The Case of England.

We may justifiably ask, then, What basis is there for the charge that England’s “brutal, national egoism” provoked the world war?  The answer is a two-fold one.  Historically, England has exhibited aggression in the extension of her interests; morally, England supports the Russian aggressor, who declined “to allow Austria the thoroughgoing punishment of an ignominious murder,” cloaking her real intentions behind the mantle of a “contemptible sanctimoniousness” and “hypocrisy” concerning treaty obligations.

The first charge against England is unfortunately true.  History records instances of British aggression in the extension of her interests and the cases cited (destruction of the Danish fleet and the taking of Dutch colonies) are good examples.  The implication, however, involved in the statement is that such aggression is not to be found in the history of Prussia.  This is clearly an error.

From the time of the Markgrafen even unto the Agadir incident it has been characteristic of Prussia to extend her boundaries and interests under the plea of military necessity.  Aggression is the only word to characterize Frederick’s seizure of Silesia and part of Poland.  South and East Prussia were added by the same forcible means (1793-1795).  In the Napoleonic wars Swedish Pomerania fell as the booty of military necessity.  Schleswig-Holstein was filched from Denmark (1866) by the same “extension of her greatness.”  Once more it was the plea in Alsace-Lorraine—­“so necessary for Germany.”

Nor are we here urging immunity of criticism for ourselves.  It is sadly true that the history of many nominally Christian States, including that of the United States, and not excluding the Papacy, includes chapters of aggression.  But the point involved, namely, the charge of England’s aggression in the present instance, is clearly an a priori one, based on a presupposition of monopoly which lacks material support.  No evidence is presented to justify the statement, nor do the facts seem to allow of any such construction.

The second argument, England’s support of Russia’s unwillingness to permit the expiation of an ignominious murder, is a strange and unfortunate commentary on how even in philosophic minds a preconceived idea will distort the most unmistakable evidence.  For Servia in her reply to the Austrian demands agreed to have just punishment inflicted upon the murderers, even going so far as to cause the arrest of those perhaps unjustly suspected by the Austrian committee and to suggest an international court.  How, then, did Russia stand in the way of the punishment?  Austria declared war, with the self-confessed assurances of German support, all too obviously for reasons other than the ones mentioned in the ultimatum to which Servia acquiesced.  The charge of Russian mobilization in view of such a situation suggests the temper of the man who, when caught in his own bear trap, tries to find his neighbor at fault.  Suppose Germany had remained on the defensive, would war have been likely?  Suppose Germany had not backed up the entirely unjustifiable military movement of Austria, would the general war have been probable?