differences arise with other States, and the question is how these can
be composed. In the large majority of cases the remedy will be found in
arbitration. Here, again, we shall be confronted with assertions about
honour and patriotism, which experience has proved to be worthless. Two
striking instances have been afforded of the value of international
arbitration. The greater is that which solved the difficulty between
ourselves and the United States concerning the Alabama claims. Here was
a matter in which England was distinctly in the wrong, and, as long as
the sore remained open, so long was there danger of war ensuing between
the two great English-speaking nations of the earth. When Mr.
Gladstone's first Government resolved to submit it to arbitration, no
language was too vehement for some of our Tories to apply to the
process. It was dishonourable, unpatriotic, and pusillanimous; but Mr.
Gladstone persevered, and with what result? The dispute was settled, the
sore was healed; and is there a solitary man among us who will contend
that the better plan would have been to send into their graves thousands
of unoffending men, and to perpetuate, perhaps for generations, a
quarrel which has been so happily decided as now to have almost faded
out of mind? The other instance is afforded by the resolve, in the
spring of 1885, to refer the dispute with Russia concerning the Penjdeh
conflict to arbitration. There were threatenings of slaughter on every
hand, for weeks there appeared a danger of our being launched into war
for a strip of Afghan territory, worthless alike to Russians, Afghans,
and ourselves, and upon a conflict of testimony as to the original
aggression, which even yet has not been composed. The agreement to
submit the matter to the King of Denmark, though his arbitrament
ultimately was dispensed with, gave a breathing time to Russia and
England both; and who now would argue that we ought to have gone to war
because of Penjdeh?
Therefore, if we adhere to a policy of non-intervention in disputes that
do not directly concern us, and of arbitration in those in which we
become involved, we shall be following a course which the immediate past
has proved to be not only peaceful but honourable and agreeable to our
interests. "The greatest of British interests is peace," once observed
the present Lord Derby; and the truth of the saying is unimpeachable.
And when we are told that, strive as we will, war sometimes must come,
one is reminded of the saying of a far greater statesman than Lord
Derby, and one upon whose patriotism none has been able to cast a slur.
It was Canning who, when told that a war in certain circumstances was
bound to come sooner or later, replied, "Then let it be later."
If, however, we wish England to pursue a peaceful policy, we must teach
the people to believe that it is as honourable as it is practicable, and
as truly patriotic as both. It is a mistake to think that the masses
will oppose war merely because of the suffering and loss it entails;
there are considerations beyond these which the artisan feels as keenly
as the aristocrat, the peasant as the peer. The sentiment which resents,
even to blood-shedding, an insult to the national flag, may be often to
be deprecated but never to be despised; for when the people shall care
nothing for the country's honour, the days of independent national
existence will be drawing to a close. And, therefore, when it is argued
that a peace policy is practicable, it is held to be so only because it
is honourable, patriotic, and just.
XXX.--HOW SHOULD WE DEAL WITH THE COLONIES?
The foreign relations of England are necessarily complicated by her
colonial concerns; and these deserve the most careful consideration,
because at any moment they may arouse the hottest political dispute of
the day. In considering the colonies we have to ask three questions: (1)
How and why did we get them; (2) How and why do we keep them; and (3)
Ought we to force them to stay?
At the history of the why and how we acquired our colonies, it is
impossible here to do more than glance. By settlement as in the case of
Australasia, by conquest as in that of Canada, and by treaty cession as
in that of the Cape, have been obtained within the past three centuries
practically all that we have. The wish for expansion has continually
made itself felt, and the frequent result of war as well as of peaceful
discovery has been to gratify it. And the consequence of both conquest
and discovery has been the acquisition of a colonial empire vaster in
extent and resources than the world has ever seen.
Having got our colonies, there are various reasons for retaining them.
The imperial spirit, which is elated by expansion and would be deeply
wounded by contraction, has been a prominent factor in causing England
to take a leading position in the world's affairs; and it is one which
none interested in her prosperity will despise. Even if there were no
material reasons for keeping our colonies, this sentiment would cause
many Englishmen, and probably the majority, to regard with the deepest
distrust any movement having a tendency to separate the colonies from
the mother country.
But there are material reasons for binding the colonies to us which
none will ignore. They form not only an outlet for our surplus labour
and enterprise, but give us markets of high importance to our trade.
Emigrants who go to Canada or Australia not merely remain attached by
obvious considerations to the English connection, but continue to be our
customers in a very much larger degree than if they went to the United
States or any other foreign country. Those who study the statistics of
our export trade will recognize that if we lost the custom of our
colonies--and this we should be likely to do if we lost the colonies
themselves--the consequences to our commerce would be very serious.
Thus there are reasons of the highest sentiment, as well as of
commercial expediency, for retaining the possessions the hard fighting
and determined enterprise of many generations of Englishmen have
acquired; but the question which is needed to be answered in much more
fulness than either of the others is that which may affect the politics
of the near future: Ought we, if any of our self-governing colonies
desire to secede, to force them to stay?
A distinct difference has been made in the form of this question between
the self-governing colonies and the dependencies--a distinction arising
from the very nature of things. There is a chasm between the
consideration of letting Australia or letting India go, which is too
wide to be bridged. Australia consists of various colonies, peopled by
Englishmen or the descendants of Englishmen, who have the fullest means
of constitutionally expressing their desires. India has a vast concourse
of deeply-divided peoples, who have no bond of union, whether of race,
religion, or common descent, and who are in no sense self-governed. In
the argument about to be set forward, therefore, it is to be understood
that only the colonies, and not the dependencies, are in consideration.
Broadly speaking, it may be submitted with regard to our self-governing
colonies that we are bound in honour to keep them as long as they will
stay, and in conscience not to detain them when they are able and
willing to go. Having acquired them, and given the most practical
guarantees to protect them, we ought to hold to our implied bargain at
any cost, and to defend them with as much energy as our native soil.
But, just as a parent's duty to a child is to do everything to protect
and assist him in his period of growth, so is it equally his duty, when
the training-time has been accomplished, to set no hindrance in the path
of his acquiring an independent position. And the relation of parent to
child has a true likeness to that of England to her self-governing
colonies.
If it be asked whether this question of what should be done in case of a
proposed separation ought to be raised at the present moment, the reply
is that events are forcing the matter forward, and that it is well to
consider in a time of comparative quiet a problem which may convulse the
nation from end to end if urged upon us in a storm.
For rumblings of the storm have already been heard from the three great
self-governing portions of our colonial empire. Sir Henry Parkes, the
Premier of New South Wales, in an article published no long time since,
and in the very act of proposing a scheme by which he imagined the
mother country and the colonies might be knit more closely together,
uttered a warning that separation might within the next generation be
pushed to the front, for "there are persons in Australia, and in most of
the Australian Legislatures, who avowedly or tacitly favour the idea."
And he added: "In regard to the large mass of the English people in
Australia, there can be no doubt of their genuine loyalty to the present
State, and their affectionate admiration for the present illustrious
occupant of the throne. But this loyalty is nourished at a great
distance, and by tens of thousands, daily increasing, who have never
known any land but the one dear land where they dwell. It is the growth
of a semitropical soil, alike tender and luxuriant, and a slight thing
may bruise, even snap asunder, its young tendrils."
When we turn from Australia to Canada, the same warning is in the air.
In the autumn of 1887, the remarks of Mr. Chamberlain at Belfast,
repudiating the principle of commercial union between Canada and the
United States, evoked strong protests from some leading newspapers in
the Dominion against the idea of England interfering if such a union
were agreed upon. The Toronto _Mail_ put the matter in a nutshell when
it observed--"Let there be no misunderstanding on this point. Canadians
have not ceased to love and venerate England, but have simply reached
that stage of development when their choice of what is best for
themselves, be it what it may, must prevail over all other
considerations." Should it be said that this is only an utterance of our
old friend "the irresponsible journalist," it may be added that the
practice of Canadian statesmen appears to be in accordance with the
principles of Canadian writers. This was certainly the opinion of our
own _Standard_, which, in an article in 1887 upon the increases in the
Canadian tariff directed against imported iron and steel, wrote--"The
obvious truth of the matter is that Canada has given no thought to our
interests at all, but only to her own.... Of course these Canadians are
a most 'loyal' people for all that, and if they can get us to lend them
our money they will flatter us and heap sweet-sounding phrases upon us,
till the most voracious appetite for such is cloyed to sickness. It is
only when we expect them to pay us our money back, or at least to put up
no barriers against our trade with them, that we find out how hollow
these phrases are. No federation of the empire can take place under any
guise while its leading colonies, which love us so exceedingly, strive
their utmost to injure our trade.... Why should we waste a drop of our
blood or spend a shilling of our means to shelter countries whose
selfishness is so great that they never give a thought to any interest
of ours? That is the question the Protectionist colonies are forcing
Englishmen to ask themselves, and it is as well that it should be
bluntly put to them now."
Cape Colony is as ready as Australia or Canada to resent the least
interference from the mother country. Sir Gordon Sprigg, its Premier,
referring at a public meeting late in 1887 to a Bill which the Imperial
Ministry had been asked to disallow, observed that, if it should be
disallowed, it was not a question of this particular Bill, but whether
the colony was to have a free government, or whether necessary
legislation in South Africa was to be checked by irresponsible persons
at home, and they were to go back to the old Constitution, and be
governed by a people six thousand miles away, knowing little of the
requirements of the inhabitants of the Cape.
Therefore, we have to face a growing opinion among the self-governing
colonies that they will allow England no controlling voice in their
internal affairs; and the question will present itself to many
Englishmen whether it is right that we should be saddled with the
responsibility of defending colonies which resent any interference, and
use their tariffs to lessen our trade. As long as they require help we
are bound in honour to give it; but when they demand, as at some time
they will demand, separation, the conviction they are now impressing
upon us that they can do without England, will materially strengthen the
desire to say to them, "Go in peace."
Even if such a consideration did not exist, one might hope that England
would never repeat the enterprise once attempted against what are now
the United States, and try to crush a growing nation of our own children
when wishing to take its own place in the economy of the world. Some
will answer that all danger of such a contingency would be avoided by
the adoption of a sound plan of imperial federation; but where is that
sound plan to be looked for? Even the most ardent advocates of the
principle do not venture upon a plan. They are content to talk of
sympathy rather than develop a system; but sympathy does not go far when
practical considerations are concerned. It may be argued that sympathy
went a long way when a detachment from New South Wales assisted our
military operations in the Soudan; but the experiment was a dangerous
one which ought not to be often repeated. Franklin in his autobiography
tells us that it was the defeat of Braddock's force which first taught
the American colonists that it was possible to hope for independence;
and the lesson needs remembering.
What those who advocate imperial federation have to prove is that it is
practicable to persuade each portion of this vast empire to pay and to
fight for every other portion. As long as England does both the paying
and the fighting, things may go smoothly. But if England went to war
with France over the New Hebrides, in order to protect the interests of
Australia, what would Newfoundland say on being asked to share the
bill? Similarly, if England engaged France over the bait question, so as
to preserve the fishing trade of Newfoundland, how would Australia like
to be taxed for the fray? And if we fought the United States on the
fisheries dispute in order to please Canada, does any one imagine that
Australia or Cape Colony would agree to additional imposts for the
lessening of our National Debt? It is when considerations like these are
discussed that imperial federation appears a pleasing dream rather than
a probable reality.
And, therefore, when we discuss our future dealings with the colonies,
we ought to know how far we intend to go. As long as they remain with
us, we ought to do our utmost to preserve the most friendly relations;
but, having given them self-government, we ought to impress upon them
the necessity for self-preservation. And if, when they can not only rule
but protect themselves, they should ask to be freed from even the
nominal allegiance to the English Crown which is all they now give, they
should be suffered to go, in the hope and belief that they would
prosper.
XXXI.--SHOULD THE STATE SOLVE SOCIAL PROBLEMS?
Though we have been discussing at this length our foreign and colonial
relations, we must never forget that there is a "condition of England
question" which claims the closest attention. The politics of the future
will be largely coloured by considerations arising from our social
developments; and it is important to decide whether the State ought to
attempt to solve social problems, and how far it ought to interfere in
the relations between man and man.
There is just now so much talk about Socialism that it is desirable to
examine the principles which underlie State-interference with private
affairs. Those who like to divide men into strictly defined parties are
accustomed to describe their fellows as Socialists and Individualists;
and, although there is no Socialist who would prevent all liberty of
personal action, and no Individualist who would protest against every
form of State-interference, the distinction is fair enough if it be
understood that the Socialist believes that the State should do as much
as possible, and the Individualist that it should do as little as
possible, for those who dwell within its limits.
The view of the former is concisely stated in the programme of the
Social Democratic Federation, in which are urged the immediate
compulsory construction of healthy artisans' and agricultural labourers'
dwellings, free compulsory education for all classes, with at least one
wholesome meal a day in each school, an eight hours' working day,
cumulative taxation upon all incomes above a fixed minimum, State
appropriation of railways with or without compensation, the
establishment of national banks absorbing all others, rapid extinction
of the National Debt, nationalization of the land, and organization of
agricultural and industrial armies under State control on co-operative
principles. These are merely claimed to be palliative measures, which
should be followed by others more drastic; but they suffice to show the
present-day Socialistic idea.
Against this extreme Socialist view must be set the extreme
Individualist, which has been expressed by Mr. Spencer, who says--"There
is reason to believe that the ultimate political condition must be one
in which personal freedom is the greatest possible, and governmental
power the least possible; that, namely, in which the freedom of each has
no limit but the like freedom of all; while the sole governmental duty
is the maintenance of this limit." And the main idea of this statement
had been anticipated in the remark, a couple of thousand years ago, by
one of the greatest of Greek philosophers--"The truth is that the State
in which the rulers are most reluctant to govern is the best and most
quietly governed, and the State in which they are most willing is the
worst."
The real question, of course, is not between any such extreme views, for
Mr. Spencer would not deny that the State sometimes must interfere, and
Mr. George would be the last to plead against the use of all individual
effort. But though the limits of State-interference are what we have to
determine, it is necessary first to consider whether the State should
interfere at all.
An obvious answer is that the State interferes already in many a social
problem, and that no one seriously proposes to do away with that
interference. But even those who would thus reply may not be aware of
the extent to which the State makes its influence felt in social
affairs. The administration of justice and the protection of the
commonwealth are necessarily, in all civilized communities, the affair
of the State. But beyond these limits, the ruling authority, whether
exercised through imperial or local officials, wanders at many a point.
The Poor-law is a striking instance of this fact, for it is a piece of
legislation the Socialistic tendency of which none can gainsay, the
State practically asserting that no one need starve, and providing food
and shelter, under certain conditions, for all who are unable, or even
unwilling, to work. The system of national education is another instance
of Socialistic legislation; it makes me pay towards the education of my
neighbour's child, not for any immediate benefit to myself, but for my
ultimate benefit as a citizen of an improved State. And the ruling
authority goes further even than compelling me to feed the poor and
educate the young, for it interferes, presumably for my good, with my
liberty in many a detail.
From birth to death the State, even under present conditions, steps in
at point after point to direct one's path. Within forty days of being
born I am compelled by the State to be registered; within three months I
am equally constrained to be vaccinated; from five years old to
thirteen, with certain limitations, I have to be sent to school; and,
should my parents be so sensible as to apprentice me to a trade, a fee
has to be paid to the State for the indentures. When I marry it is at a
State-licensed institution; when I die it is by a State-appointed
officer that my decease is certified. And in the interval, the State
prevents me from obtaining intoxicating liquor except from certain
individuals and within specified hours; it compels me, if I am a
house-owner, to effect my sanitary arrangements in a given way; and if I
am a house-holder, to keep my pavement free from snow. From the highest
details to the lowest, then, the State even now interferes; whether I
fail to have my child vaccinated or my chimney swept, it steps in; and
those who argue that Individualism is a theory so true that
State-interference should be abolished, have a number of fruits of that
State-interference to get rid of before they can claim the victory.
But probably even those who imagine that they are extreme Individualists
would not wish to remove from the Statute Book such specimens of
State-interference as are now upon it. If they did, the clearance would
indeed be great. For imagine what the effect would be if, in addition to
the other measures indicated, we got rid of all the enactments affecting
labour, and again allowed the employment of climbing boys as
chimney-sweeps, of women and small children in mines, of men and women
in white-lead works without precaution of any kind, of sailors in the
merchant service without the protection of lime-juice against scurvy and
of survey against sinking; picture what the population of our
manufacturing districts would by this time have become without the
protection afforded by the Factory Acts; remember what an improvement
has been made in the way of guarding dangerous machinery, owing to the
penalties inflicted upon careless owners by the Employers' Liability
Act; and then answer whether State-interference is necessarily a bad
thing.
Within the limits which experience has shown to be desirable, it is a
good thing; and it is no answer to this assumption that it has sometimes
failed to secure the object aimed at. As long as nothing in this world
is perfect, we cannot expect the action of the State to be; the only
test in every case is an average test. If such State-interference as we
see has on the whole done well, the balance must be struck in its
favour; and in human affairs a favourable balance is all we have a right
to anticipate.
The Individualistic ideal may be a good one, but it is the
Individualistic real we have to examine. And what would become of the
poor, the weak, and the helpless if the State stood aside from all
interference with the affairs of men? That the rich and the powerful
would grind them to powder in their struggles for more riches and
greater power. The days of universal brotherhood have never
existed--and, what is more, never will exist--and that State which
protects the weak against the strong and the poor against the rich is
the best worth striving for.
An ideal condition of society would be that in which every able-bodied
person would have to work for a living with body, brains, or both; but
birth and bullion play so large a part under present circumstances that,
while we may sigh for the ideal, we must recognize the real. And this
applies to all thinkers on our social affairs--to the extreme Socialist
as to the extreme Individualist. The mystery of life cannot be solved by
logic, and the pain, the poverty, and the crime which that mystery
involves dissipated by law.