At the death of Queen Victoria the development of the British Commonwealth entered upon a new phase. The epoch which followed has no precedent in our own previous experience as a nation, nor can we discover in the records of other empires anything which offers more than a superficial and misleading resemblance to it. The issues of this period presented themselves to different minds in a variety of different lights; but to all it was clear that we had reached one of the great turning-points in our history.
The passengers on a great ocean liner are apt to imagine, because their stomachs are now so little troubled by the perturbation of the waves, that it no longer profits them to offer up the familiar prayer 'for those in peril on the sea.' It is difficult for them to believe in danger where everything appears so steady and well-ordered, and where they can enjoy most of the distractions of urban life, from a cinematograph theatre to a skittle-alley, merely by descending a gilded staircase or crossing a brightly panelled corridor. But this agreeable sense of safety is perhaps due in a greater degree to fancy, than to the changes which have taken place in the essential facts. As dangers have been diminished in one directionrisks have been incurred in another. A blunder to-day is more irreparable than formerly, and the havoc which ensues upon a blunder is vastly more appalling. An error of observation or of judgment—the wrong lever pulled or the wrong button pressed—an order which miscarries or is overlooked—and twenty thousand tons travelling at twenty knots an hour goes to the bottom, with its freight of humanity, merchandise, and treasure, more easily, and with greater speed and certainty, than in the days of the old galleons—than in the days when Drake, in theGolden Hindof a hundred tons burden, beat up against head winds in the Straits of Magellan, and ran before the following gale off the Cape of Storms.
Comfort, whether in ships of travel or of state, is not the same thing as security. It never has been, and it never will be.
The position after Queen Victoria's death also differed from all previous times in another way. After more than three centuries of turmoil and expansion, the British race had entered into possession of an estate so vast, so rich in all natural resources, that a sane mind could not hope for, or even dream of, any further aggrandisement. Whatever may be the diseases from which the British race suffered during the short epoch between January 1901 and July 1914, megalomania was certainly not one of them.
The period of acquisition being now acknowledged at an end, popular imagination became much occupied with other things. It assumed, too lightly and readily perhaps, that nothing was likely to interfere with our continuing to hold what we had got. If there was not precisely a law of nature, which precluded the possessions of the British Empire from ever beingtaken away, at any rate there was the law of nations. The public opinion of the world would surely revolt against so heinous a form of sacrilege. Having assumed so much, placidly and contentedly, and without even a tremor either as to the good-will or the potency of the famous Concert of Europe, the larger part of public opinion tended to become more and more engrossed in other problems. It began to concern itself earnestly withthe improvement of the condition of the people, and withthe reform and consolidation of institutions. Incidentally, and as a part of each of these endeavours, the development of an estate which had come, mainly by inheritance, into the trusteeship of the British people, began seriously to occupy their thoughts.
SOCIAL AND CONSTITUTIONAL REFORM
These were problems of great worth and dignity, but nevertheless there was one condition of their successful solution, which ought to have been kept in mind, but which possibly was somewhat overlooked. If we allowed ourselves to be so much absorbed by these two problems that we gave insufficient heed to our defences, it was as certain as any human forecast could be, that the solution of a great deal, which was perplexing us in the management of our internal affairs, would be summarily taken out of the hands of Britain and her Dominions and solved according to the ideas of strangers.
If we were to bring our policy of social and constitutional improvement and the development of our estate to a successful issue, we must be safe from interruption from outside. We must secure ourselves against foreign aggression; for we needed time. Our various problems could not be solved in a day or even in a generation. The most urgentof all matters wassecurity, for it was the prime condition of all the rest.
We desired, not merely to hold what we had got, but to enjoy it, and make it fructify and prosper, in our own way, and under our own institutions. For this we needed peace within our own sphere; and therefore it was necessary that we should be strong enough to enforce peace.
During the post-Victorian period—this short epoch of transition—there were therefore three separate sets of problems which between them absorbed the energies of public men and occupied the thoughts of all private persons, at home and in the Dominions, to whom the present and future well-being of their country was a matter of concern.
The first of these problems wasDefence: How might the British Commonwealth, which held so vast a portion of the habitable globe, and which was responsible for the government of a full quarter of all the people who dwelt thereon—how might it best secure itself against the dangers which threatened it from without?
The second was the problem ofthe Constitution: How could we best develop, to what extent must we remake or remould, our ancient institutions, so as to fit them for those duties and responsibilities which new conditions required that they should be able to perform? Under this head we were faced with projects, not merely of local self-government, of 'Home Rule,' and of 'Federalism'; not merely with the working of the Parliament Act, with the composition, functions, and powers of the Second Chamber, with the Referendum, the Franchise, andsuch like; but also with that vast and even more perplexing question—what were to be the future relations between the Mother Country and the self-governing Dominions on the one hand, and between these five democratic nations and the Indian Empire and the Dependencies upon the other?
For the third set of problems no concise title has yet been found.Social Reformdoes not cover it, though perhaps it comes nearer doing so than any other. The matters involved here were so multifarious and, apparently at least, so detached one from another—they presented themselves to different minds at so many different angles and under such different aspects—that no single word or phrase was altogether satisfactory. But briefly, what all men were engaged in searching after—the Labour party, no more and no less than the Radicals and the Tories—was how we could raise the character and material conditions of our people; how by better organisation we could root out needless misery of mind and body; how we could improve the health and the intelligence, stimulate the sense of duty and fellowship, the efficiency and the patriotism of the whole community.
Of these three sets of problems with which the British race has recently been occupying itself, this, the third, is intrinsically by far the most important.
IMPORTANCE OF SOCIAL REFORM
It is the most important because it is an end in itself whereas the other two are only the means for achieving this end. Security against foreign attack is a desirable and worthy object only in order to enable us to approach this goal. A strong and flexible constitution is an advantage only because we believe it will enable us to achieve our objects, better and more quickly, than if we are compelled to go on workingunder a system which has become at once rigid and rickety. But while we were bound to realise the superior nature of the third set of problems, we should have been careful at the same time to distinguish between two things which are very apt to be confused in political discussions—ultimate importanceandimmediate urgency.
We ought to have taken into our reckoning both the present state of the world and the permanent nature of man—all the stuff that dreams and wars are made on. We desired peace. We needed peace. Peace was a matter of life and death to all our hopes. If defeat should once break into the ring of our commonwealth—scattered as it is all over the world, kept together only by the finest and most delicate attachments—it must be broken irreparably. Our most immediate interest was therefore to keep defeat, and if possible, war, from bursting into our sphere—as Dutchmen by centuries of laborious vigilance have kept back the sea with dikes.
The numbers of our people in themselves were no security; nor our riches; nor even the fact that we entertained no aggressive designs. For as it was said long ago, 'it never troubles a wolf how many the sheep be.' They find no salvation in their heavy fleeces and their fat haunches; nor even in the meekness of their hearts, and in their innocence of all evil intentions.
The characteristic of this period may be summed up in one short sentence; the vast majority of the British people were bent and determined—as they had never been bent and determined before—upon leaving their country better than they had found it.
To some this statement will seem a paradox. "Was there ever a time," they may ask, "when there had been so many evidences of popular unrest, discontent, bitterness and anger; or when there had ever appeared to be so great an inclination, on the one hand to apathy and cynicism, on the other hand to despair?"
THE RESULTS OF CONFUSION
Were all this true, it would still be no paradox; but only a natural consequence. Things are very liable to slip into this state, when men who are in earnest—knowing the facts as they exist in their respective spheres; knowing the evils at first hand; believing (very often with reason) that they understand the true remedies—find themselves baulked, and foiled, and headed off at every turn, their objects misconceived and their motives misconstrued, and the current of their wasted efforts burying itself hopelessly in the sand. Under such conditions as these, public bodies and political parties alike—confused by the multitude and congestion of issues—are apt to bestow their dangerous attentions, now on one matter which happens to dart into the limelight, now upon another; but in the general hubbub and perplexity they lose all sense, both of true proportion and natural priority. Everything is talked about; much is attempted in a piecemeal, slap-dash, impulsive fashion; inconsiderably little is brought to any conclusion whatsoever; while nothing, or next to nothing, is considered on its merits, and carried through thoughtfully to a clean and abiding settlement.... The word 'thorough' seemed to have dropped out of the political vocabulary. In an age of specialism politics alone was abandoned to the Jack-of-all-trades.
This phenomenon—the depreciated currency of public character—was not peculiar to one party more than another. It was not even peculiar to this particular time. It has shown itself at various epochs—much in the same way as the small-pox and the plague—when favoured by insanitary conditions. The sedate Scots philosopher, Adam Smith, writing during the gloomy period which fell upon England after the glory of the great Chatham had departed, could not repress his bitterness against "that insidious and crafty animal, vulgarly called a statesman or politician, whose councils are directed by the momentary fluctuations of affairs." It would seem as if the body politic is not unlike the human, and becomes more readily a prey to vermin, when it has sunk into a morbid condition.
Popular judgment may be trusted as a rule, and in the long run, to decide a clear issue between truth and falsehood, and to decide it in favour of the former. But it becomes perplexed, when it is called upon to discriminate between the assurances of two rival sets of showmen, whose eagerness to outbid each other in the public favour leaves truthfulness out of account. In the absence of gold, one brazen counterfeit rings very much like another. People may be suspicious of both coins; but on the whole their fancy is more readily caught by the optimist effigy than the pessimist. They may not place entire trust in the 'ever-cheerful man of sin,' with his flattery, his abounding sympathy, his flowery promises, and his undefeated hopefulness; but they prefer him at any rate to 'the melancholy Jaques,' booming maledictions with a mournfulconstancy, like some bittern in the desolation of the marshes.
So far as principles were concerned most of the trouble was unnecessary. Among the would-be reformers—among those who sincerely desired to bring about efficiency within their own spheres—there was surprisingly little that can truly be called antagonism. But competition of an important kind—competition for public attention and priority of treatment—had produced many of the unfortunate results of antagonism. It was inevitable that this lamentable state of things must continue, until it had been realised that one small body of men, elected upon a variety of cross issues, could not safely be left in charge of the defence of the Empire, the domestic welfare of the United Kingdom, and the local government of its several units.
ARTIFICIAL ANTAGONISMS
It was not merely that the various aims were not opposed to one another; they were actually helpful to one another. Often, indeed, they were essential to the permanent success of one another. The man who desired to improve the conditions of the poor was not, therefore, the natural enemy of him who wanted to place the national defences on a secure footing. And neither of these was the natural enemy of others who wished to bring about a settlement of the Irish question, or of the Constitutional question, or of the Imperial question. But owing partly to the inadequacy of the machinery for giving a free course to these various aspirations—partly to the fact that the machinery itself was antiquated, in bad repair, and had become clogged with a variety of obstructions—there was an unfortunate tendency on the part of every one who had any particular object very muchat heart, to regard every one else who was equally concerned about any other object as an impediment in his path.
The need of the time, of course, was leadership—a great man—or better still two great men, one on each side—like the blades of a pair of scissors—to cut a way out of the confusion by bringing their keen edges into contact. But obviously, the greater the confusion the harder it is for leadership to assert itself. We may be sure enough that there were men of character and capacity equal to the task if only they could have been discovered. But they were not discovered.
There were other things besides the confusion of aims and ideas which made it hard for leaders to emerge. The loose coherency of parties which prevailed during the greater part of the nineteenth century had given place to a set of highly organised machines, which employed without remorse the oriental method of strangulation, against everything in the nature of independent effort and judgment. The politician class had increased greatly in numbers and influence. The eminent and ornamental people who were returned to Westminster filled the public eye, but they were only a small proportion of the whole; nor is it certain that they exercised the largest share of authority. When in the autumn of 1913 Sir John Brunner determined to prevent Mr. Churchill from obtaining the provisions for the Navy which were judged necessary for the safety of the Empire, the method adopted was to raise the National Liberal Federation against the First Lord of the Admiralty, and through the agency of that powerful organisation to bring pressure to bearupon the country, members of Parliament, and the Cabinet itself.
BAD MONEY DRIVES OUT GOOD
It is unpopular to say that the House of Commons has deteriorated in character, but it is true. An assembly, the members of which cannot call their souls their own, will never tend in an upward direction. The machines which are managed with so much energy and skill by the external parasites of politics, have long ago taken over full responsibility for the souls of their nominees. According to 'Gresham's law,' bad money, if admitted into currency, will always end by driving out good. A similar principle has been at work for some time past in British public life, by virtue of which the baser kind of politicians, having got a footing, are driving out their betters at a rapid pace. Few members of Parliament will admit this fact; but they are not impartial judges, for every one is naturally averse from disparaging an institution to which he belongs.
During the nineteenth century, except at the very beginning, and again at the very end of it, very few people ever thought of going into Parliament, or even into politics, in order that they might thrive thereby, or find a field for improving their private fortunes. This cannot be said with truth of the epoch which has just ended. There has been a change both in tone and outlook during the last thirty years. Things have been done and approved by the House of Commons, elected in December 1910, which it is quite inconceivable that the House of Commons, returned in 1880, would ever have entertained. The Gladstonian era had its faults, but among them laxity in matters of finance did not figure. Indeed private members, as well as statesmen, not infrequentlycrossed the border-line which separates purism from pedantry; occasionally they carried strictness to the verge of absurdity; but this was a fault in the right direction—a great safeguard to the public interest, a peculiarly valuable tendency from the standpoint of democracy.
A twelvemonth ago a number of very foolish persons were anxious to persuade us that the predominant issue was the Armyversusthe People. But even the crispness of the phrase was powerless to convince public opinion of so staggering an untruth. The predominant issue at that particular moment was only what it had been for a good many years before—the Peopleversusthe Party System.
NEED OF RICH MEN
What is apt to be ignored is, that with the increase of wealth on the one hand, and the extension of the franchise on the other, the Party System has gradually become a vested interest upon an enormous scale,—like the liquor trade of which we hear so much, or thehaute financeof which perhaps we hear too little. Rich men are required in politics, for the reason that it is necessary to feed and clothe the steadily increasing swarms of mechanics who drive, and keep in repair, and add to, that elaborate machinery by means of which the Sovereign People is cajoled into the belief that its Will prevails. From the point of view of the orthodox political economist these workers are as unproductive as actors, bookmakers, or golf professionals; but they have to be paid, otherwise they would starve, and the machines would stop. So long as there are plenty of rich men who desire to become even richer, or to decorate their names with titles, or to move in shining circles, this is not at all likely to occur, unless the Party Systemsuddenly collapsed, in which case there would be acute distress.
There are various grades of these artisans or mechanicians of politics, from the professional organiser or agent who, upon the whole, is no more open to criticism than any other class of mankind which works honestly for its living—down to the committee-man who has no use for a candidate unless he keeps a table from which large crumbs fall in profusion. The man who supplements his income by means of politics is a greater danger than the other who openly makes politics his vocation. The jobbing printer, enthusiastically pacifist or protectionist, well paid for his hand-bills, and aspiring to more substantial contracts; the smart, ingratiating organiser, or hustling, bustling journalist, who receives a complimentary cheque, or a bundle of scrip, or a seat on a board of directors from the patron whom he has helped to win an election—very much as at ill-regulated shooting parties the head-keeper receives exorbitant tips from wealthy sportsmen whom he has placed to their satisfaction—all these are deeply interested in the preservation of the Party System. Innocent folk are often heard wondering why candidates with such strange names—even stranger appearance—accents and manner of speech which are strangest of all—are brought forward so frequently to woo the suffrages of urban constituencies. Clearly they are not chosen on account of their political knowledge; for they have none. There are other aspirants to political honours who, in comeliness and charm of manner, greatly excel them; whose speech is more eloquent, or at any rate less unintelligible. Yet London caucuses in particular havea great tenderness for these bejewelled patriots, and presumably there must be reasons for the preference which they receive. One imagines that in some inscrutable way they are essential props of the Party System in its modern phase.
The drawing together of the world by steam and electricity has brought conspicuous benefits to the British Empire. The five self-governing nations of which it is composed come closer together year by year. Statesmen and politicians broaden the horizons of their minds by swift and easy travel. But there are drawbacks as well as the reverse under these new conditions. To some extent the personnel of democracy has tended to become interchangeable, like the parts of a bicycle; and public characters are able to transfer their activities from one state to another, and even from one hemisphere to another, without a great deal of difficulty. This has certain advantages, but possibly more from the point of view of the individual than from that of the Commonwealth. After failure in one sphere there is still hope in another. Mr. Micawber, or even Jeremy Diddler, may go the round, using up public confidence at one resting-place after another. For the Party System is a ready employer, and providing a man has a glib tongue, a forehead of brass, or an open purse, a position will be found for him without too much enquiry made into his previous references.
LAWYERISM AND LEADERSHIP
In a world filled with confusion and illusion the Party System has fought at great advantage. Indeed it is generally believed to be so firmly entrenched that nothing can ever dislodge it. There are dangers, however, in arguing too confidently from use and wont. Conspicuous failure or disaster might bringruin on this revered institution, as it has often done in history upon others no less venerable. The Party System has its weak side. Its wares are mainly make-believes, and if a hurricane happens to burst suddenly, the caucus may be left in no better plight than Alnaschar with his overturned basket. The Party System is not invulnerable against a great man or a great idea. But of recent years it has been left at peace to go its own way, for the reason that no such man or idea has emerged, around which the English people have felt that they could cluster confidently. There has been no core on which human crystals could precipitate and attach themselves, following the bent of their nature towards a firm and clear belief—or towards the prowess of a man—or towards a Man possessed by a Belief. The typical party leader during this epoch has neither been a man in the heroic sense, nor has he had any belief that could be called firm or clear. For the most part he has been merely a Whig or Tory tradesman, dealing in opportunism; and for the predominance of the Party System this set of conditions was almost ideal. It was inconceivable that a policy of wait-and-see could ever resolve a situation of this sort. To fall back on lawyerism was perhaps inevitable in the circumstances; but to think that it was possible to substitute lawyerism for leadership was absurd.
And yet amid this confusion we were aware—even at the time—and can see much more clearly now the interlude is ended—that there were three great ideas running through it all, struggling to emerge, to make themselves understood, and to get themselves realised. But unfortunately what were realities to ordinary men were only counters accordingto the reckoning of the party mechanicians. Thefirstaim and thesecond—the improvement of the organisation of society and the conditions of the poor—the freeing of local aspirations and the knitting together of the empire—were held in common by the great mass of the British people, although they were viewed by one section and another from different angles of vision. Thethirdaim, however—the adequate defence of the empire—was not regarded warmly, or even with much active interest, by any organised section. The people who considered it most earnestly were not engaged in party politics. The manipulators of the machines looked upon thefirstand thesecondas means whereby power might be gained or retained, but they looked askance upon thethirdas a perilous problem which it was wiser and safer to leave alone. The great principles with which the names—among others—of Mr. Chamberlain, Lord Roberts, and Mr. Lloyd George are associated, were at no point opposed one to another. Each indeed was dependent upon the other two for its full realisation. And yet, under the artificial entanglements of the Party System, the vigorous pursuit of any one of the three seemed to imperil the success of both its competitors.
In the post-Victorian epoch, which we have been engaged in considering, the aim of British foreign policy may be summed up in one word—Security. It was not aggression; it was not revenge; it was not conquest, or even expansion of territories; it was simply Security.
It would be absurd, of course, to imagine that security is wholly, or even mainly, a question of military preparations. "All this is but a sheep in a lion's skin, where the people are of weak courage;" or where for any reason, the people are divided among themselves or disaffected towards their government.
The defences of every nation are of two kinds, the organised and the unorganised; the disciplined strength of the Navy and the Army on the one hand, the vigour and spirit of the people upon the other.
The vigour of the people will depend largely upon the conditions under which they live, upon sufficiency of food, the healthiness or otherwise of their employments and homes, the proper nourishment and upbringing of their children. It is not enough that rates of wages should be good, if those who earn themhave not the knowledge how to use them to the best advantage. It is not always where incomes are lowest that the conditions of life are worst. Measured by infant mortality, and by the health and general happiness of the community, the crofters of Scotland, who are very poor, seem to have learned the lessonhow to livebetter than the highly paid workers in many of our great manufacturing towns.
Education—by which is meant not merely board-school instruction, but the influence of the home and the surrounding society—is not a less necessary condition of vigour than wages, sanitary regulations, and such like. The spiritual as well as the physical training of children, the nature of their amusements, the bent of their interests, the character of their aims and ideals, at that critical period when the boy or girl is growing into manhood or womanhood—all these are things which conduce directly, as well as indirectly, to the vigour of the race. They are every bit as much a part of our system of national defence as the manoeuvring of army corps and the gun-practice of dreadnoughts.
Thespiritof the people, on the other hand, will depend for its strength upon their attachment to their own country; upon their affection for its customs, laws, and institutions; upon a belief in the general fairness and justice of its social arrangements; upon the good relations of the various classes of which society is composed. The spirit of national unity is indispensable even in the case of the most powerful autocracy. It is the very foundation of democracy. Lacking it, popular government is but a house of cards, which the first serious challenge from without, or the first strong outburst ofdiscontent from within will bring tumbling to the ground. Such a feeling of unity can only spring from the prevalence of an opinion among every class of the community, that their own system, with all its faults, is better suited to their needs, habits, and traditions than any other, and that it is worth preserving, even at the cost of the greatest sacrifices, from foreign conquest and interference.
A TWO-HEADED PRINCIPLE
While a people sapped by starvation and disease will be wanting in thevigournecessary for offering a prolonged and strenuous resistance, so will a people, seething with class hatred and a sense of tyranny and injustice, be wanting in thespirit. The problem, however, of these unorganised defences, fundamental though it is, stands outside the scope of the present chapter, which is concerned solely with those defences which are organised.
The beginning of wisdom with respect to all problems of defence is the recognition of the two-headed principle thatPolicy depends on Armaments just as certainly as Armaments depend on Policy.
The duty of the Admiralty and the War Office is to keep their armaments abreast of the national endeavour. It is folly to do more: it is madness to do less. The duty of the Foreign Minister is to restrain and hold back his policy, and to prevent it from ambitiously outrunning the capacity of the armaments which are at his disposal. If he does otherwise the end is likely to be humiliation and disaster.
When any nation is unable or unwilling to provide the armaments necessary for supporting the policy which it has been accustomed to pursue and wouldlike to maintain, it should have the sense to abandon that policy for something of a humbler sort before the bluff is discovered by the world.[1]
It may possibly appear absurd to dwell with so much insistence upon a pair of propositions which, when they are set down in black and white, will at once be accepted as self-evident by ninety-nine men out of a hundred. But plain and obvious as they are, none in the whole region of politics have been more frequently ignored. These two principles have been constantly presenting themselves to the eyes of statesmen in a variety of different shapes ever since history began.
It may very easily happen that the particular policy which the desire for security requires, is one which the strength of the national armaments at a given moment will not warrant the country in pursuing. Faced with this unpleasant quandary, what is Government to do, if it be convinced of the futility of trying to persuade the people to incur the sacrifices necessary for realising the national aspirations? Is it to give up the traditional policy, and face the various consequences which it is reasonable to anticipate? Or is it to persevere in the policy, and continue acting as if the forces at its disposal were sufficient for its purpose, when in fact they are nothing of the kind? To follow the former coursecalls for a surrender which the spirit of the people will not easily endure, and which may even be fatal to the independent existence of the state. But to enter upon the latter is conduct worthy of a fraudulent bankrupt, since it trades upon an imposture, which, when it is found out by rival nations, will probably be visited by still severer penalties.
But surely Government has only to make it clear to the people that, unless they are willing to bring their armaments abreast of their policy, national aspirations must be baulked and even national safety itself may be endangered. When men are made to understand these things, will they not certainly agree to do what is necessary, though they may give their consent with reluctance?[2]
POLITICAL DIFFICULTIES
It is very certain, however, that this outside view of the case enormously underrates the difficulties which stare the politician out of countenance. In matters of this sort it is not so easy a thing to arrive at the truth; much less to state it with such force and clearness that mankind will at once recognise it for truth, and what is said to the contrary for falsehood. The intentions of foreign governments, and the dangers arising out of that quarter, are subjects which it is singularly difficult to discuss frankly, without incurring the very evils which every government seeks to avoid. And if these things are not easy to discuss, it is exceedingly easy for faction or fanatics to misrepresent them.[3] Moreover, the lamentations of the Hebrew prophets bear witness to thedeafness and blindness of generations into whom actual experience of the evils foretold had not already burnt the lesson which it was desired to teach. Evils which have never been suffered are hard things to clothe with reality until it is too late, and words, even the most eloquent and persuasive, are but a poor implement for the task.
The policy of a nation is determined upon, so as to accord with what it conceives to be its honour, safety, and material interests. In the natural course of events this policy may check, or be checked by, the policy of some other nation. The efforts of diplomacy may be successful in clearing away these obstructions. If so, well and good; but if not, there is nothing left to decide the issue between the two nations but the stern arbitrament of war.
Moreover, diplomacy itself is dependent upon armaments in somewhat the same sense as the prosperity of a merchant is dependent upon his credit with his bankers. The news system of the world has undergone a revolution since the days before steam and telegraphs. It is not merely more rapid, but much ampler. The various governments are kept far more fully informed of one another's affairs, and as a consequence the great issues between nations have become clear and sharp. The most crafty and smooth-tongued ambassador can rarely wheedle his opponents into concessions which are contrary to their interests, unless he has something more to rely upon than his own guile and plausibility. Army corps and battle fleets looming in the distance are better persuaders than the subtlest arguments and the deftest flattery.
What, then, is the position of a statesman whofinds himself confronted by a clash of policies, if, when the diplomatic deadlock occurs, he realises that his armaments are insufficient to support his aim? In such an event he is faced with the alternative of letting judgment go by default, or of adding almost certain military disaster to the loss of those political stakes for which his nation is contending with its rival. Such a position must be ignominious in the extreme; it might even be ruinous; and yet it would be the inevitable fate of any country whose ministers had neglected the maxim that policy in the last resort is dependent upon armaments.
EXAMPLE OF CHINA
If we are in search of an example we shall find it ready to our hand. The Empire of China is comparable to our own at least in numbers; for each of them contains, as nearly as may be, one quarter of the whole human race. And as China has hitherto failed utterly to make her armaments sufficient, under the stress of modern conditions, to support even that meek and passive policy of possession which she has endeavoured to pursue, so she has been compelled to watch in helplessness while her policy has been disregarded by every adventurer. She has been pressed by all the nations of the world and obliged to yield to their demands. Humiliating concessions have been wrung from her; favours even more onerous, in the shape of loans, have been forced upon her. The resources with which nature has endowed her have been exploited by foreigners against her will. Her lands have been shorn from her and parcelled out among those who were strong, and who hungered after them. This conquest and robbery has proceeded both by wholesale and retail.Because she yielded this to one claimant, another, to keep the balance even, has insisted upon that. Safe and convenient harbours, fortified places, islands, vast stretches of territory, have been demanded and taken from her almost without a struggle; and all this time she has abstained with a timid caution from anything which can justly be termed provocation. For more than half a century, none the less, China has not been mistress in her own house.
The reason of this is plain enough—China had possessions which other nations coveted, and she failed to provide herself with the armaments which were necessary to maintain them.
The British people likewise had possessions which other nations coveted—lands to take their settlers, markets to buy their goods, plantations to yield them raw materials. If it were our set determination to hold what our forefathers won, two things were necessary: the first, that our policy should conform to this aim; the second, that our armaments should be sufficient to support our policy.
A nation which desired to extend its possessions, to round off its territories, to obtain access to the sea, would probably regard conquest, or at all events absorption, as its highest immediate interest. This would be the constant aim of its policy, and if its armaments did not conform to this policy, the aim would not be realised. Examples both of failure and success are to be found in the history of Russia from the time of Peter the Great, and in that of Prussia from the days of the Great Elector.
A nation—like England or Holland in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries—whichwas seeking to secure against its commercial rivals, if necessary by force of arms, new markets among civilised but unmilitary races, would require a policy and armaments to correspond.
BRITISH CONTENTMENT
The British Empire in the stage of development which it had reached at the end of the Victorian era did not aim at acquisition of fresh territories or new markets, save such as might be won peacefully by the skill and enterprise of its merchants. It sought only to hold what it already possessed, to develop its internal resources, and to retain equal rights with its commercial rivals in neutral spheres. But in order that those unaggressive objects might be realised, there was need of a policy, different indeed from that of Elizabeth, of Cromwell, or of Chatham, but none the less clear and definite with regard to its own ends. And to support this policy there was need of armaments, suitable in scale and character.
It was frequently pointed out between the years 1901 and 1914 (and it lay at the very root of the matter), that while we were perfectly satisfied with things as they stood, and should have been more than content—regarding the subject from the standpoint of our own interests—to have left the map of the world for ever, as it then was drawn, another nation was by no means so well pleased with existing arrangements. To this envious rival it appeared that we had taken more than our fair share—as people are apt to do who come early. We had wider territories than we could yet fill with our own people; while our neighbour foresaw an early date at which his race would be overflowing its boundaries. We had limitless resources in the Dominions and Dependenciesoverseas, which when developed would provide a united empire with markets of inestimable value. In these respects Germany was in a less favourable position. Indeed, with the exceptions of Russia and the United States, no other great Power was so fortunately placed as ourselves; and even these two nations, although they had an advantage over the British Empire by reason of their huge compact and coterminous territories, still did not equal it in the vastness and variety of their undeveloped resources.
Clearly, therefore, the policy which the needs of our Commonwealth required at this great turning-point in its history, was not only something different from that of any other great Power, but also something different from that which had served our own purposes in times gone by. Like China, our aim was peaceful possession. Unlike China, we ought to have kept in mind the conditions under which alone this aim was likely to be achieved. It might be irksome and contrary to our peaceful inclinations to maintain great armaments when we no longer dreamed of making conquests; but in the existing state of the world, armaments were unfortunately quite as necessary for the purpose of enabling us to hold what we possessed, as they ever were when our forefathers set out to win the Empire.
COMMITTEE OF IMPERIAL DEFENCE
In 1904, with the object of promoting harmony between the policy and armaments of the British Empire, Mr. Balfour created the Committee of Imperial Defence. This was undoubtedly a step of great importance. His purpose was to introduce a system, by means of which ministers and high officials responsible for the Navy and Army wouldbe kept in close touch with the trend of national policy, in so far as it might affect the relations of the Commonwealth with foreign Powers. In like manner those other ministers and high officials, whose business it was to conduct our diplomacy, maintain an understanding with the Dominions, administer our Dependencies, and govern India, would be made thoroughly conversant with the limitations to our naval and military strength. Having this knowledge, they would not severally embark on irreconcilable or impracticable projects or drift unknowingly into dangerous complications. The conception of the Committee of Imperial Defence, therefore, was due to a somewhat tardy recognition of the two-headed principle, that armaments are mere waste of money unless they conform to policy, and that policy in the last resort must depend on armaments.
The Committee was maintained by Mr. Balfour's successors, and was not allowed (as too often happens when there is a change of government) to fall into discredit and disuse.[4] But in order that this body of statesmen and experts might achieve the ends in view, it was essential for them to have realised clearly, not only the general object of British policy—which indeed was contained in the single word 'Security'—but also the special dangers which loomed in the near future. They had then to consider what reciprocal obligations had already been contracted with other nations, whose interests were to some extent the same as our own, and what further undertakings of a similar character it might be desirable to enterinto. Finally, there were the consequences which these obligations and undertakings would entail in certain contingencies. It was not enough merely to mumble the word 'Security' and leave it at that. What security implied in the then existing state of the world was a matter which required to be investigated in a concrete, practical, and business-like way.
Unfortunately, the greater part of these essential preliminaries was omitted, and as a consequence, the original idea of the Committee of Imperial Defence was never realised. Harmonious, flexible, and of considerable utility in certain directions, it did not work satisfactorily as a whole. The trend of policy was, no doubt, grasped in a general way; but, as subsequent events have proved, the conditions on which alone that line could be maintained, and the consequences which it involved, were not at any time clearly understood and boldly faced by this august body in its corporate capacity.
The general direction may have been settled; but certainly the course was not marked out; the rocks and shoals remained for the most part uncharted. The committee, no doubt, had agreed upon a certain number of vague propositions, as, for example, that France must not be crushed by Germany, or the neutrality of Belgium violated by any one. They knew that we were committed to certain obligations—or, as some people called them, 'entanglements'—and that these again, in certain circumstances, might commit us to others. But what the whole amounted to was not realised in barest outline, by the country, or by Parliament, or by the Government, or even, we may safely conjecture, by the Committee itself.We have the right to say this, because, if British policy had been realised as a whole by the Committee of Imperial Defence, it would obviously have been communicated to the Cabinet, and in its broader aspects to the people; and this was never done. It is inconceivable that any Prime Minister, who believed, as Mr. Asquith does, in democratic principles, would have left the country uneducated, and his own colleagues unenlightened, on a matter of so great importance, had his own mind been clearly made up.
CONFUSION WHEN WAR OCCURRED
When the crisis occurred in July 1914, when Germany proceeded to action, when events took place which for years past had been foretold and discussed very fully on both sides of the North Sea, it was as if a bolt had fallen from the blue. Uncertainty was apparent in all quarters. The very thing which had been so often talked of had happened. Germany was collecting her armies and preparing to crush France. The neutrality of Belgium was threatened. Yet up to, and on, Sunday, August 2, there was doubt and hesitation in the Cabinet, and until some days later, also in Parliament and the country.[5]
When, finally, it was decided to declare war, the course of action which that step required still appears to have remained obscure to our rulers. Until the Thursday following it was not decided to send the Expeditionary Force abroad. Then, out of timidity, only two-thirds of it were sent.[6] Transport arrangements which were all ready for moving the whole force had to be hastily readjusted. The delay wasnot less injurious than the parsimony; and the combination of the two nearly proved fatal.
If the minds of the people and their leaders were not prepared for what happened, if in the moral sense there was unreadiness; still more inadequate were all preparations of the material kind—not only the actual numbers of our Army, but also the whole system for providing expansion, training, equipment, and munitions. It is asking too much of us to believe that events could have happened as they did in England during the fortnight which followed the presentation of the Austrian Ultimatum to Servia, had the Committee of Imperial Defence and its distinguished president taken pains beforehand to envisage clearly the conditions and consequences involved in their policy of 'Security.'
As regards naval preparations, things were better indeed than might have been expected, considering the vagueness of ideas in the matter of policy. We were safeguarded here by tradition, and the general idea of direction had been nearly sufficient. There was always trouble, but not as a rule serious trouble, in establishing the case for increases necessary to keep ahead of German efforts. There had been pinchings and parings—especially in the matter of fast cruisers, for lack of which, when war broke out, we suffered heavy losses—but except in one instance—the abandonment of the Cawdor programme—these had not touched our security at any vital point.
Thanks largely to Mr. Stead, but also to statesmen of both parties, and to a succession of Naval Lords who did not hesitate, when occasion required it, to risk their careers (as faithful servants ever will) rather than certify safety where they saw danger—thanks,perhaps, most of all to a popular instinct, deeply implanted in the British mind, which had grasped the need for supremacy at sea—our naval preparations, upon the whole, had kept abreast of our policy for nearly thirty years.
As regards the Army, however, it was entirely different. There had been no intelligent effort to keep our military strength abreast of our policy; and as, in many instances, it would have been too bitter a humiliation to keep our policy within the limits of our military strength, the course actually pursued can only be described fitly as a game of bluff.
There had never been anything approaching agreement with regard to the functions which the Army was expected to perform. Not only did political parties differ one from another upon this primary and fundamental question, but hardly two succeeding War Ministers had viewed it in the same light. There had been schemes of a bewildering variety; but as the final purpose for which soldiers existed had never yet been frankly laid down and accepted, each of these plans in turn had been discredited by attacks, which called in question the very basis of the proposed reformation.
THE NAVAL POSITION
While naval policy had been framed and carried out in accordance with certain acknowledged necessities of national existence, military policy had been alternately expanded and deflated in order to assuage the anxieties, while conforming to the prejudices—real or supposed—of the British public. In the case of the fleet, we had very fortunately arrived, more than a generation ago, at the point where it was a question of what the country needed; as regards theArmy, it was still a question of what the country would stand. But how could even a politician know what the country would stand until the full case had been laid before the country? How was it that while Ministers of both parties had the courage to put the issue more or less nakedly in the matter of ships, they grew timid as soon as the discussion turned on army corps? If the needs of the Commonwealth were to be the touchstone in the one case, why not also in the other? The country will stand a great deal more than the politicians think; and it will stand almost anything better than vacillation, evasion, and untruth. In army matters, unfortunately, it has had experience of little else since the battle of Waterloo.
Mathematicians, metaphysicians, and economists have a fondness for what is termed 'an assumption.' They take for granted something which it would be inconvenient or impossible to prove, and thereupon proceed to build upon it a fabric which compels admiration in a less or greater degree, by reason of its logical consistency. There is no great harm in this method so long as the conclusions, which are drawn from the airy calculations of the study, are confined to the peaceful region of their birth; but so soon as they begin to sally forth into the harsh world of men and affairs, they are apt to break at once into shivers. When the statesman makes an assumption he does so at his peril; or, perhaps, to speak more correctly, at the peril of his country. For if it be a false assumption the facts will speedily find it out, and disasters will inevitably ensue.
TWO INCORRECT ASSUMPTIONS
Our Governments, Tory and Radical alike, haveacted in recent times as if the British Army were what their policy required it to be—something, that is, entirely different from what it really was. Judging by its procedure, the Foreign Office would appear to have made the singularly bold assumption that, in a military comparison with other nations, Britain was still in much the same relative position as in the days of Napoleon. Sustained by this tenacious but fantastic tradition, Ministers have not infrequently engaged in policies which wiser men would have avoided. They have uttered protests, warnings, threats which have gone unheeded. They have presumed to say what would and would not be tolerated in certain spheres; but having nothing better behind their despatches than a mere assumption which did not correspond with the facts, they have been compelled to endure rebuffs and humiliations. As they had not the prudence to cut their coat according to their cloth, it was only natural that occasionally they should have had to appear before the world in a somewhat ridiculous guise.
British statesmen for nearly half a century had persisted in acting upon two most dangerous assumptions. They had assumed that one branch of the national armaments conformed to their policy, when in fact it did not. And they had assumed also, which is equally fatal, that policy, if only it be virtuous and unaggressive, is in some mysterious way self-supporting, and does not need to depend on armaments at all.
The military preparations of Britain were inadequate to maintain the policy of Security, which British Governments had nevertheless been engaged in pursuing for many years prior to the outbreak ofthe present war.[7] On the other hand, the abandonment of this policy was incompatible with the continuance of the Empire. We could not hope to hold our scattered Dependencies and to keep our Dominions safe against encroachments unless we were prepared to incur the necessary sacrifices.
[1] American writers have urged criticism of this sort against the armaments of the U.S.A., which they allege are inadequate to uphold the policy of the 'Monroe Doctrine.' The German view of the matter has been stated by the Chancellor (April 7, 1913) when introducing the Army Bill:—"History knows of no people which came to disaster because it had exhausted itself in the making of its defences; but history knows of many peoples which have perished, because, living in prosperity and luxury, they neglected their defences. A people which thinks that it is not rich enough to maintain its armaments shows merely that it has played its part."
[2] So the argument runs, and the course of our naval policy since Mr. Stead's famous press campaign in 1884 will be cited as an encouragement.
[3]E.g.in the winter of 1908 and spring of 1909, when an influential section of the supporters of the present Cabinet chose to believe the false assurances of the German Admiralty, and freely accused their own Government of mendacity.
[4] Innovations of this particular sort have possibly a better chance of preserving their existence than some others. 'Boards are screens,' wrote John Stuart Mill, or some other profound thinker; and in politics screens are always useful.
[5] This is obvious from the White Paper without seeking further evidence in the ministerial press or elsewhere.
[6] Of the six infantry divisions included in the Expeditionary Force only four were sent in the first instance; a fifth arrived about August 24; a sixth about mid-September.
[7] "Our Army, as a belligerent factor in European politics, is almost a negligible quantity. This Empire is at all times practically defenceless beyond its first line. Such an Empire invites war. Its assumed security amid the armaments of Europe, and now of Asia, is insolent and provocative" (Lord Roberts, October 22, 1912). Nothing indeed is more insolent and provocative, or more likely to lead to a breach of the peace, than undefended riches among armed men.
During the whole period of rather more than thirteen years—which has been referred to in previous pages as the post-Victorian epoch, and which extended roughly from January 1901, when Queen Victoria died, to July 1914, when war was declared—the British Army remained inadequate for the purpose of upholding that policy which British statesmen of both parties, and the British people, both at home and in the Dominions, were engaged in pursuing—whether they knew it or not—and were bound to pursue, unless they were prepared to sacrifice their independence.
The aim of that policy was the security of the whole empire. This much at any rate was readily conceded on all hands. It was not enough, however, that we approved the general aim of British policy. A broad but clear conception of the means by which our Government hoped to maintain this policy, and the sacrifices which the country would have to make in order to support this policy, was no less necessary. So soon, however, as we began to ask for further particulars, we found ourselves in the region of acute controversy. 'Security' was a convenient political formula, which could be accepted as readily by theman who placed his trust in international law, as by his neighbour who believed in battle fleets and army corps.
In considering this question of security we could not disregard Europe, for Europe was still the storm-centre of the world. We could not afford to turn a blind eye towards the ambitions and anxieties of the great continental Powers. We were bound to take into account not only their visions but their nightmares. We could not remain indifferent to their groupings and alliances, or to the strength and dispositions of their armaments.
That the United Kingdom was a pair of islands lying on the western edge of Europe, and that the rest of the British Empire was remote, and unwilling to be interested in the rivalries of the Teuton, Slav, and Latin races, did not affect the matter in the least. Nowadays no habitable corner of the earth is really remote; and as for willingness or unwillingness to be interested, that had nothing at all to do with the question. For it was clear that any Power, which succeeded in possessing itself of the suzerainty of Europe, could redraw the map of the world at its pleasure, and blow the Monroe Doctrine, no less than the British Empire, sky-high.
Looking across thousands of leagues of ocean, it was difficult for the Dominions and the United States to understand how their fortunes, and the ultimate fate of their cherished institutions, could possibly be affected by the turmoil and jealousies of—what appeared in their eyes to be—a number of reactionary despotisms and chauvinistic democracies. Even the hundred and twenty leagues which separate Hull from Emden, or the seven which divide Dover from Calais, were enough to convince many peoplein the United Kingdom that we could safely allow Europe to 'stew in her own juice.' But unfortunately for this theory, unless a great continental struggle ended like the battle of the Kilkenny cats, the outside world was likely to find itself in an awkward predicament, when the conqueror chose to speak with it in the gates, at a time of his own choosing.
British policy since 1901 had tended, with ever increasing self-consciousness, towards the definite aim of preventing Germany from acquiring the suzerainty of Western Europe. It was obvious that German predominance, if secured, must ultimately force the other continental nations, either into a German alliance, or into a neutrality favourable to German interests. German policy would then inevitably be directed towards encroachments upon British possessions. Germany had already boldly proclaimed her ambitions overseas. Moreover, she would find it pleasanter to compensate, and soothe the susceptibilities of those nations whom she had overcome in diplomacy or war, and to reward their subsequent services as allies and friendly neutrals, by paying them out of our property rather than out of her own. For this reason, if for no other, we were deeply concerned that Germany should not dominate Europe if we could help it.
GERMAN AIMS
During this period, on the other hand, Germany appeared to be setting herself more and more seriously to acquire this domination. Each succeeding year her writers expressed themselves in terms of greater candour and confidence. Her armaments were following her policy. The rapid creation of a fleet—the counterpart of the greatest army in Europe—and the recent additions to the striking power of heralready enormous army could have no other object. Certainly from 1909 onwards, it was impossible to regard German preparations as anything else than a challenge, direct or indirect, to the security of the British Empire.
Consequently the direction of British policy returned, gradually, unavowedly, but with certainty, to its old lines, and became once more concerned with the maintenance of theBalance of Poweras the prime necessity. The means adopted were the Triple Entente between Britain, France, and Russia. The object of this understanding was to resist the anticipated aggressions of the Triple Alliance, wherein Germany was the predominant partner.
DERELICT MAXIMS
The tendency of phrases, as they grow old, is to turn into totems, for and against which political parties, and even great nations, fight unreasoningly. But before we either yield our allegiance to any of these venerable formulas, or decide to throw it out on the scrap-heap, there are advantages in looking to see whether or not there is some underlying meaning which may be worth attending to. It occasionally happens that circumstances have changed so much since the original idea was first crystallised in words, that the old saying contains no value or reality whatsoever for the present generation. More often, however, there is something of permanent importance behind, if only we can succeed in tearing off the husk of prejudice in which it has become encased. So, according to Disraeli, "thedivine rightof Kings may have been a plea for feeble tyrants, but the divine right of government is the keystone of human progress." For many years the phraseBritish interests, which used to figure so largely in speechesand leading articles, has dropped out of use, because it had come to be associated unfavourably with bond-holders' dividends. The fact that it also implied national honour and prestige, the performance of duties and the burden of responsibilities was forgotten. Even the doctrine oflaissez faire, which politicians of all parties have lately agreed to abjure and contemn, has, as regards industrial affairs, a large kernel of practical wisdom and sound policy hidden away in it. But of all these derelict maxims, that which until quite recently, appeared to be suffering from the greatest neglect, was the need for maintaining theBalance of Powerin Europe. For close on two generations it had played no overt part in public controversy, except when some Tory matador produced it defiantly as a red rag to infuriate the Radical bull.
If this policy of the maintenance of theBalance of Powerhas been little heard of since Waterloo, the reason is that since then, until quite recently, theBalance of Powerhas never appeared to be seriously threatened.[1] And because the policy of maintaining this balance was in abeyance, many people have come to believe that it was discredited. Because it was not visibly and actively in use it was supposed to have become entirely useless.
This policy can never become useless. It must inevitably come into play, so soon as any Power appears to be aiming at the mastery of the continent. It will ever remain a matter of life or death, to the United Kingdom and to the British Empire, that no continental state shall be allowed to obtaincommand, directly or indirectly, of the resources, diplomacy, and armaments of Europe.
In the sixteenth century we fought Philip of of Spain to prevent him from acquiring European predominance. In the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries we fought Louis XIV., Louis XV., and Napoleon for the same reason. In order to preserve the balance of power, and with it our own security, it was our interest under Elizabeth to prevent the Netherlands from being crushed by Spain. Under later monarchs it was our interest to prevent the Netherlands, the lesser German States, Prussia, Austria, and finally the whole of Europe from being crushed by France. And we can as ill afford to-day to allow France to be crushed by Germany, or Holland and Belgium to fall into her power. The wheel has come round full circle, but the essential British interest remains constant.
The wheel is always turning, sometimes slowly, sometimes with startling swiftness. Years hence the present alliances will probably be discarded. It may be that some day the danger of a European predominance will appear from a different quarter—from one of our present allies, or from some upstart state which may rise to power with an even greater rapidity than the Electorate of Brandenburg. Or it may be that before long the New World, in fact as well as phrase, may have come in to redress the balance of the Old. We cannot say, because we cannot foresee what the future holds in store. But from the opening of the present century, the immediate danger came from Germany, who hardly troubled to conceal the fact that she was aiming at predominance by mastery of the Low Countries and by crushing France.
CONDITIONS OF BRITISH FREEDOM
That this danger was from time to time regarded seriously by a section of the British Cabinet, we know from their own statements both before war broke out and subsequently. It was no chimera confined to the imaginations of irresponsible and panic-stricken writers. In sober truth the balance of power in Europe was in as much danger, and the maintenance of it had become as supreme a British interest, under a Liberal government at the beginning of the twentieth century, as it ever was under a Whig government at the close of the seventeenth and opening of the eighteenth.
The stealthy return of this doctrine into the region of practical politics was not due to the prejudices of the party which happened to be in power. Quite the contrary. Most Liberals distrusted the phrase. The whole mass of the Radicals abhorred it. The idea which lay under and behind the phrase was nevertheless irresistible, because it arose out of the facts. Had a Socialist Government held office, this policy must equally have imposed itself and been accepted with a good or ill grace, for the simple reason that, unless the balance of power is maintained in Europe, there can be no security for British freedom, under which we mean, with God's help, to work out our own problems in our own way.
English statesmen had adopted this policy in fact, if unavowedly—perhaps even to some extent unconsciously—when they first entered into, and afterwards confirmed, the Triple Entente. And having once entered into the Triple Entente it was obvious that, without risking still graver consequences, we could never resume the detached position which we occupied before we took that step. It is difficult tobelieve—seeing how the danger of German predominance threatened France and Russia as well as ourselves—that we should not have excited the ill-will of those two countries had we refused to make common cause by joining the Triple Entente. It was obvious, however, to every one that we could not afterwards retire from this association without incurring their hostility. If we had withdrawn we should have been left, not merely without a friend in Europe, but with all the chief Powers in Europe our enemies—ready upon the first favourable occasion to combine against us.
There is only one precedent in our history for so perilous a situation—when Napoleon forced Europe into a combination against us in 1806. And this precedent, though it then threatened our Empire with grave dangers, did not threaten it with dangers comparable in gravity with those which menaced us a century later.
The consequences of breaking away from the Triple Entente were sufficiently plain. "We may build ships against one nation, or even against a combination of nations. But we cannot build ships against half Europe. If Western Europe, with all its ports, its harbours, its arsenals, and its resources, was to fall under the domination of a single will, no effort of ours would be sufficient to retain the command of the sea. It is a balance of power on the continent, which alone makes it possible for us to retain it. Thus the maintenance of the balance of power is vital to our superiority at sea, which again is vital to the security of the British Empire."[2]