tion of the rest of the world as outrageous. Take, for example, the question of Asiatic immigration, or a claim that the Panama Canal ought to be an unfortified neutral highway, or the desire by a European power to take possession of Colombia. But we ought not, in the interest of universal peace, to object to making a public statement of our position in these matters at a court or council before resorting to arms; and in fact the treaty between the United States and England, ratified on November 14, 1914, provides that all disputes between the high contracting parties, of every nature whatsoever, shall, failing other methods of adjustment, be referred for investigation and report to a permanent international commission, with a stipulation that neither country shall declare war or begin hostilities during such investigation and before the report is submitted.

What is true of this country is true of others. To agree to abide by the result of an arbitration, on every nonjusticiable question of every nature whatsoever, on pain of compulsion in any form by the whole world, would involve a greater cession of sovereignty than nations would now be willing to concede. This appears, indeed, perfectly clearly from the discussions at the Hague Conference of 1907. But to exclude differences that do not turn on questions of international law from the cases in which a state must present the matter to a tribunal or council of conciliation before beginning hostilities, would leave very little check upon the outbreak of war. Almost every conflict between European nations for more than half a century has been based upon some dissension which could not be decided by strict rules of law, and in which a violation of international law or of treaty rights has usually not even been used as an excuse. This was true of the war between France and Austria

in 1859, and, in substance, of the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866. It was true of the Franco-Prussian War in 1870, of the Russo-Turkish War in 1876, of the Balkan War against Turkey in 1912, and of the present war.

No one will claim that a league to enforce peace, such as is proposed, would wholly prevent war, but it would greatly reduce the probability of hostilities. It would take away the advantage of surprise, of catching the enemy unprepared for a sudden attack. It would give a chance for public opinion on the nature of the controversy to be formed throughout the world and in the militant country. The latter is of great importance, for the moment war is declared argument about its merits is at once stifled. Passion runs too high for calm debate, and patriotism forces people to support their government. But a trial before an international tribunal would give time for discussion while emotion is not yet highly inflamed. Men opposed to war would be able to urge its injustice, to ask whether, after all, the object is worth the sacrifice, and they would get a hearing from their fellow citizens which they cannot get after war begins. The mere delay, the interval for consideration, would be an immense gain for the prospect of a peaceful settlement.

In this connection it may be of interest to recall the way in which the mediæval custom of private war was abolished in England. It was not done at one step, but gradually, by preventing men from avenging their own wrongs before going to court. The trial by battle long remained a recognized part of judicial procedure, but only after the case had been presented to the court, and only in accordance with judicial forms. This had the effect of making the practice far less common, and of limiting it to the principals in the quarrel instead of involving a general breach

of the peace in which their retainers and friends took part. Civilization was still too crude to give up private war, but the arm of the law and the force in the hands of the crown were strong enough to delay a personal conflict until the case had been presented to court. Without such a force the result could not have been attained.

Every one will admit this in the case of private citizens, but many people shrink from the use of international force to restrain war; some of them on the principle of strict non-resistance, that any taking of life in war cannot be justified, no matter what its purpose or effect. Such people have the most lofty moral ideals, but these are not a part of true statesmanship, unless they aim at the total welfare which may require the attacking of evils even by forcible means. Many years ago when an Atlantic steamship was wrecked it was said that some of the crew made a rush for the boats, beating the passengers off, and that the captain, who was urged to restore order by shooting a mutineer, replied that he was too near eternity to take life. The result was a far greater loss of life than would have been suffered had he restored order by force. Probably no man with the instincts of a statesman would defend his conduct to-day. He was not a coward, but his sentiments unfitted him for a responsible post in an emergency.

Most people who have been thinking seriously about the maintenance of peace are tending to the opinion that a sanction of some kind is needed to enforce the observance of treaties and of agreements for arbitration. Among the measures proposed has been that of an international police force, under the control of a central council which could use it to preserve order throughout the world. At present such a plan seems visionary. The force would have to be at least large enough to cope with the

army that any single nation could put into the field, under existing conditions let us say five millions of men fully equipped and supplied with artillery and ammunition for a campaign of several months. These troops need not be under arms, or quartered near The Hague, but they must be thoroughly trained and ready to be called out at short notice. Practically that would entail yearly votes of the legislative bodies of each of the nations supplying a quota; and if any of them failed to make the necessary appropriation there would be great difficulty in preventing others from following its example. The whole organization would, therefore, be in constant danger of going to pieces.

But quite apart from the practical difficulties in the permanent execution of such a plan, let us see how it would affect the United States. The amount of the contingents of the various countries would be apportioned with some regard to population, wealth, and economic resources; and if the total were five million men, our quota on a moderate estimate might be five hundred thousand men. Is it conceivable that the United States would agree to keep anything like that number drilled, equipped, and ready to take the field on the order of an international council composed mainly of foreign nations? Of course it will be answered that these figures are exaggerated, because any such plan will be accompanied by a reduction in armaments. But that is an easier thing to talk about than to effect, and especially to maintain. One must not forget that the existing system of universal compulsory military service on the continent of Europe arose from Napoleon's attempt to limit the size of the Prussian army. He would be a bold or sanguine man who should assert that any treaty to limit armaments could not in like manner be evaded; and however much they were

limited, the quantity of troops to be held at the disposal of a foreign council would of necessity be large, while no nation would be willing to pledge for the purpose the whole of its military force. Such a plan may be practicable in some remote future when the whole world is a vast federation under a central government, but that would seem to be a matter for coming generations, not for the men of our day.

Moreover, the nations whose troops were engaged in fighting any country would inevitably find themselves at war with that country.

One cannot imagine saying to some foreign state, 'Our troops are killing yours, they are invading your land, we are supplying them with recruits and munitions of war, but otherwise we are at peace with you. You must treat us as a neutral, and accord to our citizens, to their commerce and property, all the rights of neutrality.' In short the plan of an international police force involves all the consequences of the proposal of a league to enforce peace, with other complex provisions extremely hard to execute.

A suggestion more commonly made is that the members of the league of nations, instead of pledging themselves explicitly to declare war forthwith against any of their number that commits a breach of the peace, should agree to hold at once a conference, and take such measures diplomatic, economic, or military as may be necessary to prevent war. The objection to this is that it weakens very seriously the sanction. Conferences are apt to shrink from decisive action. Some of the members are timid, others want delay, and much time is consumed in calling the body together and in discussions after it meets. Meanwhile the war may have broken out, and be beyond control. It is much easier to prevent a fire than to put it out. The country that is plan

ning war is likely to think it has friends in the conference, or neighbors that it can intimidate, who will prevent any positive decision until the fire is burning. Even if the majority decides on immediate action, the minority is not bound thereby. One great power refuses to take part; a second will not do so without her; the rest hesitate, and nothing is done to prevent the war.

A conference is an excellent thing. The proposal of a league to enforce peace by no means excludes it; but the important matter, the effective principle, is that every member of the league should know that whether a conference meets or not, or whatever action it may take or fail to take, all the members of the league have pledged themselves to declare war forthwith on any member that commits a breach of the peace before submitting its case to the international tribunal or council of conciliation. Such a pledge, and such a pledge alone, can have the strong deterrent influence, and thus furnish the sanction, that is needed. Of course the pledge may not be kept. Like other treaties it may be broken by the parties to it. Nations are composed of human beings with human weaknesses, and one of these is a disinclination to perform an agreement when it involves a sacrifice. Nevertheless, nations, like men, often do have enough sense of honor, of duty, or of ultimate self-interest, to carry out their contracts at no little immediate sacrifice. They are certainly more likely to do a thing if they have pledged themselves to it than if they have not; and any nation would be running a terrible risk that went to war in the hope that the other members of the league would break their pledges.

The same objection applies to another alternative proposed in place of an immediate resort to military force: that is the use of economic pressure, by

a universal agreement, for example, to have no commercial intercourse with the nation breaking the peace. A threat of universal boycott is, no doubt, formidable, but by no means so formidable as a threat of universal war. A large country with great natural resources which has determined to make war, might be willing to face commercial non-intercourse with the other members of the league during hostilities, when it would not for a moment contemplate the risk of fighting them. A threat, for example, by England, France, and Germany to stop all trade with the United States might or might not have prevented our going to war with Spain; but a declaration that they would take part with all their armies and navies against us would certainly have done so.

It has often been pointed out that the threat of general non-intercourse would bear much more hardly on some countries than on others. That may not in itself be a fatal objection, but a very serious consideration arises from the fact that there would be a premium on preparation for war. A nation which had accumulated vast quantities of munitions, food, and supplies of all kinds, might afford to disregard it; while another less fully prepared could not.

Moreover, economic pressure, although urged as a milder measure, is in fact more difficult to apply and maintain. A declaration of war is a single act, and when made sustains itself by the passion it inflames; while commercial non-intercourse is a continuous matter, subject to constant opposition exerted in an atmosphere relatively cool. Our manufacturers would complain bitterly at being deprived of dyestuffs and other chemical products on account of a quarrel in which we had no interest; the South would suffer severely by the loss of a market for cotton; the shipping firms and the export

ers and importers of all kinds would be gravely injured; and all these interests would bring to bear upon Congress a pressure well-nigh irresistible. The same would be true of every other neutral country, a fact that would be perfectly well known to the intending belligerent and reduce its fear of a boycott.

But, it is said, why not try economic pressure first, and, if that fails, resort to military force, instead of inflicting at once on unoffending members of the league the terrible calamity of war? What do we mean by 'if that fails'? Do we mean, if, in spite of the economic pressure, the war breaks out? But then the harm is done, the fire is ablaze and can be put out only by blood. The object of the league is not to chastise a country guilty of breaking the peace, but to prevent the outbreak of war, and to prevent it by the immediate prospect of such appalling consequences to the offender that he will not venture to run the risk. If a number of great powers were to pledge themselves, with serious intent, to wage war jointly and severally on any one of their bers that attacked another before submitting the case to arbitration, it is in the highest degree improbable that the casus fœderis would ever occur, while any less drastic provision would be far less effective.

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An objection has been raised to the proposal for a league to enforce peace on the ground that it has in the past often proved difficult, if not impossible, to determine which of two belligerents began a war. The criticism is serious, and presents a practical difficulty, grave but probably not insurmountable. The proposal merely lays down a general principle, and if adopted the details would have to be worked out very fully and carefully in a treaty, which would specify the acts that would constitute the waging of war by one

member upon another. These would naturally be, not the mere creating of apprehension, but specific acts, such as a declaration of war, invasion of territory, the use of force at sea not disowned within forty-eight hours, or an advance into a region in dispute. This last is an especially difficult point, but those portions of the earth's surface in which different nations have conflicting claims are growing less decade by decade.

It must be remembered that the cases which would arise under a league of peace are not like those which have arisen in the past, where one nation is determined to go to war and merely seeks to throw the moral responsibility on the other while getting the advantage of actually beginning hostilities. It is a case where each will strive to avoid the specific acts of war that may involve the penalty. The reader may have seen, in a country where personal violence is severely punished, two men shaking their fists in each other's faces, each trying to provoke the other to strike the first blow; and no fight after all.

There are many agreements in private business which are not easy to embody in formal contracts; agreements where, as in this case, the execution of the terms calls for immediate action, and where redress after an elaborate trial of the facts affords no real reparation. But if the object sought is good, men do not condemn it on account of the difficulty in devising provisions that will accomplish the result desired; certainly not until they have tried to devise them. It may, indeed, prove impossible to draft a code of specific acts that will cover the ground; it may be impracticable to draft it so as to avoid issues of fact that can be determined only after a long sifting of evidence, which would come too late; but surely that is no reason for failure to make the

attempt. We are not making a treaty among nations. We are merely putting forward a suggestion for reducing war, which seems to merit consideration.

A second difficulty that will sometimes arise is the rule of conduct to be followed pending the presentation of the question to the international tribunal. The continuance or cessation of the acts complained of may appear to be, and may even be in fact, more important than the final decision. This has been brought to our attention forcibly by the sinking of the Lusitania. We should have done very wisely to submit to arbitration the question of the right of submarines to torpedo merchant ships without warning, provided Germany abandoned the practice pending the arbitration; and Germany would probably not have refused to submit the question to a tribunal on the understanding that the practice was to continue until the decision was rendered, because by that time the war would be over. This difficulty is inherent in every plan for the arbitration of international disputes, although more serious in a league whose members bind themselves to prevent by force the outbreak of war. It would be necessary to give the tribunal summary authority to decree a modus vivendi, to empower it, like a court of equity, to issue a temporary injunction.

In short, the proposal for a league to enforce peace cannot meet all possible contingencies. It cannot prevent all future wars, nor does any sensible person believe that any plan can do so in the present state of civilization. But it can prevent some wars that would otherwise take place, and if it does that it will have done much good.

People have asked how such a league would differ from the Triple Alliance or Triple Entente,-whether it would not be nominally a combination for peace which might in practice have quite a