Note on the Principle of Nationality

By John Galsworthy

This article, dealing with the consequences of the war, originally appeared in La Revue of Paris, and is here reproduced by permission of Mr. Galsworthy.

IN these times one dread lies heavy on heart and brain—the thought that after all the unimaginable suffering, waste, and sacrifice of this war, nothing may come of it, no real relief, no permanent benefit to Europe, no improvement to the future of mankind.

The pronouncements of publicists—"This must never happen again," "Conditions for abiding peace must be secured," "The United States of Europe must be founded," "Militarism must cease"—all such are the natural outcome of this dread. They are proclamations admirable in sentiment and intention. But human nature being what it has been and is likely to remain, we must face the possibility that nothing will come of the war, save the restoration of Belgium, (that, at least, is certain;) some alterations of boundaries; a long period of economic and social trouble more bitter than before; a sweeping moral reaction after too great effort. Cosmically regarded, this war is a debauch rather than a purge, and debauches have always to be paid for.

Confronting the situation in this spirit, we shall be the more rejoiced if any of our wider hopes should by good fortune be attained.

Leaving aside the restoration of Belgium—for what do we continue to fight? We go on, as we began, because we all believe in our own countries and what they stand for. And in considering how far the principle of nationality should be exalted, one must well remember that it is in the main responsible for the present state of things. In truth, the principle of nationality of itself and by itself is a quite insufficient ideal. It is a mere glorification of self in a world full of other selves; and only of value in so far as it forms part of that larger ideal, an—international ethic, which admits the claims and respects the aspirations of all nations. Without that ethic little nations are (as at the present moment) the prey—and, according to the mere principle of nationality, the legitimate prey—of bigger nations. Germany absorbed Alsace-Lorraine, Schleswig, and now Belgium, by virtue of nationalism, of an overweening belief in the perfection of its national self. Austria would subdue Serbia from much the same feeling. France does not wish to absorb or subdue any European people of another race, because France, as ever, a little in advance of her age, is already grounded in this international ethic, of unshakable respect for the rights of all nations which belong, roughly speaking, to the same stage of development. The same may be said of the other western democratic powers, Britain and America. "To live and let live," "to dwell together in unity," are the guiding maxims of the international ethic, by virtue of which alone have the smaller communities of men—the Belgiums, Bohemias, Polands, Serbias, Denmarks, Switzerlands of Europe—any chance of security in the maintenance of their national existences. In short the principle of nationality, unless it is prepared to serve this international ethic, is but a frank abettor of the devilish maxim, "Might is right." All this is truism; but truisms are often the first things we forget.

The whole question of nationality in Europe bristles with difficulties. It cannot be solved by theory and rule of thumb. What is a nation? Shall it be determined by speech, by blood, by geographical boundary, by historic tradition? The freedom and independence of a country can and ever should be assured when with one voice it demands the same. It is seldom as easy as all that. Belgium, no doubt, is as one man. Poland is as one man in so far as the Poles are concerned; but what of the Austrians, Russians, Germans settled among them? What of Ireland split into two camps? What of the Germans in Bohemia, in Alsace, in Schleswig-Holstein? Compromise alone is possible in many cases, going by favor of majority. And there will always remain the poignant question of the rights and aspirations of minorities. Let us by all means clear the air by righting glaring wrongs, removing palpable anomalies, redressing obvious injustices, securing so far as possible the independent national life of homogeneous groups; but let us not, dazzled by the glamour of a word, dream that by restoring a few landmarks, altering a few boundaries, and raising a pæan to the word Nationality, we can banish all clouds from the sky of Europe, and muzzle the ambitions of the stronger nations.

In my convinced belief the one solid hope for future peace, the one promise of security for the rights and freedom of little countries, the one reasonable guarantee of international justice and general humanity, lies in the gradual growth of democracy, of rule by consent of the governed. When this has spread till the civilization of the Western world is on one plane—instead of as now on two—then and then only we shall begin to draw the breath of assurance. Then only will the little countries sleep quietly in their beds. It is conceivable, nay probable, that the despotic will of a perfect man could achieve more good for his country and for the world at large in a given time than the rule of the most enlightened democracy. It is certain that such men occupy the thrones of this earth but once in a blue moon.

If proof be needed that the prevalence of democracy alone can end aggression among nations, secure the rights of small peoples, foster justice and humaneness in man—let the history of this last century and a half be well examined, and let the human probabilities be weighed. Which is the more likely to advocate wars of aggression? They, who by age, position, wealth, are secure against the daily pressure of life and the sacrifice that war entails, they who have passed their time out of touch with the struggle for existence, in an atmosphere of dreams, ambitions, and power over other men? Or they, who every hour are reminded how hard life is, even at its most prosperous moments, who have nothing to gain by war, and all, even life, to lose; who by virtue of their own struggles have a deep knowledge of, a certain dumb sympathy with, the struggles of their fellow-creatures; an instinctive repugnance to making those struggles harder; who have heard little and dreamed less of those so-called "national interests," that are so often mere chimeras; who love, no doubt, in their inarticulate way the country where they were born, and the modes of life and thought to which they are accustomed, but know of no traditional and artificial reasons why the men of other countries should not be allowed to love their own land and modes of thought and life in equal peace and security?

Assuredly, the latter of these two kinds of men are the less likely to favor ambitious projects and aggressive wars. According as "the people" have or have not the final decision in such matters, the future of Europe will be made of war or peace; of respect or of disregard for the rights of little nations. It is advanced against democracies that the workers of a country, ignorant and provincial in outlook, have no grasp of international politics. This is true in Europe where national ambitions and dreams are still for the most part hatched and nurtured in nests perched high above the real needs and sentiments of the simple working folk who form nine-tenths of the population of each country. But once those nests of aggressive nationalism have fallen from their high trees, so soon as all Europe conforms to the principle of rule by consent of the governed, it will be found—as it has been already found in France—that the general sense of the community informed by an ever-growing publicity (through means of communication ever speeding-up) is quite sufficient trustee of national safety; quite able, even enthusiastically able, to defend its country from attack. The problem before the world at the end of this war is how to eliminate the virus of an aggressive nationalism that will lead to fresh outbursts of death. It is a problem that I, for one, frankly believe will beat the powers and goodwill of all, unless there should come a radical change of Governments in Central Europe; unless the real power in Germany and Austria-Hungary passes into the hands of the people of those countries, as already it has passed in France and Britain. This is in my belief the only chance for the defeat of militarism, of that raw nationalism, which, even if beaten down at first, will ever be lying in wait, preparing secret revenge and fresh attacks.

How this democratization of Central Europe can be brought about I cannot tell. It is far off as yet. But if this be not at last the outcome of the war, we may still talk in vain of the rights of little nations, of peace, disarmament, of chivalry, justice, and humanity. We may whistle for a changed world.

JOHN GALSWORTHY.