The Three Keys
THE present state of public opinion in Europe is a source of wonder and dismay to outside observers. Even the most impartial and careful of them refer as a matter of course to a relapse into barbarism.
What, in the cold light of reason, is the meaning of this bombastic affirmation that one man has suddenly become infallible, that a Führer or a Duce can do no wrong? This brand of intolerance is by no means peculiar to Fascism. In Russia, where many of the founders of the Revolution are being persecuted as Trotskyists, there is an accompanying wave of popular feeling, which has no doubt been deliberately provoked, but which has none the less called forth a violent and savage response among the masses.
On the other hand, what is the meaning of this bitter political animosity in a democratic country like France, where it is unaccompanied by persecution or infallibility? To American citizens and newspapers Mr. Roosevelt was, from the day of his election, the President of the United States. Why is it that all the reactionary newspapers in France call M. Blum, not the leader of France, but only the leader of the People’s Front?
There is method even in the present European madness. The different states of mind which we have just described all have a common cause which varies within each nation. This common cause is the degree of unity already attained and the need for further unity felt by each nation.
It should not be forgotten that until 1918 Germany was still made up of various states and dynasties. The Emperor was the great unifying force. In 1919 Germany not only lost this source of unity, but also lost German minorities in Poland, Czechoslovakia, AlsaceLorraine, and Denmark. Civil strife might have broken the realm into its component parts. The Weimar Republic, which preceded Hitler, unsuccessfully attempted to reëstablish German unily. From the day he was victorious, Hitler represented in the eyes of the Germans this unifying force which seemed to them to be the paramount need of their imperiled country. An American or a Frenchman is always surprised to see German friends, who were formerly Republicans, Socialists, or Catholic Democrats, sincerely reconciled to the new régime. The fact is that the Germans do not ask themselves first of all: Is this the best possible form of government? The first thing they ask is: Does this form of government mean unity? Hitler’s most effective bit of propaganda was a poster illustrating by means of four portraits the unification of Germany: the king (Frederick II) who began it; the count (Bismarck) who accomplished it; the general (Hindenburg) who saved it; the soldier (Hitler) who completed it. In a nation which believes that this unity is a vital necessity, the need becomes a ruling passion which drives the nation far beyond all reasonable bounds, even to the persecution of Jews and Catholics, and to the fomentation of trouble in peaceful little Denmark.
There is this same need for unity in Russia. The Russian people are still relatively ignorant. Nevertheless, the White Russian insurrections in 1918 and 1919 which aimed to set up independent states in the south or in Siberia, as well as the German and Polish designs upon the Ukraine, have created in Russia, too, a very powerful popular feeling. The unity of the Empire was represented by the Czar and the orthodox religion. When this unity disappeared, Russia became seventeen nations and twenty languages. The Communist rule welds all these elements together. The Russian peasant, or even the industrial worker, has no very clear idea of what Marxism is. Confusedly but surely, however, he knows that for the time being this political doctrine means unity. He yearns violently for unity, because he suffers from the extreme diversity surrounding him. That is the reason why groups of workers go so far as to demand death for political dissenters.
The same thing is true of Italy. Unification was only slightly farther advanced than it was in Germany, when Fascism added the finishing touches. Belief in the personal infallibility of the Duce or the Führer is by no means the temporal equivalent of belief in the spiritual infallibility of the Pope, nor is it, at least in its origins, the sort of worship demanded by the Oriental despot. This acknowledgment of infallibility is inspired first of all by a purely practical consideration: it is better to keep following the same leader, good or mediocre, than to quarrel among ourselves in choosing a new leader.
On the other hand, let us consider a country in which national unity is total, complete, beyond dispute: France, for example. All France to-day speaks French, administrative centralization is complete, the educational system is more uniform than in any other country. Mobilization was unanimous in 1914; mobilization to-day would be just as unanimous. The real danger for France would be that stagnation without progress which would result were everyone in agreement. It was such a state of affairs, under the constitutional monarchy a century ago, that led the poet and statesman Lamartine to say: ‘La France s’ennuie.’
In France violent opposition groups produce the interchange of ideas, competitive emulation, diversity and mutual criticism, which are a prerequisite to progress. It never occurs to anyone that national unity might be threatened. When a small riot unexpectedly occurred in 1934, the French were so dismayed that for several months they maintained a régime of absolute calm just to prove to their own satisfaction that they did not want a civil war.
Another problem, of a legal and moral rather than political nature, arises from the fact that the value of the human individual and the concept of personal rights vary greatly with the different countries of Europe. The French, the English, the Dutch, the Scandinavians, and the Swiss think as the average American citizen does in these matters. On the contrary, in Germany and Italy there has been a depreciation in the value of the human individual.
Germany and Italy have in the past given eminent jurists to the world. How does it happen that all traces of these juridical truths or prejudices have disappeared? The explanation lies in a brutal and widespread fact, the consequences of which it is hard for Americans to realize: overpopulation.
It is a well-known fact that uncivilized countries ordinarily have a stable population: a high birth rate, counterbalanced by infant mortality, epidemics, and violent deaths. Civilized countries which are heavily populated also tend toward stability, but by means of artificial checks. The clearest example of this is England.
When a nation, however, is already protected by the framework of civilization, without having reached the final stage of conscious control, a period of increasing population occurs. This is the case, at the present time, in Japan; it is the case within the United States, where the Negro population is increasing more rapidly than the white population.
This is also the case in those large European countries which were the last to be civilized: Prussia, Italy, Poland, and Russia. Poland and Russia, however, have at their disposal, as Canada has, vast unexploited resources and possibilities of self-extension, so that the pressure of population creates no immediate danger. In Germany and Italy the population continues to increase and the land can no longer feed its inhabitants. Under these circumstances there is a decline in the juridical sense.
When the land can feed everybody, men experience the benefits of coöperation rather than the dangers of competition. Americans take such a condition for granted. To the visiting European, America is the land of coöperation. As soon as men depend upon one another, there is a rise in the value of human life. Only in the heroic stages of pioneer existence is there an instinctive respect for human life; in the following generation a feeling for law replaces it.
On the contrary, when there are too many men, when the field can no longer feed the family, when workers are reduced to permanent and not merely temporary idleness, then the competitive instinct reappears; human life loses its value. The loss of a child is a matter of little consequence in a country with a teeming population; the young people in such a country have no normal outlet for their energies, and so acquire a taste for risk and adventure. The Ethiopian expedition, in which the Italians risked ten times as many men as the French or English had ever done in any one of their colonial expeditions, was a matter of astonishment to the rest of the world. An Italian, cynically exaggerating Fascist theories in order to create an effect, remarked: ‘Dead men or colonists— no matter, as long as they don’t come back.’ Hence that terrible indifference to war which is beginning to appear among the Germans and the Italians.
It is but a step from such a state of mind to the attitude of the overpopulated regions of China, where infant mortality is considered a blessing, where no attempt is made to check an epidemic of cholera. Famine would cause as many deaths as the epidemic, and even those who did not die would suffer. Long before such an attitude develops, land and natural resources in overpopulated countries acquire far greater value than men; order becomes more precious than law. Hence that discipline, so astonishing to our traditional liberalism, that total suppression of freedom of thought, and that burden of obligations which characterize the domestic government and social structure of Italy, Germany, and Japan.
Fortunately this increase in population is temporary. The birth rate is decreasing rapidly in Italy and in Germany. In spite of all laws, pride in self-propagation (somewhat naïve, since mice, rabbits, and codfish are infinitely superior to mankind in this respect) will ultimately give way to self-control, and stability will be attained. A reputable Japanese ethnographer, Professor Uyeda,has already placed the maximum population of Japan at eighty million.
Do the foregoing statements mean that countries like England and France, which are sure of their unity and which have a stable population, are absolutely free from any sort of psychosis? Have they not, like the other European nations, some mental maladjustment?
I believe they have. I believe, specifically, that their crying need of security has very frequently, since the war, made them unhappy. The Frenchman’s characteristic fault (which is sometimes carried to the point of avarice) is his tendency to spend the better part of his youth in planning for calm and comfortable old age. At the present time fluctuations in the value of money, economic exchanges, and taxes have created a situation in which no sort of property can guarantee to anyone this security in old age. Since these upheavals have been linked to foreign events, the Frenchman’s present ideal in matters of foreign policy is inaction. The English desire the same thing, because they are the most favored nation in Europe and because any change would mean a loss to them. The French want the landowner’s security; the English, the business man’s security. Thus public opinion is paralyzed, rendered apprehensive and negative.
The need for unity, overpopulation, the need for security — these are, I believe, the three keys to the political thinking of Europe. Economic quarrels, discussions about raw materials, are only pretexts, excuses for irritation. Europe is spending each year for armaments three times the value of the stakes in these economic quarrels.
What practical conclusions can be drawn from this analysis?
First of all, the present line-up of the Powers is inevitable and lasting: on one side the conquering Powers, Germany, Italy, Japan; on the other, the pacific Powers, England, France, and the small nations. By the same token it is logical that Russia, a country with no external needs, should swing toward the French-English bloc.
Furthermore, European problems are by no means hopeless, nor beyond human powers of foresight and action. The need for unity, if it is not interfered with by threats from abroad, will calm down of itself and will cease to breed intolerance. The two crises in the unity of France and the United States — the French Revolution and the American Civil War — were accompanied by intolerance and violence; but when unity was once assured, liberty and tolerance reappeared.
Finally, if our liberal ideas are shocked by the lack of respect for human life, the imperialism, and the warlike tendencies of Germany, Italy, and Japan, we should remember that these vagaries are born of a very real, painful, and legitimate need: the necessity of finding a means of livelihood for overcrowded nations.
War is not the only means of satisfying this need. In the nineteenth century, emigration enabled surplus Italians and Germans to find a livelihood elsewhere. The United States immigration laws, which were soon copied by other American countries and by the British dominions, render the United States partly responsible for the present sufferings and perils of Europe. It is of course impossible at this time to consider brutally throwing open the doors to immigrants. There are, however, more gentle and gradual measures, such as admission into the colonies, temporary immigration, and commercial exchanges, which might solve this problem. It is only temporary. In fifty years natural stabilization will have solved it. Must this small thorn in Europe’s flesh be the cause of a new war which would mean the death of Europe, and perhaps the rest of Occidental civilization?