It is all very well to talk about sweet reasonableness and persuasion, but methods of persuasion are only possible with reasonable people who are open to persuasion. They have no power over perverted instincts, hardened wills, or difficult, obstinate characters. "There may be," says Martineau, "in all men a latent reason and moral sense which persuasion might reach; but meanwhile time is flying, rebel wills run riot, and we cannot afford to wait." * "You cannot wait in war till every unreasonable man becomes reasonable and every intractable person tractable. One troublesome person may disarrange, dislocate, and clog the whole machine.” †

Kindly persuasion is, no doubt, a great factor in human life, but the conception of universal harmony resting on it alone is ideal and not real.

Wherever there are two individuals there will be a duality of will and a possibility of strife. Strife may express itself in violence, and it is one of the first duties of the State, as the guardian of order and of justice, to oppose such violence, and to enforce its will and decrees with the sanction of counter violence. This is the fundamental basis of all law and civilization, recognized everywhere, by everyone, and at all times; and the first duty of a responsible citizen is to assist the State in opposing the irresponsible violence of the individual or group.‡

The theorist in his quiet room loves to interpret life in terms of reason, persuasion, and the individual will. But the policeman out in the wind and rain at the street corner, in actual contact with a rough and noisy world, knows that it is useless to reason with a drunken ruffian maltreating a child. Evil expressing itself in physical force must be opposed by physical force.

It may, of course, be argued that these methods are crude and clumsy. Can they not be replaced by a system of law? Partly, no doubt, but never wholly. Law is only a latent form of force, and the majesty of the law rests on the sanction of force. The individual is compelled by the menace of an irresistible force to accept the decree of law. No doubt the force is organized and under control, and is wielded by responsible authorities in accordance with precise procedure; but it is, none the less, force, and finds definite physical expression in the stout iron-barred door of the prison cell and in the person of the bulky policeman standing by the dock. This is an important point to grasp, for, as Mozley says, "A court of justice holds in reserve just the same force as * Martineau, idem, p. 67. † Lloyd George, June 3, 1915. "All law rests on the principle of coercion."-Martineau, idem, p. 67.

that which exerts itself in war, but as its action is peaceable it does not display itself." *

The substitution of law for force is based, then, on two fundamental premises-a code of law and a large reserve of force. The procedure is not applicable to the affairs of nations, where there is no international code of law and no large reserve of sanctionary force to ensure its enforcement.

Here again one is faced with another difficulty, for the external relationship of one Government to another is clearly different in nature from the internal relationship that it bears to its own people. In the latter case, where many million individuals are united under one regime, administering a recognized code of law, deeply rooted in tradition, any single offender has to face the passive opposition of every decent citizen and the active opposition of an organized police force capable of swift reinforcement and supported by the whole machinery of government. An individual offender is thus forced to submit to the law by the menace of irresistible authority. But in the disputes of nations there is no code of law and no dominant authority. And, what is more, it is precisely therein that the essence of nationality lies; and immediately you introduce the question of international and supreme authority you touch a nation's sovereign right of managing its own affairs.

This idea of nationality is one of the great bass notes of human history and lies at the root of the whole problem. It is one of the inevitable things which have grown up from the beginning and cannot be explained away. The nation is the crucible of humanity, and is the political form in which human life expresses itself. Like the family and the home it is a whole, complete in itself, revolving round its own centre. The problem is no new one, and did not escape the thinkers of the last century.

"Nations," says Mozley, "are the national wholes in which energies are crystallized, just as the family is another. One may ask, What is this mighty enchantment which binds men's minds and charms them with a fatal word? It is nowhere. It is an idea, an abstraction. But ideas are the strongest things in man, binding him with irresistible force, penetrating him with exquisite subtlety." "Why this division into races and tribes?" says James Martineau. "Is it not an illusion? Are we not one great family?" He gives. a categorical answer: "No, we are not. God has not made the world on that plan. Each people endorses its own genius, and the genius of each people has a right to recognition." † Mozley, idem, pp. 99, 107.

* Sermons, J. B. Mozley, 1895.

"The self of a nation is found, not in buildings, fields, and harvests, but in its genius, the spirit of its laws, and the pride of its traditions. This instinct is the inspiration by which each nation rises in protection of its own essence. And this," he says finally, "is a valid inspiration.” *

The sentiment of nationality remains, then, an incontrovertible fact which we are bound to accept. With it we must accept the possibility of war, for wherever there are separate entities such as persons, cities, or nations moving in orbits of their own, the problem of competing interests is bound by the nature of things to arise.

The idea of justice, one of the great ethical principles of humanity, springs from the idea of rights, and is inseparably associated with the idea of conflicting interests. The liberty or rights of a nation may be threatened by force, and it will always remain one of the primary duties of government to resist by counterforce any attempt to make it yield to force. Peace as an ideal may be too dearly bought. "May not a nation give up its rights and its ideals in a spirit of generosity? But this is to sacrifice the genius of the nation for the sake of peace." † Toleration is a good thing, but you cannot tolerate what will not tolerate you and is trying to cut your throat. This was the terrific problem that nations had to face in 1914.

A solution might be found in the institution of a world state or universal federation-Europe, America, Africa, and Asia. But this is far outside the range of practical polity, and as its world-wide consummation could be attained only through a series of wars it could never provide a real solution of the problem.‡

One is confronted, then, with a trinity of negations. There is no universally accepted code of law, no supreme court to pronounce judgments that would command universal assent, and no supreme power to enforce such decrees. The League of Nations may be an interesting and useful experiment, but in the present constitution of the world its pronouncements are, and must be, based, not on principles of justice, but on considerations of expediency.

It is difficult, too, to discover any firm ground of practical policy in the principle that defence is justifiable and aggression unjustifiable. Who is to draw a precise line between

* Martineau, idem, pp. 31, 50.

† Mozley, idem, p. 114.

"The natural remedy is a government of nations. But this would be universal empire. Great tides of opinion may tend to level the barriers of nations, but the alternative still remains inexorable-between the nations and a universal empire."-Mozley.

light and darkness in a land of twilight? Jowett points out that we cannot admit the right of defence without going a step farther and including prospective dangers.* Drake's policy of aggression was England's surest defence. Charles Martel's furious attacks on the Saracens saved the civilization of Europe.

Again, we have certain obligations we are bound to respect. We owe a measure of defence to the Dominions overseas, who have grown up under our flag. There are guarantees and treaties we have to respect. "Good faith is one of the primary principles of right conduct";† and, as G. K. Chesterton has pointed out, whether our motive was interested or not, we kept faith with Belgium and Germany did not. That is a bedrock fact.

A policy of peace under such circumstances, based on a fear of the consequences, may be a matter of expediency, but it is a breach of trust. You cannot escape from responsibility by mere abstention. "No nation can assume the attitude of a hermit," says Jowett, "and stand apart."‡

Another favourite proposal is that all nations should reduce their armaments to a minimum. This is a consummation devoutly to be wished, but it will not abolish war. It will only postpone the phase of maximum intensity. For an appeal to force on some question where there is no path of compromise premises that both combatants are going to exert their maximum fighting energy. The conception of an equalization of strength based on a minimum coefficient of armaments ignores the essential nature of an appeal to force.

If force is the arbiter it will proceed in a crucial issue to the ultimate degree of force, and will tend inevitably to express itself in the highest possible degree of scientific skill, man-power, and mind-power.

So long as force remains a factor in the maintenance of moral order and national interests it is difficult to bind ourselves to one degree or form of force and not to another. We cannot tie ourselves to minor coefficients of force.§ If great issues are at stake we cannot say that one-twentieth of a nation's available manhood shall fight and the rest may look on. This is to turn war into a gladiatorial combat. A good thing, perhaps, if one could do it, but not easy to arrange. Force is force, and there is no real difference in

* Sermons Biographical, 1899, pp. 310-12. † Sedgwick, Method of Ethics, 1893, p. 303.

Jowett, idem, p. 311.

§ "If coercion be allowed at all for the attainment of moral order there seems to be no reason for stopping short at one degree of force rather than another."-Martineau, idem, p. 70.

motive and intention between a 15-inch high-explosive shell and an old Brown Bess bullet. Any agreement to limit the degree of force is unstable, for the appeal to force is an appeal to a trial of maximum effort. For, supposing the combatants agree to use nothing but single-sticks, or to limit themselves to a small and equal number of men and guns; one of them is beaten; but, if a vital issue is at stake, the defeated party is not going to rest content with the verdict of single-sticks, which now appears to him one-sided and absurd. He repudiates the agreement and has recourse to swords, which annoys the previous victor, who follows suit with revolvers, and both go on from strength to strength till the ultimate degree of force is being exerted on both sides.

The man of the nineteenth century, living quietly under his own vine and fig-tree, protected by the invisible arm of the law, developed a tendency to regard war as a sort of gladiatorial combat. The late war gave a rude shock to such ideas. War is an endeavour to bring such pressure to bear on an opponent as to force him to submit to your will, and that pressure, if both sides are in earnest, is going to be exerted in every direction and with the utmost severity. Fighting cannot be limited to particular portions of the nation or to a particular sphere. Modern science has made colossal feats of organization possible, and if a great power organizes on a colossal scale its opponents must tread the same terrible road.

Of course, it may be said with great force of reason: Should we ever be so much in earnest as to engulf ourselves in this terrible morass of mud and fire and filth? Would it not be much better to laugh and let the antagonist have his own way? But in practice things do not work out like that. If you let an enemy have his way he will not leave you much to laugh about. That is the crux of the problem. Our soldiers and sailors did their share of laughing, but they could laugh only because they stood firm and kept the enemy at bay.

A clear distinction, too, must be made between proposals to abolish war and proposals to regulate war.

It is, in fact, one thing to propose to abolish war; quite another thing to place limitations on the methods of waging war. The immunity of what is called "private property" at sea is a proposal that betrays a dense misconception of the real nature of war. Trade is part of a nation's life. War is a form of pressure, and our maritime trade is a peculiarly vulnerable point of pressure. What combatant would be