguous. What, for instance, are the limits of a practicable policy of
colonial expansion? In view of her peculiar economic condition and her
threatened decrease in population have those limits been transgressed by
France? Have they been transgressed by Great Britain? Considering the
enormous increase in British responsibilities imposed by the maritime
expansion of Germany, will not Great Britain be obliged to adopt a
policy of concentration rather than expansion? Is not her partial
retirement from American waters the first step in such a policy? Is not
the Japanese alliance a dubious device for the partial shifting of
burdens too heavy to bear? How long can Great Britain afford to maintain
her existing control of the sea? Is there any way of ending such a
control save either by the absolute exhaustion of Great Britain or by
the establishment of a stable international system under adequate
guarantees? Will the economic development of Asia lead to the awakening
of other Asiatic states like Japan, and the re-arrangement of
international relations for the purpose of giving them their appropriate
places? A multitude of such questions are raised by the transformation
which is taking place from a European international system into a
political system composed chiefly of European nations, but embracing the
whole world; and these questions will prove to be sufficiently difficult
of solution. But in spite of the certainty that colonial expansion will
in the end merely transfer to a larger area the conflicts of idea and
interest whose effects have hitherto chiefly been confined to Europe--in
spite of this certainty the process of colonial expansion is a wholly
legitimate aspect of national development, and is not necessarily
inimical to the advance of democracy. It will not make immediately for a
permanent international settlement; but it is accomplishing a work
without which a permanent international settlement is impossible; and it
indubitably places every colonizing nation in a situation which makes
the risk of hostilities dangerous compared to the possible advantages of
military success.
The chief object of this long digression, has, I hope, now been
achieved. My purpose has been to exhibit the European nations as a group
of historic individuals with purposes, opportunities, and limitations
analogous to those of actual individuals. An individual has no meaning
apart from the society in which his individuality has been formed. A
national state is capable of development only in relation to the society
of more or less nationalized states in the midst of which its history
has been unfolded. The growing and maturing individual is he who comes
to take a more definite and serviceable position in his surrounding
society,--he who performs excellently a special work adapted to his
abilities. The maturing nation is in the same way the nation which is
capable of limiting itself to the performance of a practicable and
useful national work,--a work which in some specific respect accelerates
the march of Christian civilization. There is no way in which a higher
type of national life can be obtained without a corresponding individual
improvement on the part of its constituent members. There is similarly
no way in which a permanently satisfactory system of international
relations can be secured, save by the increasing historical experience
and effective self-control of related nations. Any country which
declares that it is too good (or too democratic) to associate with other
nations and share the responsibilities and opportunities resulting from
such association is comparable to the individual who declares himself to
be too saintly for association with his fellow-countrymen. Whatever a
man or a nation gains by isolation, he or it necessarily loses in the
discipline of experience with its possible fruits of wisdom and
self-control. Association is a condition of individuality. International
relations are a condition of nationality. A universal nation is as much
a contradiction in terms as a universal individual. A nation seeking to
destroy other nations is analogous to a man who seeks to destroy the
society in which he was born. Little by little European history has been
teaching this lesson; and in the course of time the correlation of
national development with the improvement and definition of
international relations will probably be embodied in some set of
international institutions.
In the meantime the existing rivalries and enmities among European
states must not be under-estimated either in their significance or their
strength. In a way those rivalries have become more intense than ever
before; and it is only too apparent that the many-headed rulers of
modern nations are as capable of cherishing personal and national
dislikes as were the sovereign kings of other centuries. These rivalries
and enmities will not be dissolved by kind words and noble sentiments.
The federation of Europe, like the unification of Germany, will never be
brought about by congresses and amicable resolutions. It can be effected
only by the same old means of blood and iron. The nations will never
agree upon a permanent settlement until they have more to gain from
peace than from military victory. But such a time will be postponed all
the longer unless the nations, like France, Italy, England and the
United States, which are at present sincerely desirous of peace, keep as
well armed as their more belligerent neighbors. When the tug comes, the
issue will depend upon the effective force which such nations, when
loyally combined, can exert. It would be fatal, consequently, for the
pacific Powers to seek to establish peace by a partial diminution of
their military efficiency. Such an action would merely encourage the
belligerent Powers to push their aggressive plans to the limit. The
former must, on the contrary, keep as well armed as their resources and
policy demand. Nationality is impaired and the national principle is
violated just as soon as a nation neglects any sort of efficiency which
is required either by its international position or by its national
purposes.