Armageddon—And After

The end of a great war, however, has one inevitable result, that it leaves a military autocracy in supreme control of affairs. The armies which have won the various campaigns, the generals who have led them, the Commanders-in-Chief who have carried out the successful strategy, these are naturally left with almost complete authority in their hands. Wellington, for instance, a hundred years ago, held an extraordinarily strong position in deciding the fate of Europe. And so, too, did the Russian Tsar, whose armies had done so much to destroy the legend of Napoleonic invincibility. Similar conditions must be expected on the present occasion. And, perhaps, the real use of diplomats, if they are prudent and level-headed men, is to control the ambitions of the military element, to adopt a wider outlook, to consider the ultimate consequences rather than the immediate effects of things. It would indeed be a lamentable result if a war which was intended to destroy militarism in Europe should end by setting up militarism in high places.

Thus we seem to see still more clearly than before that the size of armaments in Europe constitutes a fundamental problem with which we have to grapple. Every soldier, as a matter of course, believes in military armaments, and is inclined to exaggerate their social and not merely their offensive value. Those of us who are not soldiers, but who are interested in the social and economic development of the nation, know, on the contrary, that the most destructive and wasteful form of expenditure is that which is occupied with armaments grown so bloated that they go far to render the most pressing domestic reforms absolutely impossible. How, then, can we limit the size of armaments? What provision can we make to keep in check that desire to fortify itself, to entrench itself in an absolutely commanding position, which inherently belongs to the military mind? In the case of both navies and armies something depends on geographical conditions, and something on financial possibilities. The first represents, as it were, the minimum required for safety; the second the maximum burden which a state can endure without going into bankruptcy.[12] Our own country, we should say, requires fleets, so far as geographical conditions are concerned, for the protection of her shores, and, inasmuch as she is a scattered empire, we must have our warships in all the Seven Seas. France, in her turn, requires a navy which shall protect her in the Mediterranean, and especially render access easy to her North African possessions. On the supposition that she is good friends with England, she does not require ships in the North Sea or in the English Channel, while, vice versa, England, so long as France is strong in the Mediterranean, need only keep quite small detachments at Gibraltar, Malta, and elsewhere. Russia must have a fleet for the Baltic, and also a fleet in the Black Sea. Beyond that her requirements assuredly do not go. Italy's activities are mainly in the Mediterranean. Under the supposition that she is conquered, Germany stands in some danger of losing her navy altogether.

It is obvious, therefore, that if we confine ourselves purely to geographical conditions, and adhere to the principle that navies are required for the protection of coasts, we can at once reduce, within relatively small limits, the building of armoured ships. The reason why large navies have hitherto been necessary is because it has been assumed that they do not merely protect coasts, but protect lines of commerce. We have been told, for instance, that inasmuch as we cannot feed our own population, and our national food comes to us from Canada, America, the Argentine, Russia, and elsewhere, we must possess a very large amount of cruisers to safeguard the ships that are conveying to us our daily bread. If we ask why our ships must not only protect our shores, but our merchandise—the latter being for the most part a commercial enterprise worked by individual companies—the answer turns on that much-discussed principle, the Right of Capture at Sea, which was debated at the last Hague Conference, and as a matter of fact stoutly defended both by Germany and ourselves. If we look at this doctrine—the supposed right that a power possesses to capture the merchandise of private individuals who belong to an enemy country in times of war—we shall perhaps feel some surprise that a principle which is not admitted in land warfare should still prevail at sea. According to the more benevolent notions of conducting a campaign suggested, and indeed enforced by Hague Conventions and such like, an army has no right to steal the food of a country which it has invaded. It must pay for what it takes. Well-conducted armies, as a matter of fact, behave in this fashion: the necessity of paying for what they take is very strictly enforced by responsible officers. Why, therefore, at sea an opposite state of affairs should prevail is really not easy to understand. Most of the enemy's merchant ships which have been captured in the recent war belong to private individuals, or private companies. But they are taken, subject to the decision of Prize Courts, as part of the spoils of a successful maritime power. I am aware that the question is an exceedingly controversial one, and that Great Britain has hitherto been very firm, or, perhaps, I might be allowed to say, obstinate in upholding the law of capture at sea. But I also know that a great many competent lawyers and politicians do not believe in the validity of such a principle, and would not be sorry to have it abolished.[13] At all events, it is clear enough that if it were abolished one of the main arguments for keeping up a strong navy would fall to the ground. We should then require no patrol of cruisers in the Atlantic, in the Pacific, and in the Mediterranean. One thing at least is certain, that if we can ever arrive at a time when a real Concert of Europe prevails, one of the first things which it must take in hand is a thorough examination of the extent of defensive force which a nation requires as a minimum for the preservation of its independence and liberty.

Certainly one crying evil exists which ought to be dealt with promptly and effectively in accordance with the dictates of common sense as well as common morality. I refer to the trade in armaments carried on by private companies, whose only interest it is to foment, or perhaps actually to produce, war scares in order that munitions of war may be greedily purchased. A notorious example is furnished by the great works at Essen owned by Krupp. In the same position are the great French works at Creusot, owned by Schneider, and those of our own English firms, Armstrongs, Vickers, John Brown, and Cammell Laird. These are all successful concerns, and the shareholders have reaped large profits. I believe that at Creusot the dividends have reached twenty per cent., and Armstrongs yield rarely less than ten per cent. It is necessary to speak very plainly about industries of this kind, because, however we like to phrase it, they represent the realisation of private profit through the instruments of death and slaughter. It would be bad enough if they remained purely private companies, but they really represent the most solid public organisations in the world. We know the intimate relations between Krupp and the German Government, and doubtless also between Messrs. Schneider and the French Government. This sordid manufacture of the instruments of death constitutes a vast business, with all kinds of ramifications, and the main and deadly stigma on it is that it is bound to encourage and promote war. Let me quote some energetic sentences from Mr. H.G. Wells on this point: "Kings and Kaisers must cease to be commercial travellers of monstrous armament concerns.... I do not need to argue, what is manifest, what every German knows, what every intelligent educated man in the world knows. The Krupp concern and the tawdry Imperialism of Berlin are linked like thief and receiver; the hands of the German princes are dirty with the trade. All over the world statecraft and royalty have been approached and touched and tainted by these vast firms, but it is in Berlin that the corruption is centred, it is from Berlin that the intolerable pressure to arm and still to arm has come."[14]

What is the obvious cure for this state of things? It stares us in the face. Governments alone should be allowed to manufacture weapons. This ought not to be an industry left in private hands. If a nation, through its accredited representatives, thinks it is necessary to arm itself, it must keep in its own hands this lethal industry. Beyond the Government factories there clearly ought to be no making of weapons all over Europe and the world.

It has already been remarked that the conditions which limit and control the size of armaments are partly geographical and partly financial, and that while the former represent the minimum, the latter stand for the maximum of protective force. I need say nothing further about the geographical conditions. Every one who studies a map can see for himself what is required by a country anxious to protect its shores or its boundaries. If we suppose that armaments are strictly limited to the needs of self-defence, and if we further assume that in the new Europe countries are not animated by the strongest dislikes against one another, but are prepared to live and let live (a tolerably large assumption, I am aware), we can readily imagine a steady process of curtailment in the absolutely necessary armament. Further, if Great Britain gave up its doctrine of the Right of Capture at Sea (and if Great Britain surrendered it, we may be pretty sure that, after Germany has been made powerless, no other country would wish to retain it), the supposed necessity of protecting lines of commerce would disappear and a further reduction in cruisers would take place. I cannot imagine that either America or Japan would wish to revive the Right of Capture theory if we ourselves had given it up. And they are the most important maritime and commercial nations after ourselves.[15]

The financial conditions, however, deserve study because they lead straight to the very heart of the modern bellicose tendencies. In an obvious and superficial sense, financial conditions represent the maximum in the provision of armaments, because ultimately it becomes a question of how much a nation can afford to spend without going bankrupt or being fatally hampered in its expenditure on necessary social reforms. This, however, is not perhaps the most significant point. Financial conditions act much more subtly than this. Why has it grown so imperative on states to have large armies or large navies, or both? Because—so we have been told over and over again—diplomacy cannot speak with effect unless it is backed by power. And what are the main occasions on which diplomacy has to speak effectively? We should be inclined to answer off-hand that it must possess this stentorian power when there is any question about national honour—when the country for whom it speaks is insulted or bullied, or defrauded of its just rights; when treaties are torn up and disregarded; when its plighted word has been given and another nation acts as though no such pledge had been made; when its territory is menaced with invasion and so forth.

But these justifiable occasions do not exhaust the whole field. Sometimes diplomacy is brought to bear on much more doubtful issues. It is used to support the concession-hunter, and to coerce a relatively powerless nation to grant concessions. It backs up a bank which has financed a company to build railroads or develop the internal resources of a country; or to exploit mines or oil-fields, or to do those thousand-and-one things which constitute what is called "peaceful penetration." Think of the recent dealings with Turkey,[16] and the international rivalry, always suspicious and inflammatory, which has practically divided up her Asiatic dominions between European States—so that Armenia is to belong to Russia, Syria to France, Arabia to Great Britain, and Anatolia and I know not what besides to Germany! Think of the competition for the carrying out of railways in Asia Minor and the constant friction as to which power has obtained, by fair means or foul, the greatest influence! Or let us remember the recent disputes as to the proper floating of a loan to China and the bickering about the Five-Power Group and the determination on the part of the last named that no one else should share the spoil! Or shall we transfer our attention to Mexico, where the severe struggle between the two rival Oil Companies—the Cowdray group and the American group—threw into the shade the quarrel between Huerta and Carranza? These are only a few instances taken at random to illustrate the dealings of modern finance. Relatively small harm would be done if financiers were allowed to fight out their own quarrels. Unfortunately, however, diplomacy is brought in to support this side or that: and ambassadors have to speak in severe terms if a Chinese mandarin does not favour our so-called "nationals," or if corrupt Turkish officials are not sufficiently squeezable to suit our "patriotic" purposes. Our armaments are big not merely to protect the nation's honour, but to provide large dividends for speculative concerns held in private hands.

The truth is, of course, that the honourable name of commerce is now used to cover very different kinds of enterprise. We used to export goods; now we export cash. Wealthy men, not being content with the sound, but not magnificent interest on home securities, take their money abroad and invest in extremely remunerative—though of course speculative—businesses in South Africa, or South America, concerned with rubber, petroleum, or whatnot. Often they subscribe to a foreign loan—in itself a perfectly legitimate and harmless operation, but not harmless or legitimate if one of the conditions of the loan is that the country to which it is lent should purchase its artillery from Essen or Creusot, or its battleships from our yards. For that is precisely one of the ways in which the traffic in munitions of war goes on increasing and itself helps to bring about a conflagration. Financial enterprise is, of course, the life-blood of modern states. But why should our army and navy be brought in to protect financiers? Let them take their own risks, like every other man who pursues a hazardous path for his own private gain. Private investment in foreign securities does not increase the volume of a nation's commerce. The individual may make a colossal fortune, but the nation pays much too dearly for the enrichment of financiers if it allows itself to be dragged into war on account of their "beaux yeux."

It is time to gather together in a summary fashion some of the considerations which have been presented to us in the course of our inquiry. We have gone to war partly for direct, partly for indirect objects. The direct objects are the protection of small nationalities, the destruction of a particularly offensive kind of militarism in Germany, the securing of respect for treaties, and the preservation of our own and European liberty. But there are also indirect objects at which we have to aim, and it is here, of course, that the speculative character of our inquiry is most clearly revealed. Apart from the preservation of the smaller nationalities, Mr. Asquith has himself told us that we should aim at the organisation of a Public Will of Europe, a sort of Collective Conscience which should act as a corrective of national defects and as a support of international morality. Nothing could well be more speculative or vague than this, and we have already seen the kind of difficulties which surround the conception, especially the conflict between a collective European constraint and an eager and energetic patriotism. We must not, however, be deterred by the nebulous character of some of the ideals which are floating through our minds. Ideals are always nebulous, and always resisted by the narrow sort of practical men who suggest that we are metaphysical dreamers unaware of the stern facts of life. Nevertheless, the actual progress of the world depends on the visions of idealists, and when the time comes for the reconstitution of Europe on a new basis we must already have imaginatively thought out some of the ends towards which we are striving. We must also be careful not to narrow our conceptions to the level of immediate needs—that is not the right way of any reform. Our conceptions must be as large and as wide and as philanthropical as imagination can make them; otherwise Europe will miss one of the greatest opportunities that it has ever had to deal with, and we shall incur the bitterest of all disappointments—not to be awake when the dawn appears.

What, then, are some of those nebulous visions which come before the minds of eager idealists? We have got to envisage for ourselves a new idea of what constitutes greatness in a state. Hitherto we have measured national greatness by military strength, because most of the European nations have attained their present position through successful war. So long as we cherish a notion like this, so long shall we be under the heel of a grinding militarism. We have set out as crusaders to destroy Prussian militarism, and in pursuit of this quest we have invoked, as a matter of necessity, the aid of our militarists. But when their work is done, all peoples who value freedom and independence will refuse to be under the heel of any military party. To be great is not, necessarily, to be strong for war. There are other qualities which ought to enter into the definition, a high standard of civilisation and culture—not culture in the Prussian sense, but that which we understand by the term—the great development and extension of knowledge, room for the discoveries of science, quick susceptibility in the domain of art, the organisation of literature—all these things are part and parcel of greatness, as we want to understand it in the future. It is precisely these things that militarism, as such, cares nothing for. Therefore, if we are out for war against militarism, the whole end and object of our endeavour must be by means of war to make war impossible. Hence it follows, as a matter of course, that the new Europe must take very serious and energetic steps to diminish military establishments and to limit the size of armaments. If once the new masters of Europe understand the immense importance of reducing their military equipment, they have it in their power to relieve nations of one of the greatest burdens which have ever checked the social and economic development of the world. Suggestions have already been made as to the reduction of armaments, and, although such schemes as have been set forward are, in the truest sense, speculative, it does not follow that they, or something like them, cannot hereafter be realised. Nor yet in our conception of greatness must we include another false idea of the past. If a nation is not necessarily great because it is strong for war, neither is it necessarily great because it contains a number of cosmopolitan financiers trying to exploit for their own purposes various undeveloped tracts of the world's surface. These financiers are certainly not patriots because, amongst other things, they take particular care to invest in foreign securities, the interest of home investments not being sufficient for their financial greed. It will not be the least of the many benefits which may accrue to us after the end of this disastrous war if a vulgar and crude materialism, based on the notion of wealth, is dethroned from its present sovereignty over men's minds. The more we study the courses of this world's history, the more certainly do we discover that a love of money is the root of most of the evils which beset humanity.

As we survey the possible reforms which are to set up a new and better Europe on the ruin of the old, we naturally ask ourselves with some disquietude: Who are the personalities, and what are the forces required for so tremendous a change? Who are sufficient for these things? Are kings likely to be saviours of society? Past experience hardly favours this suggestion. Will soldiers and great generals help us? Here, again, we may be pardoned for a very natural suspicion. Every one knows that a benevolent despotism has much to recommend it. But, unfortunately, the benevolent are not usually despotic, nor are despots as a rule benevolent. Can diplomatists help us? Not so far as they continue to mumble the watchwords of their ancient mystery: they will have to learn a new set of formulæ, or more likely, perhaps, they will find that ordinary people, who have seen to what a pass diplomacy has brought us, may work out for themselves some better system. Clearly the tasks of the future will depend on the co-operation of intelligent, far-sighted philanthropic reformers in the various states of the world, who will recognise that at critical periods of the world's history they must set to work with a new ardour to think out problems from the very beginning. We want fresh and intelligent minds, specially of the younger idealists, keen, ardent, and energetic souls, touched with the sacred fire, erecting the fabric of humanity on a novel basis. Democracy will have a great deal to do in the new Europe. It, too, had better refurbish its old watchwords. It has got to set itself patiently to the business of preventing future wars by the extension of its sympathies and its clear discernment of all that imperils its future development and progress. Above all, it has got to solve that most difficult problem of creating a Public Will and a Common Conscience in Europe, a conscience sensitive to the demands of a higher ethics, and a will to enforce its decrees against obstructives and recalcitrants. We do not see our way clear as yet, it is true. But we have a dim idea of the far-seen peaks towards which we must lift up our eyes. It is the greatest enterprise which humanity has ever been called upon to face, and, however difficult, it is also the most splendid.

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