satisfy their personal ambition, and when people became more tolerant
about religious differences, other causes for wars arose. Governments
became ambitious and wanted their countries to expand and acquire great
colonial possessions, and acute rivalry grew up between nations. This
was encouraged by the richer classes, who could profit by extended
trade, and as the means of communication and of conveyance suddenly
became much easier because of steamships, trains, and telegraphy, the
desire as well as the possibility of building great Empires was very
much increased. The governing classes and those who were rich and
idle were not very much concerned about the pressing need for social
reform which the vast mass of the people were longing for. They were
interested in wars, and they could easily make them popular by means
of the newspapers which they had at their command. Meanwhile, the
people became gradually more peace-loving. But this made no difference,
because they had no say in controlling the relations of their country
with other nations; they were very easily misled because of their
ignorance of foreign policy and foreign countries, and they could
always be roused to fight by being told that their country was in
danger.
A disbelief in force was, however, slowly growing up, and people were
no longer impressed by the glory of war. In their relations with one
another individual men left off fighting, because they found that
quarrels were better settled by reason, and they knew that the man who
happened to be the strongest physically or the most skillful with arms
was not necessarily in the right, though he might kill or maim his
opponent.
But while many nations within their own borders were able to establish
peaceful relations between their citizens by means of law and order,
the relationship between the nations themselves could not be regulated
in the same way. In their infancy the nations recognized no law, no
regulations for warfare, and no binding sense of obligation. There was
no supreme authority who could insist on obedience, and the only way of
settling differences was to fight it out. Agreements between one ruler
and another were of little value; terrible barbarities and wholesale
massacre were resorted to without protest; no sort of code of honor
or humanity was recognized, and justification for hideous cruelty was
often found by the Church in the pages of the Bible.
At a period when Europe was one broad battlefield, when wars were
raging between races, between nations, and between religious sects,
and hatred, misery, cruelty, and torture were filling the world with
horror, and in a country that was suffering more than any other from
these fearful evils, was born a man who, in spite of the darkness
around him and in spite of the overwhelming forces which seemed to be
subduing mankind, set to work to save civilization from ruin and to
establish law and reason in the relations of nations. This man was Huig
de Groot, known afterwards to the world as Hugo Grotius, who was born
at Delft, in Holland, on Easter Day of 1583. He will be recognized for
all time as the founder of international law, and as the first man who
awakened the conscience of governments to a higher moral sense, to more
humanitarian feelings, and to the recognition of the fact that there
was such a thing as international duty. “I saw,” he said, “in the whole
Christian world a license of fighting at which even barbarous nations
might blush. Wars were begun on trifling pretexts or none at all, and
carried on without any reverence of law, Divine or human. A declaration
of war seemed to let loose every crime.”
The foundation of his idea was that the Law of Nations, that is to
say, the agreements made between governments, should be brought into
harmony with the principles of natural morality and the commands of
justice written, as he said, by God on the hearts and minds of men.
This he called the Law of Nature, which man could discover by right
reason. He wanted, in fact, the same ideas of right and wrong which
people were taught to adopt in their dealings with one another to be
applied to the dealings of one nation with another. Instead of saying
that justice, honor, generosity, and friendship meant one thing between
man and man and quite another thing between nation and nation, he
tried to combine the two and bring the lower one up to the level of
the higher. Out of this union between the two sorts of law he hoped to
create an international law which would put an end to the unreasonable,
uncivilized, and perpetually dangerous relationship which existed
between nations.
The great book he wrote was called “De Jure Belli ac Pacis” (Concerning
the Law of War and Peace). He collected together in it quotations from
a number of great men, and elaborated his argument with wonderful
clearness and great learning. He condemned the atrocities of warfare,
and more especially he pointed to a way in which war might be avoided.
He examined various methods by which international questions might
be settled without war, and proposed the idea of conferences and
international arbitration. In fact, it may be said that the seed of
arbitration was first sown when Grotius wrote the words: “But specially
are Christian kings and States bound to try this way of avoiding war.”
The book, indeed, in the hands of those who followed him, became a
mighty weapon against the follies of rulers and the cruelties of
war. It could not have been written by a mere scholar; it was not
just a collection of quotations and clever theories; it was the work
of a man whose nobility of heart and mind and whose earnestness and
unselfishness made his voice echo through the nations and through the
ages.
But you, who have known a war compared to which the wars of the past
seem as little battles, may well ask whether the ideas of Grotius have
really spread and become of any permanent good. Well, I will try to
answer that question. The tremendous scale of the great European war
of the twentieth century is not a measure of the wicked disposition of
the nations concerned, but is due more especially to the easy methods
of transport and communication, to the rapid manner in which munitions
can be manufactured, and to the diabolical nature of modern inventions
and engines of destruction. That war could not be prevented is not due
to the frantic desire of the peoples to fight, but to the policy of
governments and ministers, to the faulty methods of intercourse between
nations, which is called diplomacy, and to the inability of the people
to control their governments. So far from this catastrophe showing
nations are more evilly disposed towards one another than formerly, it
is undoubtedly true that mutual knowledge was beginning to produce a
new sympathy and understanding, and though it has been checked, that
movement will revive and continue, perhaps with greater vigor.
Although there may be much to alter and much to mend in ways that
Grotius never dreamed of, the prospect of the cessation of war is
decidedly nearer, in spite of this great failure. Such a prospect
may still be very remote—we cannot say—but it is as inevitable as
the rising of the sun, and we can either help or hinder its coming.
Therefore, in considering the fact that the mind of man has been slowly
preparing for the abolition of the rule of force and the establishment
of the reign of reason, and that moral law has been slowly but surely
gaining ground over belief in violence, we should ever turn with
gratitude to the man who took the first and most difficult step, and
who had sufficient foresight and courage, when things seemed most
hopeless, to look into the future.
The publication of such a book naturally caused a great stir. It came
out in 1625, and was immediately placed by the Pope upon the Index—that
is, the list of books which Catholics were forbidden to read. It was
not a popular book in the sense that it could be read by every one. The
appeal was to thinking men. Its influence therefore was very gradual.
But slowly the ideas set forth by Grotius found their way into laws
and into treaties, and eminent lawyers in European universities took
the great work as a starting-point of the further development of
principles of international law. There are two interesting instances of
how the influence of the book was immediately felt. Gustavus Adolphus
of Sweden, who was the greatest general of the time, made a careful
study of “De Jure Belli ac Pacis”: he kept it by his bedside, and it
was found in his tent after his death on the field of Lützen. Gustavus
constantly stood for mercy, and began on a large scale the better
conduct of modern war. He made speeches to his soldiers dissuading them
from cruelty or rebuking them for it.
The other instance was in the case of the capture of La Rochelle by
Cardinal Richelieu, who governed France in the name of Louis XIII.
La Rochelle was the stronghold of French Protestantism. All Europe
expected that the inhabitants would be massacred, in accordance with
the spirit of cruel intolerance which was usual at that time, and which
would certainly be expected from the merciless Cardinal. But to the
amazement of the world there were no massacre, no destruction, and no
plunder, and the Huguenots were treated with mercy and even respect.
At a later period, indeed, Cardinal Richelieu freed the writings of
Grotius from the French censorship, and declared him one of the three
great scholars of his time.
The Treaty of Westphalia, which closed the Thirty Years War in
1648, may be added as another instance of how Grotius had brought in
a new epoch in international affairs, for it contained principles
which he had been the first to bring into the thought of the world.
Nevertheless, the immediate influence of Grotius’ book was not so great
as the lasting service he rendered in laying the foundation of a new
science of International Law, on which succeeding generations slowly
built up and strengthened the sense of morality between nations. There
is still very much to be added; and new problems and new conditions
require new plans and new designs. But the foundation was well laid and
can never be shifted.
The book was criticized by some who declared that it was just a
shapeless collection of quotations, and that the argument was lost
under the mass of extracts from other authorities. It is true that its
arrangement and style were rather heavy and clumsy, and there is much
in the book that may appear to us, three hundred years afterwards, as
rather crude, but attack has come for the most part from those who
are quite unable to understand the high ideal toward which Grotius
was reaching out. A prominent English international jurist, Sir James
Mackintosh, has declared that this great work “is perhaps the most
complete that the world has yet owed, at so early a stage in the
progress of any science, to the genius and learning of one man.”
Now, I must give you some account of the life of the writer of this
famous book. As you may imagine, a man of such decided character, who
had the courage to express new and original views, was not allowed to
live in peace and quiet.
His father, John de Groot, was four times burgomaster of Delft and
one of the curators of the University of Leyden. He was a great
scholar, and acted as tutor to his son Hugo. At a very early age the
boy showed the most extraordinary powers. At ten, his Latin verses
were praised by learned men; at eleven, poets declared that he would
be a second Erasmus; at twelve, he was admitted to the University of
Leyden. He was, in fact, very precocious. It very often happens with
precocious children that they are made to show off, and are so spoilt
by their parents that they become conceited, and when they grow up they
disappoint the expectations formed about them when they were young.
But his parents were sensible, and he himself was naturally humble and
modest, and so he continued his studies and enriched his mind without
any harm being done to his character. He produced immense learned books
on many different subjects, and at the age of fifteen held public
disputes in mathematics, philosophy, and law.
In 1598 he was appointed to accompany a special Embassy which was
being sent by the Netherlands to the King of France, Henry IV. His
reputation had gone before him. The men of the day crowded to see him,
and the King received him and with his own hand hung his portrait
round the youth’s neck. So much flattery might easily have turned his
head, but he already showed a calm judgment and the wisdom of a man of
long experience. He did not loiter in this pleasant atmosphere, but
returned to his work in Holland. But there was another danger before
him. He might have buried himself in his studies, and, like other
learned men of his time, and, indeed, of all times, accumulated a lot
of useless knowledge. So many great scholars have become experts in
some particular subject, and have shut themselves off from contact
with their fellow-men. Their mind becomes their idol, and they fail
to see that mere brain-power is of little service if it is not used
for some great purpose, and if it is not inspired by moral and humane
sentiments. Grotius avoided this course; he was anxious for active
life, and wanted to join in and help his country and humanity in
some practical way. He had avoided becoming a prig, a prodigy, or a
bookworm, and when he took up the career of a lawyer he also avoided
using his rapid promotion for the purpose of money-making and personal
success. His extraordinary talents were like the spreading sails of a
ship. They might have capsized him if he had not had plenty of ballast.
How little he thought of fame and applause, and how he worked for true
knowledge and in order to prepare himself for the future, is shown by
the discovery at The Hague, two hundred years later, of a manuscript
of a big book written by him when he was twenty-two, but never
published. One of the chapters of this book he issued as a treatise
under the title of “Mare Liberum.” It was an argument against the
claim made by some nations, specially Portugal at this time, that the
seas could be owned by a nation, and that no other nation could fish
in them or navigate them without her permission. Grotius maintained
the freedom of the seas was necessary to enable nations to communicate
with one another, and it could not be taken away by any power whatever.
James I very much disapproved of this book, as he thought it interfered
with the rights of Great Britain. He ordered his Ambassador in
Holland to take measures against the author. But as nothing could be
done, the King instructed the great English lawyer, John Selden, to
write a reply, which he did in a learned book called “Mare Clausum.”
But Grotius really had the best of the argument, and his view was
eventually adopted.
Grotius, who had now gained an international reputation, was
given various high appointments, such as Public Historiographer,
Attorney-General for the province of Holland, and councilor of
Rotterdam. He went to England and was received by the King with the
greatest cordiality, in spite of the recent dispute. He made many
friends in England, notably with the celebrated scholar, Isaac
Casaubon, who expressed the highest opinion of the great Dutchman in a
letter written in April, 1613. He says:
I cannot say how happy I esteem myself in having seen so much of one
so truly great as Grotius. A wonderful man! This I knew him to be
before I had seen him; but the rare excellence of that divine genius
no one can sufficiently feel who does not see his face and hear him
speak. Probity is stamped on his features; his conversation savors of
true piety and profound learning. It is not only upon me that he has
made this impression; all the pious and learned to whom he has been
introduced here have felt the same towards him; the King especially
so.
Grotius returned to his country, where serious trouble awaited him.
The cause of it all was, to begin with, a religious squabble between
two sects, the one followers of Arminius, who believed in free-will,
the other followers of Gomarus, who believed in predestination. This
senseless dispute on a question which can never be settled—that is
to say, whether man is free to shape his own destiny or whether his
acts are all fated beforehand by God—was only an excuse for a quarrel
between the more bigoted and intolerant religious sects who sided with
Gomarus and the freer and more broadminded who followed Arminius. The
whole country was convulsed by the controversy. The Arminians drew
up a Remonstrance, which was answered by a Counter Remonstrance, and
the Parliament issued an Edict of Pacification, urging tolerance and
forbearance, which was largely due to the influence of Grotius.
Advantage was taken of this disturbance by Prince Maurice of Orange,
the second son of William the Silent. He was an accomplished soldier,
but a weak and untrustworthy statesman, and thought it a good
opportunity to assert himself and satisfy his personal ambition to
become a monarch. He undertook what he was pleased to call a pacific
campaign, and seeing that the Gomarists were more popular than their
opponents, many of whom favored a republic rather than a monarchy, he
practically took their side.
Olden Barneveld, the Grand Pensionary, who now led the opposition
to the Prince, is one of the notable figures in the history of the
Netherlands. He was an old and experienced minister, a true patriot,
a humane and broadminded man, who had rendered the most distinguished
service to his country. The Gomarists sided with the Prince, the
Arminians with the Grand Pensionary. Grotius unhesitatingly followed
Olden Barneveld, and struggled with all his great powers for peace
and toleration. He had conferences with Prince Maurice, headed a
deputation, made eloquent appeals, but all in vain. The Prince
continued his campaign, the civic guards were disarmed and disbanded
wherever they resisted him. Barneveld and Grotius, and also Hoogerbertz
of Leyden, who had joined them, were arrested and taken to the castle
at The Hague. Barneveld, now an old man of over seventy, was subjected
to twenty-three examinations, during which he was neither allowed to
take down questions in writing, to make memoranda of his answers,
nor to refer to notes. In spite of his reputation, his services, and
his advanced age, he was condemned to death and executed. From the
scaffold he cried to the spectators: “My friends, believe not that I am
a traitor. I have lived a good patriot, and such I die.” Grotius was
condemned to imprisonment for life and his property was confiscated.
Their followers were seized, imprisoned, or banished to neighboring
countries, just as the Puritans were driven from England and the
Huguenots from France.
It was in June, 1619, that Grotius was shut up in the fortress of
Louvenstein; he was only thirty-six, and he had no prospect now before
him but that of lifelong captivity. Eleven years before he had married
Marie Reigersberg, a lady of great intelligence and high character.
She now stepped in, showed wonderful ingenuity, and played a very
courageous part in her husband’s fortunes.
Pressure had been brought to bear on her after the execution of
Barneveld. The scaffold on which he had been executed was left standing
for fifteen days, so as to frighten the other prisoners. Grotius’
wife was specially urged to get an acknowledgment of guilt from her
husband and solicit a pardon for him, and promises were held out to her
of a favorable hearing on the part of the Prince of Orange. But she
stoutly refused to cast this dishonor on her husband, and with fierce
resolution declared: “I will not do it—if he has deserved it, let them
strike off his head.”
In the prison of Louvenstein Grotius found consolation in his studies.
He never yielded to despair, but occupied his whole time reading,
composing, and translating. His devoted wife, after several petitions,
at last received permission to share his captivity, on the condition
that if she came out she would not be allowed to return. She made
friends with the jailer’s wife and others who might be of use, and
after nearly two years she thought out a method of escape. The prisoner
was allowed books. These were sent in a large chest, and those he had
done with were sent back, together with his washing, to Gorcum. After a
time Marie Grotius noticed that the warders let the chest pass without
opening it. One day she persuaded her husband, after much entreaty, to
get into the chest, in which she had had some holes bored. She locked
it up and asked the soldiers to come in and carry it out as usual.
It was a great risk, for she must have known that, had her plot been
discovered, she and her husband would suffer heavy penalties. She must
have exercised great self-control to prevent herself showing any sign
of agitation or excitement. The soldiers complained that the chest was
unusually heavy. “There must be an Arminian in it,” said one of them
jestingly. Madame Grotius replied calmly, “There are indeed Arminian
books in it.” There was a river to be crossed, and the chest was put in
a boat. The soldiers declared it ought to be opened, but a maid and a
valet who were in the plot managed to prevent this. The precious load
was to be taken to the house of one of Grotius’ friends in Gorcum. But
if it was to be heaved about like ordinary luggage, what would happen
to the unfortunate captive inside, who was terribly cramped as it was?
The maid had great presence of mind, and told the people on the shore
that the chest was full of glass, and must be moved with particular
care. So they got a horse-chair and shifted it very carefully to the
appointed place. Grotius’ friend received the chest, and after he had
sent all his servants out on various errands, opened it and greeted the
escaped prisoner with open arms.
Grotius declared he was none the worse for the adventure, although he
had naturally felt anxious lest he might be discovered. There was no
time to be lost; he disguised himself as a mason, carrying a rule, hod,
and trowel, and went out of the back door, accompanied by the maid, who
did not leave him until he had reached safety. Then she returned to his
wife and told her how successfully the plot had worked. Marie Grotius
immediately informed the governor of the prison that her husband had
escaped. She was placed in close confinement, but after a few days, by
order of the States General, she was released and joined her husband,
who had gone to Paris after spending a day or two at Antwerp.
On arriving in France, Louis XIII gave Grotius a cordial welcome,
and a high pension was conferred on him. French pensions were easily
granted, all the more so as they were rarely paid. It was in France, at
the château of Balagni, which had been lent to him, that Grotius gave
final shape to the great work of his life, the book on war and peace
which I have already mentioned. A man treated as he had been might
have been tempted to indulge in an attack on the authorities; he might
have occupied his time satirizing his enemies and scoffing at the many
signs of human folly he saw around him. But he did nothing of the sort.
After writing an apology defending himself against the charges brought
against him, he worked day and night to reconstruct, reform, and
improve the foundations of human society. The book brought him in no
profit whatever in the way of money, but it brought him reputation so
widely spread and of such a lasting nature as no other legal work has
ever enjoyed. He did not contemplate immediate success, but even so, he
said, “ought we not to sow the seed which may be useful for posterity.”
But Grotius and his wife were very badly off, as the pension was paid
irregularly. Cardinal Richelieu wanted to make use of his talents,
but the terms he demanded, which would have deprived Grotius from
having any freedom, prevented any such arrangement being possible.
Accordingly, the Cardinal made things uncomfortable for him, and
Grotius decided once more to attempt to live in his native land. But
his reception in Holland was anything but cordial. His enemies were
active, and the States General offered a high reward to any one who
would deliver him up to them. So again he became an exile, and took
refuge this time in Hamburg. He hoped his countrymen might return
to reason, and so refused flattering offers made to him by the King
of Denmark, by Spain, and even by Wallenstein, who was practically
dictator of Germany.