CHAPTER IX THE CRUCIBLE OF WAR

If in the foregoing pages the Liberal party has come in for the larger share of criticism, the reason is, that during the ten critical years, while dangers were drawing to a head, a Liberal Government chanced to be in power. That things would have been managed better and more courageously had the unionists been in power may be doubted; and certainly it is no part of my present task to champion any such theory.

The special type of politician whose influence has wrought so much evil of late is no peculiar product of the Liberal party. He is the product of the party system in its corrupt decadence. You find him in the ranks of the Opposition as well as in those of the Ministerialists, just as you find good and true men in both. In this last lies our hope. In our present trouble good and true men have a chance of taking things into their own hands, which has been denied to them for many generations.


This book has been written to establish the Need for National Service, in order that the British Empire may maintain itself securely in the present {422} circumstances of the world. If this contention be true it is obvious that a corresponding Duty lies upon the whole nation to accept the burden of military service.

Neither need nor duty has ever been made clear to the British people by their leaders. Owing to the abuses of the party system, increasing steadily over a considerable period of years, a certain type of politician has been evolved, and has risen into great prominence—a type which does not trust the people, but only fears them. In order to maintain themselves and their parties in power, politicians of this type have darkened the eyes and drugged the spirit of the nation.


It is no part of the plan of this volume to offer criticisms upon the naval and military aspects of the present war, or upon the wisdom or unwisdom of the operations which have been undertaken by land and sea. All that need be said in this connection may be put into a very few words.

As we read and re-read British history we cannot but be impressed with the fact that our leading statesmen, misled by the very brilliancy of their intellectual endowments, have always been prone to two errors of policy, which the simpler mind of the soldier instinctively avoids. They have ever been too ready to conclude prematurely that a certain line of obstacles is so formidable that it cannot be forced; and they have also ever been too ready to accept the notion, that there must surely be some ingenious far way round, by which they may succeed in circumventing the infinite.

MAIN PRINCIPLE OF STRATEGY

The defect of brilliant brains is not necessarily a {423} want of courage—daring there has usually been in plenty—but they are apt to lack fortitude. They are apt to abandon the assault upon positions which are not really invulnerable, and to go off, chasing after attractive butterflies, until they fall into quagmires. Dispersion of effort has always been the besetting sin of British statesmen and the curse of British policy. There is no clearer example of this than the case of William Pitt the Younger, who went on picking up sugar islands all over the world, when he ought to have been giving his whole strength to beating Napoleon.

Very few obstacles are really insurmountable, and it is usually the shortest and the safest course to stick to what has been already begun. Especially is this the case when your resources in trained soldiers and munitions of war are painfully restricted. At the one point, where you have decided to attack, the motto is push hard; and at all others, where you may be compelled to defend yourselves, the motto is hold fast.

The peril of British war councils in the past has always been (and maybe still is) the tendency of ingenious argument to get the better of sound judgment. In the very opposite of this lies safety. We find the true type of high policy, as well as of successful campaigning, in the cool and patient inflexibility of Wellington, holding fast by one main idea, forcing his way over one obstacle after another which had been pronounced invincible—through walled cities; into the deep valleys of the Pyrenees; across the Bidassoa—till from the crests of the Great Rhune and the Little his soldiers looked down at last upon the plains of France.

{424}

Our most urgent problem with regard to the present war, is how we may win it most thoroughly; but, in addition to this, there are two questions which have recently engaged a good deal of public attention. There is a Political question—what sort of European settlement is to take place after the war? And there is also a Criminal question—what sort of punishment shall be meted out, if crimes, contrary to the practice of war among civilised and humane states, have been committed by our antagonists?

I have not attempted to deal with either of these. They do not seem to be of extreme urgency; for unless, and until, we win the war it is somewhat idle to discuss the ultimate fate of Europe or the penalty of evil deeds. You cannot restore stolen property until you have recovered it, and you cannot punish a malefactor, nor is it very convenient even to try him, while he is still at large. If that be true, which was said of old by a great king—I do not make peace with barbarians but dictate the terms of their surrender—we are still a long way from that.

I have not occupied myself therefore with what are termed 'German atrocities.' So far as this matter is concerned, I am satisfied to let it rest for the present upon the German statement of intentions before war began,[1] and upon the proclamations which {425} have been issued subsequently, with the object of justifying their mode of operations by sea and land. The case against Germany on her own admission, is quite strong enough without opening a further inquisition under this heading.[2]


WHAT WE ARE FIGHTING ABOUT

It is essential, however, to realise the falsities and perversities upon which the great fabric of German policy is founded; for otherwise we shall never understand either the nature of the enemy with whom we are at present engaged, or the full extent of the danger by which, not only we, but civilisation itself is now threatened. It is essential that the whole British race should understand the nature of the evils against which they are fighting—the ambitions of Germany—the ruthless despotism of the Prussian system—the new theories of right and wrong which have been evolved by thinkers who have been paid, promoted, and inspired by the State, in order to sanctify the imperial policy of spoliation.

It is also essential for us to realise the nature of those things for which we are fighting—what we shall save and secure for our posterity in case of victory; what we stand to lose in event of defeat. The preservation or ruin of our inheritance, spiritual and material—the maintenance or overthrow of our {426} institutions, traditions, and ideas—the triumph, of these, or the supplanting of them by a wholly different order, which to our eyes wears the appearance of a vast machine under the control of savages—are the main issues of the present war. And when now at last, we face them squarely, we begin to wonder, why of late years, we have been wont to treat problems of national defence and imperial security with so much levity and indifference.

It is profitable to turn our eyes from the contemplation of German shortcomings inwards upon our own. If we have been guilty as a people during recent times of weakness, blindness, indolence, or cowardice, we should face these facts squarely, otherwise there is but a poor chance of arriving at better conditions. If we have refused to listen to unpleasant truths, and to exchange a drowsy and dangerous comfort against sacrifices which were necessary for security, it is foolish to lay the whole blame upon this or that public man, this or that government. For, after all, both public men and governments were our own creation; we chose them because we liked them; because it gave us pleasure and consolation to listen to their sayings; because their doings and their non-doings, their un-doings and their mis-doings were regarded with approval or indifference by the great bulk of our people.

It would be wise also to take to heart the lesson, plainly written across the record of the last nine months, that the present confusion of our political system is responsible, as much as anything—perhaps more than anything—for the depreciated currency of public character. The need is obvious for a Parliament and a Government chosen by the Empire, {427} responsible to the Empire, and charged with the security of the Empire, and with no other task.


CAUSES OF WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH

Why we are fighting at all is one of our problems; why we are finding it so hard to win is another. In what does the main strength of our enemies consist? And in what does our own chief weakness consist?

To say that our weakness is to be sought in our own vices, and the strength of our enemies in their virtues, is of course a commonplace. But one has only to open the average newspaper to realise the need for restating the obvious. For there the contrary doctrine is set forth daily and weekly with a lachrymose insistency—that our hands are weakened because we are so good; that the Germans fight at an enormous advantage because they are so wicked and unscrupulous.

But the things which we are finding hardest to overcome in our foes are not the immoral gibberings of professors, or the blundering cynicism of the German Foreign Office, or the methodical savagery of the General Staff, whether in Belgium or on the High Seas. These are sources of weakness and not of strength; and even at the present stage it is clear that, although they have inflicted immeasurable suffering, they have done the German cause much more harm than good.

Our real obstacles are the loyalty, the self-sacrifice, and the endurance of the German people.

The causes of British weakness are equally plain. Our indolence and factiousness; our foolish confidence in cleverness, manoeuvres, and debate for overcoming obstacles which lie altogether outside that region of human endeavour; our absorption as {428} thrilled spectators in the technical game of British politics[3]—these vices and others of a similar character, which, since the beginning of the war we have been struggling—like a man awakening from a nightmare—to shake off, are still our chief difficulties. It is a hard job to get rid of them, and we are not yet anything like halfway through with it.

It must be clear to every detached observer, that the moral strength of England in the present struggle—like that of France—does not lie in Government or Opposition, but in the spirit of the people; that this spirit has drawn but little support, in the case of either country, from the leadership and example of the politicians; and that there is little cause in either case to bless or praise them for the fidelity of their previous stewardship. In the case of France this national spirit was assured at the beginning; in our own case the process of awakening has proceeded much more slowly.


ILLUSIONS OF SUCCESS

It is essential to put certain notions out of our heads and certain other notions into them. From the beginning of the war, a large part of the press—acting, we are entitled to suppose, in patriotic obedience to the directions of the Press Bureau—has fostered ideas which do not correspond with the facts. Information has been doled out and presented in such a way as to destroy all sense of proportion in the public mind.

It is not an uncommon belief,[4] for example, that we with our Allies—ever since the first onset, when, {429} being virtuously unprepared, we were pushed back some little distance—have been doing much better than the Germans; that for months past our adversaries have been in a desperate plight—lacking ammunition, on the verge of bankruptcy and starvation, and thoroughly discouraged.

There is also a tendency to assume—despite Lord Kitchener's grave and repeated warnings to the contrary—that the war is drawing rapidly to a conclusion, and that, even if we may have to submit to some interruption of our usual summer holidays, at any rate we shall eat our Christmas dinners in an atmosphere of peace and goodwill.

The magnitude of the German victories, both in the East and West, during the earlier stages of the war, is not realised even now by the great majority of our fellow-countrymen; while the ruinous consequences of these victories to our Allies—the occupation of Belgium, of a large part of northern France, and of Western Poland—is dwelt on far too lightly. Nor is it understood by one man in a hundred, that up to the end of last year, British troops were never holding more than thirty miles, out of that line of nearly five hundred which winds, like a great snake, from Nieuport to the Swiss frontier. On the contrary, it is quite commonly believed that we have been doing our fair share of the fighting—or even more—by land as well as sea.

A misleading emphasis of type and comment, together with a dangerous selection of items of news, are responsible for these illusions; while the prevalence of these illusions is largely responsible for many of our labour difficulties.

Such dreams of inevitable and speedy victory {430} are no doubt very soothing to indolent and timid minds, but they do not make for a vigorous and resolute spirit in the nation, upon which, more than upon anything else, the winning of this war depends.


In some quarters there appears still to linger a ridiculous idea that we went into this war, out of pure chivalry, to defend Belgium.[5] We went into it to defend our own existence, and for no other reason. We made common cause with Allies who were menaced by the same danger as ourselves; but these, most fortunately, had made their preparations with greater foresight than we had done. The actual fighting has taken place, so far, in their territories and not in ours; but the issue of this war is not one whit less a matter of life-or-death for us, than it is for them.

DEMOCRACY NOT INVINCIBLE

Quite recently I have seen our present situation described glowingly and self-complacently as the 'triumph of the voluntary system.' I must be blind of both eyes, for I can perceive no 'triumph' and no 'voluntary' system. I have seen the territories of our Allies seized, wasted, and held fast by an undefeated enemy. I have seen our small army driven back; fighting with as much skill and bravery as ever in its history; suffering losses unparalleled in its history; holding its own in the end, but against what overwhelming numbers and by what sacrifices! The human triumph is apparent enough; but not that of any system, voluntary or otherwise. Neither in this record of nine months' 'hard and hot fighting' on land, nor in {431} the state of things which now exists at the end of it all, is there a triumph for anything, or any one, save for a few thousands of brave men, who were left to hold fast as best they could against intolerable odds.


Certain contemporary writers appear to claim more for that form of representative government, which we are in the habit of calling 'democracy,' than it is either safe to count on, or true to assert. In their eyes democracy seems to possess a superiority in all the higher virtuous qualities—'freedom,' in particular—and also an inherent strength which—whatever may be the result of the present war—makes the final predominance of British institutions only a matter of time.[6]

I do not hold with either of these doctrines. Universal superiority in virtue and strength is too wide a claim to put forward for any system of government. And 'freedom' is a very hard thing to define.

It is not merely that the form of constitution, which we call 'democracy,' is obviously not the best fitted for governing an uncivilised or half-civilised people. There are considerations which go much deeper than that—considerations of race, religion, temperament, and tradition. As it has been in the past, so conceivably it may be again in the future, that a people, which is in the highest degree civilised and humane, will seek to realise its ideals of freedom in some other sphere than the control of policy and legislation according to the electoral verdicts of its {432} citizens. It is even possible that its national aspirations may regard some other end as a higher good even than freedom. We cannot speak with certainty as to the whole human race, but only with regard to ourselves and certain others, who have been bred in the same traditions.

If a personal and autocratic government—the German for example—is able to arouse and maintain among its people a more ardent loyalty, a firmer confidence, a more constant spirit of self-sacrifice (in time of peace as well as war), I can see no good reason for the hope, that democracy, merely because, in our eyes, it approaches more nearly to the ideal of the Christian Commonwealth, will be able to maintain itself against the other. A highly centralised system of government has great natural advantages both for attack and defence; and if in addition it be supported by a more enduring fortitude, and a more self-denying devotion, on the part of the people, it seems almost incredible that, in the end, it will not prevail over other forms of government which have failed to enlist the same support.

The strength of all forms of government alike, whether against foreign attack or internal disintegration, must depend in the long last upon the spirit of the people; upon their determination to maintain their own institutions; upon their willingness to undertake beforehand, as well as during the excitement of war, those labours and sacrifices which are necessary for security. The spirit is everything. And in the end that spirit which is strongest is likely to become predominant, and to impose its own forms, systems, and ideas upon civilised and uncivilised nations alike.

{433}

A considerable part of the world—though it may have adopted patterns of government which are either avowedly democratic or else are monarchies of the constitutional sort (in essence the same)—is by no means wedded to popular institutions; has no deep-rooted traditions to give them support; could easily, therefore, and without much loss of self-respect, abandon them and submit to follow new fashions. But with the United Kingdom, the self-governing Dominions, and the United States it is altogether different.

To exchange voluntarily, merely because circumstances rendered it expedient to do so, a system which is the only one consistent with our notions of freedom would be an apostasy. It would mean our immediate spiritual ruin, and for that reason also our ultimate material ruin. On the other hand, to continue to exist on sufferance, without a voice in the destinies of the world, would be an even deeper degradation. To be conquered outright, and absorbed, would be an infinitely preferable fate to either of these.


NEED OF LEADERSHIP

The nations of the world have one need in common—Leadership. The spirit of the people can do much, but it cannot do everything. In the end that form of government is likely to prevail which produces the best and most constant supply of leaders. On its own theories, democracy of the modern type ought to out-distance all competitors; under this system capacity, probity, and vigour should rise most easily to the top.

In practice, however, democracy has come under the thumb of the Party System, and the Party System has reached a very high point of efficiency. It has {434} bettered the example of the hugest mammoth store in existence. It has elaborated machinery for crushing out independent opinion and for cramping the characters of public men. In commending its wares it has become as regardless of truth as a vendor of quack medicines. It pursues corruption as an end, and it freely uses corruption—both direct and indirect—as the means by which it may attain its end. If the Party System continues to develop along its present lines, it may ultimately prove as fatal to the principle of democracy as the ivy which covers and strangles the elm-trees in our hedgerows.

Leadership is our greatest present need, and it is there that the Party System has played us false. To manipulate its vast and intricate machinery there arose a great demand for expert mechanicians, and these have been evolved in a rich profusion. But in a crisis like the present, mechanicians will not serve our purpose. The real need is a Man, who by the example of his own courage, vigour, certainty, and steadfastness will draw out the highest qualities of the people; whose resolute sense of duty will brush opportunism aside; whose sympathy and truthfulness will stir the heart and hold fast the conscience of the nation. Leadership of this sort we have lacked.

The Newcastle speech with its soft words and soothing optimism was not leadership. It does not give confidence to a horse to know that he has a rider on his back who is afraid of him.

NEED FOR FRANKNESS

It is idle at this stage to forecast the issue of the present war. Nevertheless we seem at last to have begun to understand that there is but a poor chance of winning it under rulers who are content to wait and see if by some miracle the war will win itself; {435} or if by another miracle our resources of men and material will organise themselves. Since the battle of the Marne many sanguine expectations of a speedy and victorious peace have fallen to the ground. The constant burden of letters from soldiers at the front is that the war—so far as England is concerned—is only just beginning. And yet, in spite of all these disappointments and warnings, the predominant opinion in official circles is still, apparently, as determined as ever to wait and see what the people will stand, although it is transparently clear what they ought to stand, and must stand, if they are to remain a people.

We cannot forecast with certainty the issue of the present war, but hope nevertheless refuses to be bound. There is a false hope and a true one. There may be consolation for certain minds, but there is no safety for the nation, in the simple faith that democracy is in its nature invincible. Democracy is by no means invincible. On the contrary, it fights at a disadvantage, both by reason of its inferiority in central control, and because it shrinks from ruthlessness. Nevertheless we may believe as firmly as those who hold this other opinion that in the end it will conquer. Before this can happen it must find a leader who is worthy of its trust.


Since August 1914 we have learned many things from experience which we previously refused to credit upon any human authority. We are not altogether done with the past; for it contains lessons and warnings—about men as well as things—which it would be wasteful to forget. But our main concern is with the present. And we are also treading very {436} close on the heels of the future, when—as we trust—the resistance of our enemies will be beginning to flag; when the war will be drawing to an end; afterwards through anxious years (how many we cannot guess) when the war has ended, and when the object of our policy will be to keep the peace which has been so dearly bought.

Lord Roberts was right in his forecast of the danger; nor was he less right in his perception of England's military weakness and general unpreparedness for war. But was he also right as to the principle of the remedy which he proposed? And even if he were right as things stood when he uttered his warnings, is his former counsel still right in our present circumstances, and as we look forward into the future? Is it now necessary for us to accept in practice what has always been admitted in the vague region of theory—that an obligation lies upon every citizen, during the vigour of his age, to place his services, and if need be his life, at the disposal of that state under whose shelter he and all those who are most dear to him have lived?

THE PEOPLE WILL NOT FLINCH

There is always danger in treating a free people like children; in humouring them, and coaxing them, and wheedling them with half-truths; in asking for something less than is really needed, from fear that to ask for the whole would alarm them too much; with the foolish hope that when the first demand has been granted it will then be easy enough to make them understand how much more is still necessary to complete the fabric of security; that having deceived them once, it will be all the easier to deceive them again.

As we look back over our country's history we {437} find that it was those men who told the people the whole truth—or what, at least, they themselves honestly believed to be the whole truth—who most often succeeded in carrying their proposals through. In these matters, which touch the very life and soul of the nation, all artifice is out of place. The power of persuasion lies in the truthfulness of the advocate, no less than in the truth of his plea. If the would-be reformer is only half sincere, if from timidity or regard for popular opinion he chooses to tell but half his tale—selecting this, suppressing that, postponing the other to a more propitious season—he loses by his misplaced caution far more than half his strength. When there is a case to be laid before the British People it is folly to do it piecemeal, by astute stages of pleading, and with subtle reservations. If the whole case can be put unflinchingly it is not the People who will flinch. The issue may be left with safety to a tribunal which has never yet failed in its duty, when rulers have had the courage to say where its duty lay.


[1] "A war conducted with energy cannot be directed merely against the combatants of the enemy State and the positions they occupy, but it will and must in like manner seek to destroy the total intellectual and material resources of the latter. Humanitarian claims, such as the protection of men and their goods, can only be taken into consideration in so far as the nature and object of the war permit.

"International Law is in no way opposed to the exploitation of the crimes of third parties (assassination, incendiarism, robbery, and the like) to the prejudice of the enemy.... The necessary aim of war gives the belligerent the right and imposes on him the duty, according to circumstances, the duty not to let slip the important, it may be the decisive advantages to be gained by such means."—The German War Book, issued by the Great General Staff.

[2] Clearly, however, when it comes to the discussion of terms of peace, not only the political question, but also the criminal question, will have to be remembered. Oddly enough the 'pacifist' section, which has already been clamorous for putting forward peace proposals, seems very anxious that we should forget, or at any rate ignore, the criminal question—odd, because 'humanity' is the stuff they have set up their bills to trade in.

[3] In reality, as regards party politics, we have been for years past very like those shouting, cigarette-smoking, Saturday crowds at football matches whom we have lately been engaged in reproving so virtuously.

[4] Certainly up to April 1915 it was not an uncommon belief.

[5] Mr. Lloyd George, Pearson's Magazine, March 1915.

[6] These views are very prevalent among Liberal writers, and they are clearly implied, if not quite so openly expressed, by Conservatives. They seem to be assumed in one of the ablest articles which has yet been written upon the causes of the present war—'The Schism of Europe' (Round Table, March 1915).

The End