One of the first effects of any practical measures for a reduction of armaments will be the clearer definition and the development of a grave impediment to it in the mass of the people. It is too frequently lost sight of that the change from the moderate pretorian armies of earlier years to the huge national armies of the present day means far more than an increased expenditure. It has introduced a new element, a change of extreme significance, into the political situation : it has unconsciously put a power in the hands of the mass of the people, the “subjects” such as has no parallel in history— or only a faint parallel in certain periods of Roman history. Under the older system (as in our own military system today) the army was an instrument, quite apart from the mass of the people, entirely in the hands of the rulers. Nation did not fight with nation. It detailed its military executive to deal, offensively or defensively, with the corresponding machinery of its enemy. Most of the civilized nations of today have returned to a more primitive type, to the national army, la nation armée, as it has been more properly named.
In speaking of the change, Baron Von der Groltz says;" War appears in our day, as a rule, in its natural shape, that is, as the bloody collision of nations, in which each of the parties in the fight aims at the entire overthrow, or, if possible, the destruction of its adversary…” We can nowadays no longer imagine wars of mere strategical manoeuvres without decisive battles, and just as little can we imagine wars in which the States in conflict do not employ their whole force and do not intend to overthrow the enemy, but merely to use a portion of their forces for the attainment of some limited point which alone interests them. Such a procedure can be rationally conceived only if the object of the conflict is of the most trifling nature. But nowadays trifles will not lead to war at all. If such a thing should exceptionally occur, through mistakes of the disputing governments, the irritated national sentiments of the two peoples will come into play to prevent the issue of the war being settled by the defeat of a mere small portion of their forces. Public opinion will insist upon their reinforcement: the enemy will take a similar course, and thus, by degrees, in spite of the original intention, the whole forces of both sides will be engaged. Now that States pretty closely correspond to nationalities, they have come to resemble persons who would rather lose life than honour." And take the assurance of the late refined Chancellor that, when France and Germany resume their quarrel, they will not cease " until they have bled each other as white as veal”
Modern Europe went on a civilizing expedition to Africa. It has brought back and set up in Europe the military organization of the African tribes. Almost the whole manhood of every nation, except England, is absorbed in the military system. Rulers and ruled are gradually awakening to the fact that this circumstance invests the masses with a new power. Suppose the rulers, not entirely conscious that they study the interests of the masses very closely, regret the change, and would return to the pretorian armies of former days; will the people tamely submit? The unconscious acquisition of this power by the people is interesting.
The rise of national armies dates from the Franco-German war. In 1868, Russia, France, Austria, Italy, Germany, had a military expenditure of £89,000,000. Now, the same Powers spend £175,000,000 per year on their armaments. Before the Franco-German war, the armies of those five Powers, on a war footing, amounted to about 4,500,000 men: today they number 17,500,000. The national debt of France has increased since the war from £500,000,000 to £1,260,000,000. The Russian national debt has increased from £300,000,000 to £900,000,000. The German national debt, a comparatively recent growth, is already £600,000,000.
So far, then, were the horrors of the war (France alone lost 300,000 soldiers, and a further 328,000 persons, indirectly, through the war) from leading to a desire for disarmament, that the modern Juggernaut only began its triumphant march in earnest from that date. The causes of this are manifold; partly political, partly economic, partly emotional (“patriotic,” one ought to say). In the first place, there was the luminous fact that Germany, through the brilliant success which her superior armament gave her, sprang at once to a foremost place amongst the powers of Europe. The indemnity of 5,743,000,000 francs went far towards paying the expenses of the war, and she entered at once upon a period of prosperity far beyond her hopes. She had obtained at length the long-desired security of her frontier. She had an outlet for her commerce on the German Ocean; the prestige of her victory inspired her with the hope of attaining a further outlet on the Adriatic. From an agricultural land, she rapidly transformed herself into industrial. The nine months of the siege of Paris and the Commune had stifled Parisian industry, and given birth to German industrial enterprise. The seventh article of the Treaty of Frankfort had secured for her a “most-favoured-nation” treatment with France and the French colonies. Her industries and commerce made gigantic strides, even in Berlin which the Emperor desired to preserve untainted : those of France sank in proportion. The German mercantile marine, which scarcely existed before '70, is now the second in Europe: that of France has fallen behind that of Greece. Since 1849, France had held the second rank in imports and exports: she now holds the fifth, in exports France has struggled today to the position she held in 1865. During the last fifteen years France has decreased her commercial figures by about 22 per cent: Germany has increased hers by nearly 40 per cent. Germany advanced, consistently, in social legislation and even in intellectual prestige. The spectacle of so marvellous a prosperity, as a direct result of the war, could not but inspire a military ardour throughout Germany. Even had the Government hesitated to increase the armament until the army had become national— an armed nation— rather than pretorian, it is scarcely likely they could have resisted the popular enthusiasm. The vanquished nation was bitterly crying for a revanche; other nations were rapidly applying the moral. It was absolutely necessary to create the national army. The German peace army today numbers more than half-a-million men.
The French nation, at the other end of the balance, was inspired with a similar zeal for militarism. A new generation has replaced the soldiers of ’70-1, but the spectre of revanche haunts the nation as banefully as ever, and lures them on, in spite of a stationary population and a commercial depression, to enomous sacrifices to the Moloch of militarism. The nation raged at the discovery of its military inferiority, rejected its nominal ruler, rushed into civil war against the “Capitulards” who had sold its honour and sacrificed its territory. There was only one means for the Government to meet the volcanic wrath of the people—the creation of a national army; and they proceeded forthwith to its construction — on paper. So intense was the popular feeling, that the Government had concealed some of the clauses of the Treaty of Frankfort from them. Baron de Billing, Secretary of the Commission at Strasburg, says in one of his letters : « Bien coupables sont ceux qui ont caché aux Français les clauses secrètes du traité de Francfort ! Je me demande si la France n'aurait pas encore bondi sous de tels coups et ne se fut brusquement réveillée !... La Prusse victorieuse nous interdit, pour un nombre d'années que je n'ose pas citer, d'avoir sous les drapeaux nos effectifs d'hommes au complet. Toute notre armée n'existe que sur le papier. Nous n'avons pas le droit d'en avoir une, et l’Allemagne, sans crainte, rit de nous en dessous main. Tout ce qui se publie est fantasmagorie pour satisfaire un public de gogos." A Government that secretly accepted such conditions of peace, in addition to the crushing indemnity, etc., could only trust to meet public opinion by creating an enormous army. The old recruiting system of the Empire (by drawing lots) was abolished, and compulsory service was decreed. For many years the number was kept down (in compliance with the secret clause) by exemptions, colonial expeditions, etc., but France has at length become a nation armée in the strictest sense. She has an active army of more than half a million, and three lines of reserve — altogether three millions and a quarter of her finest sons. Confronted daily with the remnants of her sullied flag, her lost provinces, and the ever-increasing prosperity of her rival, France is utterly incapable of laying aside her warlike sentiments.
Thus the great modern armaments arose in obedience to the voice of the people. Germany, in addition to the popular impulse already given, was bound to keep ahead of France in military organization. The moral of the campaign was not lost on the neighbouring Powers. They had an eloquent warning of the danger of military inferiority. The modern struggle for supremacy set in in earnest. In almost every country military service became compulsory— if one may call that compulsory which was decreed in obvious deference to popular clamour. The peculiar position of England makes it appear exceptional, though, in reality, it is merely a question of substituting navy for army. But in every other country the army lost its pretorian character, ceased to be a distinct and subsidiary instrument, easy of manipulation by the ruling class, and embraced, substantially, the whole manhood of the nation in its colossal growth.
From the earliest days of the movement the ruling classes must have foreseen the dangers of arming entire nations. At that time the one idea of foreign aggression so completely dominated the people's minds that their thoughts never went beyond it. But there were signs innumerable of unrest and discontent in the ranks of the toilers. Socialism was advancing with rapid steps: even revolutionary doctrines were openly propagated. Once the people became conscious of the enormous power which the modern armament put in their hands, it were hard to predict what use they might not make of it. In essence and tendency the national army was democratic. It would not be strange if it came one day to reject the last trace of oligarchic organization, and demanded to be put on a democratic basis. Who would resist an organized expression of its will? An armed people, returning from victory with the vivid consciousness of its irresistible power, could make a mockery of the police authority of the governing aristocracy, if it so willed. One never knew the day when the people would awake to a consciousness of this power, would allow itself to be persuaded that its interests were in no wise consulted by the ruling monarch or aristocracy, and would claim a larger share in the material and moral wealth which it had conquered or preserved.
It was clearly, then, the interest of the Government to retain the pretorian armies of earlier years. Its hand was forced by the people in every country, and it had to create national armies. It only remained to use every means to prevent the birth of this consciousness of power on the part of the people, and to give the army a tyrannical oligarchic organization. In Germany, especially, where the discontent of the mass of the industrial community has been most menacing, the exclusivism of the officers has been most severe. They form a distinct caste, which is rigidly closed against all who do not profess their sentiments and religion. Jews are unable to penetrate it. Until recently there was only one Roman Catholic general of a brigade in the entire Prussian army: not a single general of a division is Roman Catholic. When a man rises from the ranks (which is very rare) or comes from the military school, he cannot enter a regiment unless he is elected by the officers. Judaism or advanced opinions are an insurmountable obstacle: Roman Catholicism frequently excludes. This system strictly preserves the exclusivism of the Prussian army, and practically gives it a pretorian character, in spite of the efforts of democrats. And the Prussian army is the main strength of the German forces, supplying nearly all the superior and general officers. Moreover, the Emperor takes every possible opportunity to emphasize the distinction between the army and the nation, i. e. to blind the masses to their practical identity. He recently insisted, with edifying emphasis, that the soldier must be prepared to shoot his father and mother at the imperial command. In France, the tyranny of the officers, and the ferocity, sometimes barbarity, of the disciplinary measures, are notorious. The picture of the compagnies de discipline in the well-known work (Biribi) of M. Darien is revolting in the extreme. But the state of the French army will be treated more fully in the fourth chapter.
It is not so much socialism strictly so called, Marxism, “scientific” or “state” socialism, that the Governments fear. In reality the ruling classes have succeeded in turning this to advantage. State socialism attacks the army as an imtitution. The socialist leaders seem to forget that the army has lost its pretorian character. They continue to regard it in the character which it presented when socialism, the “International Association of Workers,” began, in 1868. That was before the Franco-German war and the rise of national armies. At that time the army was an instrument in the hands of the ruling or capitalist class. It was natural that the socialists should declare war against such an institution, and concentrate their efforts on an effective representation in Parliament. Later socialists, of the “scientific” type, whose horizon is narrowed through their concentration on a single economic problem, have not appreciated the modifications of the political situation. Their anxiety about parliamentary representation shows that they fail to see the true source of power of modern aristocracies. Government will not seriously fear them so long as they neglect the executive, administrative, and military machinery in which its real power lies. And the socialist attacks on the military system are not formidable. They forget its national character, and thus they ignore (and help the Government to restrain) the true feeling of the masses on the question.
A new socialism is springing up, wider in its view than the old Marxism, uniting moral and political consideration to economic, more practical and flexible. Such a movement would be likely to take into account the vague, but growing consciousness of the masses, and render it articulate. Agitators may not succeed in imposing their constructive theories, but they do succeed in spreading social and political unrest and a mutual distrust of rulers and ruled. If this tendency become more accentuated, as there is every reason to think, the possession of so vast a power by the manhood of the lower class offers grave matter for reflection.
Here we have one plausible explanation of the Tsar's manifesto. It has been suggested that the desire for a reduction of armaments indicates an anxiety at the increasing power of the enlisted people, and covers a political move for the reconversion of national armies into pretorian. On such a theory it is not impossible that there was a distinct understanding amongst the continental govemments, and that the proposed conference was akready seriously accepted by some of them. This would impart a touch of sincerity to the famous proclamation. Whether the Tsar's effusive language were to be taken literally or not, one could understand the ease and calmness of Count Muravieff and his colleagues in launching the manifesto. There are economic reasons, as we shall see, which gravely complicate the problem for governments which are bound up with the bourgeoisie. In France such a proposition for a reduction of the army would immediately wreck the Government. In Germany it would be a difficult and delicate undertaking. The Russian Government regards neither bourgeoisie nor proletariat in the pursuit of its object. Hence it is not the least probable of the many interpretations of the manifesto that the rulers of some of the “armed nations” felt it desirable, for their own security, to reduce the army to the pretorian and convenient character which it had before the war of 70-1, and wished to disarm the suspicions of the masses by starting with a semi-religious manifesto of so innocent a complexion.
Whether that be true or not, a grave impediment to even a partial disarmament will be found in the masses of the people. Their slowly-awakening consciousness of power will be quickened and defined in discussing the new proposal. The fallacy of the socialistic agitation will be discovered (and is already largely perceived), and they will come to realize the change they have unconsciously made in the political world by the creation of national armies. It is not such a sentiment as is likely to be ever distinctly formulated amongst the definite objections to disarmament, yet, none the less will it weigh in the minds of the masses, when they are confronted with practical measures. It is a political obstacle to disarmament— to any reduction of armament— of no slight importance.
But the political world offers obstacles to disarmament of a much more obvious and substantial character. There are peacemakers who console each other with the assurance that Europe is in a most promising condition of political equilibrium. One needs the optimism of a Leibnitz to acquiesce in such a statement. Alsace-Lorraine is grudgingly admitted to be a source of apprehension. Is there a country in Europe that has not its Alsace-Lorraine? The map of Europe today contains innumerable dismembered fragments, torn from their natural body by war or coercive congresses or diplomatic intrigue. Frequently, too, these provinces have a more vital and inalienable connection with their mistress than Alsace and Lorraine have with France: Alsace, at leasts is thoroughly German, and neither province has suffered a shade of oppression from the conqueror. There is not a single country in Europe that is in a state of equilibrium, such as would permit even a partial disarmament. Every nation has either lost a province which it hopes to regain, or gained one which it fears to lose: most frequently both circumstances compel it to maintain a full measure of armament.
Germany is one of the most obvious sources of trouble to the peacemakers on account of the two provinces she wrested from France in 1871. These provinces, the permanent memorial of her military success, she will never voluntarily retrocede. Moreover, she claims them as a natural part of her territory and her race, much more closely related to her than to France. But it is sometimes forgotten that Germany is even more justified in coveting certain other provinces than Alsace. In the south her desire for the annexation of German Austria is apparent. It is equally clear that the German portion of Austria will respond to her aspirations at the death of the Emperor—the frail link that now unites two increasingly hostile races. Once that link is broken, it is not difficult to tell what will happen. Germany will intervene: pacifically, if the solution be pacific—but it may well be otherwise. She will not, in either case, neglect to find an opportunity of prosecuting her scheme for the federation of all sections of the German race, and of creeping down to the shores of the southern waters. To the north, again, Germany has a grave ambition to extend her frontiers. The Russian Baltic provinces are thoroughly German in race, language, and religion. Until quite recently the inhabitants of these provinces have been grievously persecuted by Russia, in its endeavour to stamp out their German character and aspirations. On November 22, 1896, M. Pobiedonostoff, Procurator of the Holy Synod, wrote as follows to the Home Office at St. Petersburg : “The orthodox Russian Church is sufficiently established and spread in the Baltic provinces today to allow the abrogation of the extra-judicial measures which have been in force up to the present day against the Lutheran Protestants of these countries.” What extra-judicial measures are in Russia, and especially in the hands of M. Pobiedonostoff, may be left to the imagination of the reader. Judicial measures, it would seem, are still enforced upon them. Under such circumstances the Livonians instinctively turn to their brothers in race and religion. Germany cannot be insensible to the possibilities of the situation, and, although present circumstances naturally lead to a concealment of any such aspiration, it is sure to be entertained in the plans and hopes of her rulers.
Russia, on the other hand, has more than one province which can only be retained by force, and which is coveted by neighbouring powers. Besides Courland and Livonia, she has a third source of trouble in Finland. Finland was formerly a province of Sweden, and it remains thoroughly Swedish in religion, sentiments, and language. Like Courland and Livonia, it is crushed by Russia mercilessly in an endeavour to destroy its natural character. It looks to Sweden for relief, and Sweden, at present utterly helpless before the huge Russian armament, is not insensible to the appeal. That Russia would ever entertain the idea of pacifically retroceding these recalcitrant and unassimilable provinces is impossible. She would cut herself off from the Baltic. And whilst this acute inflammation on her western border (including Poland) demands an imposing military array, there are problems on every side of her vast dominions which intensify the demand. No one can foretell the hour when the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire may commence, and a show of superior force alone will secure for Russia the coveted extension southwards. A similar problem engages her attention in China. Indeed, with her vast and precarious designs along the whole of her Asiatic frontier, on Persia, India, and China, one would have thought Russia the last power in the world to speak of reducing armaments. Even her diplomatic successes in China would never have been secured but for the proximity of her vast army. It is daily becoming apparent that it was a system of bluff, and would have been utterly ineffective if M. Pavloff had not continually reminded the Yamen of the troops in Manchuria.
Italy is just as far removed from a condition of political equilibrium. The idea of a united Italy has only been partially realized, and the actual union is threatened with serious dangers. Austria has contributed much to the union (and she is not likely to forget it), but the process is not yet complete. When the unification began in 1856, Austria ceded Lombardy, as the price of her defeat, but Italy had to cede Nice and Savoy to France for her assistance. There was a plebiscite, it is true, yet the fact remains that the House of Savoy does not possess its fief. In 1866, Austria had to yield Venetia to France, as a result of the Austro-Prussian war (be it remembered that Lombardy and Venetia are as much Austrian as Alsace is French) : France added it to united Italy. In 1870 the Papal States were united, again by force, with the formality of a plebiscite. Bismarck let Victor Emmanuel occupy them as the price of his neutrality in the Franco-Prussian war. Thus has Italy gathered its provinces in fragments from neighbouring powers; what it has gathered by the sword must be held by the sword. In no instance is this more true than in face of that purely spiritual and peacemaking power—the Papacy. The uniting of the Papal States under the Italian flag has given an “Alsace-Lorraine” to the entire Catholic world. Moreover, the same idea that armed Italy against her neighbours—the idea of uniting all provinces of Italian race under one flag—is still far from inactive. A large party, headed by Imbriani, clamours for the annexation of Trent and Trieste. Corsica and Malta are still more natural elements of the Italian federation.
Amongst the minor Powers we find, in every case, the same sources of trouble and instability. Denmark has its eyesore in Schleswig-Holstein, taken from it by the Austro-Prussian army in 1864 for the eventual construction of the Kiel Canal. Holland has not forgotten the wresting of Antwerp from it by the French army in 1830: Belgium must retain it by the same law by which it was acquired—the law of might Turkey is far from reconciled to her loss of Bosnia and Herzegovina—as was patent in her re-occupation of Thessaly. Greece will never rest until she has annexed Crete, at least: she manifestly bows only to superior force. Spain, as recent events have dearly confirmed, casts covetous eyes upon Gibraltar. Norway is in the throes of a dangerous agitation for independence.
We need not go beyond Europe for evidence of the extreme instability of the political world at the present moment. The only equilibrium which any but a roseate optimist can see is a precarious equilibrium of force. The first inducement to break that equilibrium will be a relaxation of military activity on the part of one of the nations that has squeezed a province out of its neighbour. There are those who speak hopefully of the plebiscite as a solution, or aid to the solution, of this knotty problem of lost provinces. We have recently had a striking illustration of its practical value. At the time of the opening of the Kiel Canal, M. Goblet, in the French Chamber, made an allusion to it in a famous speech. Saying that a nation has no right to complain of a defeat, he went on : « Mais ce qui constitue un juste grief, c'est le droit violé; et il y a violation de droit, violation des principes de la justice internationale moderne, quand des populations civilisées sont arrachées par la force à leur patrie; leurs nouvelles destinées ne peuvent être légitimement consacrées que quand elles sont ratifiées par leur consentement. » There were few in France who did not suspect, at least, that a plebiscite taken in Alsace-Lorraine would destroy the last remnant of French hope, hence M. Goblet's suggestion was rejected with immediate indignation. « Ainsi. » said the French press, « si I'Alsace-Lorraine ratifiait son annexion par un plebiscite, la France n'aurait plus à considérer cette annexion que comme un fait accompli, définitif, et ne laissant place à aucun espoir. Nous n'accepterons jamais cela! Nous n'accepterons jamais que les destinées de l’Alsace-Lorraine puissent être décidées par un plebiscite. » How would Russia like the idea of a plebiscite in Poland, Livonia, or Finland ? Would England submit to a plebiscite in Ireland, or Spain in the Philippines, or Turkey in Armenia? In such a case as the Province of Nice, which is, in every sense, midway between the two great Latin races, such a proceeding is feasible (when no question of the honour of the ceding nation is involved). That is quite an exception amongst the territorial disputes of the nations. Usually it has become a question of national honour, in the mind of the nation, and one wastes one's breath in talking of arbitration or plebiscites. Every nation has sworn that it will submit only to the bloody arbitration of the sword (a euphemism for Maxims, Liddite shells, and dynamite guns) questions which affect national honour and the integrity of its territory. The present map of Europe was traced in blood.
Connected with these territorial problems are the difficulties which arise from commercial expansion and colonization. The love of adventure and of fame, that led to the colonization and appropriation of the lands of distant nations in earlier years, has been superseded by a more formidable power. Indeed, colonies of the older type have now to be entirely relieved of the character of conquered and subject dominions. In proportion as they are permeated with the civilization of their mother countries, they must have their chains lightened and gilded, until the relation finally reaches its fated stage of federation. However, there are still important colonies, such as India, which will sustain the military strain of more than one nation for many years to come. But the commercial expansion of modern communities introduces a new and equally disquieting element into the situation. It was an easy matter, in earlier years, to decline responsibility for an adventurous explorer, when circumstances made it expedient; his relation to his country was one of extreme elasticity and convenience. Today we have colonial offices and colonial secretaries. Colonizing expeditions, or their modern equivalent, are in almost hourly touch with a responsible government (though France, with her Marchands and Prince Henris, seems to favour still the older type). A State spreads out its tentacles or arms into distant lands; he who injures them finds himself in vital contact with the body.
The result is that friction between two adventurous parties of opposing nations is more dangerous than ever. The recent rencontre of Kitchener and Marchand at Fashoda sent a thrill of anger, menace, and defiance through the two nations, even before the facts of the case were known. All over the world we have sinular dangers to confront. Frontiers are undefined, large tracts of territory are not yet appropriated by Europeans, detached portions of the great European armies are in hourly danger of collision. Moreover, older empires, that offer an alluring field to commercial enterprise, are breaking up. Europe has thrown its many arms round China like a huge octopus; but the arms are not vitally related to each other, they are mortally hostile. A crisis may be reached any day in China or Turkey, and then, unlucky the Power that can make the least imposing show of strength. And if the crisis tarries, it is easy to precipitate it, or secure concessions in advance, by the methods of the “New Diplomacy.” Send a few insulting and irritating missionaries where they are sure to earn the palm of martyrdom— the rest lies with the ambassador. And we talk glibly of the ancient traffic in relics.
The would-be disarmers have great faith in the peaceable methods of diplomacy and arbitration. The feeling does credit to their humanity, but not to their wisdom. Diplomacy and arbi-tration are capable of dealing with many difficulties, and thus lessen the chances of a bloody arbitrament, but these are only a few out of the vast crowd of modern political problems. It might be objected, too, that a solution by arbitration is ignored by any party in a dispute which is conspicuously the stronger (America versus Spain, or the Welsh coal-owners versus the miners), and, further, that the verdict is only accepted by the loser in so far as he can be coerced (Colombia and Italy, Chili and Argentina). But it is sufficient to point out that so long as there is a class of difficulties which nations will not submit to arbitration or discussion, disarmament is impossible. Every nation, as we said, emphatically declares that there are questions affecting its honour which it would never submit to any other arbitrament than that of 5-inch shells. Questions of territory are notoriously included in that category. In fact, the nations of Europe seem to be becoming more sensitive every year to national honour (in this connection only), and seem disposed to magnify the most trivial incidents into casus belli. As Baron Von der Goltz says, when trifles have led to friction, “the irritated national sentiments come into play” By a kind of reflex principle, it becomes a question of national honour, and diplomatists have to yield to the anger of the people. We have seen a Government (America) forced into war against its will within the last few months. Hence, although diplomacy may legitimately hope to smooth out many of the formidable array of difficulties, or possible difficulties, of the present political situation, there is a large number which could not be settled, if they arise, otherwise than by the law of superior force. When one remembers the unnatural and distorted condition of the present map of Europe, the unalterable discontent of entire races (Poland, Finland, Norway, Ireland), the intense rivalry and feverish activity abroad of the great Powers, it is utterly impossible to follow the disarmers in their unsubstantial visions.
None but fanatics dream of universal disarmament at the present stage; but is a reduction of armaments possible? Let us take the matter practically. The Daily Chronicle at least, evidently believes in its practicability. A reduction of armaments could only be effected by common agreement of the great Powers. They are supposed to “groan” under the weight of their armaments (how promptly they responded to the Tsar's appeal!) Well, then, what could be the basis of agreement ? Will they agree to maintain the present proportional distribution of power ? Will the continental powers deliberately grant England a naval superiority over France, Germany, and Russia? Will France promise never to attempt to rise to the military position of Germany? The idea is too absurd for consideration; but is the alternative less absurd? Is it easier to imagine that the stronger powers will voluntarily abdicate their superiority and come down to the level of the weaker? Reduce the German army to the level of the French, or the British navy to the level of the Russian? But suppose they were induced by some mysterious power to decree a common level. We should be a thousand times nearer war than ever. France would pick a quarrel with Germany within three months of the reduction, etc., etc. Equality of force is all that France and many other nations are waiting for. It is not a question of whether diplomacy can smooth existing difficulties or not (in which there is room for the Christian virtues of faith and hope). The plain question is; is the reduction to be on a basis of equalization of force, or inequality, as at present, but on a lower scale? The stronger nations could never accept the former alternative, and they would precipitate the dread Armageddon, if they did: the weaker nations, scarred and embittered, would never agree to bind themselves to a perennial inferiority, and they could not be trusted if they did Reduction of armaments by mutual agreement is a Quixotic dream. It is more hopeless than the abolition of war altogether. One needs a faith of the mountain-moving type to think that the nations will sit in common conclave, and renounce all their efforts to outstrip each other, to invent a higher explosive, or a ghastlier bullet, or a stouter armour, or a more skilfully murderous gun, than their neighbours. It is a question of the abolition of war or nothing.
Nor can much faith be put in alliances. If one path towards disarmament were less hopeless than another, it would seem to be that of alliance. If five great Powers could enter into a true and stable alliance, they could reduce their armaments, absorb a multitude of minor Powers of a contented temper, police the world, and pave the way towards peace. The only five Powers that one could imagine in such a connection are the United States, England, Germany, Russia, and Japan. Insuperable difficulties stand in the way of such an alliance at present, but they are not eternal. However, that is not in the field of practical politics, and no other alliance would answer. It could only provoke a counter-alliance. Indeed, the essential insecurity of any alliance forbids us to put our trust of redemption in it. The Triple Alliance only needs some such circumstance as the division of Austria to declare itself dissolved. The Dual Alliance has already lost much of its gilt and ardour.
In conclusion, consider the position of England on the question of reduction. There is much talk amongst us of England's duty, as a Christian nation, to attend the Conference with serious intent. Not a speaker, nor paper dare take the matter practically, and say we can afford to reduce our army or navy. We have an army of less than 150,000 men. India, Egypt, and our innumerable African responsibilities require the permanent disposition of a very large proportion of these. It is absurd to talk of reducing it in face of the German standing army of 600,000, the French 600,000, and the Russian 1,000,000. And does anybody seriously think we dare reduce the navy? The papers that now talk of “reduction” emphatically demanded, until a few weeks ago, that we should have, at any price, a naval superiority over France, Germany, and Russia combined. It is very questionable whether we have it to-day. Certainly, the integrity of our scattered empire could not be assured with a smaller proportionate force—and just as certainly Russia and France and Germany would never consent to remain so far below us. England will cut a sorry figure at a Conference for reduction of armament, just as embarrassed as America with her new expansive policy. From every point of the political world we are confronted with insuperable obstacles, and one cannot but sympathize with the sudden pensiveness, forgetfulness, and inactivity, of the statesmen to whom the Tsar has forwarded his perplexing message.