warp an Englishman’s or Frenchman’s judgment could never warp an American’s? Or that he could never find himself in similar circumstances? As a matter of fact, of course, that is precisely what the American—like the Englishman or Frenchman or Italian in an analogous case—does plead. To have suggested five years ago to an Englishman that his own generals in India or Ireland would copy Bissing, would have been deemed too preposterous even for anger: but then equally, to Americans, supporting in their millions in 1916 the League to Enforce Peace, would the idea have seemed preposterous that a few years later America, having the power to take the lead in a Peace League, would refuse to do so, and would herself be demanding, as the result of participation in a war to end war, greater armament than ever—as protection against Great Britain.

I suggest that if an English government can be led to sanction and defend in Ireland the identical things which shocked the world when committed in Belgium by Germans, if France to-day threatens Europe with a military hegemony not less mischievous than that which America determined to destroy, the causes of those things must be sought, not in the special wickedness of this or that nation, but in forces which may operate among any people.

One peculiarity of the prevailing political mind stands out. It is evident that a sensible, humane and intelligent people, even with historical political sense, can quite often fail to realise how one step of policy, taken willingly, must lead to the taking of other steps which they detest. If Mr. Lloyd George is supporting France, if the French Government is proclaiming policies which it knows to be disastrous, but which any French Government must offer to its people or perish, it is because somewhere in the past there have been set in motion forces the outcome of which was not realised. And if the outcome was not realised, although, looking back, or looking at the situation from the distance of America from Europe, the inevitability of the result seems plain enough, I suggest that it is because judgment becomes warped as the result of certain feelings or predominant ideas; and that it will be impossible wisely to guide political conduct without some understanding of the nature of those feelings and ideas, and unless we realise with some humility and honesty that all nations alike are subject to these weaknesses.

We all of us clamantly and absolutely deny this plain fact when it is suggested that it also applies to our own people. What would have happened to the publicist who, during the War, should have urged: “Complete and overwhelming victory will be bad, because we shall misuse it?” Yet all the victories of history would have been ground for such a warning. Universal experience was not merely flouted by the uninstructed. One of the curiosities of war literature is the fashion in which the most brilliant minds, not alone in politics, but in literature and social science, simply disregard this obvious truth. We each knew “our” people—British, French, Italian, American—to be good people: kindly, idealistic, just. Give them the power to do the Right—to do justice, to respect the rights of others, to keep the peace—and it will be done. That is why we wanted “unconditional surrender” of the Germans, and indignantly rejected a negotiated peace. It was admitted, of course, that injustice at the settlement would fail to give us the world we fought for. It was preposterous to suppose that we, the defenders of freedom and democracy, arbitration, self-determination,—America, Britain, France, Japan, Russia, Italy, Rumania—should not do exact and complete justice. So convinced, indeed, were we of this that we may search in vain the works of all the Allied writers to whom any attention was paid, for any warning whatsoever of the one danger which, in fact, wrecked the settlement, threw the world back into its oldest difficulties, left it fundamentally just where it was, reduced the War to futility. The one condition of justice—that the aggrieved party should not be in the position of imposing his unrestrained will—, the one truth which, for the world’s welfare, it was most important to proclaim, was the one which it was black heresy and blasphemy to utter, and which, to do them justice, the moral and intellectual guides of the nations never did utter.

It is precisely the truth which Americans to-day are refusing to face. We all admit that, “human nature being what it is,” preponderance of power, irresponsible power, is something which no nation (but our own) can be trusted to use wisely or with justice. The backbone of American policy shall therefore be an effort to retain preponderance of power. If this be secured, little else matters. True, the American advocate of isolation to-day says: “We are not concerned with Europe. We ask only to be let alone. Our preponderance of power, naval or other, threatens no-one. It is purely defensive.” Yet the truth is that the demand for preponderance of armaments itself involves a denial of right. Let us see why.

No one denies that the desire to possess a definitely preponderant navy is related, at least in some degree, to such things as, shall we say, the dispute over the Panama tolls. A growing number feel and claim that that is a purely American dispute. To subject it to arbitral decision, in which necessarily Europeans would have a preponderance, would be to give away the American case beforehand. With unquestioned naval preponderance over any probable combination of rivals, America is in a position to enforce compliance with what she believes to be her just rights. At this moment a preponderant navy is being urged on precisely those grounds. In other words, the demand is that in a dispute to which she is a party she shall be judge, and able to impose her own judgement. That is to say, she demands from others the acceptance of a position which she would not herself accept. There is nothing at all unusual in the demand. It is the feeling which colours the whole attitude of combative nationalism. But it none the less means that “adequate defence” on this basis inevitably implies a moral aggression—a demand upon others which, if made by others upon ourselves, we should resist to the death.

It is not here merely or mainly the question of a right: American foreign policy has before it much the same alternatives with reference to the world as a whole, as were presented to Great Britain with reference to the Continent in the generation which preceded the War. Her “splendid isolation” was defended on grounds which very closely resemble those now put forward by America as the basis of the same policy. Isolation meant, of course, preponderance of power, and when she declared her intention to use that power only on behalf of even-handed justice, she not only meant it, but carried out the intention, at least to an extent that no other nation has done. She accorded a degree of equality in economic treatment which is without parallel. One thing only led her to depart from justice: that was the need of maintaining the supremacy. For this she allowed herself to become involved in certain exceedingly entangling Alliances. Indeed, Great Britain found that at no period of her history were her domestic politics so much dominated by the foreign situation as when she was proclaiming to the world her splendid isolation from foreign entanglements. It is as certain, of course, that American “isolation” would mean that the taxation of Gopher Prairie would be settled in Tokio; and that tens of thousands of American youth would be sentenced to death by unknown elderly gentlemen in a European Cabinet meeting. If the American retorts that his country is in a fundamentally different position, because Great Britain possesses an Empire