THE WAR AND AMERICAN POLICY
At the last Hague Conference, where a Congress, convened for the furtherance of peace, mainly discussed the aspects of war and the method of its declaration, a Chinese delegate excited some amusement by his inquiry of what would occur if the nation to whom such declaration was addressed did not wish to receive it.
If one thing stands out more than another in the recent catastrophe, it has been the manner in which countries earnestly desiring peace, having no interest, direct or indirect, in the question at issue, have yet, through no fault of their own, been dragged into the whirlpool. An Austrian Archduke is murdered by a Serbian anarchist. In the period of silence which follows, the crime is half forgotten by the world. New events occupy it: a grave crisis threatening civil war in Ireland; a sensational trial in France; labor troubles in Russia coinciding with the French President's visit. Suddenly reparation of the most rigorous kind is demanded, and practically accepted by Serbia in the interests of peace, though her official responsibility was doubtful. But the answer is termed insincere by a Government desiring to provoke war. The structure of peace tumbles like a house of cards, and within a fortnight the Belgian countryside is charred and ravaged by invading German armies, its cities burned, and the land itself, in the words of its foremost churchman, is a pool of blood. Certainly, it is easy to apportion blame, and to indicate causes. But the superficial causes are not always the real, while philosophic reasons are often invoked where the explanation is far simpler. There are those, particularly in America, who have seen in the great war the dead hand of alliances, and regard it as the condemnation of a system which automatically extends warfare instead of localizing it. But Belgium, whose neutrality by a final touch of irony had been guaranteed by the very Power violating it, was free from all such entanglements. With alliances it is as with armaments: the example forces emulation. In addition to the gospel of force which Bismarck left as a two-edged legacy to Germany, he brought also the alliance with Austria. The Franco-Russian alliance was its inevitable reply. Yet, without the dictates of self-preservation, the formal terms of such treaties would prove of slight consequence. Italy, a member of the Triple Alliance, had no compunction in refusing to participate in what she regarded a war of aggression, while England, though free from all obligations, felt otherwise.
Yet England was as pacific as Belgium. Lord Beaconsfield once remarked that though a British Prime Minister has many interests, none are greater than the preservation of peace. At the risk of reiterating the obvious, a great commercial nation like England, with no continental ambitions, amply satisfied with existing responsibilities which she does not seek to extend, has nothing to gain by war, which, in the event of non-success, threatens her national existence. During the recent crisis no country did more for the preservation of peace. To an impartial mind, the British Blue Book is here conclusive. Sir Edward Grey's offer that if Germany would put forward any reasonable proposal, making it clear that she and Austria were striving to preserve the peace of Europe against France and Russia, England would not support the latter, remained unanswered. In the medley of German Imperial and official telegrams, the text of which has in certain selected cases been published, no reply was ever made to this. Nor was France more anxious for war. If one nation more than another has completely changed its character, and having been the firebrand of Europe, was endeavoring to settle down to the peaceful enjoyment of its prosperity, it has been France. The increasing gravitation of the Government toward social reforms, the pronounced pacifism of its dominant political parties, the sacrifices and even humiliations endured by a proud nation, were as many pledges toward the sincerity of its desire to maintain peace. Even the recent military efforts, hardly begun and still incomplete, were a tardy rejoinder to the colossal preparations which Germany had of late years been making. No great power was less desirous for war than France, none short of national suicide would have gone to greater lengths to avoid it.
It can hardly be supposed that Russia wanted war. Even if no other reason existed, the fact that, after her disastrous experiences, she was in the midst of a military and naval reorganization which could not be completed before several years, was sufficient to make peace almost imperative. In the interests of peace she had submitted to the Austrian annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. In the interests of peace she had submitted to seeing a Serbian army deprived of the fruits of victory after its memorable march to the Adriatic. In the interests of peace she had allowed an artificial Albanian State to be created at the expense of her Slav kinsmen. She was allowing Austria to exact punishment from Serbia, and herself counseled the moderation of the reply from Belgrade. But there were limits beyond which self-respect would not let her go.
The pacific dispositions of the German people have repeatedly been noticed. There is little doubt that the vast majority did not want war. With all sides thus professing their wish for peace, and advertising their labors for its preservation, what series of colossal blunders precipitated the outbreak? How came such an apparently undesired catastrophe to occur for which no nation will take the responsibility? The Germans attribute it to the Emperor's almost accidental discovery of Russia's secret mobilization. But Russia had no interest to make war, France and England had no desire, and Belgium, the first victim, was a neutralized State. The only avowedly designed war was against Serbia, which in the Austrian intention was to be a punitive expedition. The great war itself remains anonymous. Is its guilt indiscoverable?
The German people did not want war. But in a nation where, in spite of its high boast of civilization, public opinion is notoriously in its infancy, the pacific inclination of the people exercised no influence on the German Emperor and his military advisers, who regarded the moment as singularly opportune for a conflict. The famous German theory of a preventive war intended to forestall an ulterior danger found here its exemplification. The people were told they were being attacked; partial truths, denatured from their real significance, were announced to them. And the people believed the official equivocations, with the same spirit of submissive obedience with which they took up arms. If the suppleness of the Bismarck tradition had been cast aside, at least its gross misrepresentation of facts had been preserved.
A transcendental reason has been advanced by the German side, where the struggle is declared as one between Teutonism and Slavism, supported by its Western allies. The cause of war lay in the supposed designs to Serbia to make herself a great Power at the expense of Austro-Hungary. Ground may have existed for such suspicion. The recent successes of Serbia had strengthened the magnet of attraction for the millions of Slavs within the Austrian Empire, ill-satisfied by their treatment at the hands of a bureaucratic administration wanting in sympathy and suppleness. The tension between the two countries had further imposed on Austria repeated and expensive mobilizations on her frontiers, and a state of watchfulness conducive to irritability and harshness. From the Austrian point of view the situation was one which could not be prolonged, and the time seemed ripe. Serbia was temporarily exhausted by the three wars she had been obliged to wage almost within a year, and which, if they left her victorious, had none the less crippled her. Russia, imperfectly prepared, could in turn, it was thought, expect little aid from her Western ally. Is it to be supposed that Austria wanted to fight Russia? Certainly, if she could have achieved her aim to crush Serbian independence without such war, she would have preferred it. But she took the risk with full knowledge that war might, and probably would, ensue. "The remotest possible consequences of this action have been carefully considered," appeared in a Viennese official organ. The war with Serbia was provoked in all deliberation. The war with Russia was accepted with full prior knowledge of its likelihood.
To what extent was Germany responsible for this? Before taking the final step it is known that Austria had consulted her and received full assent. Whether the German Foreign Office had previously read the text of the Austrian note to Serbia is immaterial. With diplomatic casuistry it had probably been submitted privately, but not officially, to the German Emperor's approval. A complete endorsement was, in any case, given for a reason frankly explained by the German White Book. The fear expressed at Berlin lay not only in an eventual Serbian success, but also lest the numerically preponderant Slav element within the Austrian Empire should increase at the expense of the German, and thus alter its political complexion. It seemed vital to check this movement at any cost, and preserve the Germanic influence. The war was thus made to assume the appearance of a great racial conflict which was to mark the definite victory, or defeat, of Teutonism. The criminal plot of two Emperors, seizing a supposedly favorable moment to set Europe ablaze, was dignified into a struggle of race protection, and acclaimed by two nations conscious that all military preparations had been completed while its adversaries were still unready, and believing implicitly in the victory of its armies.
Respect for treaties as "scraps of paper," or the rights of neutrals, or indeed respect for its own word, all disappeared in the German mind before the law of alleged necessity. The Fatherland attacked by the Slavs, the national danger and the final triumph, were visions alternately flashed by a disciplined press. Ably, if unscrupulously exploited, this has filled the German armies with a profound conviction in the justice of their cause. The wave of military barbarism sweeping over a country once civilized, is interpreted in Germany as a lofty ideal of civilization and humanity. Having identified themselves with whatever is noblest, they regard the German cause as inseparably connected therewith, and disparage their Western foes as a soulless, heterogeneous lot, prompted by jealous motives to assist the Slav barbarian.
It is well to realize the German point of view, since it explains much that is otherwise incomprehensible, and serves as a future lesson for others than the belligerents. France is thus a nation in decay, whose historical mission being over, occupies a place to which she is no longer entitled. Germany is destined to take her place. But the chief indignation has been against England, who, out of motives of jealousy, has betrayed the interests of the Teutonic race by her unholy alliance with Russia and Japan.
The neutral observer is less impressed by the insolence of the Pan-German ideal which of late years has been fostered by hysterical professors and retired officers, than by its hold upon a nation priding itself on morality, yet throwing to the winds the most elemental considerations of national honesty in the effort to win. This absence of all political scruple, coupled with a perfection of organization, a spirit of obedience and the possession of whatever resources science can procure, and accompanied by a readiness of sacrifice admirable in another cause, has made the German nation the most powerful organization for enforcing executive policy the world has yet seen. It also makes the consequences of German victory certain to extend far beyond the nations defeated.
In Italy this danger has already been understood, especially by the Socialists, who, in spite of the efforts made by their political brethren in Germany and Austria to win them over, after stigmatizing the war as one of aggression by these two countries, have realized that their success would imply a triumph of militarism, menacing Italian democracy. The fear of such victory, tending at its best to reduce Italy to the position of a vassal state, is widely spread, and in the light of German ambitions can be regarded as neither unjustified nor exaggerated. While proclaiming neutrality, the Italian Socialists have had no hesitation in expressing their sympathy for the Allies, in which they reflect the opinion of the country at large.
The consequences of German victory will not, however, be confined to the Continent of Europe. It would be casting on Pan-German ambition a willful slur to assess its aspirations so low. In the event of their success we, too, will be privileged to encounter these.
In the United States we have gazed upon the distant spectacle of war with the keen interest which the greatest event of modern times has warranted. Even as spectators, we have been thrilled by the deeds of heroism, while its train of misery and suffering has awakened our sympathy. We have relieved the plight of our stranded travelers and have watched conscientiously over the obligations of neutrality. We have scanned the situation from its commercial possibilities, and reawakened to the need of a merchant marine. We have studied the crisis from every point save one, though it is the one which most closely touches our interests. In what way will this war affect our future? Surely no graver question has ever loomed on the horizon of American policy.
For ourselves we have hitherto felt little anxiety. There has almost been a smug satisfaction at the three thousand miles of ocean separating America from the main seat of war, coupled with the feeling that we are privileged in being able to lead our life independently of the bloody childishness which has arrested the development of our commercial rivals. While such ideas may not reflect the finer instincts in the country, the consequences of the great struggle have otherwise hardly impressed themselves. The "plague on both your houses" has been a more frequent point of view than the realization of future possibilities in so far as the success of one or the other side may affect our position.
The entire military fabric of continental Europe has been one so alien to our habits of thought, and until lately to our general knowledge, that the conception of the nation in arms, which has for its basis the execution of policy, yet seemed by an odd paradox devoid of all practical wisdom. To the average American it was always a riddle why countries whose high technical skill in other directions we had frequent occasion to appreciate, should yet pay such attention to armaments. There seemed something almost childish connected with this idea which Civil War traditions confirmed rather than dispelled. We remembered with pride our citizen armies raised when danger threatened, and the patriotic determination which, on either side, saw them through to victory or defeat. We had regarded them not without reason as equal to the best professional soldiers. We remembered our great leaders who had risen in the hour of need. But we were inclined to forget that two years elapsed before the Northern armies could be welded into efficient combatant bodies, and that the long-protracted situation was only rendered possible by the disabilities which weighed equally on either side.
Between the Civil and the Spanish War, our military efficiency sank to its lowest ebb. Even afterward, in spite of new problems and responsibilities, in spite of the precariousness of our hold in the Philippines and the burdens assumed in Latin-America, we have done little to improve it. Apart from the fleet which, in the face of German naval increase, could not long keep the second position it had temporarily attained, the army, through no fault of its own, remained inferior in numbers and organization to that of the smallest European State. The armed forces of Bulgaria and Switzerland, nations less in population than New York City, far exceed our own and indeed surpass any army which we could put into the field before probably six months of preparation. Such military inferiority has hitherto not proved a handicap nor acted otherwise than to our advantage. The economic prosperity of the nation has been largely built up by a condition of peace which has freed us from the saddling burden of armaments. In continental Europe, in spite of every euphemistic explanation, the years passed with the colors are taxes on their youth. From such necessity we have fortunately been dispensed. But we are prone, as a result, to lay undue stress on our insular position in respect to Europe, without realizing the factors of different order which alone have made it possible. It has been far less the distance which allowed our previous weakness than it has been the division of Europe into two camps. Unrealized by the nation at large, the famous balance of power which for centuries has been the basis of Europeans diplomacy, allowed us a freedom from military burdens which we were inclined to ascribe exclusively to our pacifism, our superior wisdom, and our favorable geographical position.
Although lately the Old World has regarded our policy toward Mexico as insolent, it yet confined itself to mere criticism as a result of the intense strain of a situation which allowed no European State to divert any portion of its strength in a secondary enterprise. We have been pleased to consider the consequence as a tribute to our high moral service rather than to the circumstances permitting us to do what we liked, where we liked, and how we liked, with our southern neighbors. So long as a European balance of power continues as before, such liberty will continue to be ours to use or to abuse. But if, as the result of this war, the predominance of one Power is asserted, our own future sphere of action, nay, our own future security, will require for its preservation steps of entirely different order.
War is so inseparable from the realities of forces, that since the issues of the struggle must depend on the success of arms, it may seem waste of time to discuss, at this stage, the premises of peace. Though convictions now take the place of knowledge, yet certain factors seem assured. By whatever paths the highroad of peace be approached, the latter can come only through the United States.
This is far from meaning that the well-intentioned efforts at mediation suggested in the atmosphere of Washington will prove efficacious before the moment is ripe. The questions at issue are so gigantic, the destiny of nations so deeply implicated, as hardly to encourage the success of any venture before the complete exhaustion of either, or of both sides—the fate awaiting the conquered is too oppressive to dispense the nations at war from anything short of their highest effort. The lately published treaty between France, Great Britain, and Russia, moreover, precludes any individual negotiation for peace. Between Austria and Germany the terms of alliance stipulate a similar arrangement, hence all hope is vain that any one nation's exhaustion might induce it to sue separately for peace. If present prospects point to the war being fought out to the bitterest end, this in no way lessons the peace-bearer's efforts. The colossal strain on the moral and material resources of every nation, the waste of blood and treasure, the increasing hardships and misery, which must be felt by those who stay at home, will all exert their silent pressure. That the wish for peace will be heard by us is certain. It is less sure that we will know how best to utilize our efforts in our own interests and in those of civilization.
If it is intended to restrict American good offices to the simple transmission of demands and the haggling over terms, the task of mediation will manifestly not be arduous. For the offering of a neutral ground on which to conduct the negotiations, United States territory or sponsorship would be unnecessary—the Principality of Monaco might as well answer such purpose. It will be urged that the moral weight of lesser countries is inferior to our own. Confidence in public morality remains a pretty fancy in the light of recent events. With the ruins of Lou vain still smoldering, is it to be supposed that a victorious Germany would be more likely to feel such restraint in the moment of triumph than when the outcome was still uncertain? Our hopes may find themselves shattered, if they rely too exclusively on moral weight. In the end it will triumph, it must triumph, but under present conditions only when it emanates from a reserve of force able to make itself felt.
Although nothing has wisely been said. it is probable that the administration looks forward to a less modest part than the one of mere transmission of negotiations between the two sides. The task of peacemaker comports so many possibilities, and the premises of peace will be of such importance in shaping the future history of the world, that as the interests affected in the settlement will extend far beyond those of the nations at war, the action of peacemaker suggests rather an extension of the part we may hope to play than any willful restriction. Nor will it be possible to make the most of our opportunities if we delay decision on the extent given to mediation until negotiations begin. While its nature and character may be left to the shaping of events, the time to prepare for it has already begun, and any further delay or remissness in that respect is likely to be attended with serious consequences.
The fear may therefore be entertained that the desire to give present expression to an exaggerated pacifism and the reluctance to avoid any semblance of departure from complete neutrality may deprive us from taking necessary measures of precaution lest they receive an erroneous construction. In reality a distinction should be made between the attitude of the Government and the sympathies of the nation in respect to the great war. The first has properly been one of entire neutrality. Our interests remain untouched, and nothing has yet occurred of a nature to affect these. If we now watch over them with vigilance, no cause for apprehension should exist.
American sympathies, on the other hand, if the feelings of the vast majority of the nation are correctly interpreted, have been wholeheartedly with the Allies. Our moral sense has revolted before the ruthlessness of the Prussian doctrine of war, and German attempts to shift the burden of aggression have only encountered a skeptical derision. Certainly, the defeat of Germany promises a moral recasting of the world. The great Liberal wave which had swept over Europe seventy years ago receded when Bismarck introduced the era of force. The battles between Germans and Allies are far less battles between different nations than they represent the contrast between Liberalism and reaction, between the aspirations of democracy and the gospel of iron. In the presence of the great forces locked in battle our feelings cannot remain indifferent. American sympathy would be untrue to its most generous traditions if it expressed any other hope than in the success of the allied cause. The difficulty for our statecraft is to reconcile such feelings with the duties of neutrality and the wish to be of service in ending the war. But this difficulty is perhaps more apparent than real. In no way does it clash with our obligations or the guiding lines of what our policy should be.
At the moment when the maximum of military efficiency has been attained by every other power, it is presuming too much on fortune to rely on the sole persuasiveness of moral force. In doing so we restrict the scope of our utility and expect an imponderable element, which is almost the test of civilization, to achieve results of importance in a moment of barbarism and under the handicap of unfair conditions. Thus far we are only curtailing the possibilities of our own beneficent action in respect to other nations. But in a struggle with problems involving such world-embracing aspects, it is by no means inconceivable that without the exercise of vigilance our nearer interests may be seriously affected. The recasting of continental Europe may be a matter of political indifference to us, but it might not be so with the transfer of authority in other parts of the globe. Though we may welcome a New Zealand occupation of Samoa, the Japanese siege of Tsingtao is not without exciting apprehension in the light of Manchurian experiences and open-door pledges, while a German move against Martinique could not be viewed with apathy. But without speculating on different possibilities which can here be evoked, it is apparent that the political aspects of peace may concern us far more closely than we now anticipate. Nor is it unreasonable to consider a possible exchange of continental territory for colonial possessions. In the event of a draw, for instance, the cession to France of Lorraine in return for certain of the French tropical colonies, among which might be Guyana, would be, if remote, a not impossible contingency. Such transfers might not be in every event indifferent to us, and we can be hardly satisfied that our unsupported moral objections during or before the peace negotiations would provide an adequate restraint in every case. We are now traversing a crisis in the history of the world when we may pay dear for undue optimism or weakness. The devil is in arms, and the old saw that the devil must be fought with his own weapons never rang truer. While we have before us the grave duty of making heard our voices in the interests of peace, we have also that of safeguarding our interests. It is well to keep our moral persuasion in evidence. It will prove more efficacious if behind it our power is apparent.
At first glance, and independently of our sympathies, the triumph of either side might seem to lead to a result which, according to the construction given, would be either indifferent or affect us equally. But a closer analysis indicates the vast difference between the victory of the Allied Powers and that of Germany and Austria. The reason is unconsciously explained by the Germans themselves, who reproached their enemies with forming a heterogeneous collection of nations, bound together without common ideal and whose sole link of union is provided by a mutual antagonism. The fairness is questionable of disparaging their enemies' motives, but it would be difficult to find three nations wider apart than France, Great Britain, and Russia. Yet the two Western States present points of contact. Both are liberal nations in the sense that they are governed by the people, and that both at the outbreak of the war were engaged in working out great programs of democratic reform. Both were satisfied with their situation as capitalist nations and had lost the appetite for conquest. In both, too, a large and influential party actively planning to bring about disarmament had only been restrained by the fear of its one-sided nature. Both, too, were Powers with American possessions whose status in the event of the defeat of their home countries would raise up new problems. Although it is likely that Germany would willingly have given us assurances in this respect or even in accordance with her record of generosity for territories other than her own, have offered us as many of the West Indies as we signified our wish to obtain, the advantage of such acquisitions might, under the circumstances, be doubtful. With regard to Russia the situation was somewhat different, though the Russia of to-morrow is little likely to be that of yesterday. The country is now traversed by vast democratic currents whose influence must be felt more and more. The Russian specter of reaction had long tempted terrified Liberal Europe, and the nightmare was successfully utilized by Germany to bring her Socialists into line. In the Prussian War of Liberation a century ago, she had been glad enough to obtain the aid of the Cossacks, and the Russian alliance was long the goal of Bismarckian diplomacy, but she now denounced her Eastern neighbor as barbarous. It was even hoped at Berlin and Vienna that the fact of the war being primarily against Russia might keep France from living up to terms of an alliance never popular with the working classes, and maintain England neutral. But the Russian bogy of the past appeared less threatening than the German peril of the present.
The criticism leveled at the Allies had at least this foundation, that their victory meant the triumph of a combination without other than temporary unity brought about by the common wish to resist German aggression and predominance. Its success would therefore not materially affect our position. While there might be changes in the map of Europe, the rights of neutrals would be vindicated, the balance of power restored, and a relative, if not a general disarmament, most welcome to us would probably ensue. There is certainly nothing in the record of either Great Britain or France in recent years to lead any reasonable person to suppose that their efforts would in case of victory be directed against us, or would not insure a lasting peace.
Can the same be said of Germany.? Without going so far as to admit the successful invasion of Great Britain, except after another war, it is not impossible to conceive the reality of the Pan-German dream,—to picture Holland, Belgium, and Northeastern France as German provinces; to see the rest of France, Italy, and Spain reduced to the proportions of vassal states, with Russia crushed, her Baltic provinces annexed to Prussia, and Poland forming part of an Austria even more completely dominated by Berlin; the Levant would be controlled through her Turkish satellite, while the possession of the French and Dutch colonies would make German influence paramount in the Far East, and in rivalry with our own through Latin-America. All this may appear to us indifferent: certainly Germany in victory, perhaps more than in defeat, will aim to flatter our opinion and enlist those sympathies which always go to the conqueror. The same German Press Bureau will extend its propaganda, and the same official instructions which caused American flags to be spontaneously waved before our departing tourists will redouble their ordered amiabilities. Though success exceed all German expectations, we still will find ourselves courted, our sagacity praised, our money borrowed until—until the ruins of the war will have made way for new edifices, the gaps in the army filled, the navy rebuilt, the fortresses and arsenals extended, the treasure replenished, and the same patient labor which lifted the Germany of 1870 to the Germany of 1914 has been repeated.
Is this the future to which we must look forward, and is the doctrine of force to be the inevitable accompaniment of progress? Yes and no. The success of modern Germany has been due to its wonderful spirit of disciplined effort in conjunction with high technical efficiency. It has not sought to conquer hearts nor to awaken sympathies. There are millions of Germans, other than Poles and Alsatians and Danes, ill satisfied with their government. The rifts of classes he deep, with little mutual sympathy to bridge them over. The vigorous remains of Prussian feudalism, all powerful in the army and the administration, have not un-frequently clashed with the democratic aspirations of a new industrial Germany. In the stress of war the sense of discipline, the feeling of danger, and the mendacious presentation of the case have for the time fused the entire population. All parties are now on their mettle, the military aristocracy to maintain its supremacy by qualities of leadership, and the new democracy to prove its patriotism. But for those who look beyond and see peace after the great war, the entire shaping of the German future must depend on the issue. Should she be defeated, it is inconceivable that the anomalous condition under which she has retained a "Samurai" class will not terminate. No unsuccessful adventure could authorize the preservation of a military caste unable to accomplish the purpose of its existence. The new industrial Germany, representing the same Liberal elements as came to the fore in 1848, the German democracy, sincerely peace-loving, would then assert its own, and refuse to accept any longer the inferiority to which they have been relegated by a reactionary Prussian Junkerdom. Without wishing the destruction of the German Empire, it is possible to conceive of a new German regime, republican or monarchical, where an enlightened public opinion breathed nobler aspirations than the crude imperialism and worship of force of the present Hohenzollerns. A victorious Germany would, on the other band, provide a definite consecration for the existing pyramid with its dominating military apex. It would inevitably encourage German faith in their actual institutions and incite the spirit of intolerant aggression which now spurs them on to world domination: alone of all national anthems the Deutschland über Alles proclaims German superiority over all the world. The instruments of Pan-German propaganda through its different leagues would once more furrow opinion and instill in it new seeds of hatred against whoever dared thwart the Chosen of the Lord. Irritability would again be manifested at any remaining relics of independence elsewhere, and reliance on the army of five million bayonets would once more be invoked on every occasion. Forecasts are hazardous, but from Germany's past record, again confirmed by success, it is obvious that the same all-prevailing spirit of militarism will maintain its ascendancy. The only difference will be, that as former elements of restraint shall have been destroyed or cowed by German victories, an even more emphatic assertion of aggressive policy is to be expected.
With such a prospect would it be possible for a nation as alert and as intelligent as our own to continue unarmed in the future as in the past, relying solely on the peacefulness of our intentions? Grave fear exists lest, with the profound pacifism of the country, with our confidence in the vast extent of our resources, and in the patriotism of our people, we may be disposed to neglect our defenses, taking at their word German professions of friendship. Imbued with the virtue of our policies, we persuade ourselves that what is self-evident to us is also so to others. General von Bernhardi, in his book on Germany and the next War, alludes ironically to our childlike self-consciousness, with which we appear to believe that public opinion must represent the view which American plutocrats think most profitable to themselves. We do not realize that Germans feel equally convinced of their righteousness. But between their policy and our own the difference is that theirs never exceeds the limitations of an executive able to enforce the same; while with us a frequently incompetent diplomacy, recruited and directed rather with a view to political benefits than to larger national objectives, runs the risk of clashing with a powerful and ambitious nation able at all times to rely on the support of its armed strength.
If we do not neglect our duty, we must realize that the German triumph cannot but impose on us a military strain which in the interests of self-preservation will have to be as intense as possible. In one form or another the universal service idea will be introduced. If we are convinced of the danger of this impending curse of militarism, our existing neutrality, however sincere, cannot be disinterested with respect to a struggle whose effects on us would vary so greatly. It is well to appreciate this at a point where the issue still remains doubtful. As in the conduct of military operations, a prudent commander maintains his strategic reserve, so we may wisely employ our resources and our influence as a diplomatic reserve, and though preserving neutrality escape the ordeal of war, and at the same time reduce the likelihood of future unwelcome obligations and danger. We are able to do so in a manner easier than is commonly realized. If we wish at least to avoid partially the burdens of militarism, it is evident that we must always keep another Power between Germany and ourselves. For obvious reasons1 1See the writer's American Foreign Policy, by a Diplomatist. Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1909. that Power can only be England. In a rough way the calculation of what this would mean to us is simple to make, and may even be mathematically expressed. Just as England has wisely treated France as her "glacis," and by present assistance is defending her own future, so is Great Britain our bulwark against any foreign foe. For the purposes of security our strength in respect to Germany would have to be equal to the difference between English and German strength. The more Great Britain is crushed, the more her resources are reduced and her strategic position weakened, the greater will be the effort we shall be called upon to make.
To guard against this danger, a new conception of our diplomatic policy, or rather an extension of an ancient policy, becomes necessary. We must extend the Monroe Doctrine to England and embrace within its scope the foremost American Power after our own. It must, above all, be made plain that this is done not on grounds of common civilization or race, or tongue, but on grounds of solid interest reinforced by the weight of tradition and sentiment, but not guided thereby. In the presence of a new European danger the integrity of Great Britain has become for us a matter of vital concern. Such conception may astonish by its novelty. It will doubtless be denounced or held in derision by those wiseacres whose vision of the imperial eagle remains blurred by stagnant memories. The weight of our own traditions would seem to conspire against it. But neither our traditions nor our past experience have ever contemplated such a possibility as is now before the world. In the presence of new conditions, new ideas become necessary, and we would do well to borrow a leaf from that German realism which gauges a situation in the cold light of fact without being deviated by other considerations. We should then be able to understand the situation which a German triumph would threaten—of a nation exalted by successful war, imbued with the doctrine of force, persuaded of the destiny impelling it onward to world domination.
If hitherto we have had occasion to complain of a Germany athwart our path in the Philippines, insidiously threatening us in Latin-America, how much more will we have cause to complain when the same restraints as before no more exist; we will see her challenging our policies and chafe at her activity crossing our own, while she will declare the same of us and instill in her people the conviction that we are the enemy. The same campaign of specious education which the doctrine of a Treitschke, a Bernhardi, or a Lamprecht have planted in the German mind, persuading it of its superiority resting on force, will at the seasonable time be invoked against us. Outwardly an Emperor will proclaim his love of peace and his regard for the United States. But below, those who listen will hear the rumblings of a revived German agitation against the Monroe Doctrine, which Bismarck once described as an impertinence. Almost unsuspected by us a campaign will be going on, to contrast the lofty purpose of German idealism with the grossness of our materialism. Public opinion will once more be ably exploited to prove the superiority of German culture and the moral duty imposed upon a noble race to put an end to the dollar barbarism of America and impress upon us the superior stamp of Teutonic civilization.
If the purpose of our neutrality will have been to give Germany time to recover for her next war, if as its result England shall have been reduced to a third-rate State, the price to pay for such obedience to past traditions may come too high. Though our statesmanship be praised for its prudence, though the peaceful intentions of the German people be dinned into our ears, some day when, perhaps, the fate of Louvain has overtaken Boston, when New York will be held up to the ransom of a thousand million dollars, when improved Zeppelins will have carried, far and wide, proofs of the superiority of Teutonic civilization, there may be those who will regret the sagacity of our traditionalism.
Yet, if correctly understood, our present duty is neither arduous nor hazardous. We are averse to war, we seek no selfish benefits. We believe that by force of circumstances, when the moment for peace arrives, we, and we alone, will be able to assist the difficult progress of negotiations. This is the obvious aspect of our duty which has impressed itself on every one. Beyond it there exists, however, a perspective of national insurance in no way irreconcilable with it, though bidding us take precautions. It urges us, in order to make heard our voice and speak with the authority incumbent on our position as a great Power, to concentrate our resources and instruments of action. These are of two kinds, financial and military—neither can be neglected.
We have been somewhat inclined to disparage the association between finance and diplomacy. The nation at large was never properly enlightened with regard to its utility in China and in Central America, and not unnaturally criticized severely the employment of methods which, if sound in their basis and goal, were yet not always happily inspired and liable to misconstruction. Yet it is beyond dispute that in our banking resources, especially at a moment like the present, we possess a reserve of strength and a diplomatic leverage of great magnitude. The question is if this is to be dissipated in isolated ventures according to the affiliations or sympathies of those who control it, and who in the absence of restraining influences might consider themselves justified in following such paths as best suit their inclinations, or to be treated from a national point of view. The banking interests are as patriotic as any other, and were the feeling of their collective responsibility impressed upon them, there is every reason to anticipate that they would justify such confidence. The recent declarations of Mr. Lloyd George, that while the first hundred millions will be as easily raised in every country, the pinch will come over the last ten, may find supplementary application in our ability to advance funds. If we now hold ourselves in reserve it is likely that when the time comes, our bankers' action, if properly directed, will prove of enormous importance as an incentive to peace and a protection to our policies.
Beyond this it behooves us to dismiss once for all such ideas as have caused the fleet to be disseminated in quest of tourists, whose welfare could be looked after by other vessels, or suggest its employment for commercial uses. At a time like this there is only one use for it, namely, insurance against war. It should unquestionably be concentrated and placed on war footing. To diminish in any way almost the only real asset of active strength we possess is little short of criminal. The President, too, should call for a quarter of a million volunteers for purposes of instruction. Our existing military inferiority demands this step which menaces no one. It offers no incentive to war, but would be only the natural precaution which every other nation, great or small, whose interests can be affected, has taken. It could in no way interfere with our neutrality, but would enable our diplomacy to speak, when the moment came, with an authority which it now lacks. If the meaning of our intentions were manifest, in the event of the victory of a nation which only listens to force, our advice, if tendered at the right time, might exercise a beneficial effect. A quarter of a million raw volunteers seem little in comparison with the five millions of trained soldiers Germany has called to arms, but as an earnest of the future they would not be without significance and might save us untold sacrifices in years to come.
With German success upon the Continent of Europe we could not expect to interfere. Keen as would be our regret at the crushing of France, or the destruction of Belgian independence, we are unable to prevent either misfortune. With regard to England it is otherwise. A warning served on Germany, exhausted even though successful in war, should be adequate to restrain her from further attack upon a nation whose integral preservation after the destruction of other forces would alone separate us from a world-conquering power. The friendly visit of our fleet to British waters might provide another hint. Beyond that it should not now be necessary to go. The Monroe Doctrine would have been extended to Great Britain.