There are those who believe, or fancy they believe, that the words I have quoted involve the principle that the use of force or of violence between man and man, or between nation and nation, is wicked.  To the man who thinks it right to submit to any violence or to be killed rather than to use violence in resistance, I have no reply to make.  The world cannot conquer him and fear has no hold upon him.  But even he can carry out his doctrine only to the extent of allowing himself to be ill-treated, as I will now convince him.  Many years ago the people of South Lancashire were horrified by the facts reported in a trial for murder.  In a village on the outskirts of Bolton lived a young woman, much liked and respected as a teacher in one of the Board schools.  On her way home from school she was accustomed to follow a footpath through a lonely wood, and here one evening her body was found.  She had been strangled by a ruffian who had thought in this lonely place to have his wicked will of her.  She had resisted successfully and he had killed her in the struggle.  Fortunately the murderer was caught and the facts ascertained from circumstantial evidence were confirmed by his confession.  Now, the question I have to ask of the man who takes his stand on the passage I have quoted from the Gospel is:  “What would have been your duty if you had been walking through that wood and come upon the girl struggling with the man who killed her?” This is a crucial instance which, I submit, utterly destroys the doctrine that the use of violence is in itself wrong.  The right or wrong is not in the employment of force but simply in the purpose for which it is used.  What the case establishes, I think, is that to use violence in resistance to violent wrong is not only right but necessary.

The employment of force for the maintenance of right is the foundation of all civilised human life, for it is the fundamental function of the State, and apart from the State there is no civilisation, no life worth living.  The first business of the State is to protect the community against violent interference from outside.  This it does by requiring from its subjects whatever personal service and whatever sacrifice of property and of time may be necessary; and resistance to these demands, as well as to any injunctions whatever laid by the State upon its subjects, is unconditionally suppressed by force.  The mark of the State is sovereignty, or the identification of force and right, and the measure of the perfection of the State is furnished by the completeness of this identification.  In the present condition of English political thought it may be worth while to dwell for a few moments upon the beneficent nature of this dual action of the State.