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QUESTIONS FOR PACIFISTS

BY H. M. CHITTENDEN

THE propaganda for universal peace has been one of the prominent worldmovements of our time. Until recently it was apparently making substantial headway. A literature of immense volume, much of it of high intellectual quality, had developed; a great number of peace societies had been organized; foundations,' dedicating many millions of dollars to the cause, had been established; international conferences, embracing a wide variety of subjects, had been held, the most important being the historic Hague Conferences; arbitration treaties in increasing numbers had been entered into; and a powerful body of public opinion averse to war had been developed in all lands. There had indeed been warnings of impending danger, and there had been caution against trusting to theories which were liable to prove more visionary than practical; but on the whole. the movement had met with amazing success, and many earnest minds had come to believe that such a thing as a general war among the nations was not a probability of the future.

In the midst of this summer sunshine of confidence and hope burst the terrible cyclone of the present war. As we look back upon those fateful days of July and August, 1914, how impossible and unreal seemed the drama then forming! How earnestly, to the last, men clung to the belief that it could not be! How incredible it seemed that such a 'crime,' as it was universally

stigmatized, could be committed! It came to pass, nevertheless. Irresistibly it has gone on developing, until it has become the most stupendous of man's performances since history began. In following day by day with burning eagerness the course of events, we are overwhelmed on the one hand with the proof of man's collective power to do great things, and dismayed on the other at his impotence to deflect in the slightest degree the inscrutable course of fate. We have been undergoing an education - in geography, in history, in knowledge of races, of government, and of the times in which we live, and above all in the complexity of motives which control the affairs of men. Except among extremists, the cheerful assurance with which theories of public policy on these matters were set up and expounded only yesterday is less in evidence to-day. The problem of war and peace stands out in all its perplexing intricacies as has never been the case before, and men frankly confess that they know not whether to face the future with confidence or with despair.

Nevertheless, enlightened opinion on the subject of war has not changed in any essential respect as a result of the catastrophe which has befallen the world. It still holds that, in our civilization, war has become an anachronism; that some better way must be found; that, as man has met and overcome, or is surely overcoming, the scourges of pestilence, famine, and flood, so he must overcome this greatest of human scourges; and that, in

particular, the gnawing canker of armed peace must in some way be purged from the body politic. Public feeling on this subject has been greatly intensified by the experience which the world is now undergoing, and the best minds of the age are studying the problem as never before. Peace organizations the world over, pacifist writers and speakers, and even trained political observers, have put forth, with greater confidence than prudence, perhaps, their particular theories for its solution. Here are a few taken at random from as many published programmes: 'world-state," supreme court of nations,' 'confederacy of European states,' 'league of peace,' 'international police force," national disarmament,' 'nationalization of armament manufacture,' 'abolition of secret diplomacy,' 'elimination of economic causes of war,' 'no war indemnities,' 'no changes of territory without consent of inhabitants,' and so forth.

It is the purpose of this article to examine as closely as may be in so brief a space some of these tenets of the peace propagandists; to estimate their value as practical working hypotheses; and to inquire if their almost negative record of achievement thus far is to be taken as a reasonable prognostication of their future success.

II

In the medley of purposes outlined above, one idea stands prominently forth, that, namely, of a world-organization which shall take over and handle these complicated international problems. The model which is generally in mind, particularly here in America, is the federal system of the United States, in which matters of interstate concern are managed by the individual states; and in which there is a judicial tribunal for the determination of con

troversies between the states. Inasmuch, however, as such a consummation is admittedly a matter of the distant future, lesser ends of more immediate promise, but stepping stones to the ultimate goal, are proposed. Among these are the world-court, the league of peace, and the international police force, just referred to. They all partake in some degree of world-authority, and imply some surrender of individual state authority. It is therefore desirable, at the outset, to inquire what are the chief obstacles liable to be encountered in applying to the problem in hand this fundamental principle which to the pacifist seems so logical and so ideal.

The distinctive characteristic of the state is its sovereignty. It recognizes no higher authority than itself. Some states have greater power than others, and are able, by its arbitrary exercise, to impose their will upon weaker states; but there is no such acknowledged right. Now to bring into existence any form of world-organization, or to recognize an international police force, is to surrender pro tanto this sovereignty. It would be in itself a complete revolution in human affairs. It is difficult to estimate what this means, particularly to strong and vigorous states, proud of their nationality, intent on working out their separate destiny, biding their time, and watching their opportunity for greater development. Nothing is more repugnant to such a state than the thought of surrendering any of its prerogatives. It has been one of the most difficult things to accomplish, even on a relatively small scale. Our own country is an example. To-day we can scarcely appreciate the reluctance, the dread and suspicion with which our little original states gave up a part of their sovereignty to form a union, and their unwillingness to subject themselves to the possibility of compulsion;

and how for two generations, until quenched in a mighty war, the claim of the right to assert this sovereignty persisted. The history of the long process of merging the many German states into a single empire is full of examples of this unwillingness to give up any portion of independence. How much stronger must this feeling be where states are so much more unrelated than in the examples cited, often of different races, languages, systems of religion and government, and estranged by historic antagonisms and prejudices! One cannot expect such a consummation among such states except as a result of slow evolution. It may come it would seem that ultimately it must come in some form — but it will not be to-day or to-morrow or at the close of the present war.

It is impossible to exaggerate the force of this consideration. It is the one which embraces all others. Special objections to this or that feature of the general scheme invariably come back to the objection that the sacrifice of a great principle is being made; that ideals are being surrendered. The guiding spirits of most of the great powers, while they may not take the extreme view of Treitschke that 'the idea of a world-state is odious,' do nevertheless feel that, however beautiful as an ideal, it is not yet a practical ideal.

Of the lesser measures to which reference has been made, the world-court comes least into conflict with the principle of sovereignty, and may be looked to as a promising development of the near future. A strong movement for its advocacy has already been organized in this country. Even if resort to such a court be entirely voluntary, and without any infringement of state sovereignty, increasing use and the winning of public confidence may gradually develop it into a powerful agency for peace. Akin to this method in principle

is that of arbitration, which is already firmly established in practice and which will continue until the growth of the world-court shall absorb its functions.

The defect of these methods is the very quality which recommends them as initial measures, their voluntary character. There is nowhere any superauthority to compel states to resort to them and to abide by their decrees. They are the voice of persuasion rather than the voice of command. They undoubtedly promote peace, but they have no power to prevent war. Moreover, so long as national rivalry in military strength continues unchecked, it would seem that neither method can bring much relief from the burden of armed peace. To accomplish these ends the power of coercion must reside somewhere, and this recognized necessity is the raison d'être of the muchtalked-of league of peace. Its fundamental purpose is to enforce peace among states by the use of military force, if failure of pacific methods makes it necessary. The future organization of such a league is as yet inchoate and only dimly discerned. The nearest approach to a definite proposition which has fallen under the writer's observation is contained in a recent pamphlet issued by the American Society for the Judicial Settlement of International Disputes. It makes the concrete suggestion that the league should embrace 'all or nearly all' of the progressive states, but not the non-progressive; that it should be executive in character, leaving the determination of controversies to some form of court, and confining itself to enforcement of the court's decisions and to the maintenance of order; and that its police force (which should be both army and navy) 'should be a federal force, supported and controlled by the league... and overwhelmingly stronger than the military and naval forces of any one mem

ber of the league.' What the nature of the compact forming this league is to be, or how its powers, resources, and obligations are to be defined, there is nowhere vouchsafed any suggestion, for the reason, no doubt, that no one has yet succeeded in devising a workable plan.

With a caution born of long experience, Great Britain's distinguished Premier recently referred to this subject as follows: 'It [the result of the war] ought to mean, perhaps, by a slow and gradual process, the substitution for force, for the chaos of competition, for groupings and alliances and a precarious equipoise-the substitution for all these things of a real European partnership, based on the recognition of equal rights, and established and enforced by a common will.' But Mr. Asquith does not enlighten us as to how this 'European partnership' will differ, except in the numbers embraced, from the alliances and ententes which it is intended to replace. As to this supremely important matter we are everywhere left in the dark.

It must, we think, be assumed that, to start with, the proposed league of peace would be strictly in the nature of an alliance among its members, subject to the weakness and uncertainties of such alliances. If it were considered indispensable that all the great powers be members, the project would no doubt be so emasculated by mutual concessions necessary to unanimous consent as to lose all force and vitality from the outset. If the league were limited to such of the powers as could agree on a reasonably efficient working plan, the question of the extent of its activities would at once assume serious importance. It is suggested by some that its functions be limited to the preservation of peace among its own members. This might fall far short of effective results, particularly if it excluded those nations

VOL. 116- NO. 2

which are the chief disturbers of the peace. If, as some others suggest, it assumed police power over non-members, it might succeed with non-progressive and lawless states, and utterly fail with a highly efficient military power. In any case, attempted coercion, whether against members or against outsiders, would mean war pure and simple, probable invasion of territory, and all the accompanying evils of armed strife. It is doubtful if any league could stand the strain of such a situation. The more one attempts to figure out in detail how such a scheme could be made to work practically, the more one's doubts of its feasibility increase.

Let us now pass to a consideration of the agency or means by which the league of peace is to carry its purposes into effect. It is apparent at the outset that the ultimate reliance of such a league must be physical force-coercion. It will, if necessary, make war to maintain peace. maintain peace. Recalcitrant states are to be held in line by military force, if conciliation fails. An international police force is therefore an indispensable agency of the league, and its probable organization becomes interesting to examine. The idea itself is backed by very high authority, and indeed something of this kind appears to be necessary to the existence and efficiency of the league itself. But the moment we descend from generalities to particulars we land in serious difficulty. How would such a force be made up? If of already organized units - vessels of war, regiments, and so forth-contributed by the several states, there would be the complicated question of command, with its fruitful sources of friction; the liability, if not certainty, of defection of any contingent whose state might be the subject of coercion; and other embarrassments which readily suggest themselves. If, on the other hand, the force should be an entirely

new and self-contained organization, 'supported and controlled by the league,' there would have to be an independent sovereign power in the league itself to bring it into existence at all. This is important, in view of the discussion in the paragraphs immediately preceding, as showing to what lengths the league organization must go before it would have the power to create an international police. Assuming that it had progressed far enough for that purpose, the force would presumably be recruited from all the world, certainly from all the states constituting the league; but even then, differences of language and custom would necessitate organizing the units by nationality, with the risks and uncertainties just pointed out.

On whom would such a force rely for munitions of war and all the vast equipment necessary to make it efficient? To whom would it look for funds? If dependent upon contributions and without power to enforce them, its existence would be precarious. Where would be its rendezvous, or base of operations? Surely not scattered among the different states, and no state would consent that it be located in any other. Some independent situation would have to be provided. Would such a force be military and naval? Or naval only? How strong would it be? If 'overwhelmingly stronger than the military and naval forces of any one member of the league,' and this is indeed a logical conclusion, if the force is to be really effective, we can imagine what it would mean if Great Britain and Germany, with their normal establishments, were members. Is it not certain that the burden of armed peace would be greatly increased? Such a result must necessarily follow unless a way is found to curtail materially existing military and naval establishments. This brings us directly to that feature of the

problem which is the most difficult and complicated of all, yet the most important and the one on which the success of the whole movement depends, — a substantial reduction of existing arma

ments.

III

The writer should perhaps state his grounds for the opinion just expressed, that the armament question is the most important in the whole war-and-peace problem. War itself is of short duration; it produces results, and relief and recuperation follow. But armed peace is a never-ceasing loss, and the hopeless feature of it is that it never arrives. It is a constant outlay without commensurate return. With the utmost that can be done, the relative strengths of states are changed but slightly if at all. Possibly the weaker states profit by this preparation as compared with their more powerful neighbors, but even this is doubtful. It may in some cases tend to preserve peace; in others it certainly makes for war. It does one or the other according to its purpose and the strenuosity with which it is carried on. When war-preparation is purely from a defensive motive, and not aggressive, as may truthfully be said of nations like the United States and Switzerland, it certainly has a tendency to deter aggression and to make for peace. But when such preparation is made with war as an object of national policy, or to keep up a rivalry of military or naval power, its tendency is to arouse suspicion of motive, to foster the belief that such preparation means war, and thus directly to lead to the likelihood of war.

The impossible feature of the situation lies in the absence of any criterion or mutual understanding among the powers as to the lengths to which each may go. Indeed, such an understanding seems supremely difficult to arrive

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