SOCIAL CONTROL IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
RECENT GROWTH IN ORGANIZATION; COMMUNICATION, NATIONALISM—DEMOCRACY,
DIFFUSION OF ORGANIZING CAPACITY—LESSONS OF THE WAR—WILL NATIONS
BEHAVE LIKE PERSONS?—NATIONS AS MEMBERS OF A GROUP ARE SOCIAL AND
MAY BECOME MORAL—NATIONAL HONOR IN THE PAST—AN ORGANIC
INTERNATIONAL LIFE—ECONOMIC AND POLITICAL CONDITIONS OF SUCH A
LIFE; FORCE
What ground have we for hoping that a society of nations has become
possible in our time, when all previous history shows failure to attain
it? Mankind has always cherished this aspiration, and if it is at last
to be realized, there must be some general change in conditions, making
practicable what has heretofore been merely visionary. I wish,
therefore, to recall certain developments in the social situation which
have taken place during the past century and seem to me to justify our
belief that the problem of international order may be not far from
solution. They are in the nature of a general growth in that
organization of human life of which international order is but one
phase.
I may note first that there has been a revolutionary change in the
social mechanism. The means of communication have been transformed,
enlarging and animating social relations and making possible, so far as
mechanism is concerned, any degree or kind of unity that we may be able
to achieve. In this respect alone we have a new world since the failure
of Prince Metternich’s scheme of pacification after the Napoleonic Wars.
The second change is the growth, and what appears to be the
establishment of nationality as the principle animating those members of
which a world-organism must be composed. This change is bound up with
the preceding, since nations are masses of men united by language,
literature, tradition, and local associations, and it is through the
growth of communication that they have come to feel their unity more and
more and to demand expression for it in a political whole.
I know there are some who hold that the national spirit is hostile to
world-organization, and who picture the present state of things as a
struggle between nationalism, on the one hand, and a higher principle,
such as internationalism, fraternalism, or socialism, on the other. It
seems, however, that, although the national spirit must be chastened and
regenerated before it is fit for the larger order, there is no
possibility of dispensing with it. Sound theory calls for a type of
organism intermediate between the individual or the family and the
world-whole which we hope to see arise.
A ripe nationality is favorable to international order for the same
reason that a ripe individuality is favorable to order in a small group.
It means that we have coherent, self-conscious, and more or less
self-controlled elements out of which to build our system. To destroy
nationality because it causes wars would be like killing people to get
rid of their selfishness. Our selves are poor things, but they are all
we have, and so with nations in the larger whole. So far as the world is
nationalized it is organized up to the point where supernationalism must
begin. Having achieved the substructure, we are ready to add the upper
stories. We seek a synthesis, and anything synthetic already achieved
and not hopelessly unavailable is so much gain. It is only too obvious
that, on account of their incoherence, those regions where a national
consciousness has not yet developed are a peril to any system we may
erect. The national state, supported by patriotism, is our central
disciplinary institution, the backbone of historical structure, which
could decay only at the cost of a vast collapse and disintegration
involving the degradation of human character. Even intermittent war
would be better than this.
And just as it takes ambitious and self-assertive persons to make a
vigorous group, so we need national emulation and struggle in a greater
society. A world-life that was altogether supernational, without
aggressive differentiation, would, I believe, be enervating, and I agree
with the militarists in so far as to find this an unsatisfying ideal. We
sometimes think of the Commonwealth of Man as likely to resemble the
United States on a greater scale; but it would not be well to have the
nations of the world so much alike, or even so harmonious, as our
States; nor is it likely that they will be. We need a more energetic
difference.
Another favoring change is the rise of democracy. This has been
contemporaneous with the rise of nationalism, and is likewise based upon
the new communication and education that have made it possible to
organize social consciousness on a great scale. Indeed nationalism and
democracy, although they may at times conflict, are phases of the same
development. In both the individual gets a congenial sphere of
expression. The people, awakened by the new intercourse, are no longer
inert and indifferent to the larger relations of life, but live more in
these relations and aspire to feel themselves members of great
sympathetic wholes. They find these in democratic groups united by the
spiritual bonds of language, ideal, and tradition; and strive,
accordingly, to make the actual organization correspond to such groups.
The view that democracy will insure international peace is, in my
opinion, not so certainly true as many think. It is not impossible that
a whole nation may become possessed by military ideals and passions, as
has at times been measurably true of France. And democracy affords no
guarantee that an energetic militant faction, even though a minority,
may not grasp the lead and rush a nation into war. Something of this
kind took place in the Southern States at the outbreak of the rebellion.
Would the world-war have been impossible if Germany had been as
democratically organized as France? I do not see that it would, though
it must, no doubt, have come on in a different way. The conflict of
ideas and ambitions would still have been there, with no adequate way to
settle it.
Yet there are practical reasons for thinking that democracy, on the
whole, will be pacific. It gives power to the masses, who are the chief
sufferers from war and normally the most kindly in sentiment. Homely and
friendly ideals of life have always had their stronghold among the
common people, and war has been fostered mainly by rulers and upper
classes, not merely for aggrandizement, but as a kind of sport to which
they were addicted for its own sake. It may safely be assumed that
modern democracy will not share this taste, but, although still subject
to martial excitement, will pursue, in the main, ideals more likely to
promote every-day happiness.
Another reason why democracy tends to international peace is that under
modern conditions it is necessary for content and equilibrium within a
nation. One of the main causes of recent wars has been the need of
sovereigns and ruling classes to forestall internal revolution by the
pressure of external conflict. Napoleon III, not only once but several
times, sought war in the hope of supporting his power by the prestige of
victory, and there is reason to believe that Russia, Germany, and
Austria were all influenced by this motive in the year 1914. Extending
radicalism was threatening to split these countries, and it was felt
that conflict without would close the rift within. We all know how true,
for the time at least, this proved to be.
As a fourth of these general changes favorable to the prospect of
enduring peace, I would reckon the diffusion of organizing capacity
among the people, not only by education and political democracy, but
quite as much through economic experience. The administration of
business in its innumerable branches and the participation in
labor-unions and other economic groups have developed on a great scale
that power of the individual to understand and create social machinery
which is essential to any well-knit organization. The industrial
nations, at least, are equipped with all kinds and degrees of organizing
ability, and if they do not organize peace it will be because they do
not want to.
The changes I have mentioned may all be summed up in the statement that
the world has been taking on a larger and higher organization, which now
demands expression in the international sphere. There is no doubt of the
preparation, and the time seems fully ripe for achievement.
And, finally, we have the lessons of the Great War. I am far from
presuming to expound these, but it is certain that there is scarcely
anything in the way of social ideas and institutions that has not been
tested and developed. We know the extent and disaster of modern war as
we could not before, and a fierce light has been cast upon all its
antecedents.
We hold that the war must establish at least one great principle,
fundamental to any tolerable plan of peace, namely, that no nation,
however powerful, can hope to thrive by power alone, without the
good-will of its neighbors. From this point of view the main purpose of
the war is to vindicate the moral unity of mankind against
self-assertion. We are resolved that it shall register the defeat of
self-sufficiency and domination, and so point the way to an
international group within which national struggle can go on under
general control.
Assuming that the general conditions have become favorable, I wish
further to inquire whether it is reasonable to expect that a society of
nations may be formed upon the same principles that we rely upon in the
association of individuals. How far is a group of nations like a group
of persons? Can we anticipate that the members will be guided, for
better or worse, by the ordinary impulses of human nature, or must we
have a new psychology for them?
Whether the behavior of a social whole will be personal or not depends
upon whether the members identify themselves heartily with it. If they
do, then, in times of aroused feeling, those sentiments and passions
which are similar in all men and are easily communicated will inflame
the whole group and be expressed in its behavior. It will act personally
in the sense that it is ruled by the live impulses of human nature and
not by mere routine or special interest. Most groups are far from
answering to this description, which, as a rule, applies only to those
that are small and intimate, like the family. But the case of the nation
is peculiar, since it is known to evoke the emotion of patriotism, which
has a special power to draw into itself the whole force of personality.
The psychological background of patriotism I take to be the need of
human nature to escape from the limitations of individuality and to
immerse the spirit in something felt to be larger, nobler, and more
enduring. This need is expressed also in devotion to leaders, like
Napoleon or Garibaldi; in the passion for causes, like socialism and the
labor movement, and in many forms of religious service. Its main object
in our time, however, is one’s country; and it is because of the
wholeness with which men put themselves into it that a nation comes to
have a collective self in which such sentiments as pride, resentment,
and aspiration are fully alive. A self-conscious nation is a true
_socius_, and consequently may unite with others in a social and moral
group. The whole doctrine of international relations might well start
from this point, that the units with which we deal are truly human and
not mere corporations or sovereignties.
It is true that their relations have been mostly selfish or hostile in
the past, but this is true also of persons except in so far as, by
working together, they have acquired habits and sentiments of
co-operation. And nations, even in their conflicts, confess their unity
by seeking one another’s admiration. Each wants to distinguish itself in
the eyes of the international audience, and war itself is waged largely
from this motive. We wish our country to be glorious, to excel in the
world-game; and the fact that the game is destructive does not destroy
the social character of the impulse. If this were not present, we should
not find our leaders instigating us by appeals to national honor,
resentment, and pride. Perhaps there is no better proof of the personal
nature of national feeling than the large part which “insults” play in
arousing it. An entity that can be insulted is essentially human.
If the national spirit is truly human and social it should be capable of
a moral development and of participating in a moral order similar to
that which prevails in personal relations. And perhaps the surest proof
that international social control is possible is that nations have shown
themselves capable of feeling and acting upon a sympathetic indignation
at aggression upon other nations, as in the case of Belgium. Such
indignation is in all societies the most active impulse making for the
enforcement of justice. There is an incredible doctrine taught by some
writers that the national self can feel greed and hate, but cannot rise
to justice, friendship, and magnanimity. Why should its human nature be
so one-sided? Is it not quite conceivable that we might come to demand
an even higher standard of honor and conduct from our country than we do
from ourselves, because the idea of country, like the idea of God, is
the symbol of a higher kind of life? The gods have been in the mud too,
and as they have risen from it to an ethical plane we may hope the same
of the nations.
If this view is sound, it follows that if we can change the ruling ideal
so that nations come to admire one another for being righteous,
magnanimous, and just, as well as strong and successful, we shall find
them as eager to live up to _this_ ideal as they now are to conform to a
lower one. It is all a matter of the standards of the group.
If there is a nation that has deliberately set out to be unsocial by
adopting a theory of national aggrandizement by _Macht_ alone, that
nation is believed to be Germany; but even here, however unlovely the
resulting type of self may appear to be, there can be little doubt that
it is a social self, ambitious to shine in the eyes of the world.
Strange as we may think it, the self-conscious part of Germany felt that
she was doing a glorious thing when in 1914 she assailed two great
nations and defied a third; and she looked confidently to others for
admiration. Perhaps we may expect that, having learned where she
misjudged the sentiment of the group, she will in the future conduct
herself in a manner more acceptable to it.
Nations, then, are normally moral agents, subject to control by the
ruling opinion of the period as to what is honorable and praiseworthy.
The trouble has been, in great part, that this ruling opinion has set
barbaric standards and approved a style of conduct such as prevails
among savage tribes or lawless frontiersmen in a new country. A nation
was held to be great in proportion as it extended its possessions, its
rule, and the dread of its arms. The expression “national honor” in the
history of the nineteenth century will be found to mean chiefly warlike
prestige, a reputation for valor and success, the power to punish
enemies or reward friends. It was sullied by failure to take revenge, by
declining a challenge or deserting an ally, but not by lawlessness,
arrogance, or greed. The ideal from which honor took its meaning was
national prowess, not the welfare of a group of nations; there was no
reference to a general right springing from organic unity. It was the
honor of Achilles or Rob Roy, not the team-work honor of a modern
soldier.
Temporary peace was obtained by a balance of power, that is, not by any
real unity, but by the clans being so nearly matched that each hesitated
to start a fight. Such hesitation might be expedient, but it was not in
itself honorable. Honor was to be won mainly by victorious conflict, on
no matter what occasion, and by displaying the power which followed.
Napoleon shone in this way and dazzled all Europe, including Goethe, who
was in many things the wisest man of his time. His nephew tried to do
the same and had no lack of honor so long as he seemed to succeed.
Bismarck did succeed, and the German Empire became the standard-bearer
of this type of honor, continuing to uphold it after it had been partly
abandoned by other nations.
The organic unity of Europe, real as it had become, was slow to
transform national idealism, and diplomacy as well as war remained a
game for mutual injury and humiliation. England, which was in a position
to lead the way, took some steps in a better path, but not enough to
convince the world. The old ways were too strong upon her; she upheld
Turkey and crushed the Boer republics, giving an indifferent example to
Germany, whose imperialism is largely an imitation, however distorted,
of that of England. The accepted ideal continued to be one which implied
war, open or covert, as the road to honor and success.
It is clear that this ideal is no longer congruous, as it once was, with
the general state of the world, but is a pernicious survival, unfit,
unevolutionary, and ripe for elimination. The obstacles to this are
institutional, not inherent in human nature, and if the momentum of
custom and the glamour of honor can be transferred from the ways of war
to those of peace, the hardest of the work will be done.
The logical outcome is an organic international life, in which each
nation and each national patriotism will be united, but not lost, as
individuals are united in an intimate group. Our national individuality
will subsist, but will derive its guidance and meaning from its relation
to the common whole, finding its ambition, emulation and honor in
serving that, as a boy does in the play group or a soldier in his
regiment. A spirit of team-work will be substituted, we may hope, for
that of unchastened self-assertion. There will be rivalry, not always of
the highest kind, and even war may be possible until we have worked out
the rules of the game and the means of applying them, but the moral
whole will assert itself with increasing power. The new system means
bringing the national state under social discipline, making it a
responsible member of a larger society. Its significance is not to
diminish, but to become of a somewhat different kind, like that of a
woman when she marries. Hitherto not Germany alone but all the nations
have clung to an individualism incompatible with any permanent
international order and with any discipline except force.
I do not look for any disappearance of national selfishness, even of the
grosser kinds. Human nature has various moods, most of them unedifying,
and the every-day grumbling, quarrelling routine of life will no doubt
go on among nations as among individuals. But in spite of this we have
idealism and a social order among persons, and we may expect that
nations will have them also. We must organize both ideals and selfish
interest, so that the former may work with as little friction on account
of the latter as possible. Fundamentally both depend for their
gratification upon a social order.
The unity of the international whole will be of a different quality from
that of the nation. It will be less intimate and passionate and will
lack the bond of emulation and conflict with other wholes like itself.
There is a kind of conflict, however, which even an all-inclusive whole
must undergo, namely, that with rebellious elements within itself, and
this struggle for unity will enhance self-consciousness, as the Civil
War did for the United States. The league of nations will not be merely
utilitarian, though its utility will be immense, but will appeal more
and more to the imagination by the grandeur of its ideal and the
sacrifices necessary to attain it; and, as it achieves concrete
existence in institutions, symbols, literature, and art, human thought
and sentiment will find a home in it. And just as patriotism is akin to
the more militant and evangelistic type of religion, so international
consciousness corresponds to religious feeling of a quieter and more
universal sort, to the idea of a God in whom all nations and sects find
a various unity.
I realize something of the immense importance and difficulty of the
economic and political problems involved with the question of an
international social order, which I must leave to abler hands. We must
do our best to provide equal economic opportunity for all nations, to
establish at least the beginnings of an international constitution, with
judicial, legislative, and executive branches, and also to provide a
process of orderly change by which the world may assimilate new
conditions and thus avoid fresh disaster. I think, however, that all
these questions need to be dealt with in view of the more general social
problem. We shall not have an international society unless we have
political and economic justice; but neither can these endure except as
the fruits of a real international solidarity.
We are likely to overestimate the part that force can play in keeping
international order. It will, no doubt, be necessary, especially at
first, to have a reserve of force to impress the less civilized nations,
and possibly the more civilized at times of exceptional tension. But our
discipline will fail, as it does in schools and families, unless we can
get good-will to support it. Force cannot succeed except as the
expression of general sentiment, and if we have that it will rarely be
necessary. To exalt it by brandishing a club is to exalt an idea whose
natural issue is war. A single powerful nation, whose heart remains
hostile to the system, will probably be able to defeat it, and certainly
will prevent its developing any spirit higher than that of a policeman.
The Commonwealth of Man must have force, but must mainly be based on
something higher; on tolerance, understanding, common ideals, common
interests, and common work.