This article, dealing with the consequences of the war,
originally appeared in La Revue of Paris, and is here
reproduced by permission of Mr. Galsworthy.
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 well 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
mere principle of nationality, the legitimate prey--of bigger nations.
Germany absorbed Alsace-Lorraine, Schleswig, 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 unshakable
respect for the rights of all nations which belong, roughly speaking,
to the same stage of development. The same may 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, Switzerlands of Europe--any chance of security in the
maintenance of their national existences. 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 as easy as all that. Belgium, no doubt, is as
one man. Poland is as 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-Holstein? Compromise alone is possible in many
cases, going by favor of majority. And there will always remain the
poignant question of the rights and aspirations of 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 paean to the
word Nationality, we can banish all clouds from the sky of Europe, and
muzzle the ambitions of the stronger nations.
In my convinced belief the one solid hope for future peace, the one
promise of security for the rights and freedom of little countries,
the one reasonable guarantee of international justice and general
humanity, lies in the gradual growth of democracy, of rule by consent
of the governed. When this has spread till the civilization of the
Western world is on one plane--instead of as now on two--then and then
only we shall begin to draw the breath of assurance. Then only will
the little countries sleep quietly in their beds. It is conceivable,
nay probable, that the despotic will of a perfect man could achieve
more good for his country and for the world at large in a given time
than the rule of the most enlightened democracy. It is certain that
such men occupy the thrones of this earth but once in a blue moon.
If proof be needed that the prevalence of democracy alone can end
aggression among nations, 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 and the sacrifice that war entails, 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, a certain dumb sympathy with, 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 land 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
favor ambitious projects and aggressive wars. According as "the
people" have or have not the final decision in such matters, the
future of Europe will 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. This is true in
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 of 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 been already found in France--that the general
sense of the community informed by an ever-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. 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, frankly believe will beat the powers and goodwill 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, 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 last the
outcome of the war, we may still talk in vain of the rights of little
nations, of peace, disarmament, of chivalry, justice, and humanity. We
may whistle for a changed world.