In the great and tragic history of Europe there is a turning-point that
marks the defeat of the ideal of a world-order and the definite acceptance
of international anarchy. That turning-point is the emergence of the
sovereign State at the end of the fifteenth century. And it is symbolical
of all that was to follow that at that point stands, looking down the
vista of the centuries, the brilliant and sinister figure of Machiavelli.
From that date onwards international policy has meant Machiavellianism.
Sometimes the masters of the craft, like Catherine de Medici or Napoleon,
have avowed it; sometimes, like Frederick the Great, they have disclaimed
it. But always they have practised it. They could not, indeed, practise
anything else. For it is as true of an aggregation of States as of an
aggregation of individuals that, whatever moral sentiments may prevail, if
there is no common law and no common force the best intentions will be
defeated by lack of confidence and security. Mutual fear and mutual
suspicion, aggression masquerading as defence and defence masquerading as
aggression, will be the protagonists in the bloody drama; and there will
be, what Hobbes truly asserted to be the essence of such a situation, a
chronic state of war, open or veiled. For peace itself will be a latent
war; and the more the States arm to prevent a conflict the more certainly
will it be provoked, since to one or another it will always seem a better
chance to have it now than to have it on worse conditions later. Some
one State at any moment may be the immediate offender; but the main and
permanent offence is common to all States. It is the anarchy which they
are all responsible for perpetuating.
While this anarchy continues the struggle between States will tend to
assume a certain stereotyped form. One will endeavour to acquire supremacy
over the others for motives at once of security and of domination, the
others will combine to defeat it, and history will turn upon the two poles
of empire and the balance of power. So it has been in Europe, and so it
will continue to be, until either empire is achieved, as once it was
achieved by Rome, or a common law and a common authority is established
by agreement. In the past empire over Europe has been sought by Spain,
by Austria, and by France; and soldiers, politicians, and professors in
Germany have sought, and seek, to secure it now for Germany. On the other
hand, Great Britain has long stood, as she stands now, for the balance of
power. As ambitious, as quarrelsome, and as aggressive as other States, her
geographical position has directed her aims overseas rather than toward
the Continent of Europe. Since the fifteenth century her power has never
menaced the Continent. On the contrary, her own interest has dictated that
she should resist there the enterprise of empire, and join in the defensive
efforts of the threatened States. To any State of Europe that has conceived
the ambition to dominate the Continent this policy of England has seemed
as contrary to the interests of civilization as the policy of the Papacy
appeared in Italy to an Italian patriot like Machiavelli. He wanted Italy
enslaved, in order that it might be united. And so do some Germans now want
Europe enslaved, that it may have peace under Germany. They accuse England
of perpetuating for egotistic ends the state of anarchy. But it was not
thus that Germans viewed British policy when the Power that was to give
peace to Europe was not Germany, but France. In this long and bloody game
the partners are always changing, and as partners change so do views.
One thing only does not change, the fundamental anarchy. International
relations, it is agreed, can only turn upon force. It is the disposition
and grouping of the forces alone that can or does vary.
But Europe is not the only scene of the conflict between empire and
the balance. Since the sixteenth century the European States have been
contending for mastery, not only over one another, but over the world.
Colonial empires have risen and fallen. Portugal, Spain, Holland, in turn
have won and lost. England and France have won, lost, and regained. In
the twentieth century Great Britain reaps the reward of her European
conflicts in the Empire (wrongly so-called) on which the sun never sets.
Next to her comes France, in Africa and the East; while Germany looks out
with discontented eyes on a world already occupied, and, cherishing the
same ambitions all great States have cherished before her, finds the
time too mature for their accomplishment by the methods that availed in
the past. Thus, not only in Europe but on the larger stage of the world
the international rivalry is pursued. But it is the same rivalry and it
proceeds from the same cause: the mutual aggression and defence of beings
living in a "state of nature."
Without this historical background no special study of the events that led
up to the present war can be either just or intelligible. The feeling of
every nation about itself and its neighbours is determined by the history
of the past and by the way in which that history is regarded. The picture
looks different from every point of view. Indeed, a comprehension of the
causes of the war could only be fully attained by one who should know, not
only the most secret thoughts of the few men who directly brought it about,
but also the prejudices and preconceptions of the public opinion in each
nation. There is nobody who possesses these qualifications. But in the
absence of such a historian these imperfect notes are set down in the hope
that they may offer a counterpoise to some of the wilder passions that
sweep over all peoples in time of war and threaten to prepare for Europe
a future even worse than its past has been.