(From a _Symposium on_ “_Nationality_,” 1915.)
In these times one dread lies heavy on heart and brain—the thought that
after all the unimaginable suffering, waste, and sacrifice of this war
nothing may come of it, no real relief, no permanent benefit to Europe,
no improvement to the future of mankind.
The pronouncements of publicists: “This must never happen again,”
“Conditions for abiding peace must be secured,” “The United States of
Europe must be founded,” “Militarism must cease”—all such are the
natural outcome of this dread. They are proclamations admirable in
sentiment and intention. But, human nature being what it has been and is
likely to remain, we must face the possibility that nothing will come of
the war, save the restoration of Belgium (that, at least, is certain);
some alterations of boundaries; a long period of economic and social
trouble more bitter than before; a sweeping moral reaction after too
great effort. Cosmically regarded, this war is a debauch rather than a
purge, and debauches have always to be paid for.
Confronting the situation in this spirit, we shall be the more rejoiced
if any of our wider hopes should by good fortune be attained.
Leaving aside the restoration of Belgium—for what do we continue to
fight? We go on, as we began, because we all believe in our own
countries and what they stand for. And in considering how far the
principle of nationality should be exalted, one must remember that it is
in the main responsible for the present state of things. In truth, the
principle of nationality of itself and by itself is a quite insufficient
ideal. It is a mere glorification of self in a world full of other
selves; and only of value in so far as it forms part of that larger
ideal, an international ethic, which admits the claims and respects the
aspirations of all nations. Without that ethic little nations are (as at
the present moment) the prey—and, according to the naked principle of
nationality, the legitimate prey—of bigger nations. Germany absorbed
Schleswig, Alsace-Lorraine, and now Belgium, by virtue of nationalism,
of an overweening belief in the perfection of its national self. Austria
would subdue Serbia from much the same feeling. France does not wish to
absorb or subdue any European people of another race, because France, as
ever, a little in advance of her age, is already grounded in this
international ethic of solid respect for the rights of all nations
_which belong, broadly speaking, to the same stage of development_. The
same may now be said of the other Western democratic Powers, Britain and
America, “To live and let live,” “To dwell together in unity,” are the
guiding maxims of the international ethic, by virtue of which alone have
the smaller communities of men—the Belgiums, Bohemias, Polands,
Serbias, Denmarks, Irelands, Switzerlands of Europe—any chance of
security in the maintenance of their national existence. In short, the
principle of nationality, unless it is prepared to serve this
international ethic, is but a frank abettor of the devilish maxim:
“Might is right.” All this is truism; but truisms are often the first
things we forget.
The whole question of nationality in Europe bristles with difficulties.
It cannot be solved by theory and rule of thumb. What is a nation? Shall
it be determined by speech, by blood, by geographical boundary, by
historic tradition? The freedom and independence of a country can and
ever should be assured when with one voice it demands the same. It is
seldom so simple as that. Belgium, no doubt, is as one man. Poland is
one man in so far as the Poles are concerned, but what of the Austrians,
Russians, Germans settled among them? What of Ireland split into two
camps? What of the Germans in Bohemia; in Alsace; in Schleswig?
Compromise alone is possible in many cases, going by favour of majority.
And there will always remain the very poignant question of the rights
and aspirations of the minorities. Let us by all means clear the air by
righting glaring wrongs, removing palpable anomalies, redressing obvious
injustices, securing so far as possible the independent national life of
homogeneous groups; but let us not, dazzled by the glamour of a word,
dream that by restoring a few landmarks, altering a few boundaries, and
raising a pæan to the word “nationality” we can banish all clouds from
the sky of Europe and muzzle the ambitions of the stronger nations.
In my belief the best hope for lasting peace, the chief promise of
security for the rights and freedom of little countries, the most
reasonable guarantee of international justice and general humanity, lies
in the gradual growth of democracy, of rule by consent of the governed.
When Europe is all democratic, and its civilization on one
plane—instead of as now on two—then and then only we shall begin to
draw the breath of real assurance. Then only will the little countries
sleep quietly in their beds. It is conceivable, nay probable, that an
ideal autocracy could achieve more good for its country and for the
world at large in a given time than the rule of the most enlightened
democracy. It is certain that ideal autocracies hold sway but once in a
blue moon.
If proof be needed that the prevalence of democracy will end aggression
among nations that belong to the same stage of development, secure the
rights of small peoples, foster justice and humaneness in man, let the
history of this last century and a half be well examined, and let the
human probabilities be weighed. Which is the more likely to advocate
wars of aggression? They who, by age, position, wealth, are secure
against the daily pressure of life, they who have passed their time out
of touch with the struggle for existence, in an atmosphere of dreams,
ambitions, and power over other men? Or they who every hour are reminded
how hard life is, even at its most prosperous moments, who have nothing
to gain by war, and all, even life, to lose; who by virtue of their own
struggles have a deep knowledge of the struggles of their
fellow-creatures; an instinctive repugnance to making those struggles
harder; who have heard little and dreamed less of those so-called
“national interests” that are so often mere chimeras; who love, no
doubt, in their inarticulate way, the country where they were born and
the modes of life and thought to which they are accustomed, but know of
no traditional and artificial reasons why the men of other countries
should not be allowed to love their own lands and modes of thought and
life in equal peace and security?
Assuredly, the latter of these two kinds of men are the less likely to
favour ambitious projects and aggressive wars. According as “the
people,” through their representatives, have or have not the final
decision in such matters, the future of Europe shall be made of war or
peace, of respect or of disregard for the rights of little nations.
It is advanced against democracies that the workers of a country,
ignorant and provincial in outlook, have no grasp of international
politics. True—in a Europe where national ambitions and dreams are
still for the most part hatched and nurtured in nests perched high above
the real needs and sentiments of the simple working folk who form
nine-tenths of the population in each country. But once those nests of
aggressive nationalism have fallen from their high trees, so soon as all
Europe conforms to the principle of rule by consent of the governed, it
will be found—as it has already been found in France and in this
country—that the general sense of the community informed by growing
publicity (through means of communication ever speeding-up) is quite
sufficient trustee of national safety; quite able, even enthusiastically
able, to defend its country from attack.
It is said that democracies are liable to be swept by gusts of passion,
in danger of yielding to Press or mob sentiment. But are not the peoples
of democratic countries as firmly counselled and held in check by their
responsible ministers and elected representatives as are the peoples of
autocratically governed countries? What power of initiative have “the
people” in either case? They act only through their leaders. But their
leaders _are elected_—that is the point.
Representative Governments must answer for their actions to their
fellow-men. Autocratic Governments need only answer to their gods. The
eyes of representative Governments are turned habitually inwards towards
the condition of the people whom they represent. The eyes of autocratic
Governments _may_ indeed be turned inwards, but what they usually see of
the people whom they do not represent is liable to make them turn
outwards. In other words, they find in successful foreign adventure and
imperialism a potent safeguard against internal troubles.
The problem before the world at the end of this war is how to eliminate
the virus of an aggressive nationalism that will lead to fresh outbursts
of death. It is a problem that I, for one, fear will beat the powers and
good-will of all, unless there should come a radical change of
Governments in Central Europe; unless the real power in Germany and
Austria-Hungary passes into the hands of the people of those countries,
through their elected representatives, as already it has passed in
France and Britain. This is in my belief the only chance for the defeat
of militarism, of that raw nationalism, which, even if beaten down at
first, will ever be lying in wait, preparing secret revenge and fresh
attacks. How this democratization of Central Europe can be brought about
I cannot tell. It is far off as yet. But if this be not at long last the
outcome of the war, we may still, I fear, talk in vain of the rights of
little nations, of peace, disarmament, of chivalry, justice, and
humanity. We may whistle for a changed Europe.