Among the cloudy and symbolic stories in the beginning of the Bible
there is one about a tower built with such vertical energy as to take a
hold on heaven, but ruined and resulting only in a confusion of tongues.
The story might be interpreted in many ways--religiously, as meaning
that spiritual insolence starts all human separations; irreligiously,
as meaning that the inhuman heavens grudge man his magnificent dream;
or merely satirically as suggesting that all attempts to reach a higher
agreement always end in more disagreement than there was before. It
might be taken by the partially intelligent Kensitite as a judgment on
Latin Christians for talking Latin. It might be taken by the somewhat
less intelligent Professor Harnack as a final proof that all prehistoric
humanity talked German. But when all was said, the symbol would remain
that a plain tower, as straight as a sword, as simple as a lily, did
nevertheless produce the deepest divisions that have been known among
men. In any case we of the world in revolt--Syndicalists, Socialists,
Guild Socialists, or whatever we call ourselves--have no need to worry
about the scripture or the allegory. We have the reality. For whatever
reason, what is said to have happened to the people of Shinak has
precisely and practically happened to us.
None of us who have known Socialists (or rather, to speak more
truthfully, none of us who have been Socialists) can entertain the
faintest doubt that a fine intellectual sincerity lay behind what
was called “L’Internationale.” It was really felt that Socialism was
universal like arithmetic. It was too true for idiom or turn of phrase.
In the formula of Karl Marx men could find that frigid fellowship which
they find when they agree that two and two make four. It was almost as
broadminded as a religious dogma.
Yet this universal language has not succeeded, at a moment of crisis,
in imposing itself on the whole world. Nay, it has not, at the moment
of crisis, succeeded in imposing itself on its own principal champions.
Herve is not talking Economic Esperanto; he is talking French. Bebel is
not talking Economic Esperanto; he is talking German. Blatchford is
not talking Economic Esperanto; he is talking English, and jolly good
English, too. I do not know whether French or Flemish was Vandervelde’s
nursery speech, but I am quite certain he will know more of it after
this struggle than he knew before. In short, whether or no there be a
new union of hearts, there has really and truly been a new division of
tongues.
How are we to explain this singular truth, even if we deplore it? I
dismiss with fitting disdain the notion that it is a mere result of
military terrorism or snobbish social pressure. The Socialist leaders
of modern Europe are among the most sincere men in history; and their
Nationalist note in this affair has had the ring of their sincerity. I
will not waste time on the speculation that Vandervelde is bullied by
Belgian priests; or that Blatchford is frightened of the horse-guards
outside Whitehall. These great men support the enthusiasm of their
conventional countrymen because they share it; and they share it because
there is (though perhaps only at certain great moments) such a thing as
pure democracy.
Timour the Tartar, I think, celebrated some victory with a tower built
entirely out of human skulls; perhaps he thought _that_ would reach to
heaven. But there is no cement in such building; the veins and ligaments
that hold humanity together have long fallen away; the skulls will roll
impotently at a touch; and ten thousand more such trophies could only
make the tower taller and crazier. I think the modern official apparatus
of “votes” is very like that tottering monument. I think the Tartar
“counted heads,” like an electioneering agent. Sometimes when I have
seen from the platform of some paltry party meeting the rows and rows of
grinning upturned faces, I have felt inclined to say, as the poet does
in the “The Vision of Sin”--“Welcome fellow-citizens, Hollow hearts and
empty heads.”
Not that the people were personally hollow or empty, but they had come
on a hollow and empty business: to help the good Mr. Binks to strengthen
the Insurance Act against the wicked Mr. Jinks who would only promise
to fortify the Insurance Act. That night it did not blow the democratic
gale. Yet it can blow on these as on others; and when it does blow men
learn many things. I, for one, am not above learning them.
The Marxian dogma which simplifies all conflicts to the Class War is so
much nobler a thing than the nose-counting of the parliaments that one
must apologise for the comparison. And yet there is a comparison.
When we used to say that there were so many thousands of Socialists
in Germany, we were counting by skulls. When we said that the majority
consisting of Proletarians would be everywhere opposed to the minority,
consisting of Capitalists, we were counting by skulls. Why, yes; if all
men’s heads had been cut off from the rest of them, as they were by the
good sense and foresight of Timour the Tartar; if they had no hearts or
bellies to be moved; no hand that flies up to ward off a weapon, no foot
that can feel a familiar soil--if things were so the Marxian calculation
would be not only complete but correct. As we know to-day, the Marxian
calculation is complete, but it is not correct.
Now, this is the answer to the questions of some kind critics, whose
actual words I have not within reach at the moment, about whether my
democracy meant the rule of the majority over the minority. It means the
rule of the rule--the rule of the rule over the exception. When a nation
finds a soul it clothes it with a body, and does verily act like one
living thing. There is nothing to be said about those who are out of it,
except that they are out of it. After talking about it in the abstract
for decades, this is Democracy, and it is marvellous in our eyes. It is
not the difference between ninety-nine persons and a hundred persons; it
is one person--the people. I do not know or care how many or how few of
the Belgians like or dislike the pictures of Wiertz. They could not be
either justified or condemned by a mere majority of Belgians. But I am
very certain that the defiance to Prussia did not come from a majority
of Belgians. It came from Belgium one and indivisible--atheists,
priests, princes of the blood, Frenchified shopkeepers, Flemish boors,
men, women, and children, and the sooner we understand that this sort of
thing can happen the better for us. For it is this spontaneous spiritual
fellowship of communities under certain conditions to which the four or
five most independent minds of Europe willingly bear witness to-day.
But is there no exception: is there no one faithful among the unfaithful
found? Is no great Socialist politician still untouched by the
patriotism of the vulgar? Why, yes; the rugged Ramsay MacDonald, scarred
with a hundred savage fights against the capitalist parties, still lifts
up his horny hand for peace. What further need have we of witnesses?
I, for my part, am quite satisfied, and do not doubt that Mr. MacDonald
will be as industrious in damping down democracy in this form as in
every other.