What interests—fascinates—the student of contemporary humanity rather than of contemporary politics is to what extent the war will either advance or set us back as a civilisation; shall we be better for it, will life be better for it?

I have always had a horror of war. I hoped and thought up to the last moment that it would be averted. It seemed impossible that France and Germany could come to blows; the cost looked to be too big. Yet I see the Kaiser swept away by the war party behind him, urged by that mysticism, which always characterised him, to believe that war was a divine duty. This is the only reason I can find for his declaration. He loved to preach and pray and live and talk among the stars. The impulse of religious fervour ran riot in him, and he persuaded himself that to plunge the world into the most horrible war of all time was his divine mission.

The horror of war which we feel was naturally enough not shared by the Kaiser and the war party in Berlin. They had grown used to the idea, for years it had been among their ambitions, and many of them had spent all their lives training for it. In fact, that is the biggest and most tragic mistake of modern history—Germany’s conception that to conquer the rest of Europe was her divinely appointed mission; you can see it in every bellicose utterance of the Kaiser! This was never a mere pose. He was in his private life exactly the same man as in his public utterances.

What is to be the result of this war? The setbacks are obvious. It will take Great Britain, with all the wealth and resources of her Empire, a dozen years to recover from the exhaustion of it. France, with large stretches of her country desolated, and crippled financially, will perhaps take longer. Russia will feel it less in many ways, and certainly will reap one big benefit in that the war will, I do not doubt, help to cement her scattered and immense population and bring in a new era of unity.

It may well be, indeed, that the end of the war will see a Russia reborn, rid of her antiquated systems of local government, released from methods which were mediÆval—a country set upon a definite road to freedom.

I do not mean that a Russian republic is a likely result. I think the war will strengthen the monarchy; a successful war always does.

Why, even in France to-day there is a widespread feeling that a return to monarchy would be welcome. Personally, however, I do not believe the monarchical party will gain much headway; the whole tendency of the world is against it.

The spirit of the times is democratic. When a people realises that kings and queens are in no way superior mortals it gradually brings about a republic. This is the only natural and logical conclusion of things. France has learned this lesson well enough, she will never go back from her present methods of government—methods which have developed the natural genius and intelligence of her people and brought such prosperity that she has become one of the wealthiest countries in the world. The aristocracy of France has not sufficient power to overthrow the people, especially now when the people have been fighting with true patriotism, not for the ideal of a kingship, but for the ideal of a country—confraternity.

This spirit of democracy, I think, will extend all over Europe. Republics will arise, not by force of arms, mutinies or revolutions, but by natural evolution. To kill a king does not make a republic; that comes from the natural growth of ideas and ideals, from the development of the democratic spirit, the spirit of freedom, which follows in the wake of liberal education.

One effect of the war, then, may be to substantiate monarchy for the time being, save in France, where I think it will create a bigger confidence in the Republic. In other words, if the Allies emerge with considerable success, conditions of government as they are will be strengthened, particularly in Russia.

A great deal has been written in the past about the tottering power of the monarchy in Russia. All of this has been mostly untrue, and certainly misleading. I can recall statements in print of the fear of the Tsar to appear before his people. This is not the truth. When I was in Petrograd he often came to visit me practically unattended, and whenever he has been counselled to take precaution he has adopted such measures only because he has thought it best for his country. He loves Russia; how much has been splendidly evident since the war broke out, and when all is over one effect will surely be that he will be all the more beloved by Russia. I see, too, as a result of his generous attitude the possibility of a resurrected Poland, whose populace will freely give suzerainty to Nicholas II. because they recognise amid all the riot and disaster of to-day that he is their friend.

Exaggerated statements have also been made that the Tsaritza fears assassination. The writers have based their reports no doubt on the fact that the Tsar’s grandfather met his death in this way, and they have no doubt assumed the fears of the present monarchs as a matter of course. The Empress is said visibly to tremble in public, but this is occasioned simply because she is unhappily a sufferer from timidity!

But what about Germany? Who shall dare to prophesy?

But more interesting than these things is the question of armament—or rather disarmament. Is the latter possible? Arbitration in council instead of the sword and the gun—shall we, any of us, live to see that dream come true? Democracy, and a world-wide development of a Hague Conference of the Powers—these are the hopes of those who think. Is it too near the Utopia of the Romanticists? Is it the impossible Millennium?

I do most honestly believe this will be the last big war; it will be a lesson to the wide world of the cost of fighting, the cost in lives, in comforts, in money. The English will surely feel this; they are fond of luxury. When I visited England I was impressed by the almost reckless extravagance of living; money did not count so long as entertainment was obtained; women seemed to have a careless disregard of all things save pleasure. I have wondered and marvelled at the way they have acted since war broke out; now no sacrifice is too great for them to make. Truly the English are remarkable; they are on the surface lovers of ease and lazy luxury, so as to seem almost degenerate. Yet, beneath it all, there is stamina, grit, the power to bear hardship, the spirit of the real adventurer. The war will do English social life good—for a time; but though for a little while the English will eschew gaiety perhaps—I mean the recklessly extravagant gaieties which were their wont—will their phlegmatic nature presently allow this disturbance to be forgotten and the old conditions to recur?

Sincerely I hope not. To end some of the senseless dissipations would be one of the best results of the war; there is no room in life for stupid extravagances, for heedless rushing after novel excitement. For English Society I hope the lesson will go too deep to be forgotten lightly. And I am interested too in the movement which is just now on foot in England to prohibit, or at least to curtail so extensive a sale of alcohol. An abstemious Europe would have made the war almost worth while. And why should it be impossible? France has closed down the sale of absinthe, Russia sells and consumes no more vodka. In England the evil is whisky.

But the question of disarmament: there is so much to hinder it. Each country has a different condition of things to consider; England, for instance, has never kept her army for her own insular needs; her army has been maintained to protect and uphold the ends of her Empire—and those needs will remain; how can she disarm altogether when India has to be considered, and while she has interests to defend, not against the great Powers, but against the native insurgent in so many parts of the world, it is vital to her—and the present crisis emphasises it beyond mistake—that the seas should be kept open, and were there no force behind that need she as well as her food supply would be at the mercy of any pirate. Similarly France has colonies which call for a guard by land and sea.

But the day of the big military power will surely pass with the defeat of Prussian militarism, and the nations should see to it that never again shall one country deliberately arm herself so as to be a menace to the world’s peace. Is it not possible that the great nations should have an amalgamated navy and army powerful enough to command peace from insurgents—to be a sort of world-wide police? Surely at some conference of the Powers a decision should be arrived at by which the boundaries and influence of nations could be fixed for all time, with due regard to the scope required for the natural development of the ambitions of each.

It is certain that there is enough territory in the world for the peoples of the earth; it is equally certain that the laws of supply and demand would balance and leave a reasonable living for all the people of the world if only economic conditions could be properly adjusted. I fancy that here lie the big problems of the future—not the conquering of one another by the force of sword and gun, but the equalisation of the possibilities of possession. There are too many men with big fortunes and too many homes with not sufficient income; on the face of it there should be a way to balance these discrepancies, and there the big thinkers and the students of political economy will step in. The ultimate destiny of the world, when this terrible war is over and done with, will rest upon the shoulders of those thinkers and economists, and upon the success of their efforts will depend the peace and happiness of our children’s children.

I know that here I am laying down the ethics of Socialism, but not the Socialism that depends upon labour upheavals in which the worker merely seeks to get all he can from the employer, but that larger Socialism whose aim is the good of the community as opposed to the fortune of the individual in the pursuit of the general well-being.

I see all over the world evidences that this spirit is alive and prospering. In Switzerland, for instance, if a company earns more than a certain percentage upon its capital the surplus goes to the State to be used in the public interest—subsidise education and mitigate such poverty as there may be. As a fact—and as a result—you see very little poverty in Switzerland. In the Scandinavian countries, too, no man may become absurdly wealthy, and even in rich England a levelling-up process is in the act of formation by means of taxes upon the very wealthy. Soon I am hopeful that this spirit will spread among our Governments; it is the way to universal peace, for unquestionably money and the acquisition of money lies at the back of most international unrest.

It lies, if you think of it, behind this war. What was at the back of Germany’s dream of world-wide conquest? Was it not the expansion of her commerce? Was it not her envy of other nations’ wealth that drove her to seek a first place among the nations? She wanted to extend her borders, to enlarge her trade, to increase her wealth. End this amazing of private fortunes and you will end this constant fighting and intriguing for power and position. America’s worship of the almighty dollar influences her attitude to-day.

I wonder shall we ever find a substitute for money which will reduce its value. The value of money is the curse of life; it leads to wars, it creates half the intrigues in Court and political life, it provokes senseless luxury. But I am talking of a Utopia, and we live in an age of greed and personal aggrandisement, however sure to those who look beneath the surface are the signs of coming reform.

One good thing the war will leave in its train is a recurrence of simplicity. It cannot but be that the awful costliness of it all will reduce the means left for wastefulness in living. I wish the larger nations—and especially England and America—would study the life of the Scandinavian towns and see how much preferable is their simpler life, how much happier folk are when there is not this greed for gold, which takes up all one’s time and makes men forget the joy and the meaning of life while they are earning and cheating and hoarding. There should be a law preventing great possessions. I don’t mean that the genius in his business or profession should not be able to earn enough to give him greater comforts than those who have not succeeded so well as he—probably because they have not tried so hard. To give the industrious and the indolent an equal reward, to be sure, would set a premium on laziness, and much of the world’s work would go undone. But there ought to be a limit to what a man can own, or what one company can earn, especially when there are so many quite deserving poor who are poor not because of indolence but through lack of opportunity.

This is a part of Socialism, and I know in England Socialism is a bad word to use. Socialism is unfortunate in its champions in England; Socialism has come to mean, in the popular, thoughtless sense of the word, strikes and demands for improved wages and conditions. No doubt Socialism would so revolutionise industry that the present wages and conditions would then seem antiquated to the point of mediÆvalism, but I think your wise men of England are those who carry on the work of social reformation and leave the word Socialism alone. Mr. Lloyd George has the right idea; I call him a Socialist, though perhaps he wouldn’t agree with the designation.

Will the new era which follows the close of this European holocaust be one of social advancement? If so, the war will not have been in vain. And everything points that way.

In a second way, the war will bring improvement more complete than a generation of peace could ever have done. On the battlefields of France the British aristocrat and the boy from the slums will have met and become brothers. Class distinctions will break down not a little, and this is a good thing, for the private who came from the estates whereon his ancestors have lived for centuries, and the soldier who came from the foundry or the pit, have found each other of the same flesh and blood, comrades in a common cause. Hitherto the class distinctions have been very definite; they did not merge. After the war those barriers will become far more shadowy.

Surely also if there are no more gigantic wars, but a vast curtailment of armaments, millions and millions will be saved, and this money, after settling the war bills, will be available for setting our houses in order.

I do not think there will be any great hardships and poverty when the war is over. On the contrary I anticipate a great trade revival, and in this respect the understanding between the present Allies will greatly increase the business done by them. Germany will no doubt be crippled, her military role will end, and her business men—among the best in the world—will find many of the old works closed. It will take Germany many years to rebuild her fortunes, for she will have made her one gigantic throw for world power, and lost.

France and England and Russia have between them most of the necessities of life, and this should tend to keep down the cost of those necessities. But I hope that a revival of trade will not mean a return to riotous living and deadening indulgence.

To all the Allies the war has brought individual unity within their own boundaries; there was danger of internal trouble in all three a year before the cloud burst. Undoubtedly the fears of civil war in Great Britain had some foundation; France was in a certain sense in a condition of unpreparedness; and Russia was on the edge of a revolution. In a day these questions were laid aside. To-day the French army is as one man; France has behaved with a splendour that cannot be over-extolled, and she will never lose that power of cohesion she gained through the opening stages of this conflict. Indeed, in all the countries of the Allies I fancy the old questions will never recur in the same degree.

On the whole, then, the outlook has its bright side. We are appalled at the loss of life, at the desolation of territory, at the complicated wastage of war. But the Allies will come out of it stronger in many ways, not only with recovered territory—France with her long-lost children returned, and Russia no doubt with her southern port (which means her emancipation)—but with ancient instincts of race reawakened and sharpened, with broader views, particularly on the part of France and Great Britain; for this war has killed the distance across the English Channel, and England, losing her insularity, will become more and more closely attached to her great Republican neighbour.